The flood dragon reverted to human form, and Han strode through the air toward the one-eyed man. Meanwhile, the woman, scorched by yin fire, had plunged into the river at some point, hoping to douse the flames—a futile fantasy. The yang energy in her soul-body dwindled under the relentless blaze.


    The Righteous Heaven and Earth Sword returned to hover above the Marvelous Tree. Though pierced, the one-eyed man’s Bone Refining vitality kept him going. He didn’t flee this time—instead, he charged Han head-on. No escape above or below.


    The woman staggered out of the water, her face twisted in madness, lunging at Han with a soul-body radiating reckless fury, teetering on the edge of self-destruction. Heavenly light cascaded down, divine radiance shielding Han. A crimson flame erupted from him, engulfing her.


    Boom! A mushroom cloud bloomed in the sky, snuffing out life and sin in one blast. The explosion’s shockwave triggered massive collapses along the riverbanks, turning the water into a murky mess.


    Simultaneously, the Righteous Giant Hand Seal slammed down. The one-eyed man didn’t even graze Han before being pinned to the ground. Hand-shaped craters scarred the surroundings. In moments, a Day Wanderer and a Bone Refiner were either dead or broken—helpless against Han. This was him barely trying, a casual flick of the wrist.


    He could’ve ended it instantly with yin-yang earth flames, incinerating everything. But letting them go out too quick? Too easy a mercy. Yin fire’s torment was agony incarnate—the Impermanence Hall monk tasted it. She’d tried to self-destruct, but Han wouldn’t grant her that escape.


    Hovering over the pinned one-eyed man, Han looked down. One live catch was enough.


    An Lang swooped in on the carpet, buzzing with excitement. “Master, you’re unstoppable now!”


    Han’s mood lifted, a grin breaking through. “If I wasn’t, wouldn’t this chase just be me signing my own death warrant?”


    At mid-stage Day Wanderer soul cultivation, few in that realm could touch him. Normally, Day Wanderers didn’t outclass Bone Refiners—but Han defied norms. Against him, a Bone Refiner like One-Eye had no shot. Beyond the raw power gap, one fact sealed their doom: he could fly. Even setting soul aside, his martial prowess had hit Bone Refining levels too.


    Boom! The Hand Seal exploded, finishing One-Eye off. Han swooped in, snagging his soul and locking it up. Then he dove into the river, zeroing in on where he’d first sensed the pair. A underwater cave awaited, sealed by a light barrier keeping the river out. Inside, a small space held a figure sitting still—the woman’s spitting-image body: her physical shell.


    “Thought so,” Han said. Roaming Tianyue’s counties, she wouldn’t ditch her flesh. Soul gone, the body was dead anyway. He shattered the barrier—a talisman stuck to the cave wall—and water flooded in. A wisp of yin fire from his fingertip reduced the corpse to ash. He nabbed her spatial pouch. Spoils of war—can’t let those go to waste.


    “Let’s head back.”


    The carpet streaked off, leaving a ravaged battlefield behind.


    A thousand miles of vast terrain stretched beneath him. On the way, Han tried soul-searching One-Eye but gleaned next to nothing. A Bone Refining Heavenly Mother Sect member’s soul had tight bans—near impenetrable. The scraps he got, though, sobered him up. As suspected, the sect hadn’t just hit Qinghua—traces dotted other counties. One-Eye alone had bloodied five. Their real goal? Locked away.


    The sect was busy in the shadows, no doubt.


    After scrubbing the spatial pouches’ seals, Han dug in—and his expression iced over. The Hall monk’s pouch held a soul banner, not for refining but for storing masses of souls. Inside, over twenty lingered—dazed, mindless mortal souls. He roused one with sorcery, learning they were Qinghua victims, snatched post-massacre. Over two hundred died, yet only twenty-odd souls here—discounting natural dissipation, a chunk were still missing. Given her ghost infant craft, Han could guess where they’d gone. Soul-swallowing fueled such abominations—the more, the better, the faster they grew.


    The Triple Light Blessed Mirror shone, and Han ushered the souls to the afterlife. After purging the pouches’ vile junk, he sifted through—disappointing. Nothing stellar. For his current level, the loot was meh, mostly twisted dark artifacts. Back in Sinew or Night Wanderer days, this haul would’ve been a jackpot. Times change.


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    Back at the peach grove, Lu Qingmo probed One-Eye’s soul too. She shook her head. “No dice—too locked down. A sect grunt like him could’ve met elders; they’d slap on the bans themselves.” Yin Spirit-level bans were tough, but the real kicker was Heavenly Mother power—a mysterious, tricky force few outsiders understood, bolstering their defenses.


    “Best we alert Ye Lao—get more boots on the ground to lock down the counties,” Han said. “Deputy Yuan’s probably already on it.”


    Lu Qingmo nodded, firming her resolve. “You nabbed the Qinghua ringleaders—big credit coming your way.”


    He shrugged. Credit wasn’t his driver—though it didn’t hurt.


    “Leave the rest to us. Head to the hall,” she said.


    “Fair enough.” The catchable were caught; the rest had likely bolted far. Today’s round-trip clocked near three thousand miles—thankfully, the carpet made it quick.


    At the hall, Bai Ruoyue sidled up. “You’re late—what happened?”


    “Qinghua County…” Han gave her the rundown—no secret there.


    She flared up. “Those monsters—zero shred of humanity!”


    “Expecting humanity from them’s a stretch,” he said. Evil sects might spawn a rare decent soul, but most were pure malice.


    In Tai Bai’s secret chamber, Han trained solo. Bai Ruoyue found his obsession with the room odd, but he fed her a half-baked excuse that held up. As he moved, true energy surged through him, roaring like water. A faint blue glow bloomed at his abdomen, soft and nourishing. All his energy poured into it, then flowed back out—refined, sharper. Vital essence flooded his body, boosting his physique, feeding back into the glow.


    After a while, he eased off, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Congrats, Master—another breakthrough!” An Lang chimed in.


    He’d just perfected his kidneys—one of the five viscera. Barely five or six days since hitting Lesser Visceral Realm, and he’d leapt forward again. Post-Visceral, his pace had slowed—perfecting one organ used to take half a month. Five viscera were tougher than six bowels, yet Han flipped the script, outpacing his old rate. Half a month per bowel; five days per viscus!


    “Master, you sure this training’s fine?” An Lang fretted. She knew why he was so fast—burning lifespan.


    “No issue—you’ve felt it, totally normal,” he waved off. “It’s been days—why’re you still freaking out?”


    She gaped. Burning lifespan, and I’m the weird one?


    “Lifespan’s the real deal—spirit herbs can’t touch it,” he said, thrilled with this month’s cheat. He’d cracked it: anything could be fuel if it fit. This miracle stemmed from Life-Resting Martial Arts—and his borderline insane grind. Literal life-on-the-line effort. Nobody could out-hustle him this month.


    Ignoring An Lang, he savored the perfected kidney’s perks. Viscera or bowels, cultivators picked their order—no fixed rules. Han chose kidneys—wanted that robust kick. Kidneys stored essence, governed growth, development, reproduction. Perfected, his stamina spiked—plus some unmentionable boosts. Every kidney-mastered martial artist was a powerhouse, never lacking in vigor. They also managed breath, bone marrow, hair’s luster, opening ears and lower orifices—amped-up energy absorption, tougher bones, sharper hearing. Each realm jump wasn’t just power—every facet grew. Bone Refiners could spot details miles off with naked eyes.


    Han loved it. A perfect kidney—happiness’s root.


    Night fell over the peach grove. Han sat before the Three Yin Cauldron, yang fire roaring, refining herbs. He was tackling alchemy, aiming to master Life-Reversing Pills. Not his first rodeo—since snagging the recipe, he’d carved out daily practice. An Lang and Lu Qingmo watched, tossing pointers. An Lang, a newbie alchemist ghost, had a month’s head start—her talent shone, outpacing Han. Lu Qingmo, though, topped them both, steeped in tricks from her pill-master third senior sister.


    Han had already churned out viable pills—officially in the game. Herbs melted into liquid in the cauldron, merging under his mental nudge as he fired off pill-sealing gestures to balance and spark their potency.


    Rumble! The ground jolted—peach trees swayed, rustling loudly; the pavilion trembled.


    Bang! An explosion rocked the cauldron. Han’s face darkened, then he scanned around, eyes narrowing. “Earthquake?”


    Minor quakes were no biggie, but in Black Cloud Town, they meant something else entirely. “The Mountain God!” He glanced at Lu Qingmo, who nodded.


    “Third tremor… what’s it signaling now?” she mused, peering toward Black Mountain, its peaks veiled in night.


    “Will it be like the second—treasures spilling out?” Han asked.


    “No clue—Cloud Clan’s the ones to ask,” she said.


    His snail buzzed—Bai Ruoyue, asking about the quake. “Senior Sister, check with Master—is this like the others?”


    A pause, then her voice crackled back. “Father doesn’t know either.”


    The grove wasn’t alone—every corner of Black Cloud buzzed, folks debating, scheming. The shaking stopped, but the ripples didn’t. Everyone wanted to know: how’s the Mountain God holding up? Some had already bolted for Black Mountain—last quake brought riches; this one might too. Why not rush in?


    Han stayed put. Whether the third tremor would shower treasures or not, his current strength couldn’t handle Black Mountain anyway—nothing to do there. Lu Qingmo seemed restless; Han clocked it, piecing it together. “Why not hit up the Cloud Clan—see what’s up?”


    Last time, she’d gone for the Sky-Mending Vine, but the Mountain God was asleep. Now, awake with the quake, it was her long-awaited shot. She hesitated, then shook her head. “Let’s wait till morning. Right after a quake, begging for treasures feels off.”


    Each tremor marked the Mountain God’s worsening state—bad news for the Cloud Clan. The night stayed restless, tension gripping the town.


    But before Lu Qingmo could act, Yun Duo showed up at the grove. “Teacher, the Cloud Clan’s asking for you.”