Though the seven flying swords were temptingly exquisite, Fang Han felt an instinctive discomfort toward the Demon Marshal, Ying Tianqing. He couldn't tell if it was because of the man's connection with Fang Qingxue, or simply because Ying Tianqing exuded an overwhelming sense of superiority—an aura of someone born unmatched.
He was, after all, the son of a Demon Emperor, born with a golden key in hand—far more exalted than any mortal prince or crown heir. His path to power was destined to be smooth, his cultivation blessed by fate itself.
Fang Han, on the other hand, came from nothing. He despised those born into privilege who looked down on others from their high towers, offering charity as if it were divine favor. He wanted no one's pity. No matter how powerful Ying Tianqing was, Fang Han would rather defy him than bow.
Besides, Fang Han understood Fang Qingxue's nature well. She was proud, cold, and fiercely self-reliant. If he accepted anyone's "gift," especially from a man like Ying Tianqing, she would surely lose respect for him. But if he stood firm—unyielding and unbending—she would admire him even more.
And indeed, he was right.
When Fang Qingxue rose, there was rare warmth in her gaze. A flicker of approval, even delight. Her lips curved into a faint smile—something Fang Han had never seen from her before.
"Good. Very good," she said, her voice clear and cool. "That's how a member of the Fang family should act. We need no handouts. To stand tall even before the Demon Marshal—the son of a Demon Emperor—that's true strength. You're far better than my other siblings."
"Thank you for your praise, Senior Sister," Fang Han said, bowing as he withdrew his Wolf Smoke and respectfully offered her the Seven Fiend Gourd with both hands.
That gourd was no common treasure—even true disciples rarely possessed one.
"I hadn't planned to give this to you," Fang Qingxue admitted, "but your loyalty and backbone have earned it. Keep it. With this, you'll survive the most perilous stage of cultivation—the Mortal Body Realm—and secure your place within Yuhua Sect."
The Mortal Body Realm was the hardest stage of all: no flight, no ranged power, no divine arts. Every step depended on sheer physical strength. Danger lurked everywhere, and one's only defense was the magic artifacts they carried. With the Seven Fiend Gourd, Fang Han's survival was at least assured.
He dared not reveal his other possessions—the Blood Cotton Demon Robe and Silver Snake Sword.
"Qingxue," Ying Tianqing said softly, his eyes filled with patient warmth, "you're still as reckless as ever. Even the Demon God fears my father's power, and yet you defy him openly. If anything were to happen to you…" His tone was calm, unthreatening—an ocean's patience behind every word.
Fang Qingxue met his gaze without emotion. "You and I owe each other nothing. Back in the Northern Wastes, we were both trapped by the Water Gu Heavenly Demon. We shared our arts only to survive. Our fusion of demonic and celestial power broke its illusion, but it was mutual benefit, nothing more. And though you helped me just now, you know well that Stone Dragon Child's Instant Kill Technique couldn't pierce my Thunder Cocoon. Even without you, I had my own solution."
Her voice hardened. "You walk the demonic path, I walk the immortal. We are water and fire—irreconcilable. With another war between our worlds looming, it would be better if we didn't cross paths again. The consequences could be… unfortunate."
"The so-called war between Immortals and Demons means nothing to me," Ying Tianqing replied, shaking his head lightly. "Why must there be divisions? We all seek the same thing—immortality and transcendence. What's wrong with that? But since you're unharmed, I'll take my leave."
He sighed as if to depart, then paused. His eyes flicked to Fang Han, amusement gleaming faintly. "Fang Han, is it? I'll remember you. You've got spirit—too much of it for your strength. Hard bones in a weak body; that's a dangerous combination. No one has ever defied me and walked away unscathed. But for Qingxue's sake, I'll spare you this once. Don't test me again."
With that, he turned into a beam of white light and vanished into the sky.
"You—" Fang Han began, his brow tightening, but Fang Qingxue raised a hand to stop him.
"The Demon Marshal has his pride," she said quietly. "You're not strong enough to challenge him yet. If he chose to strike, even I couldn't protect you. Wait until you have true power—then speak your mind."
"Understood." Fang Han licked his lips, swallowing his frustration.
"You've already earned the right to the inner disciple assessment," Fang Qingxue continued. "Outer disciples can be punished or even slain with little consequence, but harming an inner disciple is another matter. Only with that status will you truly have protection."
She seemed unusually patient, her tone softer than ever before.
"But I killed the Asura," Fang Han said hesitantly. "There's no proof."
"No problem," Fang Qingxue replied, pulling out a long, glossy black bone spike. "I took this from its body. It's the core of its being. If it's missing, the creature is either dead—or has evolved into a Great Asura. Take it to the inner courtyard's examiners. They'll know what it means."
She tossed it to him. The spike was three feet long and incredibly heavy—Fang Han needed both hands to hold it steady, its weight easily over a hundred pounds. He remembered seeing it on the Asura's back during their battle but hadn't realized its importance.
"And you, Senior Sister—you're returning too?" he asked.
"Of course," Fang Qingxue said. "Jin Shitai and Stone Dragon Child each lost an arm to the Demon Marshal. They'll surely run back crying for help, begging the elders for Sun-Moon Bone Regeneration Pills to reattach them. Jin Shitai's father is a high-ranking elder—he'll be furious. I must report everything to the Sect Master myself, including the Demon God's reappearance."
"They can reattach severed arms?" Fang Han shuddered.
"Yes, though it takes immense power and resources. And even then, the arm won't perfectly fuse with the body—it'll take years of cultivation to recover, wasting precious time." She waved her hand. "Enough. Let's return to Yuhua Sect."
Two serpents of purple lightning burst forth at her command. Fang Han climbed onto one, and with a thunderous crack, they soared through the clouds.
Before long, the majestic peaks of Yuhua Mountain appeared ahead.
Upon returning, Fang Qingxue dismissed her spell and flew directly toward the floating palace at the heart of the sect—the Celestial Feather Palace, where the elders and Sect Master resided. Ordinary disciples, even true ones, could not enter without summons.
Fang Han, naturally, did not follow. Instead, he made his way to the Inner Immortal Courtyard—where candidates for the inner discipleship awaited their fate.