“Idiot, come hit me if you dare!”


    A playful voice rang out over the swamp, instantly rousing the two massive swamp pythons. Their icy, serpentine eyes snapped upward.


    There, hovering in the air, was a white-skirted ghost girl—mischievous and ethereal. An Lang formed a seal with her hands, ghostly energy surging as she conjured a small mountain, several meters wide.


    Whoosh!


    The mountain plummeted, whistling through the air, growing larger and fiercer by the second. Directly below lay the two swamp pythons.


    Boom!


    It crashed into the marsh, sending mud and sludge spraying everywhere, obscuring the view and splattering high into the air. A foul wind whipped up as one of the pythons lunged skyward through the muck, its gaping, slime-drenched maw aiming to swallow An Lang—the cold, intrusive presence it sensed.


    Spotting that dark, dripping mouth, An Lang darted higher, then bolted into the distance. A faint, eerie glow shimmered beneath her feet—she was using a Taoist technique. Both the mountain seal she’d just dropped and this escape spell came from the Three Yin Mountain God’s inheritance.


    Before fleeing, she lobbed another “small mountain” down at them, taunting, “Dumb snakes!”


    The ground quaked as the two colossal beasts—each dozens of meters long—surged forward, churning the swamp into twin trenches. Hiss after hiss erupted from their mouths, blasts of venomous breath aimed at An Lang, but she dodged nimbly. A flyer versus ground-dwellers? She had the upper hand.


    It was the classic edge a Day Roaming cultivator held over a Bone Refining martial artist. Can’t beat you? Fine—but good luck catching me up here!


    The pythons stormed through the forest, flattening trees into splinters, their ferocious auras scattering nearby beasts.


    “Dumb snakes! Clumsy oafs! What’s the point of all that meat?”


    “Haha, come get me! Hit me if you can!”


    An Lang kept up her barrage of mockery, luring the pythons farther away.


    Nearby, a tree shimmered and shifted, revealing Han’s figure.


    “Those two pythons are at least Peak Bone Refining,” he mused silently, before darting into the swamp. His spiritual senses fanned out, swiftly scanning every inch of the area.


    This was his plan: let An Lang bait the pythons away, then sneak in and raid their lair. Facing two Peak Bone Refining pythons head-on? Way too daunting. With their massive size and tenacious vitality, a fight would drag on—likely drawing a swarm of other beasts to the chaos.


    So, brains over brawn—lure the snakes out and strike their base. Han wasn’t just muscle; he had smarts too. Against humans or smarter foes, this trick wouldn’t work so easily. But these were beasts—predictable and primal.


    Soon, his eyes lit up. He’d found something.


    A vine, slithering through the swamp like a snake itself, radiating a faint spiritual aura. Treasure!


    Han sprang into action, digging it up—mud and all—without pausing to inspect it closely. Into the spatial pouch it went. After a thorough sweep to ensure nothing was missed, he bolted.


    Once safely distanced, he sent a signal to An Lang via the snail device. She didn’t pick up, but the message got through.


    Moments later, An Lang swooped in, exhilarated despite her disheveled state—no injuries, though.


    “Master, did you score?”


    “No Sky-Mending Vine,” Han said, shaking his head. “But I nabbed a vine-like treasure.”


    “Good enough!” An Lang beamed, puffing up with pride. “So, how’d I do?”


    “Brilliant! You’re the best—my lucky charm,” Han praised without holding back. Then, with An Lang in tow, he made a quick getaway.


    Faintly, roars and hisses echoed from behind—those pythons were furious, but their thief was long gone. Their rage was wasted.


    “No hiccups?” Han asked.


    “Nope!” An Lang shook her head. “Those snakes were tough—most beasts cleared out wherever they went, too scared to block them. Later, some birds showed up, but I tossed out those Beast-Luring Pill fragments you gave me. After that, no one bothered me—even the snakes went chasing the scraps.”


    The Beast-Luring Pill was irresistible to wild beasts; even fragments worked wonders. Han had tested it last time in the mountain—Bone Refining beasts couldn’t resist it. He’d prepped An Lang well for her decoy role. With those fragments, her escape was a cinch.


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    Of course, her own strength was key. Ghostly Taoist techniques, fueled by siphoning Han’s lifespan daily, had boosted her from Night Roaming to a level where she could hold her own in a Day Roaming fight. That was rapid growth. Paired with the artifacts Han provided and the pill fragments, her mission was foolproof—thrilling, but never truly perilous.


    Thanks to the unique bond between ghost and master, they’d never lose each other in Black Mountain, no matter how far apart they strayed.


    Normally, beasts wouldn’t care about ghosts—no flesh, no vitality, just a cold, lifeless husk. Why would creatures obsessed with raw power and bloodlust bother? But provoke them in their face, and it’s a different story.


    Well clear of the swamp, Han pulled out the snake-like vine. Jet-black, branchless, its surface wrinkled like fine scales. At its tip bloomed a pristine white flower—untouched by the swamp’s filth, pure as snow.


    “Master, what’s this?” An Lang asked.


    “No idea.”


    Han dialed Lu Qingmo on the snail device, described the find, and waited.


    “Swamp, giant pythons, a flowering vine…” Lu Qingmo pondered, then clicked. “It might be a Heavenly Snake Vine.”


    “What’s that?”


    “A valuable treasure. The vine itself isn’t directly usable for humans—good for alchemy or crafting. But for snake-kind, it’s a jackpot. It boosts strength and potential, supposedly unlocking a trace of Heavenly Snake bloodline.”


    “Heavenly Snake?”


    “A potent snake lineage, on par with true dragons. Some snakes don’t aim to become flood dragons or dragons—they stick to their serpentine form, pursuing the Heavenly Snake path.”


    Most aquatic or demonic clans dreamed of dragonhood, but that wasn’t the only route. With enough progress, common carp or snakes could rival true dragons.


    “So it’s useless to me now?”


    “Not quite,” Lu Qingmo said calmly. “If it’s really a Heavenly Snake Vine, that flower can be consumed by humans. It’ll grant you Heavenly Snake vitality.”


    “Heavenly Snake vitality?”


    “A figure of speech. Once you hit Bone Refining and cultivate a vitality technique, it’ll let your vitality take the form of a Heavenly Snake. You could wield it in battle—pretty impressive for vitality mastery.”


    Han got it: a vitality boost with an extra trick up his sleeve. Since vitality training post-Bone Refining laid the groundwork for True Blood, this flower was a real prize.


    “But you can’t just eat it,” Lu Qingmo added. “It needs snake gall, blood, and powdered bone to work properly.”


    “From the snakes guarding it?”


    “No, any snake beast will do—even Flesh Realm ones,” she said with a hint of amusement. “Though the higher the rank, the better the result.”


    “Phew, that’s a relief.”


    Han hung up, staring at the vine, lost in thought. “Snake gall, huh…”


    “An Lang, does the Three Yin Mountain God’s inheritance have any pill recipes using Heavenly Snake Vine?”


    “Nope, not that I’ve seen.”


    “Fair enough,” Han said. “Looks like we need a top-tier snake beast to make the most of this flower.”


    “Those two dumb snakes from earlier seemed perfect,” An Lang said earnestly.


    Han shook his head. “We’ll see. Black Mountain’s crawling with snake beasts.”


    Glancing at the darkening sky, he noted the sun dipping low. “Been in here almost a full day.”


    He released Yinhe from the pouch, planning to rest and grab a hot meal. But to his surprise, Yinhe zeroed in on the Heavenly Snake Vine, drooling and whining, pawing at Han and pointing to it.


    Han blinked, catching on. “You want to eat it?”


    Yinhe’s head bobbed eagerly.


    “Isn’t this just for snakes?” An Lang wondered. “Yinhe’s a dog—why’s it interested?”


    “Woof! Woof!”


    Han mulled it over, then pieced it together. “Yinhe’s a beast bred by the Destiny Sect, blending all sorts of bloodlines, tuned with kirin true blood. Maybe it’s got some snake lineage mixed in?”


    “Huh, that tracks.”


    He called Lu Qingmo again, explaining the situation.


    “Let it try,” she suggested.


    With Han’s nod, Yinhe pounced, chomping at the vine’s base. Watching this, Han felt a pang of absurdity. What kind of dog eats vines? Talk about roughing it…


    “Master, Yinhe’s so good,” An Lang said. “It didn’t just dig in—it waited for your okay.”


    Han smiled. True enough. Yinhe was sharp, picking up on his every intent and even catching bits of others’ words. Was it the Destiny Sect’s breeding, or the Creation Spirit Liquid? Either way, it stood apart from wild beasts.


    After nibbling about a tenth of the vine, Yinhe scampered off, barked twice, shut its eyes, and conked out.


    Han got the message: it was done with the vine. Interesting.


    Good news for him, though. Yinhe got its fill, and plenty remained for later use.


    As Han, An Lang, and Yinhe rested, elsewhere in Black Mountain, an old acquaintance leaned against a tree, eyes narrowed—Zuo Tianzheng.


    Beside him stood two others: a Peak Bone Refining martial artist and a Peak Day Roaming cultivator, both elite hands he’d brought from Jade Capital. With Black Mountain’s loosened rules, each faction could send two Day Roaming or Bone Refining experts. But thanks to a secret imperial decree, the Yun family let Zuo Tianzheng bring a third—courtesy to the emperor.


    Zuo Tianzheng himself was Peak Bone Refining. This trio was a force to be reckoned with. He’d initially planned an all-Peak Bone Refining squad, since Day Roaming cultivators lagged in raw combat power. But a flyer’s utility in certain situations won out, so he mixed it up.


    This lineup could handle even a common Marrow Cleansing beast without breaking a sweat.


    In Zuo Tianzheng’s hand was an ancient mirror, a groove at its top holding a fingernail-sized shard of dried wood.


    “Lord Zuo,” the cultivator said, “judging by the beasts around, we’re nearing the midsection. No reaction from the Heaven-Net Earth-Web Mirror yet?”


    For some reason, Zuo Tianzheng’s group moved slower than Han’s. They hadn’t hit the midsection, while Han was already at its deepest edge, verging on the back half.


    Zuo Tianzheng shook his head. “Not yet. Let’s rest a bit, then push deeper. With this Sky-Mending Vine fragment, if there’s any in Black Mountain, the mirror will sense it. We’ll take it slow, hit every spot—plenty of time to cover our bases.”


    That shard in the mirror? A piece of Sky-Mending Vine. No doubt the Great Qi royal family had once claimed at least a partial one—or maybe a whole one, used up, leaving just this scrap.


    “Wonder what that Taibai Han’s up to, coming in alone?”


    “Who knows? Probably sharpening his martial skills. With Bone Refining strength, no genius in Black Cloud Town can touch him.”


    The two chatted casually, aware of Han’s entry.


    At the mention of that name, Zuo Tianzheng’s gaze drifted from the mirror to the shadowy woods. “Taibai Han, venturing in solo? Hope we cross paths in here. What I couldn’t finish before, I might just settle myself. Shame it’s only you—if Bai Ruoyue had tagged along, it’d be perfect…”


    If not for this unruly prodigy popping up in Black Cloud Town, defying control, would he—an imperial envoy, the emperor’s emissary—have to risk Black Mountain himself?


    Meanwhile, the man on his mind was roasting a bird. That eagle from earlier was massive—still plenty left to eat.


    Zuo Tianzheng? Han didn’t give him a second thought. Black Mountain was huge; the odds of meeting were slim. And if they did?


    Sure, Zuo Tianzheng might want him dead. But has he ever stopped to wonder if Han wants him dead too?