Linglong Paradise lay far out at sea. Ordinary cultivators needed years of flight to reach it, and anyone below the Heaven-Human Realm would simply run out of mana mid-journey. Once they fell into the open ocean, they were done—devoured by the many sea beasts that ruled those waters.
But for someone like Fang Han—whose body had already stepped half into the realm of immortality—crossing the ocean was nothing. With his overwhelming mana and a Golden Core forged from ninety divine abilities, he could carry a mountain across the sea if he wanted to.
Ancient cultivators even wagered on such feats—"carrying mountains across the Four Seas." Two experts would simultaneously lift a mountain and fly across the ocean, competing to see who reached the far shore first.
Now, with Fang Han's power nearing the equivalent of a hundred million units of mana—and with the World Tree as his foundation—if he were to gamble against a newly advanced Longevity expert, he might actually win.
Ahead, a shimmering mirage rose over the horizon.
"This mirage… it's Linglong Paradise," Fang Han murmured, eyes narrowing. "It's hidden inside a sealed pocket of void. If you try to fly toward it normally, you'll never reach it. It's 'a step away yet forever distant.'"
This was the power of space, a domain only fully understood by those who had reached the third realm of the Longevity Mysteries.
In theory, only those who had comprehended spatial laws could enter Linglong Paradise. But since the mirage was already revealed, there must be deliberate gaps in the barrier—otherwise, no one could attend Linglong Immortal Venerable's birthday celebration. After all, how many guests could possibly be Longevity-realm masters?
As Fang Han studied the distorted horizon, several streaks of rainbow-light shot across the ocean. Each carried a confident young cultivator—stern-eyed, handsome, each with the bearing of a genius. They, too, paused near the mirage, realizing that brute force flight would never open a path. Like him, they were searching for spatial seams.
If they couldn't even find the entrance, they weren't worth inviting to a grand occasion like this.
One of the young men clasped his hands toward Fang Han. "We're disciples of the One-Origin Sect. May we ask which sect you hail from, fellow Daoist?"
Fang Han glanced at them. Talented, yes. But none had reached the Heaven-Human Realm. Finding spatial gaps would be extremely difficult for them.
He spoke calmly, "Linglong Paradise is hidden in an independent pocket of void. Today, because of the immortal venerable's birthday, the mirage is projected outward. Within it are many fissures—space seams. Find one, and you can cross into the sect. Consider it a small test. If you can pass it, the journey alone will benefit your cultivation."
"Pathetic trash. You can't even enter a mountain gate. So much for the so-called righteous sects."
A wave of emerald fire rolled across the sky. Within it stepped a young noble dressed in shimmering green and gold, surrounded by a retinue of demonic followers.
Fang Han's eyes twitched.
Ling Gongzi.
The son of the Blood-Shadow Devil Sect's elder, Bixue Old Fiend. It was this arrogant brat whose seven gourds Fang Han had robbed long ago—gourds filled with pure War and Slaughter Qi that Fang Han used to open his second sea of consciousness.
Ling Gongzi had hired assassins—Moondagger Thieves, Star-Slayers, and even the Execution-Immortal Robbers—to kill him. Ironically, those attempts had made Fang Han rich: he acquired a Golden Core, blew up a ghost emperor, and began his meteoric rise.
Seeing Ling Gongzi now, arriving politely to pay respects at an immortal's birthday, Fang Han almost laughed.
Life was strange indeed.
But behind Ling Gongzi stood Bixue Old Fiend, a true ancient monster of the Longevity realm. Fang Han had enemies aplenty; there was no need to provoke yet another powerhouse.
Then a cold voice rolled across the sky.
"Ling Gongzi, your behavior is a disgrace to our demonic path. True devils follow their hearts—not pointless arrogance."
A rain of pale flowers drifted down. Bone-lotuses unfurled from thin air. A white-robed youth stepped out, cold and aloof.
Innate Bone Demon Physique.
Fang Han instantly recognized him.
Mo Shuai—Ying Tianqing.
The young demon marshal of the Innate Demon Sect.
He was a familiar figure—once someone Fang Han could only look up at. Back then, Mo Shuai was already a prodigy who had formed a demonic Golden Core.
But now…
Fang Han's eyes narrowed. The youth's aura had transformed—deep, unfathomable, frightening.
Mo Shuai had already crossed the Wind-Fire Tribulation and stepped into Divine Ability Ninth Layer—Heaven and Earth Dharma Phase.
Back then, Fang Han couldn't even imagine catching up to him.
Now?
He could kill Mo Shuai ten times over, probably more.
Yen's laughter echoed in Fang Han's mind. "Hahaha, Fang Han! This demon marshal struts around like he's invincible, but in front of you? He's nothing. Want to slap him around a bit?"
"No," Fang Han said faintly. "We have no conflict. There's no need."
Behind Mo Shuai stood his father—Innate Emperor Ying Xiantian—one of the strongest devils alive, rivaled only by ancient giants like the late Yellow Springs Emperor. Fang Han had no interest in stirring that hornet's nest.
Mo Shuai didn't hold back. He glared at Ling Gongzi.
"With all the outstanding talents gathered here, your theatrics embarrass the entire demonic path. Leave before you shame us further."
Ling Gongzi's face twisted.
"Don't think that just because your cultivation is higher, you can command me! My father isn't even the number one powerhouse of the demonic path—yet!"
He flicked a sleeve, and a blood-red sword appeared—a blade seething with crimson haze.
A horrifying demonic head formed from sword-light, surrounded by thousands of shrieking minor blood-spirits.
Fang Han recognized it instantly.
Blood-Corroding Soul-Cutter Sword.
A top-grade Dao-artifact, once an absolute-grade treasure. Now… it had ascended. It was a true Dao-weapon.
Mo Shuai's eyes narrowed. "A Dao-weapon? Your father spent a thousand years of cultivation refining that sword?"
Ling Gongzi sneered.
"Wrong. This sword wasn't refined by my father, but by our sect master—Blood-Shadow Emperor himself! We sacrificed an entire world—ten billion humans—to evolve the Blood Pool into an absolute Dao-weapon. Afterward, my sword was submerged in that sea of blood for sixty years. It awakened an artifact spirit—Blood-Shadow Demon. Do you think your cultivation alone can withstand it?"
With a laugh, he swung the blade downward.
The sky turned crimson.
Every cloud became blood-mist.
Blood-shadows surged from every direction, spreading across hundreds of miles.
Even the sea roared as countless creatures were drained of life.
This was the Blood-Shadow Sect's signature horror—Ancient Demonic Blood-Corruption Dao.
The One-Origin Sect disciples screamed as the swarm of blood-demons engulfed them, their protective treasures dissolving like melting wax.
Even Fang Han's position was swallowed by a storm of shrieking blood-spirits.