Far down the stretch of the Blue Moon River, the Wolf Seven Fiend Smoke surged skyward in a roaring column—only to be torn apart by the violet brilliance of a blade. Lightning ripped through the black haze, shredding it into chaos.
Fang Han knew better than anyone how deadly that smoke was. A single wisp of it had been enough to breach the Pink Prince's Blood Cotton Demon Robe—if not for that, the outcome of their battle might have been very different.
Each tendril of that toxic smoke was itself a powerful spirit artifact, and the gourd that contained it—the Seven Fiend Gourd—was on another level entirely: a treasure artifact, said to have grown from the vine of a demon god. Within that gourd were countless sinister creations, the Seven Fiend Smoke merely one among them.
He remembered this from the intelligence scrolls about Wang Molin, known as the "Lesser Celestial of the Heavenly Wolf." Slaying Wang Molin was said to be worth a Yin-Yang Longevity Pill from the Yuhua Sect's elders. Fang Han had also realized that the toxic smoke he and the Crane Fairy encountered outside Yuhua Mountain had come from this very man.
And now, it was clear—Fang Qingxue was here to kill him.
That realization made Fang Han's pulse quicken. Deep in his heart, he dreaded crossing paths with her again. She was brilliant, incisive, and far too perceptive; any encounter risked exposing the secrets he could not afford to reveal.
Then her voice rang out across the river, crisp and commanding:
"Violet Lightning, transform into serpents! Yin and Yang, awaken!"
Fang Han looked up—and his breath caught.
From Fang Qingxue's blade burst two enormous serpents of pure lightning, each over thirty feet long, their scales gleaming like molten silver. They coiled and twisted in the air, tongues flickering, alive with power.
Crack!
The twin serpents circled and intertwined, forming a blazing yin-yang sigil that sliced through the black smoke, purifying it completely. The thunder's roar drowned out the world as wild howls of spectral wolves echoed—souls burning away into nothingness.
The Wolf Seven Fiend Smoke had been refined much like Hua Tiandu's Celestial Cock Yang Cord—where that one drew upon the blood and spirit of the five-colored divine rooster, this one was forged from the essence of wolves under the moon.
Yet against Fang Qingxue's divine lightning, that same smoke was like moths rushing into a flame.
Fang Han could only stare in awe. Even the flood dragon sealed in the Yellow Springs Diagram might not withstand her in battle, he thought. Not unless it regained its full power.
Then a furious voice split the air:
"Fang Qingxue! You— you're not at the Yuan Gang Stage—you've reached the Yin-Yang Realm, the fourth stage! Your mana has birthed spirit! How could you advance so fast?"
A dark sphere of smoke burst from the shattered haze and shot through the sky. Within it was a man in green robes—Wang Molin himself—clutching a small gourd that spewed waves of black mist around him as he fled. His speed was blinding, like a comet cutting across the heavens.
"Trying to run?"
Fang Qingxue's voice was calm, cold, divine.
Her white robes fluttered as she stepped into the air, standing upon the two colossal lightning serpents. With every step, they surged beneath her like living waves of thunder, carrying her forward—an image of the goddess of storms herself.
She raised her hands. Lightning spiraled between her fingers, twisting into a great bow. A violet arrow of pure thunder formed on the string.
Twang!
The shot tore through the sky like a falling meteor. Air ignited in its wake, leaving a fiery trail before slamming into Wang Molin's smoke sphere.
"Ah! The Innate Demon Bow Technique! You've fused the demonic arts of the Innate Demon Sect with immortal Daoist sorcery!"
His scream was piercing. The lightning arrow smashed through his defenses, and the protective smoke ball burst apart. Wang Molin's body plummeted, crashing into the Blue Moon River with a resounding splash.
Flames of electricity danced across his robes; his hair stood on end, his face twisted in agony. Fang Qingxue's attack was a hybrid art—a spell of pure mana shaped into bow and arrow, drawn from the demonic sect's forbidden technique Innate Demon Bow Force. Paired with her Violet Lightning Yin Thunder Blade, it was devastating beyond compare.
"Demon God's Blackwater!" Wang Molin roared desperately.
His gourd exploded, releasing a tide of black liquid that enveloped him completely. His form blurred, dissolving into the river and vanishing without a trace.
"Hmm?"
Fang Qingxue halted midair, frowning. "The Demon God's Blackwater Escape?"
A slit opened in her brow, revealing a vertical eye of crackling violet lightning. She gazed down into the river — her vision piercing water and stone. Deep beneath, she saw the black current merging with a faint green glow before both vanished into the subterranean river.
"Oh? Someone aided his escape."
She did not pursue. Instead, her gaze shifted—sharp and sudden—to the figures below. Fang Han and Princess Hongyi.
"Disciples of Yuhua Sect?" she murmured, descending gracefully to the ground.
"Greetings, Senior Sister Fang," Hongyi said quickly, bowing.
Fang Han stood silent, mind racing for the right words.
Her eyes locked onto him. "Fang Han," she said softly, "you dare come to the Hanhai Desert? Do you not know this is the frontline of the war between immortals and demons? I made you an outer disciple only a month ago—do you seek death so soon?"
Her gaze was piercing, stripping away all pretense, reading him down to his soul.
Then her tone shifted—astonished. "Your aura… it's strong. Your organs refined, your flesh sheathed in energy… You've reached the Eighth Level—Spirit Strength! In one month, from the sixth to the eighth?"
She stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "How did you cultivate so fast? Speak."
The weight of her voice pressed down like a hammer upon his heart.
"Yes, Senior Sister. It's like this—" Fang Han began carefully.
But before he could continue, her eyes flashed, and she interrupted coldly.
"Wait. What did you just call me?"