Fang Han's mind rippled like a lake struck by lightning.
"You're the spirit of the Jiao Suppressing Yellow Springs Diagram?" he asked, his consciousness linking with the massive dragon coiled within the painting. The moment their thoughts connected, a majestic pressure washed over him—vast, endless, like the surge of a continental river.
It wasn't mere strength. It was sovereignty.
The dragon's aura felt like the very lifeblood of a dynasty—the pulse of mountains and rivers, the breath of an empire. Fang Han almost couldn't breathe beneath its immensity.
"My essence is a dynasty's dragon vein," the dragon's voice rumbled, deep as thunder in the abyss. "Of course I'm strong. But I am wounded, my soul nearly destroyed. What you see now is only a shred of what I once was. If you can feed me 3,636 treasures as pure as the one I devoured today, I'll restore myself—and you will no longer need to crawl in the shadows. You shall inherit the Yellow Springs Emperor's legacy. Become a Demon Emperor yourself. Rule heaven and earth."
Fang Han frowned. "You're that strong—what could possibly wound you?"
The dragon's laughter rolled like a storm. "Celestials. True immortals who command boundless power! They sought the Gate of Eternal Life. To open it is to become undying—to outlast suns and moons, to remain when heaven and earth decay. Hahahahaha! But such matters are far beyond you for now…"
"'Gate of Eternal Life'...?" Fang Han muttered. "Outlast heaven and earth? That's madness. This dragon must have lost its mind."
The voice deepened. "Fang Han… You doubt? You're not tempted by the idea of becoming a Demon Emperor?"
"Becoming one isn't that simple," Fang Han said calmly. "No one ascends just by holding a treasure. Even in the Feathered Gate, there are countless artifacts—but how many reach the level of a true sovereign? A treasure can only assist. Real power comes from one's own hands, one's own steps."
His voice was steady, his conviction unshaken.
The dragon was silent for a while, then laughed, low and approving. "You understand. The path of cultivation is endless. Only perseverance and will bring true mastery. Good… very good. Then we shall form a pact. For every pure yang treasure you feed me, I'll teach you one supreme art of the Yellow Springs Sect. Step by step, you'll walk the road toward the throne of a Demon Emperor."
Fang Han gave a dry smile. "A fair trade. But where am I supposed to find more treasures like the Heavenly Rooster's Sun Binding Rope? And because you swallowed it, I'll have the entire Feathered Gate after me. That's a death sentence—for both of us."
"Hmm… troublesome indeed," the dragon mused. "I'm too weak to fight now. I can only conceal myself within you. Fortunately, your blood has merged with the Nine Apertures Golden Elixir—you carry the aura of the Yellow Springs Emperor himself. You're the perfect vessel for me to hide in. As for storage, the Yellow Springs River within the diagram is a self-contained pocket world—a small cave heaven. You may use it to keep anything safe, beyond all detection."
"Ah, so that's the benefit…" Fang Han murmured. He understood now. The arrangement was simple: he would hunt treasures; the dragon would train him in return. And he had gained a hidden domain to store and conceal whatever he wished.
The dragon's voice rumbled again. "Also, the ten Flying Yasha you drew in with the rope are now in the river. I'll refine them slowly into Asura soldiers. The Yellow Springs River is no ordinary water—it tempers demonic power perfectly. When you cultivate your body, you may even bathe in it to strengthen your flesh. Once the Asuras awaken, even a Feathered Gate elder won't be able to kill you easily. But now—I must digest the pure yang energy and stabilize my spirit. Wait… no! Someone's coming. Fast—and strong. You must leave, at once!"
The dragon's voice faded back into silence.
"Fang Han! Fang Han!"
Red Yi Junzhu's call snapped him back.
"Someone's approaching," he said immediately. "We leave—now. Take the Red Dust Prince's body!"
Without further explanation, he slipped into motion. With a wave of his hand, a crimson robe wrapped around him—the Blood Cotton Demon Garment. His aura surged. He knelt beside the fallen Red Dust Prince, and a ripple of yellow light spiraled from his palm—a vortex of flowing river-water that swallowed the corpse whole.
The prince's body vanished. In the river within the Yellow Springs Diagram, it sank like a stone into the current.
Now in full control of the artifact, Fang Han could command its power with a thought. The Yellow Springs' water was his bridge—an extension of his will.
"Come!" he said.
A streak of pink light lifted them both into the air, gliding low over the dunes. The two figures vanished into the endless desert night.
Moments later, two shadows descended from the sky.
One was Original Sword Sky—his proud arrogance gone, his posture bowed like a servant's. His fine Golden Cloud Robe was torn and bloodstained. Behind him floated a calm, almost ethereal figure—his expression mild, his movements like a breeze over still water.
No spirit weapon hummed around him. No light flared from his robes. He flew by sheer will alone.
"Senior Brother Hua, we arrived a moment too late," Original Sword Sky said softly, eyes downcast.
The man's gaze swept over the battlefield, serene and unreadable.
This was Hua Tiandu, first true disciple of Heaven's Capital Peak—master of the Heavenly Rooster's Sun Binding Rope.