"Master? Master!" Fang Han called out, his voice trembling as he knelt beside Bai Haichan's still body. No matter how many times he shouted, there was no response. The old cultivator—his master for less than an hour—had simply… died. So suddenly.
Though their time together had been brief, Bai Haichan had opened Fang Han's eyes to a far greater world. For the first time, Fang Han saw that the so-called emperors and dynasties—those supreme rulers he had once revered—were nothing more than playthings in the hands of the immortal sects. The revelation left him shaken and awed.
Because of that, he felt an unexpected pang of sorrow.
Still, what Bai Haichan had asked of him was impossible—sneaking into the mighty Yuhua Sect, stealing the Ascension Classic, and offering it to the Grandmaster of Star Gate so that his master might be resurrected. Each of the Ten Great Immortal Sects ruled over the world like gods; their leaders could destroy kingdoms with a gesture and live for a thousand years. Even a minor disciple could reduce him to ashes with a flick of the wrist.
"No matter what," Fang Han muttered, "I should bury him first. If the Fang family discovers the body, I'll be finished too."
He glanced at the corpse. Bai Haichan had trained his body to the tenth stage of the Mortal Body Realm—his flesh and bones were like tempered steel. Even in death, his body would not decay easily.
Fang Han hid the corpse, found a shovel, and quietly dug a grave by the riverside. He wrapped the body in the dark golden robe woven from "golden silkworm threads"—a treasure garment immune to water and fire—and buried him deeply beneath the earth.
Only when it was done did he finally exhale.
Fang Han was just a stable boy in the Fang household, feeding and tending to horses at night. It was exhausting work, but the days offered him some rest—unless, of course, the Second Miss, Fang Qingwei, suddenly demanded a mount.
By the time he finished everything, the sun was already high overhead.
In just one morning, his entire world had changed—his understanding of heaven and earth, and even his own body. Were it not for the constant warmth pulsing from his heart, and the Jiao-Fu Netherworld Chart clutched in his hands, he might have thought it all a dream.
The chart was said to be the relic of the demonic Emperor of the Netherworld himself—a treasure beyond comprehension. Yet Fang Han had no idea how to use it, and even Bai Haichan hadn't known its secrets. For now, he could only keep it safe.
When night fell and the world was silent, Fang Han began to train.
"Rise!"
He lifted a massive green stone—at least thirty pounds—with both hands, squatted deep, then sprang up powerfully like a frog leaping through water.
This was the Fang family's strength-training technique, Golden Toad Leaps into the Pool—an exercise that could greatly enhance one's power, but was brutal on the body. Few dared practice it; a single mistake could snap tendons or shatter bones.
But Fang Han was no longer an ordinary man. The Nine-Aperture Golden Pill nestled near his heart circulated its energy through his blood, bathing his entire body in a soothing warmth. Pain faded almost as quickly as it came.
Once, twice, three times… soon he lost count.
Every time exhaustion overtook him, the Golden Pill released a surge of vitality, rejuvenating his muscles and bones.
When he could jump no more, he turned to striking stone.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
His fists slammed into a boulder again and again, each blow fiercer than the last. Blood splattered, bones cracked, pain burned through his nerves—but he didn't stop.
When his hands were raw and bleeding, he switched to his legs—kicking, smashing, battering. Then he hurled himself against the rock, striking with his back, shoulders, chest, and even his neck until his body was a mass of bruises and cuts.
Finally, he plunged into the black river, fighting the currents until his limbs went numb.
It was training beyond reason—inhuman, relentless. No pampered disciple of the Fang family, even those nourished by ginseng and bird's nest soup, could endure such torment. But Fang Han persisted.
Night after night, he pushed himself past every limit. The Nine-Aperture Golden Pill in his heart pulsed stronger each time, healing him completely while he slept. He soon discovered that the more he hurt himself, the greater the pill's power grew.
Days blurred into weeks. His body thickened with muscle; his once-gaunt frame became solid and dense. Each movement carried the explosive potential of coiled steel.
After ten days, he could leap effortlessly while carrying fifty, then eighty pounds.
After a month, he bore a hundred-pound boulder on his back, jumping across the sand like a great toad, thirty-six leaps without pause. He tossed the stone skyward—two men high—then caught it as it came crashing down, his bones creaking under the strain but never breaking.
With a shout, he slammed his fist into a small tree as thick as a bowl. The trunk split with a sharp crack.
When he finally dropped the stone, he stood tall, his presence subtly transformed. No longer a mere servant—something fierce now stirred within him.
"I've reached the peak of the Strength-Training Stage," he said, clenching his fists, the joints crackling like firecrackers. "That means I can step into the next stage—Form Mastery—and start practicing the Pine Crane Longevity Fist and the Seven Star Fist techniques. My body's twice as strong as any core disciple in the Fang family. My power will far surpass theirs."
He knew why. They trained with herbs and elixirs—he trained with a divine pill.
His body was like a pack of tigers and wolves yet to be tamed; the moment he connected every muscle through martial forms, he'd become unstoppable.
That night, he sat cross-legged beneath the stars, tracing their movements as Bai Haichan had once taught him, contemplating the flow of the heavens and the rhythm of his fists.
Inside him, the Nine-Aperture Golden Pill pulsed steadily, releasing even greater waves of power…
Meanwhile, far away in the Fang family's vast and opulent inner estate—sprawling across a thousand acres—a young woman sat quietly. Her beauty was cold and luminous, like a goddess of lightning. Fang Qingxue—the eldest daughter of the Fang family, who had slain Bai Haichan with her Purple Lightning Yin Thunder Blade—was now before her father.
The man seated across from her was Fang Zhetao, Governor of Longyuan Province and head of the Fang clan, his body trained to the tenth stage of the Mortal Body Realm. Though his strength was immense, age had begun to erode it, and he knew he would only decline without some extraordinary elixir.
Yet before this daughter of his, even he seemed subdued—for she was no longer mortal. She had stepped into the Divine Ability Realm.
"Father," Fang Qingxue said softly, "I have become a True Disciple of Yuhua Sect. The Sect Master has granted me a personal mountain palace at Ascension Peak. I'll need to bring a few loyal servants to tend the grounds, manage the spirit beasts, and maintain the formation."
Fang Zhetao's eyes lit up with joy. "A True Disciple? Wonderful—truly wonderful! With that, the Fang family's position is secured. Even the Emperor himself will seek our favor. Take whatever attendants you need."
"And," Fang Qingxue continued, "the Sect's Elder of Heavenly Judgment has given me several outer disciple quotas. I intend to select a few core members of the family to join me."
"Outer disciple quotas!" Fang Zhetao sucked in a sharp breath, his excitement barely contained.
Just then, a servant's voice came from outside. "Governor, Eldest Miss! The imperial decree has arrived—the Emperor has conferred upon the Eldest Miss the title of Princess!"
Fang Qingxue waved a hand. "Let the decree wait. I have more important matters to discuss."