The Blood Devil came charging in, ready to wreak havoc—and then it was gone. Poof. Vanished.


    Tianhe Venerable’s face twisted into a look of pure bewilderment. Outside Black Mountain, the crowd could only see the participants’ outlines—no sounds, no specifics reached them. But Tianhe? He had the VIP view. And right now, he was questioning his own eyes. What the heck just happened?


    “Is this the kid Yuannan talked about—Taibai’s Han, Black Cloud’s top genius?” he muttered to himself. Taking down a Blood Devil that easily? This “top genius” title was starting to feel like an understatement.


    After a moment’s thought, he granted Han’s wish, tossing a few more Blood Devils his way. These devils weren’t conjured by the Mountain God himself—his condition was too dire for that. Tianhe wielded a divine artifact to summon them, while other Yun family experts lurked in the shadows, keeping things under control. No accidents allowed.


    Tianhe watched as the new batch of Blood Devils dove into Han’s body. And then… nothing. They just keeled over. Dead on arrival. No encore, no fuss.


    “More! Bring more!” Han shouted, buzzing with excitement. He’d stumbled onto a cultivation goldmine. Martial artists at the Organ Refinement stage had to grind their vitality—Han hadn’t gotten there yet, but he knew it wasn’t a walk in the park. Vitality tied into condensing True Blood later, a massive hurdle. But these Blood Devils? Packed with juicy essence, they were a cheat code for boosting it. His soul cultivation owed its speed to his “good brothers”—the devils he’d tamed. Now, martial arts had its own devil buddies to offer!


    Sadly, no more Blood Devils came. Tianhe had caught on: the devils were fine; Han was the glitch. They couldn’t touch Black Cloud’s golden boy. What was there to say? The devils were limited—couldn’t send the whole stash after one guy. Han’s flawless performance? Untouchable. Full marks!


    Tianhe smirked, though. This dual-cultivating prodigy—soul and martial—wasn’t just facing Blood Devils. Let’s see how you handle soul-targeting devils, kid. “Moon Devil, go!”


    Inside Black Mountain, a familiar chill hit. Han’s brow twitched, and he let out a wry chuckle. Good ol’ brothers, back with takeout?


    Moon Devil: Hey, bro, how much you want this time?


    Han: All of it!


    Moon Devil: You got it, bro!


    And just like that, the Moon Devil crumbled on its own, melting into lunar essence that fused with Han’s soul. It’s so loyal, I could cry, Han thought dryly. He barely felt it—Moon Devil juice was old news, refined so often he was numb to it. He didn’t even bother calling for more. Sick of the taste. Daily cultivation meant daily Moon Devil visits anyway.


    Tianhe Venerable: …


    “How do we deal with this Han?” he whispered through a secret transmission to the Yun experts in the mountain. Han was a puzzle—tested, yet somehow untested.


    “Try some Sun Devils,” a voice replied in his ear. Tianhe’s eyes flickered with instinctive reverence. “Yes, Elder Jue Zhen.”


    Not “Ancestor”—this was an elder, not the Mountain God. Sun Devils hit Han next, but the outcome didn’t budge. They weren’t as obedient as Moon Devils facing his Moon God Mark. Maybe it was the sun-moon connection, or their cosmic parity, but the mark still crushed them. They didn’t roll over willingly, but they couldn’t fight back either—Han carved them up like Sunday roast. Sun and Moon Devils? Just his personal delivery crew.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Normally, Sun and Moon Devils outclassed Essence Devils. Tianhe starting with a Moon Devil was already a nod to Han’s chops. But oops—backfired. Essence Devils would’ve forced Han to slug it out; Sun and Moon Devils? Free snacks.


    Silence fell—outside, inside, everywhere. Everyone watching Han went quiet. Weird. Too weird. Freaky weird. Devils wilting before this kid? Come on, you’re devils! Fight back! Smack him!


    Tianhe glanced at the others facing their devil trials and clammed up again. Some grimaced in agony, others screamed, rolled on the ground, or raved like lunatics—textbook devil-induced chaos. The worst cases? Already hauled out by Yun experts, disqualified. That’s how cultivators were supposed to look facing devils.


    Then there was Han—standing still, glancing around, bored out of his skull, untouched. Practically radiating, “I’m so bored, got any new tricks? More Blood Devils, please?” Paired with his earlier show, Tianhe and crew couldn’t tell who the real devil was anymore.


    “This one’s… something else,” Elder Jue Zhen’s voice chimed again, laced with amusement. “No surprise he’s Black Cloud’s top genius. I hear he’s tight with our Yun family?”


    Tianhe replied, “Real tight. Yuannan’s even thinking of marrying his daughter to him.”


    “Let him move to the next stage,” Jue Zhen said. “No devil’s tripping him up—he’s blown past expectations. But Tianhe, score him fair. No favoritism just ‘cause he’s cozy with us. Stick to the facts, got it?”


    “Got it.”


    Tianhe caught the drift. Like a boss saying, “Don’t promote Xiao Zhou just ‘cause he’s my nephew—play by the rules.” Rules it was. “Han’s performance is flawless, perfect score. Black Cloud’s top genius lives up to the hype.” No bias, pure truth—Han was the standout here.


    Inside, the darkness around Han dissolved, revealing a winding path ahead. “I passed?” No hesitation—he stepped onto it, strolling forward, cool as a breeze. Came for a trial, left with a snack, no sweat. What a twist.


    Outside, his movement drew instant attention. The crowd couldn’t sense the details, but Han budging was a neon sign. Among the elite prodigies—already the stars of the show—Han, the local boy wonder, was the bullseye.


    “Taibai’s Han’s moving forward?” someone blurted. The others, still wrestling devils, hadn’t budged an inch.


    “He’s cleared the first trial,” Tianhe announced, confirming the crowd’s wild guess—one they barely dared believe.


    “No way!” a voice cried, pointing at Cui Yaozhi and the rest. “Even Suzhen Palace’s saintess and the Cui clan’s prodigy are stuck—how’s Han already through?”


    Jiang Yanyao and crew stood rooted, composed—no thrashing or screaming, leagues above the rest. But they hadn’t passed yet. “Seriously, how? It’s been, what, five minutes?!” Shock rippled through—except for Lu Qingmo, calm as ever. She’d clocked this outcome the second she heard the trial’s nature. If she didn’t know Han kept his devil-dodging streak under wraps, she’d have thought he’d rigged it.


    Tianhe brushed off the chatter. “Han broke the devil threat on his own. The Yun family doesn’t play dirty here.” He shut it down—no more explanations. He wasn’t begging these folks to join; let them talk—unless everyone griped, it didn’t matter.


    Cui Xian nodded. “This Han’s a real prodigy.” Top-tier faction folks were stunned but didn’t cry foul. Their traditions ran deep, their perspectives broad—they knew the world was wild enough for miracles. Stretch time and space far enough, and the impossible turned possible. Maybe Han had a devil-busting trinket or some anti-demon knack. Shocking, sure, but digestible—no tantrums needed. Outshining their kids at devil-slaying? Fine—their prodigies had their own strengths. Pride of the elite held firm.


    Still, Han’s opening act rocked the crowd. Black Cloud’s finest, hometown hero—name well-earned!


    Jiang Hengchuan and his ilk grew antsier. Lu Qingmo, what’re you waiting for? Whatever your deal is, snag this kid as your disciple already!


    Han didn’t care about the buzz. He ambled down the winding path—no obstacles, no hints of the next trial. Eventually, it spat him out into familiar mountain woods—back in Black Mountain proper. Two ancient trees caught his eye, impossible to miss: one jet black, one stark white. Words carved into their trunks.


    “Flying Cloud Sword Art? Tempest Rain Technique?” A martial skill on one, a daoist art on the other, both ending with “Please study.”


    “Second trial’s on-the-spot skill learning?” he mused.


    Outside, Tianhe briefed the crowd. “Learn a martial or daoist skill within a set time—master it enough, and you pass.” Silence fell. This was tough—arguably as brutal as the devils. Time limit, plus competition? No picnic.


    “What skills?” someone asked.


    “Varies per person,” Tianhe said. “Not high-tier stuff, but complex—tests your wits.”


    Han, the lone second-stage contender, skimmed the techniques, mulled them over, and nodded. “Easy.”