Han’s soul soared skyward, diving back into the valley.


    Behind him, the corner where he’d struck was a mess—yet spotless. No traces, not even ash remained.


    Two Day Roamer cultivators, powerless to resist, had returned to the netherworld in an instant.


    High above, the Huang family’s Saint-tier powerhouse caught the chaos below. Rage and shock boiled over as he roared, “Demon scum! The Huangs will hunt you down!”


    Boom!


    Lu Qingmo slapped him mid-sentence, sending him careening sideways.


    Han ignored the threat. Hunt demons? What’s that got to do with me? Come at me, then!


    Re-entering the valley, the Huang clansmen gaped in alarm. Seeing no pursuers on his tail, terror sank in.


    Where was their elder? Two towering figures—gone in a blink?


    “Stay put, and I’ll spare you,” Han warned, scanning the crowd.


    Some didn’t listen. One rallied the others to attack—only to get swatted dead by Han, no fancy tricks needed.


    His icy gaze swept over them, silencing every whisper. Satisfied, he plunged into the valley’s lake.


    These folks had a job: report back to the Huangs, spilling today’s events and pinning the “demon” as the culprit. Without them, how would the truth of a demon’s rampage in Three Yin Valley come out?


    Han wouldn’t let the Huangs stay in the dark—they had to know!


    He’d lured the Day Roamers out earlier to keep his arts under wraps. He’d be active in Tianyue County later—flashing those moves risked recognition. Tai Bai Han was a beacon of justice, untouchable by demon suspicions. Taking them outside for a clean kill left his disguise airtight.


    Perfect cover.


    Sinking deep, he reached the lakebed’s stone slab and released An Lang.


    “Whoa, that was quick!” An Lang floated around, surprised.


    Han had briefed her on the Three Yin Valley plan en route.


    Before he could reply, the seven-pointed star mark on his hand flared, detaching and hovering midair. The same mark on An Lang’s brow followed suit. The two fused, blazing bright.


    Crack!


    The slab—etched with “From azure heights to yellow springs”—shattered. The fracture spread, splitting the surrounding stones. The entire lakebed fissured.


    Boom!


    A corner collapsed, rocks tumbling into a newly revealed cave. A light barrier sealed it, keeping lake water at bay—a separate realm beneath.


    “That’s gotta be it,” Han said.


    “Master, hold up—let me scout ahead,” An Lang offered, sounding brave but inching back.


    Han rolled his eyes. Ghostly nonsense—I’d be a fool to buy that.


    Ignoring her, he leapt in.


    Crossing the barrier, a rush of openness hit him. Despite being under the lake, the space glowed brightly, air crisp and natural—no dank gloom.


    An Lang drifted down, sticking close, one hand clutching his sleeve.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    “What’re you doing?”


    “I’m scared of ghosts.”


    “…”


    That’s rich, coming from you.


    “Ever think I might be scared of ghosts too?”


    “Nah, Master—you’re fearless,” she said, smug as if she’d cracked a code. “I’m a ghost. If you were scared, why hang with me?”


    Can’t argue with that.


    “Master, looks like there’s nothing here,” An Lang noted.


    She was right—the space was small, maybe two hundred square meters by Han’s rough guess. Smooth stone floor, a light canopy overhead illuminating it—bare except for a stone platform at the center.


    They approached. On it sat a few items, the standout being a half-meter-tall statue.


    The statue’s face lacked features, clad in black finery, exuding presence. Han fixated on it, ignoring the rest for now.


    “Senior Three Yin Mountain God,” he called out.


    “Ha, just as I thought,” a laugh echoed from the statue.


    “To think I’d meet a yin-yang-eyed cultivator after death.”


    A figure stepped out, matching the statue’s garb, now with a face—a refined young man, eyes deep and light-swallowing, hinting at a ghostly abyss.


    He studied Han’s eyes, nodding slightly. “Yin-yang eyes—so familiar.”


    His gaze shifted to An Lang cowering behind. Surprise flickered. “A fine spirit ghost—yin and yang entwined, neither fully one nor the other. Boundless potential.”


    “Sorry for disturbing your rest, Senior,” Han said.


    “I kept a low profile in life. It’s been centuries since I passed—didn’t expect anyone to still know me,” the god replied, smiling.


    “No disturbance here. I’m long gone—just a soul imprint left behind.”


    Not even a fragment or remnant—just a mark.


    “I heard of you from a Xuandu Temple elder.”


    “Xuandu… ah, Master Qingyang,” he mused.


    Master Qingyang—the Xuandu elder who’d met him here. Temple records praised the god’s gentle nature despite his ghostly origin, free of malice. A master alchemist with a unique style, he’d bonded with Qingyang over days of talk, later hosting him often.


    Mentioning Xuandu was a calculated nod to that rapport—no beef, no risk.


    “The two fighting out there—one’s a skilled cultivator. Xuandu folk, I presume?” the god asked.


    “Yep.”


    Looking at Han, he said, “With yin-yang eyes and your presence here, we’re fated. You hit Day Roamer young—not top-tier talent, but your soul’s robust, your foundation solid. Decent. Keep grinding, and there’s hope.”


    “…”


    First time since debuting Han’s talent got a “meh” review. Feels… fresh.


    The god didn’t know his journey—probably pegged him as starting at twelve. At twenty-two, early Day Roamer wasn’t dazzling.


    “We’re fated. Before passing, I left some things. Handing them to you? Sure,” the god said briskly, cutting to the chase—no wistful nostalgia rambles.


    His imprint wouldn’t last long anyway.


    “You’ve got yin-yang eyes too, Senior?” Han asked.


    “Yep,” he nodded. “Born with them—saw what others couldn’t since I was a kid. Tormented me. Bet you felt it too before cultivating.”


    Nope, not me.


    “At twenty-five, a fierce ghost got me—turned me into one. Before passing, I planned to take everything to the netherworld. Changed my mind, left a setup only yin-yang eyes could crack.”


    “This valley’s remote, buried under a lake—I figured it’d stay hidden forever,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “The world’s wilder than I can predict.”


    He’d been right—by logic, no one should’ve found it. Then came Han, the wildcard.


    “How long since I passed?”


    “About three centuries.”


    “Long haul. Bet the world’s unrecognizable now.”


    His form flickered, thinning out. He sighed. “Gone’s gone—this imprint’s fading fast. Your names?”


    “Han.”


    “An Lang.”


    “I lucked into Yin God, claimed this mountain’s title. But even a god’s lifespan couldn’t push me further—sat down and passed when time ran out,” he said.


    “Don’t expect much from my leftovers. Solo act—no big sect or clan backing me. Even this statue? Villagers from Three Yin Village carved it—basic stuff.”


    Three Yin Village—long gone now, swallowed by three hundred years.


    “At life’s end, I burned most of my hoard refining a pill to glimpse the Yellow Springs, breach the netherworld, extend my divine life,” he continued.


    Han wasn’t shocked. A top-tier alchemist facing mortality and a bottleneck? Firing up the furnace was instinct.


    Master skills, heaps of resources—can’t just sit and die, right?


    Clearly, the god’s all-in gamble flopped.


    “Limited by cultivation and materials, that pill never fully formed,” he said calmly, no regret in his tone—past it now.


    “But my theorized Yellow Springs Pill wasn’t a total bust. At the last second, I forged a prototype. It’s one of my legacies. Find an alchemist better than me, track down the missing key herb, and you might get a world-class pill—helping a Yin God step into the Yellow Springs.”


    His face lit up, as if picturing its completion.


    “If you take my stuff, I’d like you to try finishing that pill—make up for my old regret.”


    “No worries, Senior,” Han vowed solemnly. “If I get that prototype, I’ll do everything to complete it.”


    No hesitation—three centuries dead, any finished pill was his to enjoy. Refining for himself? Easy yes.


    The god nodded. “Beyond the prototype, I used up too much—leftovers are slim. I wasn’t just an alchemist—unlike sect-backed folks, I grew my own herbs. This valley was my garden. Drained it dry back then, but I kept seeds. Figured they’d rot without care, so I stashed them.”


    “Not much use to you, though.”


    Herbs took years to mature—great for sects or heirs, but for the finder? Planting for someone else’s shade.


    Han fought to keep his grin in check, barely holding it together.