What’s the deal between the Yunjiang Dragon Lord and the Black Mountain God? They’re as tight as brothers—best buds forged in the fires of humble beginnings. Back when neither had claimed their titles, one a mere man, the other not yet a dragon lord, they propped each other up, climbing to where they stand today. Good thing they’re both guys, or Ao Xuanwei might’ve had a different parent in the mix.


    Tianlong Gate and Yunjiang Dragon Palace? Mortal enemies. And they still thought they could waltz in and snag some goodies from the Mountain God? Talk about needing a reality check—a big, fat slap to the face.


    Tianlong Gate’s crew wasn’t light on firepower. Beyond Fang Zhenyu, a True Blood realm hotshot, they’d brought a Yin God Venerable and a slew of sharp disciples. Hearing Tianhe Venerable’s words, their faces darkened, turning downright ugly.


    “ Yun Tianhe, you’ve got some nerve targeting Tianlong Gate!” Fang Zhenyu barked. “You know this was agreed upon! The Yun family’s breaking the deal?!”


    Tianhe Venerable flicked him a glance. “The Yun family’s not breaking anything. All fellow cultivators are welcome—except you Tianlong Gate folks. Kindly hit the road.”


    Suzhen Palace and the other factions just watched, staying mum. No way they’d stick their necks out for Tianlong Gate—this wasn’t their fight. They were guests here, sure, but not bosom buddies with the Yun family. If the Yun clan took a swing at most of the factions, they’d band together. But just Tianlong Gate? Sorry, folks, take one for the team. The greater good and all that.


    Don’t wanna play ball? Well, Tianlong Gate, that’s just selfish.


    “Don’t dig your own grave, Yun family,” their Yin God Venerable said, voice icy. “You’re making an enemy of Tianlong Gate. That’s a burden you can’t shoulder.”


    “West Sea lapdogs, all bark and no bite,” Ao Xuanwei shot back, her words cutting deep—and true. Among the factions present, only Tianlong Gate had cozied up to foreign powers. On the surface, everyone else stood as pillars of the human race. Even the Primal Ocean faction from Haizhou, another major player, stayed clear of the West Sea, representing local waters instead.


    “Junior, who gave you the right to speak?!” Fang Zhenyu snapped. “No respect for your betters—did Yunjiang Dragon Palace skip the manners lesson?”


    “West Sea mutt, you’ve got some gall yapping here,” a voice boomed from the sky. A massive flood dragon streaked down, landing beside Ao Xuanwei and shifting into a rugged, heroic man. A Yunjiang Dragon Palace powerhouse had arrived. He glared at Fang Zhenyu. “Been a dog so long you’ve forgotten human speech? The hosts told you to scram!”


    Han mentally gave the guy a thumbs-up. Straight to the point—way blunter than Tianhe Venerable’s polite “please leave.” This was a flat-out “get lost.” Fang Zhenyu’s chest heaved, eyes blazing like he wanted to devour someone. Their Yin God clamped a hand on his shoulder, expression grim.


    “Let’s see how long the Yun family can strut around,” the Venerable growled. “You’ll regret this.” They couldn’t afford an all-out brawl here—not with the Mountain God still kicking, and not with just the two of them against the unfathomable Black Mountain. They’d barely make a ripple.


    Tianhe Venerable replied coolly, “No need for Tianlong Gate to worry about us. Safe travels—door’s that way.”


    Fang Zhenyu and the Venerable stormed off with their disciples, who shot venomous glares around. The crowd’s mocking, sneering looks stung—they could feel it. That’s how grudges are born. These disciples hadn’t started with beef against Yunjiang Dragon Palace or the Yun family. But joining Tianlong Gate locked them into opposition—no choice, no wiggle room. It’s all about where you sit, not who’s right.


    So when they’d faced Han, buddy-buddy with Yunjiang Dragon Palace, their arrogance—acting like they owned the place—made sense. Enemies don’t get warm smiles.


    Once Tianlong Gate cleared out, Tianhe Venerable’s warm grin returned. “Looks like everyone’s ready. No questions? Then our ancestor’s trial begins.”


    “Senior Tianhe, I’ve got one!” Cui Yaozhi piped up.


    Tianhe nodded, giving him the floor. “What kind of trial’s the Mountain God dropping on us?”


    “You’re all prodigies, cream of the crop, nurtured by your traditions,” Tianhe replied. “Your talent and strength? Beyond question. The ancestor’s trial won’t pit you against each other—too messy. If something went wrong, it’d be the Yun family’s fault. This is a blessing, a happy occasion. Bloodshed would ruin the vibe.”


    The crowd nodded, getting the logic. A combat free-for-all? Swords don’t care who they cut, fists don’t pull punches. One faction’s kid crippling or killing another’s? That’s a feud waiting to happen—and the Yun family’d get dragged in. Blessing the masses was about building goodwill with the young guns, not making enemies by getting them killed. Cultivation’s a brutal game—life and death are par for the course—but people aren’t rational. Kill my disciple, and I don’t care about fate; I’m coming for you.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    “So,” Tianhe continued, “those joining the trial, head into Black Mountain. The ancestor will unleash a gauntlet of challenges with his divine power. Your job? Charge through, break every barrier. As for what those barriers are…” He smirked. “I won’t spill the beans—that’d be cheating.”


    Laughter rippled through the crowd.


    “But heads up,” he added, tone sharpening. “It’s a trial, not a stroll. Push too hard, and there’ll be consequences. The ancestor will save you if your life’s on the line, but if he does, it’ll ding your whole faction. Know your limits—don’t overreach!”


    The warning sank in. Messing up just themselves? Fine. Dragging their faction down? That’s a problem. For the Cui family, if Cui Yaozhi got screwed over by some reckless teammate, that poor sap wouldn’t have a fun trip home.


    “Senior Tianhe, what about Black Cloud’s locals?” an outsider asked.


    “They’ve got a role,” Tianhe nodded. “Teaming them up with you isn’t a free pass. I’ll judge their performance separately, with different standards. If they shine, it’ll boost you too.” In short, outsiders and locals had distinct “scoring” rubrics, and a local’s showing could lift—or sink—their partnered faction. Oh, and the Yun family held all the cards on how it played out. They were the refs, after all.


    Some factions winced, kicking themselves. If they’d known the trial would hit this fast, they’d have juiced up their recruited Black Cloud talents with some forbidden elixirs—anything for a quick power spike. Too late now.


    Questions popped up left and right; Han just listened, quiet and steady. Whatever the trial, he was ready. As a Black Cloud native, he’d get a “bonus” edge—like extra points on a college entrance exam. With his talent and strength, he had zero worries.


    When the Q&A wrapped, Tianhe stepped aside. “Alright, folks, into Black Mountain. No rush—early or late, it’s all the same.”


    Young cultivators streamed in. Han and Bai Ruoyue went together, catching encouraging nods from Ao Xuanwei and others. “You’ve got this!” Yun Duo cheered, pumping a tiny fist. Han flashed a grin and stepped inside.


    The moment he crossed the threshold, everything shifted. No familiar forest greeted him—none of the sights he’d seen before. Pitch black surrounded him, silent as a grave. No birds, no cicadas, no beastly roars—not even a breeze. It was like stepping into a void of absolute stillness. Looking around, he was alone; everyone who’d entered with him had vanished.


    Han’s pulse quickened. This is the Mountain God’s power? Terrifying and wondrous, hitting so many at once. The higher you climbed in cultivation, the wider the gap grew—masters like the Mountain God pulled off feats beyond mortal imagination.


    Then, glowing words flickered to life on the ground beside him. Squinting, he read the first trial’s rundown: Devil’s Descent… The first challenge is a devil.


    Outside, Tianhe Venerable smiled faintly. “Not your run-of-the-mill evil cultivator devils—these are born of the world itself. The ancestor will summon them with a special trick. That’s what they’re up against. Let’s see how they handle it.”


    He’d held back earlier to keep factions from slipping their kids anti-devil trinkets at the last second. Brought your own? Fair game—call it fate.


    Faces outside soured fast. “Tianhe Venerable, isn’t this too risky?” someone protested, voice tight with worry. “They’re just kids—no experience with devils. This isn’t their level!”


    Tianhe shook his head. “They’re gifted—future devil encounters aren’t off the table. How do you spot the best if they don’t face the unknown? Safety’s covered—the ancestor’s got this. These devils won’t stir up much trouble.”


    High-tier cultivators often tangoed with devils. For someone of the Mountain God’s caliber, summoning low-level ones was child’s play—nothing they couldn’t squash. Legends spoke of devils that could threaten immortals, but those were just whispers. Real, maybe, but unseen.


    From outside, Han and the others looked frozen in place after entering—no sound, just stillness. Nobody noticed the odd glint in Lu Qingmo’s eyes when Tianhe revealed the trial’s nature. While others fretted over their disciples’ safety, she stayed cool as ice. This trial… not bad.


    Inside, Han’s face twisted with a strange mix of amusement and disbelief. “Devils? Time for a reunion with my old pal?”


    This wasn’t just a cultivator’s test. Moon Devils, Sun Devils—those hit soul practitioners hard. Martial artists faced devils too, just less often. A martial slip-up—going off the rails in training—could summon one, leading to possession. Martial devils were rarer and murkier than their soul counterparts. One type? The Blood Devil—feasting on your vitality, wrecking your body.


    As Han pondered, the air turned frigid. A sharp, warped laugh echoed faintly. His blood surged, boiling under his skin—bulging here, twitching there, like something slithered inside. The heat intensified, clashing with an unseen force.


    “So this is a Blood Devil?” Han mused, intrigued. First time meeting a martial devil—kind of cool. Any devil could be beaten if you were strong enough, your foundation solid. Before he could act, his heart thumped—hard. A sound like a sage’s sacred chant rang out.


    “Agh!” A scream tore through the void, then faded. His blood calmed, skin still, the intruder gone. Weirdly, Han felt his vitality tick up—denser, richer, like he’d downed a tonic. Essence Devils carried raw energy; Blood Devils, it seemed, did too.


    “…” Han stood there, dumbfounded. He hadn’t even started fighting, and the devil was already toast—practically a snack. He’d never dealt with this before, but he knew why: his Seven Orifices Exquisite Heart. That thing was a marvel, brimming with mysterious power. What he had now was just its baby stage—more would unlock as he grew. Even at square one, it packed a punch, turning a Blood Devil into a power-up.


    He hadn’t known it could do that. Now he did—better late than never. No shock there; his Righteous Aura naturally repelled devils, and the Exquisite Heart, the root of that aura, was even wilder. This trick fit right in.


    Still, a question nagged him: What exactly is this Exquisite Heart in this world? He scanned the darkness, then called out, “Any more Blood Devils? Send me a couple extra—I’m still hungry! This little nibble won’t cut it. Bring it on, or folks’ll think the Mountain God’s skimping!”


    Tianhe Venerable: …What’s broken here? The devil? The ancestor? Or this guy?