The ten flying yakshas—monstrous, winged demons—lay sprawled across the sand, their once-blazing auras now dimmed. Bound by the glowing chains of the Heavenly Cock Solar Rope, their hearts pierced by flying swords, they bled black ichor into the ground. Though unconscious, each still radiated a feral vitality, a reminder that they were not yet dead.
"We can't keep this artifact," Fang Han said at once, eyes narrowing at the rope coiled like a living serpent.
Even within a great sect like Yuhua Gate, a treasure of this level—a true spiritual weapon—was exceedingly rare. The loss of one would not go unnoticed; the elders would scour the heavens and earth to recover it.
"The Heavenly Cock Solar Rope was forged by Elder Zhiyang Pureheart," Princess Hong Yi explained. "He later gifted it to Hua Tiandu, the first true disciple of Tiandu Peak—Yuhua Gate's most promising prodigy, likely the next to ascend into the Longevity Realm. Senior Sister Mo must have borrowed it from him. Tiandu Peak stands at the top of our sect's hierarchy, while Sister Fang's Purple Lightning Peak sits near the bottom. But…"
Her tone shifted, sharp as a blade.
"But what?" Fang Han asked, catching the edge in her voice.
"But Fang Qingxue is not simple," Hong Yi continued softly. "She's been exchanging cultivation techniques with none other than Ying Tianqing, son of the demonic progenitor, the Innate Demon Emperor. Their fusion of immortal and demonic arts makes her advancement terrifyingly fast. If we deliver the Heavenly Cock Solar Rope to her, she'll know how to handle it—and we'll earn her favor."
She gazed upward, as if tracing the invisible web of power and intrigue that bound their sect. Yuhua Gate's internal politics were more treacherous than the imperial court; here, strength determined everything.
"Besides," she said after a moment, "if we don't take the artifact, what then? Leave it lying here? Or use it to save Mo Shijie? The moment she wakes, she'll ask how we cured the poison, where the swords went, how the Red Powder Prince died. What will you say then?"
Her reasoning hit hard. Fang Han frowned. Each option was a trap.
"And what about Liu Kang?" he asked finally. "If we save him, that's another complication."
"Forget him," Hong Yi said after a pause. "He's shrewd. He tried to win you over only to use you later. He's not like us—we've saved each other's lives. If he learns we took the swords and the Heavenly Cock Solar Rope, he'll spread word of it in a heartbeat. Worse, Yuan Jiankong escaped; he'll already be calling for help."
She glanced at Liu Kang's unconscious form, hesitated, then shook her head.
"It's not right to leave him," Fang Han murmured. "For now, we're still allies."
He walked over, bit his finger, and let a single drop of blood fall into Liu Kang's mouth. Channeling a True Water Talisman, he guided it down the man's throat.
Moments later, Liu Kang convulsed, black fumes seeping from his pores before the poison dissipated into the wind. He gasped, eyes flying open, and staggered to his feet.
"Fang Han, Hong Yi—how are you both awake? You were struck by the Six Desires Thunder Poison! Fang Han… your blood cured it? What did you take—Yin-Yang Longevity Pills?"
He had already grasped the situation. His gaze swept over the fallen bodies, the Red Powder Prince's corpse, the scattered swords. His shock flickered for an instant before disappearing behind a calm façade.
Fang Han recounted what had happened—how the Red Powder Prince and Mo Shijie had destroyed each other, and how he had used a hidden treasure to finish the fight and collect their weapons. As for the origin of his blood's power, he deftly sidestepped the question.
"Seven flying swords," Liu Kang muttered in awe. "And that Blood Cotton Demon Robe—such spoils are unheard of…"
Then his tone shifted, casual yet greedy. "Fang Han, why not share them? The Silver Serpent Sword and that demon robe, perhaps? You already have your Spirit Wind Sword and the artifact Senior Sister Fang gave you to collect weapons. Too many treasures divide focus—hard to master them all."
Fang Han's eyes darkened. He dares to ask for the best pieces?
Hong Yi's voice cut in, cool and sharp. "Liu Kang, isn't that a bit much? These items must be reported to the sect. If they discover we kept them—"
"Ha," Liu Kang interrupted with a grin. "And if we hand them in, do you think we'll see them again? The inner and true disciples will snatch them up before the elders finish counting. Fang Han just got lucky. If I don't claim my share now, when will I?"
Inwardly, his thoughts were already racing. Seven swords, a spirit robe—too precious to let go. Fang Han owes me, and this is the only moment to strike. Once they return to the sect, I'll never see such a chance again. Titles mean nothing—these artifacts are real power.
He was still speaking when a silver streak flashed through the air.
Psshhk!
The blade cleaved through his throat before he even realized it. His body jerked, blood spraying across the sand as his hands clawed futilely at the ground.
"You…" he choked, eyes wide in disbelief, before collapsing, lifeless.
Princess Hong Yi sighed, lowering her sword, her expression cold but regretful. "I told you we shouldn't have saved him. He was only going to turn on us."
Her strike had been clean, silent, and merciless—the mark of a true assassin.