What is the Immortal Realm?
In the oldest, most distant myths, the Immortal Realm is the origin point of all existence—the source from which the billions of worlds in the heavens once sprouted. It stands at the highest, most unreachable height, an unfathomable dimension known to none. To enter the Immortal Realm is to step into the Dao itself—the elusive, pervasive Law that touches every living thing.
Within that realm lies the Path of Eternal Life.
A state in which all time and space become everlasting and free.
To obtain the Dao is to become immortal.
Cultivators devote their lives to this pursuit. Ten stages of the physical body, ten of divine abilities, ten of longevity—the endless grinding of realms, the battles through death and disaster, all for one goal:
Become an immortal. Enter the Immortal Realm. Step into that primal nexus of existence; achieve what all beings revere yet can never hope to grasp.
The qi of the Immortal Realm is the very nourishment that masters of the Longevity Realm rely upon to survive. The first step into Longevity is simple to describe, impossible to accomplish: extend one's spirit toward the location of the Immortal Realm, pierce through the unseen door, and draw its qi into oneself. Only then can one gain undying life, comprehend the laws of time and space, and master the supreme arts.
And Fang Han… wanted to leap directly to that step.
If he succeeded, he would become the first in all history to reach a Longevity-level spiritual state while still at the Fifth Layer of the Divine Ability Realm—the Heavenly Human Realm.
No one could imagine what such a feat would mean. Perhaps—just perhaps—it would let his cultivation advance at a speed defying all common sense, allowing him to reach the Longevity Realm within ten years.
He forced down the excitement burning in his chest. Steadying his mind until it became as calm and transparent as crystal, he let his spirit extend along the roots of the World Tree, sinking into the infinite void. This was his first attempt to sense the mysteries of the void directly with his spirit.
Within the void raged countless storms of time and space. Anyone below the Longevity Realm who attempted to sense them risked immediate destruction—body and soul shredded into dust, permanently crippled. But now Fang Han was protected by the roots of the World Tree. With that shield, and a methodical approach… he might survive.
Except, almost immediately, he realized something had gone wrong.
The moment his spirit seeped into the layers of space-time—
BOOM!
A dizzying upheaval swallowed him. He felt the world invert; sun and moon vanished, his entire consciousness drowned in the boundless torrent of time-space. His soul felt torn free of his body, flung alone into an endless ocean where no path led home.
Around "Fang Han," endless storms howled, stretching forever. These were time-space tempests—storms so fierce that even first- or second-stage Longevity experts who lacked mastery over spatial law would be shredded to nothing. Only the thin shell of pale-green light around him, the protection of the World Tree's roots, kept him from being obliterated.
But the path back had vanished.
A deadly danger—if he couldn't return, his spirit would be lost forever.
"Steady… steady! As long as I command the World Tree, it will pull me back."
Fang Han forcibly calmed his consciousness. A fierce, unshakable will surged through him, and he pushed forward.
Soon, he was running.
Running through the storms of time and space.
Running with only his soul, utterly unafraid of being lost.
Suddenly, the storm ahead thickened, wild and destructive. The protective glow trembled, close to shattering. A sharp, stabbing pain tore through Fang Han's spirit—his soul was being wounded, shredded bit by bit.
Knowing the danger had reached its peak, Fang Han snapped his consciousness tight. His spirit condensed into a gleaming, radiant core—so concentrated it seemed ready to ignite, flickering with the beginnings of flame.
In that moment, his entire soul cut through the endless distances of time-space and faintly perceived a distant origin point—vague, misted, yet unmistakably real.
The Fire of the Spirit.
A power normally accessible only upon reaching the Sixth Layer of the Divine Ability Realm, the Unity Stage—when one's true inner flame awakens, capable of burning divine abilities into talismans and ultimately forging the Golden Core.
Spirit-fire could also burn one's own power, unleashing impossible strength at the cost of cultivation.
Unity Stage used spirit-fire to risk their lives.
Golden Core experts could even self-detonate their cores.
But the Heavenly Human Realm… had no such killing move.
And yet Fang Han, at the Fifth Layer, had nearly ignited his spirit-fire—and caught a glimpse of that distant origin.
Could that be… the Immortal Realm?
He braced himself and prepared to charge toward it.
But before he could—
The storms exploded.
A crushing wave ripped through him.
CRACK!
The green shell around him shattered like an eggshell. His soul was smashed apart instantly.
—
PFFT!
Outside, Fang Han coughed a mouthful of blood. His eyes snapped open, his face pale and drained.
"What a pity," he whispered weakly. "If my spirit were just a little stronger… if the World Tree had gathered a few more fragments… I might have truly glimpsed the Immortal Realm…"
"Fang Han, the Immortal Realm cannot be sensed that easily," Yan said gravely. "Even ten times your current power wouldn't be enough to touch the Immortal Gate. Never attempt something that dangerous again—you could have died outright."
"It was deadly… but I still learned much. And I brought back a trace of time-space storm energy." Fang Han grinned crookedly. At his fingertip, a thin strand of pitch-black light danced like a vibrating blade-string. "Perfect for cultivating the Great Severing Art."
The Great Severing Art required the power of space—a nearly impossible requirement for divine-ability cultivators. Fang Han had only managed to scrape together some fragments during the Taiyuan Immortal Mansion battle, when Feng Baiyu shook the entire palace enough to disrupt space.
This technique was a supreme demonic art—fully mastered, a mere sweep of the hand could slice open the surrounding void, surpassing any flying sword. Even flawless treasure-grade blades would be split. Even the famed Blood-Soul Sword couldn't withstand it.
Fang Han was nowhere near full mastery—he couldn't yet summon spatial lightning—but he now had the conditions to advance.
"I've decided—if I'm going to cultivate, I'll go all out. For the next ten days, I'll use my spirit to sense the Immortal Realm every day! I'll refine the Great Severing Art! Comprehend the mysteries of space!"
He drew in vast quantities of spiritual essence from the World Tree, repairing his battered mind and restoring his energy, then sank into a deep meditative state.
One day passed.
Three days.
Ten days…
Each day Fang Han danced on the edge of annihilation, sharpening his spirit to a new razor edge. The Great Severing Art began to stir with true progress. Meanwhile, Yan focused entirely on condensing Yuan Infant Pills.
Every day, the Immortal Realm's essence allowed him to forge 36,721 pills.
Not one less.
Across ten days, he produced more than 367,000 pills—stored neatly within the Yellow Springs Diagram. Enough to rival the vaults of a mid-sized cultivation sect.
One man, equivalent to an entire sect.
Most sects outside the top ten orthodoxies, seven demonic lines, and five monster clans had fewer pills in total than Fang Han now possessed.
On the tenth day, Fang Han rose. His aura had changed again—deeper, sharper. In the depths of his pupils flickered a fierce spiritual power, as if ready to ignite at any moment.
His cultivation hadn't advanced, but his insight, temperament, and presence had transformed dramatically.
"It's time for the exchange. Let's go."
With a shift of the Sea Mirage Technique, he returned to his disguised form and flew toward Linglong Tower.
"You truly keep your word. Right on time," Piaoyun said with obvious relief as he arrived. "Did you really prepare all three hundred thousand Yuan Infant Pills? I've secured sixty million White Sun Pills, but even with all our elders agreeing, it took extraordinary effort."
Fang Han waved his sleeve.
A cascade of crystalline pills poured out—raining like beads, piling into a small mountain on the floor. Piaoyun stared, stunned.
"Excellent… excellent!"
A woman in green stepped out—radiating the pressure of a Daoist Golden Core. Fang Han blurted, "A Golden Core master!"
"I am Lianyun, often called Fairy Lianyun," she said, studying him. She gestured for Piaoyun to hand over several crystal cards. "Which sect does dao-friend hail from?"
Fang Han inspected the cards—valid for withdrawal at Heaven's Way Pavilion, Nine Cauldron Hall, or the Six Paths Alliance. Not a grain short.
Satisfied, he pocketed them. "No issues, I assume? My pills are of higher purity than Taiyi Gate's. At twice the market rate, you're getting a bargain."
Piaoyun examined a pill, her excitement plain. But Lianyun's expression grew solemn.
"You refined these yourself?"
"Of course. But next time, I won't exchange for White Sun Pills. If Linglong Paradise has rare treasures—Pure Yang artifacts, Nine Yang Holy Water—I'd prefer those."
"So dao-friend seeks Pure Yang tools? Then allow me to share fresh news." A glint flashed in Lianyun's eyes. "At the upcoming Heaven's Way Pavilion Treasure Auction, a flawless Pure Yang treasure will be put up for sale—as well as Nine Yang Holy Water."
"What? A flawless Pure Yang treasure!?"
Fang Han and Yan exclaimed simultaneously.