Once, Han saw the Tianming Sect as the pinnacle of history—a supreme ruler whose commands none dared defy.


    But this trip to the Ding Six Beast Arena threw him for a loop. The sect’s reach stretched far beyond what he’d imagined. No wonder they’d dominated the world—not just through raw power, but by dabbling in what could only be called “research.”


    Han studied Ding Liuling, the puppet before him. After figuring out its mechanics, his unexpected presence here started to make sense.


    “You want to hand me the Legacy Mandate of this place?” Han asked.


    “Precisely,” Ding Liuling replied with a nod. “If no better option arises, the first to arrive in the Realm of Destiny would claim it. But none are more suited to inherit the Legacy Mandate than a Tianming Immortal Seed.”


    Han’s emotions churned—a mix of disbelief and elation. He’d come here cautious, expecting to scrape by with whatever scraps he could find, maybe clawing his way through fierce competition. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he’d hit the jackpot right off the bat.


    He’d braced for a brutal struggle—dragon versus tiger, blood and sweat for every reward. Instead, he’d strolled straight to the finish line.


    Ding Liuling’s logic was clear enough. To this seemingly clever yet rigidly programmed puppet, time and circumstance didn’t matter. Han hadn’t joined the Tianming Sect, but the Seed of Transformation in his body screamed “Immortal Seed.” In its mechanical mind, that made him the rightful heir. Its purpose began and ended with the Beast Arena; whatever happened at the sect’s main gates was beyond its scope.


    It wasn’t so different from the Ascension Hall’s gatekeepers—though this puppet was leagues above those mute, sleep-and-slay drones. For the countless explorers scouring the caverns, Ding Liuling’s choice would reek of favoritism. Han agreed—it was blatant cheating. Shameless, even.


    And he loved every second of it.


    He could already picture the others—battling through the bronze gate’s realm, scouring every corner, enduring trials—all for a prize he’d snatched without breaking a sweat. The thought sent a sly thrill through him. When they finally arrived, only to find the grand prize gone? They’d probably choke on their own rage.


    “So, what exactly is the Legacy Mandate of the Ding Six Beast Arena?” Han asked.


    “Since its founding,” Ding Liuling began, its tone flat and unchanging—classic puppet—“it encompasses all the experience and Taoist techniques of beast creation, along with a small stockpile of related materials.”


    Its lifeless eyes didn’t so much as flicker. “And the crowning achievement of the Ding Six Beast Arena in the beastcrafting arts, as it stood before the Tianming Sect’s fall.”


    “When Tianming collapsed, the Mandate endured. The orthodoxy lives on, its spirit eternal!” Ding Liuling capped it off with what sounded like a slogan.


    Han got it now. The Tianming Sect’s sun had set, but its legacy scattered like stars across the land. Though its orthodoxy was dead, it persisted in another form—buried in places like this, waiting for someone to dig it up and bring it back into the light.


    These remnants weren’t your typical cultivation inheritances, but their value was undeniable. They offered a glimpse into the ancient sect’s secrets. According to Lu Qingmo, Tianming-related relics had popped up plenty of times in history. Some factions might’ve even risen from those ashes. Take this beastcrafting legacy—master it, and any group’s power would soar. In that sense, had the Tianming Sect truly vanished?


    “Why was the Ding Six Beast Arena preserved?” Han asked.


    “I don’t know,” Ding Liuling replied. Apparently, that was beyond its memory banks.


    Han had a theory, though. Maybe its distance from the sect’s main stronghold spared it from the destruction that claimed the rest.


    “Are there many beast arenas like this? How does this one rank?”


    “The ‘Ding’ series are all beastcrafting sites,” Ding Liuling said stiffly. “I can’t specify their number. The Ding Six Beast Arena can reliably produce Bone Refining beasts. Manifestation Realm beasts are possible but rare—success is unlikely. The lower the number, the higher the rank.”


    Han nodded. Stable Bone Refining beasts were already impressive. Ding Six didn’t sound top-tier—five others outranked it at least. If “Ding” marked beast arenas, what about “Jia” or “Yi” series? What were they cooking up?


    “How do I claim the Legacy Mandate?” Han asked, not about to turn it down. Sure, his “Immortal Seed” status was a fluke, but if Ding Liuling bought it, that was good enough for him. He’d come for Tianming relics—why play coy now?


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    “The knowledge and techniques of beast creation are stored in my puppet core,” Ding Liuling said, voice unwavering. “I’ll give it to you. The Arena’s greatest achievement is here.” It pointed to a brocade pouch at its waist.


    “A spirit beast bag?” Han guessed.


    “More precisely, a beast bag crafted by the Tianming Sect.”


    Han paused, then asked, “What happens to you without your core?”


    “My mission will be complete.”


    In other words, it’d “die.”


    “When you leave with the Legacy Mandate, the Ding Six Beast Arena will collapse,” Ding Liuling added. “Since Tianming’s fall, everything here has existed solely for this moment.”


    Han blinked, surprised. “I can’t take you puppets with me?”


    “Puppets can’t leave the Arena. When the legacy function activated, we became bound to this place—preserved for as long as possible. The Arena sustains our bodies and spirits. Without it, we’d have rotted away long ago.”


    So that’s how they’d lasted. Han hadn’t considered that angle.


    “Please, Lord, carry the Mandate forward—bear the will of Tianming forever,” Ding Liuling said.


    Han nodded silently but didn’t take the legacy just yet. “What’s between the bronze gate and this room?”


    “Old chambers for crafting beasts, roamed by some of their kind. While I slumbered, natural treasures might’ve spawned.”


    “Can I see outside from here?”


    Ding Liuling brushed a wall, and another lit up with flickering images—dozens of them. A sprawling network of chambers unfolded, explorers weaving through them. Some hunted treasures; others fled beasts.


    Han watched, speechless. A bio-lab with “security cams”? Made sense. Some feeds were dead, though.


    “Time wore down parts of the Arena,” Ding Liuling explained. “Some Taoist mechanisms failed.”


    Fair enough—neglect broke the “cameras.” Han spotted Bai Ruoyue, safe and moving through the rooms, and relaxed.


    “How much do you know about the Tianming Sect?” Han asked, his curiosity about the ancient titan burning.


    “My memories tie only to the Ding Six Beast Arena. My creator didn’t load me with broader sect knowledge.”


    “Then tell me about this place back in the day.”


    “The Ding Six Beast Arena was overseen by Venerable Dinglin and Martial Venerable Yuandao, with True Master Boling handling operations…”


    Ding Liuling answered every question it could. Han suspected its cooperation stemmed from his “Immortal Seed” status. Through its tales, he pieced together the Arena’s past—powerful even at rank six, boasting Yin God True Blood experts and a slew of skilled underlings. It rivaled a state-level clan like the Dong family. A mere “lab” of the Tianming Sect matched a regional powerhouse.


    “What’s a Stone of Revelation?”


    “When the first beasts were created, Dust of Spirituality was implanted in their brains. At Bone Refining, it grows into a Stone of Revelation, awakening their intellect. Later generations didn’t need implants—by Bone Refining, the stone formed naturally.”


    So the sect had birthed a new beast lineage, just not the ultimate one they’d aimed for. “Feeding beasts Stones of Revelation boosts their smarts too,” Ding Liuling added. No wonder the Bone Refining beasts here outwitted regular ones. “They’re also used in puppet crafting for sharper responses.”


    Han nodded. The beast project might tie into other Tianming experiments.


    “There’s a Moonview Mountain nearby,” he said. “A weird pool at its peak—also Tianming’s work?”


    “Yes,” Ding Liuling confirmed. “It aided beast creation. Lunar energy helps awaken intellect. But that’s a side effect. Its true purpose ties to the Tianming Moon Plan.”


    “What’s that?”


    “To craft a moon greater than the eternal one in the heavens, controlled by the sect—the Tianming Moon.”


    Han’s jaw dropped. “Details? Did it work?”


    “I don’t know specifics, control methods, or its success. The Moon Mountain near Ding Six is a tiny cog in that plan.”


    A grander moon? What was the Tianming Sect up to—and why? Han thought of the “moon” fused into his palm. Not the Tianming Moon, surely—but what role did it play? Was the plan finished, or did it die with the sect? His curiosity deepened.


    Elsewhere, explorers flooded the Realm of Destiny, raiding chambers. Some found treasures—even Bone Refining spirit plants, thriving despite the sealed underground.


    “Senior Brother Fang,” Li Hai from the Tianlong Gate said, buzzing with excitement, “if we snag the beastcrafting methods, it’s a huge win! Maybe even a shot at true disciple status!”


    Fang Cheng’s eyes gleamed. They’d been at it a while, piecing together scraps of records. Beasts—smarter, stronger than regular ones—could be a game-changer for their sect. “We have to get this legacy,” Fang Cheng said fiercely. “Anyone who tries to take it dies—even Shenhua Sect disciples. No mercy.”


    Securing it meant glory for the Tianlong Gate. Killing rivals? The sect would handle the fallout—they’d be rewarded, not punished.


    They smashed into another chamber, looting what they could. Time had weakened everything—old Taoist tricks had faded.


    Meanwhile, Bai Ruoyue raced through, searching for Han. The realm buzzed with activity—some struck gold, others lost their lives. Han saw most of it on the “screens.” Sitting back like this, watching them scramble? Pure bliss. They dreamed of the legacy, unaware he’d already pocketed it. Their struggles were for nothing.


    “How long will the Arena hold after I take the legacy?” Han asked.


    “It collapses the moment you leave.”


    Plenty of time to maneuver, then. With no more questions, Ding Liuling handed over the beast bag. Han’s mental probe revealed an egg in a vat of reddish water, plus some materials—the Arena’s peak achievement. Not a mature beast—those wouldn’t survive the ages—but an egg, preserved by Tianming’s uncanny arts. Its life force was faint, nearly gone, as Ding Liuling had warned. Time was a gamble; a dead egg was still useful for study alongside the legacy.


    Ding Liuling’s chest split open—no blood, just metal beneath lifelike skin. A cube the size of a Rubik’s floated out. “Please inherit the Ding Six Beast Arena’s Legacy Mandate.”


    Han took it, nodding. “Thank you.” He stashed it in his spatial ring.


    The puppet’s chest sealed. “Bear the Mandate of Heaven forever!” it declared, then shut its eyes, lifeless. Mission complete.


    Han laid it down gently, draping a white cloth over it. These puppets couldn’t leave—alive or “dead.” Their bodies, fragile despite appearances, relied on the Arena. Outside, they’d crumble. Best to let them rest here, vanishing with the place.


    At the “screens,” Han’s gaze settled on a blood-red flower in bloom—a rare treasure born naturally over the eons. He left a message in the room, then used Ding Liuling’s method to exit, heading for Bai Ruoyue.


    Soon after, the “screens” showed her crossing paths with a group.