The true disciples of Yuhua Sect numbered one hundred and eight, each presiding over their own mountain — lush with divine energy, veiled in clouds, and steeped in spiritual resonance. They governed the sect's affairs, occasionally descending from their peaks to instruct the inner and outer disciples, cultivating followers and trusted aides from among them.
The true disciples wielded immense power — both in status and strength.
Yet even among them, there was a hierarchy. Of all one hundred and eight, one name stood above most: Hua Tiandu. Within the Daoist world, he was known as Master Tiandu, a title reserved for the few whose mastery placed them equal with the great elders of the Ten Immortal Sects.
He was said to be the one most likely to break through the Tenth Stage of Divine Ability and step into the realm of Eternal Life — a feat only legends could achieve.
Boundless might, limitless Dao arts.
The Celestial Cock Yang Cord had once been his personal treasure, forged before he attained his current power. Now, having far surpassed its use, he had lent it to Senior Sister Mo, so that she could slay the demonic sect's heretics and earn the sect's Yin-Yang Longevity Pill — a step toward becoming a true disciple under his wing.
"I sensed the Celestial Cock Yang Cord suddenly falter, severing its link with my mind," Hua Tiandu said coldly, his voice deep and calm as winter frost. "That can only mean one thing — someone has taken it."
Ignoring Yuan Jiankong's anxious words, Hua Tiandu's expression darkened. The air froze solid; hoarfrost crept across the ground, thickening into a crystalline shell.
In an instant, Senior Sister Mo, the inner disciples, and even Prince Bao of the Great Virtue Dynasty — along with Liu Kang — were all encased in glacial ice. Each one stood rigid in their frozen tomb, life and soul suspended within.
Crack… crack… crack…
Yuan Jiankong's teeth chattered as frigid light rippled over his body. Even with a spirit-grade robe and the cultivation of the Divine Transformation Realm, he felt his limbs stiffen, his blood threatening to freeze.
To be chilled so deeply by a mere flick of Hua Tiandu's sleeve — it was a measure of the man's terrifying power.
"Hua Senior Brother's Heaven-Frost Mysterious Energy... even gods and ghosts would shudder before it," Yuan Jiankong thought in awe. "If that strike had hit me directly, ten spirit robes wouldn't save me. I'd shatter into powder."
The Heaven-Frost Mysterious Energy was one of Yuhua Sect's Eight Great Divine Arts — a technique that could freeze rivers and mountains, extinguish life itself. Yet Hua Tiandu had used it not to kill, but to preserve — sealing his disciples' lives within the ice, their essence suspended perfectly. Such finesse was beyond mastery; it was art.
"Senior Brother Hua," Yuan Jiankong said cautiously, "our flying swords are gone, and the Pink Prince has vanished. It must be him who stole the artifacts! My Silver Serpent Sword was corrupted by Six Desires Yin Lightning — please, I beg you to avenge this!"
Hua Tiandu's lips curved in a faint, cold smile. "You still cling to your sword? I've told you before — relying on artifacts only dulls the edge of true cultivation. Losing it may be your blessing. Without such crutches, perhaps you'll step into the realm of divine power."
"But the Celestial Cock Yang Cord," he continued, "is no ordinary treasure. To erase my spiritual mark in an instant — that's not something the Pink Prince could ever achieve. Not even ten of him could. No… this reeks of the Demon Sect's elders. I must return and report to the Grand Elders and the Sect Patriarch himself. You will come with me, Yuan Jiankong. I'll see you're given a new sword."
As he spoke, Hua Tiandu extended his hand. From the heavens descended a vast white cloud, several acres wide. It lifted the frozen disciples into the air, carrying them aloft. Then Hua Tiandu stepped upon it — and the cloud soared skyward.
This was no artifact — it was pure divine power, condensed from gathered cloud essence, shaped into a spell array by his will.
The Great Art of Cloud Riding — a feat that transcended mere flight.
Yuan Jiankong followed below, gliding on his spirit robe's light. He dared not ascend too high; beyond the lower winds, the sky's pressure would tear his protection apart and send him plummeting to his death.
Even Fang Han, riding his celestial crane, could not breach the clouds. He nestled within its feathers, hidden from sight.
Then came the voice of Princess Hongyi beside him, sharp with suspicion.
"Fang Han — how did you make the Pink Prince's body vanish into thin air? What kind of treasure are you carrying? Even a Treasure Artifact couldn't open a private void! Unless…" Her eyes widened. "Unless it's a Dao Artifact! Only a Dao Artifact can contain a world of its own — a tiny gourd that holds a universe!"
They had landed atop a sand dune, her gaze drilling into him.
Her shock was justified. When Fang Han had collected the corpse, it had vanished utterly — leaving no trace. Only a Dao Artifact could do that.
A Dao Artifact — the stuff of myth.
Even Yuhua Sect, vast as it was and older than many empires combined, possessed only a handful.
Fang Han's tone was calm but firm. "The less you know about my secrets, the safer you'll be, Princess. Some truths are best left buried. As for the True Blue Sword, I've purged the poison soul and Senior Sister Mo's blood imprint. It's clean. You can bind it now."
He drew a wisp of mist from the Yellow Springs Diagram, handing her the gleaming sword.
Hongyi nodded, slicing her fingertip. A drop of blood fell onto the blade — instantly, sword and soul became one.
Purified by the Yellow Springs' water, the sword was a blank slate once more, awaiting its new master.
"Good," she said, satisfaction glinting in her eyes. "We've killed Liu Kang and taken the flying swords — that secret must never leave this desert. When we return, we'll say we barely escaped with our lives. No one will question two low-ranking outer disciples."
She sheathed the sword. "Now — let's head for Blue Moon City. Keep your artifacts hidden. That blood cotton robe of yours draws too much attention."
"Agreed." Fang Han stripped off the blood-red robe and stowed it in the Yellow Springs Diagram. "We'll travel on foot. The robe can't fly high, and the crane's too visible."
They ran swiftly across the sands, two shadows slicing through the golden dunes toward the heart of the desert.
For three days they traveled — through blistering heat by day and freezing winds by night — until at last a ribbon of blue appeared on the horizon: a river winding through oases under a sapphire sky.
The Blue Moon River.
"Follow it downstream and we'll reach Blue Moon Kingdom," Hongyi said. "But stay alert — desert bandits and demonic raiders have surrounded the capital. Their camps are all along this river."
Her warning had barely left her lips when, far ahead, a column of black smoke shot into the sky — thick as a mountain, writhing like a living beast.
"The Wolf Seven Fiend Smoke!" Fang Han hissed, dropping flat to the ground, pulling Hongyi with him.
A moment later, a flash of violet lightning split the sky — slicing the smoke in half like a blade of divine wrath.
"The Violet Lightning Yin Thunder Blade…" Fang Han's heart leapt.
"It's Fang Qingxue!"