Chapter 11: Chapter 11 — Blood-Binding Refinement

“The feeling of power—it’s intoxicating! No wonder Elder Miss Fang Qingxue looks down on the world and holds the power of life and death.”

Hearing the wet crunch of Fang Dafu’s bones under his foot, Fang Han felt a rising thrill—not the petty glee of a small man who’s suddenly lucky, but the clear, clean joy of possessing strength and being able to shape other people’s fates.

After so many years, in this moment Fang Han finally felt like a real person.

“But I must become even stronger—immensely strong. I must obtain the power of the Divine-Ability Realm before I can truly stand above others. What I have now is still small, insignificant. The satisfaction this power brings is nothing— I must grow stronger, and stronger, and stronger.”

Once he had tasted what strength could buy, Fang Han realized that wealth and fame were mere outward trappings. True and lasting was one thing only: power.

“Fang Han! What do you think you’re doing? How dare you kill here!”
Fang Man and Fang Rui’s faces changed violently as they stepped forward, flanking him and hemming him in. Both were skilled men—otherwise they would not have risen to high rank among the Fang household’s retainers.

In the Fang family, prominent servants carried real weight; when they went outside the manor, they strutted as if they were magistrates themselves. Their status was hardly trivial.

“Are you all hoping to lose hands and feet?”
Fang Han turned, a cold smile on his lips. “Let me tell you the truth: I have reached the Flesh Realm’s Fifth Stage—Divine Strength. If you want to act, measure your steps first.”

“What? Fifth Stage—Divine Strength? No wonder Fang Lie fell to him,”
Fang Man and Fang Rui muttered, faces flushed with humiliation.

Only the Fang family’s core disciples could normally attain Divine Strength. Manually, Fang Han’s claim felt absurd, but the sight of Fang Lie on the ground left no room for denial.

“Hmph. Those who know the situation should be wise,”
Fang Han licked his lips. “For the sake of serving the Eldest Miss, I won’t break your bones today. This isn’t the Fang manor proper—if I killed you here and tossed you down the mountain, it would be nothing but a rumor until the Eldest Miss finishes her seclusion.”

“We’ll see about that!”
Fang Man spat back, though his voice lacked conviction.

Fang Han now turned his gaze to the servants who had been jeering earlier.

With a single fierce look, those who had been shouting dropped to their knees and begged, “Master Han, spare us! From now on we’ll follow your orders—through wind and rain, through fire and blade, we won’t complain.”

“Hānye…”
Hearing them call him “Master Han” made Fang Han’s heart flip; he allowed himself a small smile. “Rise. From today on you are under my command. Serve the Eldest Miss by tending the spirit beasts. You”—he pointed—“you too.”

By asserting himself and making an example of Fang Lie and Fang Dafu, he had swept up two hundred fifty people into his command. Where before these men had been senior to him, now none dared a word.

“All right, good.”
Organizing the two hundred and fifty, Fang Han approached the prostrate Fang Lie.

“Enough for today. Let this matter end here. Fang Lie disobeyed the Eldest Miss and tried to seize your Beast-Warden Token—he has been dealt with. Now, we get to work.”

At that moment a voice cut through—calm, measured.

“I was going to say the same.”

Fang Han turned. The speaker was Fang Qiang—the enigmatic head of the maids. She wore a flowing green dress; her figure was tall and statuesque, legs long and elegant like a crane. Her eyes carried a misty softness, and about her breathed a slow, deliberate presence—a woman who, by the faint rhythm of her heart, might well be a master in her own right.

He had heard of Fang Qiang before: the chief maid of the Fang estate, rumored to have been noticed by the family head as a concubine candidate before the idea was vetoed by the matron. Now, face-to-face, Fang Han felt the subtle air of mystery about her and immediately eased his stance.

“Disperse. Take your positions. We’ll run Violet-Light Peak neatly so the Eldest Miss can cultivate in peace,”
Fang Qiang clapped once.

Fang Man and Fang Rui led a group away; Fang Han organized his men and took up residence in a large palace mid-slope.

Violet-Light Peak had seven or eight palaces. Aside from the summit’s Violet-Light Palace—where Fang Qingxue cultivated—the other palaces housed servants and attendants. Despite their purpose, these dwellings were extravagant—more splendid even than the Fang family’s city estate.

Fang Han’s lodging was the “Spirit-Bestiary Palace” with pens and aviaries for the godly beasts.

“These cranes are enormous.”
In the aviaries he counted thirty-six cranes—each two to three people tall, a monstrous, majestic bird; their wings were like great panels, and a single call could shake the heavens. One beat of an outstretched wing could blow a man away.

How the Yuhua Sect raised such beasts, he could not imagine. For now they were kept contained: great nets of purple silk suspended above and around the yards, like barriers woven of “violet-silkworm thread,” preventing the cranes from soaring free.

“Beast-Warden Token… Drip blood on it and you can command these cranes?”
Fang Han produced the jade token.

Carved on it were thirty-six tiny cranes matching those in the pens. Biting his finger, he let a drop of blood fall onto the token. Immediately a low hum rose in his mind; for an instant his spirit felt as if it poured into the jade. The token seemed to become part of him.

The token hovered up into the air.

“How can this be? I made the token float—have I entered the Divine-Ability Realm?”
Fang Han whispered in shock.

“You haven’t entered the Divine-Ability Realm,”
a voice answered behind him. “It’s the token’s power. The Yuhua Sect’s elders engraved a formation into that token. Your blood awakened the formation. This is the blood-binding refinement—now you can communicate with these thirty-six cranes by will.”

“Ah—Fang Qiang.”
Fang Han recognized the voice and turned to her. “You know quite a bit.”

“I’ve been the Fang house’s chief steward for years. Our ancestors were disciples of the Yuhua Sect—there are things I’ve seen.”
Fang Qiang spoke softly, revealing little but giving away important facts.

“Blood-binding refinement? That’s a new term,”
Fang Han repeated.

“Blood-binding is a way for those without Divine Ability to attune artifacts,”
Fang Qiang explained. “At Yuhua there are three levels of disciples. Outer disciples simply train. Inner disciples don’t possess Divine Ability but they receive sect-granted implements—flying swords, throwing blades, defensive talismans. Like your Beast-Warden Token, these items carry formations. After a blood-binding, a disciple lacking Divine Ability can activate them through intention, greatly improving self-defense and anti-demonic capability. Though Yuhua is one of the Ten Great Immortal Sects, threats remain: demonic sects and beast-cults. Mere training alone isn’t enough.”

She smiled faintly. “We servants are not sect disciples. But should fate favor you and someone select you for the sect, you will need to know these things.”

“The Beast-Warden Token is just a low-level implement. If you could obtain an elder-forged spirit implement— a true flying sword—after blood-binding you could cut down foes ten li away. That is a real spirit implement.”

“Spirit implement?”
Fang Han blinked.

“Artifacts are classified: mundane talismans, spirit implements, treasure artifacts, Dao implements, and immortal artifacts,”
Fang Qiang began. “A mundane talisman carries a sliver of法力—usable protections like fire talismans, purification talismans, wind talismans—or simple items like this Beast-Warden Token. Any Divine-Ability master can invest such items with power. A spirit implement has true spirit: when a cultivator reaches the Fifth Stage—Heaven-and-Man—he can weave large formations into an item, giving it exceptional responsiveness. A treasure artifact is rarer and more powerful. A Dao implement is a legendary item that gains cultivation of its own and grows. An immortal implement exists only in myth. Even if your cultivation is at Divine Strength, encountering a spirit-blade can still mean instant death.”

“Thank you, Miss Fang Qiang. You’ve opened my eyes,”
Fang Han said, grateful and more wary than ever.

“You’ve offended Fang Man and Fang Rui; they’ll come after you. While the Eldest Miss is sealed in retreat, she won’t meddle in servant squabbles. You might be betrayed and forgotten when she emerges. Be careful,”
Fang Qiang warned.

“They’re going to report me to Young Master Yu?”
Fang Han asked, surprised.

“Fang Yu—yes. He’s the Eldest Miss’s brother, brought here to become an outer disciple. They’ve already sent word to him to lodge a complaint. Watch yourself. Remember, Yuhua has 108 true-transmission disciples, three to five thousand inner disciples, and hundreds of thousands of outer disciples—connections everywhere. The Eldest Miss’s slaughter of the Vermilion-Flame disciples has made enemies. Our lives are cheap. Tend the cranes carefully and keep your guard up.”

After she left, Fang Han mulled over what she’d said.

Blood-binding refinement… A thought struck him. I still have the Dragon Lurking in the Yellow Springs Map. What if I bound my blood to that? The Dragon Map belonged to the demonic Huangquan Emperor—could it be a spirit implement, a treasure, a Dao implement, or even an immortal implement? It’s certainly not an ordinary talisman.