Han and An Lang emerged from the chamber beneath the lakebed into a scene of stark clarity.


    The murky red hue that once stained the lake’s depths had vanished—its source energy now nestled within An Lang.


    From this day forward, the valley would cease to be a haven for ghosts. With the Three Yin Mountain God’s legacy claimed and the lake’s spectral power gone, Three Yin Valley would fade into ordinariness—no longer a place of mystique. A stray ghost might pop up now and then, but that was trivial.


    “Head into the ghost abode,” Han instructed An Lang.


    She complied eagerly. Why trek when you could lounge in bed and still get around? Perfect.


    As Han’s soul breached the lake’s surface, a barrage of attacks greeted him.


    Whoosh!


    Golden-red flames erupted, melting and vaporizing the onslaught. A majestic divine bird unfurled its wings—noble, imposing, its presence overwhelming.


    Phoenix fire!


    The fiery phoenix mimicked a spitting motion, sending streaks of flame raining down on the ambushers ringing the lake. Anyone touched by the blaze screamed—briefly—before the unbearable heat snuffed out their lives in an instant.


    Hovering midair, Han surveyed the scene below.


    He’d anticipated an ambush upon surfacing. The sky-high battle still raged—those below wouldn’t scatter yet.


    Just low-tier cultivators and martial artists—below Day Roamer and Bone Refinement. Sneak attacks or not, they weren’t a blip on his radar. No threat.


    Phoenix fire—a trick he’d never shown publicly—was safe to unleash. It’d eventually merge with his Yang Earth Fire, so using it now carried zero risk of exposure. Plus, a demon wielding demon flames? Totally on-brand.


    It cemented his cover perfectly.


    Some Huang clansmen still lingered in the valley—those he’d spared earlier. The ambushers had been the stronger ones.


    He had no intent to kill these survivors—they’d carry the tale back to the Huangs.


    His soul ascended, swiftly sweeping the battlefield. He zeroed in on the two fallen Day Roamers’ bodies, snagging their spatial pouches. He even hunted for the Saint-tier’s body—nothing. Likely not in the valley.


    Search fruitless, Han rocketed out of Three Yin Valley. The aerial clash hadn’t wrapped up.


    “All set—let’s roll!” he shouted to Lu Qingmo.


    “Beast! You slaughter our elder, steal our treasure, and think you can flee?” the Huang Saint’s voice thundered like a divine decree.


    Han and Lu Qingmo had stormed in—one pinning him, the other diving into the valley for a stretch before resurfacing. Their goal was obvious to the Saint without a second thought: the Three Yin Mountain God’s legacy.


    The Huangs’ prize—plundered. Unforgivable!


    “You’re both staying here today—the Huangs will never let this go!”


    Han shrugged off the threat. Your treasure? Call it—see if it answers.


    As for “never letting go,” the Huangs had already tried snatching his loot and life in Black Mountain. That feud was old news.


    Lu Qingmo’s brow creased. “Filthy mouth,” she said coldly.


    She got serious—and the Huang Saint couldn’t handle it. Already banged up from earlier, now…


    Dead.


    Maybe her earlier leniency had tricked him into thinking he could trap them.


    Good news: dream over. Bad news: life gone.


    He’d lasted this long not because he rivaled a Xuandu elite, but because Lu Qingmo hadn’t cared to end it fast.


    A Saint’s death pinged the Huang family HQ instantly. Early on, she hadn’t known how long Han’s treasure grab would take. Dropping the guy too soon gave the Huangs prep time—maybe reinforcements. Dragging it out avoided that hassle.


    The Saint likely sent a distress call right off—standard—but Lu Qingmo wasn’t fussed. Most message spells lagged; instant receipt wasn’t a thing. Death was the quickest signal.


    With Han back, no need to stall.


    Fight over, Han shot skyward. “Got the goods—let’s head home!”


    “Alright,” Lu Qingmo said, scooping him up. They vanished in a blink, leaving Three Yin Valley a wreckage-strewn mess with shell-shocked Huang survivors.


    Stunned and mute, they grappled with reality: their Saint ancestor, Day Roamer elders—all dead.


    A crushing blow to the Huangs—like a thunderclap from clear skies. Minds blanked.


    Soon, a whistle cut the air. An old man touched down, face twisting at the devastation. He seized a clansman, barking, “What happened? Where’s the vice-patriarch? The elders? The enemy?”


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    Trembling, the man stammered, “Killed by the enemy. Demons—two of them—hit us. Slaughtered the vice-patriarch and elders. One went lakebed—took something.”


    “What?!” The elder’s hair bristled, eyes bulging like he’d devour someone.


    He soul-searched the clansman—brutal, thorough—piecing it all together. Then he plunged to the lakebed, blasts echoing as he tore into the collapsed chamber.


    Decades of Huang searching—nothing. Now he stood there, and it was still empty.


    No god’s trove, no mystic lake power that’d fueled their clan. High-tier losses piled on top.


    A total wash—losing the farm and the barn.


    “Argh!” he roared, fury exploding, shockwaves shredding clouds and shattering the valley floor.


    “Flower-Fruit Mountain, Waterfall Cave—the Huangs will never coexist with you! Find them! Which demon clan? I’ll wipe them out! Whoever they are, they’ll pay—life for life!”


    A Saint-tier was a pillar—clan prosperity’s bedrock. In Tianyue County, one falling was seismic, a game-changer rippling for years. Rise or fall hinged on it.


    Far off, Han and Lu Qingmo veered another way, bound for Heiyun Town.


    Leaving the valley, they’d taken a detour to throw off pursuit. Back in his body, Han flew with Lu Qingmo’s aid.


    “Aunt Mo, the Mountain God didn’t leave much—all ours now,” he said slowly. “He burned through his stash at life’s end, forging a pill to break through. Failed—just got a prototype. It’s mine now, plus…”


    He recounted the lakebed chamber’s events to her.


    Lu Qingmo listened quietly, nodding. “Solid haul.”


    “That Yellow Springs Pill prototype? Rare as it gets—a global treasure. Word gets out, top sects and clans would bid for it. Fully refined, it’s priceless. Never heard of it, though—either his own recipe or some ancient relic.”


    Han pulled out the sealed stone box, cracking it open. Inside sat a dull, uneven pill—no sheen, nothing screaming “peerless treasure.” A thin film coated it, likely to trap its potency.


    “Doesn’t look like much,” he said, but he felt the subtle, unique power within—not overwhelming, yet distinct.


    Lu Qingmo took the box, inspecting it. “A true gem—its essence outstrips Yin God-tier. Still vibrant, full of potential. Refining it’s doable.”


    “A better alchemist than him, key materials…” She looked at Han. “Did he say what’s missing?”


    “Nope.”


    “I know!” An Lang’s voice piped up from the ghost abode. She floated out. “Scanned Master’s legacy. The Yellow Springs Pill’s not his invention—some fluke find.”


    She tossed “Master” around effortlessly—three centuries dead, no harm in it.


    “The prototype needs a herb from the netherworld’s Yellow Springs that reveals it in the living world, plus Living Spirit Water to refine it,” she said.


    “I know Living Spirit Water,” Lu Qingmo cut in. “Seen temple seniors use it plenty—Xuandu’s got it.”


    An Lang nodded. “Legacy says it’s not rare. But that herb? The linchpin—and Master never found it.”


    Lu Qingmo shook her head. “Too scarce—barely pops up in history. Refining this pill’s a long shot anytime soon.”


    “Why, Sister Lu?” An Lang asked, curious. “Master tried storming the Springs for a breakthrough. Stronger folks could hit it up and grab that herb, right?”


    “Tricky—really tricky,” Lu Qingmo replied. “The ‘Yellow Springs’ isn’t a literal place—maybe a concept, a state. Hard to pin down. And a herb that reveals the netherworld in the living realm? Beyond rare.”


    “Not that rare,” Han muttered, drawing their stares.


    “What’re you on about, Master?” An Lang asked.


    Snap! Han shut the box. “I’m refining this pill—Sky Monarch himself couldn’t stop me.”


    Hearing An Lang’s herb specs, he’d frozen. A netherworld illuminator? He had one—Tree Brother’s final-day loot: Ghostly Passage Flower.


    [Oddity: Ghostly Passage Flower]


    [A strange bloom from the netherworld—flowers toward death, reveals the abyss.]


    Spot-on match.


    That day also dropped a twin: [Skyward Passage Flower]—[Grows in the ninth heaven, blooms to ascension, reveals the celestial realm.]


    Tree Bro, you held out for a grand finale. Still cashing in on your gifts today. How do I thank you? Hope the cheat rerun unlocks soon—only way’s a few extra axe swings. I’ll put my back into it—give you a thrill.


    Stashing the prototype—doable with Living Spirit Water handy—it just needed a master alchemist. No rush, though; Yin God breakthroughs were a ways off.


    Curiosity piqued, Han asked, “Aunt Mo, cultivation arts—post-Yin God, it’s the Yellow Springs?”


    “Yep,” she confirmed. “Soul enters the Springs—total transformation. That’s the Yellow Springs Realm. My master’s there.”


    “If there’s a netherworld Springs, anyone seen the underworld or reincarnation?”


    “Legends aplenty, proof zilch,” she said, shrugging. “Gods hit the Springs, reborn from death—what is it, exactly? Hard to say without reaching it.”


    Chatting, they neared Heiyun Town. For stealth, they didn’t swoop in flashy—just slipped in unnoticed.


    Lu Qingmo hit the Ghost God Division first; Han soloed back to the peach grove.


    He probed the Three Yin Bracelet with mental energy—effortless entry.


    Huge—way bigger than Tree Brother’s 300-cubic-meter ring. Fit for a mountain god.


    The standout? A cauldron—Three Yin Cauldron, the god’s alchemy lifeline. His combat artifacts died storming the Springs; this survived pristine.


    Seeds lay scattered inside—careless toss-ins. A few pill bottles too—leftovers he didn’t rate high, useless at the end.


    Problem: no labels. Han couldn’t ID them.


    “An Lang!”


    “Here!”


    “Cross-check your legacy—can you figure these pills out?”


    “Mission accepted!”


    Seven bottles total. Han scanned the legacy jade’s alchemy section for matches.


    “Dragon-eye sized, purple-green, sun-moon split, scent stirs the body… This one’s Solar-Lunar True Spirit Pill,” An Lang deduced. “One per cultivator lifetime—condenses the soul-body, aids Saint-tier breakthroughs. Three left?”


    Holy crap—Saint-tier boost pills, and he didn’t even mention them?


    Han got it now—these “scraps” might be his haul’s MVP for now.


    He doubled down on the pills.


    “Master, this is Ghost Crossing Pill—clears malice and killing intent from ghosts, restores clarity. Works on Saint-tier fiends. Two here,” An Lang said.


    “This one’s Nine Yin Pill—one, boosts ghost strength, refines their form.”


    “And Ghost-to-Saint Pills—two, like Solar-Lunar but for ghosts hitting Saint-tier.”


    “Plus three Saint Heart Pills—healing, killer even for Saint souls.”


    “Two Sky Demon Pills—martial artist stuff, made from Sky Demon Tiger bones. Bone Refinement treasure.”


    Eyeing the six bottles, Han beamed—mixed with a pang of regret.


    Too precious—mind-blowing haul. The regret? Three centuries dulled their potency—not peak anymore.


    Same for the seeds—many shriveled, vitality near-zero. Normally unplantable.


    Truth was, these weren’t the god’s prized keepsakes—just toss-ins, not worth the banner’s fading juice. Only the Yellow Springs Pill and legacy mattered to him for posterity.


    “With the Cauldron of Creation, reviving these seeds should be a cinch,” Han mused. “Pills, though—purging impurities is doable, but restoring lost potency? Not sure…”


    Stowing them, he skimmed the god’s alchemy notes, then turned to An Lang. “Study alchemy when you can—don’t waste that setup. Become a master ASAP. Keep up incense-making too. And cultivation—refine that ghost-god power fast. Oh, and don’t slack on helping me train.”


    “…”


    An Lang’s lip quivered, suddenly regretting her inheritance. Just kill me now.


    Dumping alchemy on her, Han skipped that section, diving into ghost-path arts.


    As promised, most suited ghosts—fitting the god’s roots. But with his strength and lifespan, he’d cooked up cultivator arts too.


    Jackpot: a Yin God-tier art—Tenfold Sky Glow!


    Not a top-shelf Yin God art, but its tier shone. Master it, wield sky light, forge a Sky Glow Treasure Wheel—versatile for attack and defense. Perfect balance.


    Sweet.


    Plus a few Saint-tier arts for cultivators. Han couldn’t help but marvel—Senior, you’re a real one.


    “An Lang, let’s honor his statue more from now on.”


    From today, he was the Three Yin Mountain God’s truest disciple. He’d give everything for him—life included, if the god just said the word!