ed, key memories—like Tianlong Gate techniques and insider info—were sealed behind brutal restrictions. Even someone like Lu Qingmo couldn’t crack them. A sect’s foundational secrets were guarded with paranoia-level care.


    Li Hai’s accessible memories, though, lit a cold fire in Han’s eyes. After their last clash at the Taibai Martial Hall, that jerk had badmouthed Lu Qingmo behind her back, calling her a useless cripple.


    Whoosh! A gust of wind scattered Li Hai’s soul to nothing—no Tianlong expert could call it back now.


    Fang Cheng’s soul was trickier—layered with even tighter seals. Han pushed hard to pierce the outer barrier, catching a fleeting glimpse before the restrictions triggered, obliterating the soul entirely. Li Hai’s protections were child’s play by comparison.


    That brief peek, though, weighed on Han’s mind. “Fang Cheng’s got serious backing in Tianlong Gate.”


    “How serious?” Bai Ruoyue asked.


    “Among the Tianlong crew in Black Cloud Town, there’s a Manifestation Realm cultivator named Fang Zhenxing—his third uncle,” Han said. “His father’s a True Blood Realm elder in the sect. His mother’s a Manifestation cultivator too.”


    “True Blood Realm,” Bai Ruoyue echoed, her tone sobering. That was beyond even her father’s level. Bai Tian had been in seclusion for nearly two months, still silent.


    “And here’s the kicker,” Han continued, his voice shifting. “His grandfather’s the peak master of Gulong Peak in Tianlong Gate—a Yellow Spring Realm powerhouse.”


    “What?!” Bai Ruoyue froze. “So we’ve royally pissed off a Yellow Spring Realm master?”


    “Pretty much,” Han admitted, then shook his head. “But it’s not as bad as it sounds. Fang Cheng barely saw his grandfather and wasn’t favored. The Gulong Peak Master has plenty of kids—Fang Cheng’s mom isn’t one of the prized ones. The old man rarely shows his face, so he’s not likely to come to Black Cloud Town over this.”


    Bai Ruoyue exhaled in relief, only to tense again. “Even so, his parents aren’t pushovers.”


    “No worries,” Han said breezily. “We deeply regret Fang Cheng’s death at Tianlong Gate’s hands. The culprit’s a mystery—strong, elusive. What a shame, right? After all, we never even crossed paths with him down here.”


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    Bai Ruoyue blinked, then nodded. “You’re right, Little Brother. We’ve been together the whole time—didn’t see a soul.”


    Fang Cheng dead? Nothing to do with us. Claim we did it? That’s slander—pure slander!


    “The Heavenly Dragon Transformation was a reward for some big contribution Fang Cheng made, pushed through by his elders,” Han explained. Combat martial arts weren’t like secret arts—those were strictly for true disciples. But combat skills? Rack up enough merit, and exceptions could be made.


    “Shame we only got the name, not the method,” he added. A technique like that was exactly what he needed, but extracting it from Fang Cheng’s soul was a pipe dream—even for a Yellow Spring Realm master.


    “Good thing your soul cultivation’s top-notch, Little Brother,” Bai Ruoyue said gravely, recalling the Transformation’s might. “That move’s unreal—its edge is brutal to counter.”


    “It’s strong, no doubt,” Han agreed. “But it guzzles true qi and taxes the body hard. Fang Cheng’s Visceral Realm couldn’t handle a second round. You need Bone Refining—sublimated qi and a transformed physique—to wield it without breaking.”


    His own moves like the Righteous Hand Seal and Earthfire Seal weren’t cheap either, but his soul reserves were monstrously deep. Plus, those techniques had quirks—Earthfire tapped real flames, and the Hand Seal leaned on his righteous qi, giving him an edge.


    “No wonder he bolted,” Bai Ruoyue mused. “He was running on fumes.”


    “Dead men don’t need our attention,” Han said, lifting their spatial gear with a grin. “We hit the jackpot this time. Fang Cheng’s ring has something good.”


    “What?” Bai Ruoyue leaned in.


    “A True Blood-grade martial art!” Han pulled out a book, its cover emblazoned with four bold words: Heaven and Earth in Harmony.


    Bai Ruoyue’s eyes widened. She’d never touched anything this high-level. “It’s a spear technique Fang Cheng was studying. His True Blood Realm dad was training him personally, but since he came to Black Cloud Town, the old man gave him the manual to keep refining his spearwork.”


    Han marveled inwardly—Fang Cheng had a hell of a father. Most Tianlong disciples, even with enough merit for a True Blood art, wouldn’t get to carry the manual around. But an elder’s son? Rules bent quietly.


    “Spear stuff, huh? Too bad it’s not swordplay,” Bai Ruoyue said, deflating. Swords were her thing—this was useless to her.


    “Don’t sweat it,” Han chuckled. “We can’t learn it anyway, spear or not. Use it, and we’re screaming to the world we killed Fang Cheng.”


    They’d have to sell it off somewhere. A True Blood-grade art’s value was no joke—easily tradable for another of its rank, tailored to their styles. In a roundabout way, they’d scored a perfect fit.


    Bai Ruoyue caught on, her face lighting up. Forget the rest of the loot—this alone was a windfall. “Even my dad doesn’t have anything this good,” she said. “Little Brother, you’re richer than him now.”


    “My treasures are yours too,” Han replied, unfazed by sharing with her. She’ll be mine—heart and all—eventually anyway.