Chapter 9: Chapter 9 — The Yuhua Immortal Sect

“I didn’t expect to pass so easily.” Fang Han still couldn’t believe it—just a few questions from the Eldest Miss, and she let him go. Then again, he thought, with who I am and how little power I have, there’s no reason for Fang Qingxue to pry further.

Indeed, by either rank or strength, Fang Han was nothing before a true-transmission disciple of the Yuhua Sect. Titles and imperial decrees meant no more to Fang Qingxue than a handful of dust.

Of course she did not know about the Nine-Orifice Golden Elixir or the Dragon Map hidden on his person—if she had, there would be nowhere left to hide in the world.

Relaxed for the first time in days, Fang Han slept soundly—his dreams full of a single hope: to see what the legendary Ten Immortal Sects and the Yuhua Sect truly looked like.

The days that followed were little more than travel. The Fang household’s massive convoy pressed eastward—through Longyuan, Wuling, Huayang, Taigu, Jiuhu provinces and more—thousands of li of road. A month later they reached the base of a vast range of mountains.

“Beyond those peaks is Yuhua Immortal Mountain—the root of the Yuhua Sect,”
Fang Qingxue said.

Fang Han, squeezed among the servants, looked up at the endless mountain chain. Peaks thrust into the sky like straight spears; many were carved with palaces and pavilions, flowering terraces crowning the cliffs.

Countless thousand-zhang waterfalls leapt from the summits like rows of jade dragons. The sky above was crystal blue, as if cut from stone—without a cloud to mar its clarity—sunlight warm and immaculate.

On the summits pine trees took root like ancient giants—twisted branches stretching with primeval nobility. Far within the mountains’ heart, where mists gathered, vast sky-cities hovered like mirages—palaces suspended in clouds. The place looked unmistakably like the fabled immortal realm.

Fang Han stood stunned by the sight; a deep, wordless awe rose in him.

“Immortal way… The immortal path! This is the Immortal Path! The Ten Immortal Sects are worth so much more than any earthly lord or minister. My childish dream of serving as a marquis in Li Capital now seems so pitiful,”
he thought, chastising the narrowness of his former ambitions.

As the convoy arrived before Yuhua Mountain, a long cry split the air—cranes calling, a wild, clear sound that pierced the heavens.

To the astonishment of the escort, seven or eight white specks streaked through the sky like arrows. At first they were the size of fists; by the time they drew near overhead, each had become a crane larger than an ox.

These heavenly cranes were magnificent—red crests, wings stirring great gusts—and each claw was like a steel hook capable of rending metal. Even more remarkable: mounted upon each crane sat a young Daoist in feathered robes.

The cranes descended in a roaring wind. People were thrown to the ground by the turbulence.

“Oh no!”

Fang Han had been leading Thousand-Li Snow at the front. The monstrous cranes terrified the horse; Thousand-Li Snow reared and let out a long, panicked whinny before bolting.

“Hey!”

Fang Han lunged forward, straining to rein in the runaway steed.

At that very instant, a falling crane reached downward. One rider jabbed the crane’s crown; the bird’s claws shot down and seized Thousand-Li Snow by the flank.

Another rider cracked out a long, black-gold whip that lashed toward Fang Han, attempting to coil him into the air.

Fang Han rolled aside, narrowly avoiding the whip’s sweep. But Thousand-Li Snow was grievously clawed—several bloody gashes marred the saddle area and the horse collapsed, thrashing in pain.

The seven young riders alighted and swept their eyes over the gathered convoy with haughty disdain. Their posture was imperious—as if gods looking down on mortals—and the cranes themselves towered twice a man’s height, adding to the riders’ overwhelming presence.

“You lowly mortals—why dare you set foot on Yuhua Mountain? You—come here!”
one rider barked, pointing at Fang Han.

“Are you the reception disciples under Senior Brother Jin? Is this how Senior Brother Jin taught you to receive guests?”
Fang Qingxue’s voice carried from the carriage. When she stepped out, the seven riders’ faces shifted from contempt to deferential respect.

“It’s Senior Sister Fang—congratulations on your promotion to true-transmission. We came to welcome you. This mortal groom was reckless and violated the mountain’s rules,”
a rider bowed, smoothing his tone.

“Yes. Senior Brother Jin ordered us to take this chance to teach the household the mountain’s rules. After all, mortals must be careful when they enter an immortal site—avoid taboo things,”
another added.

Mortals, mortals, Fang Han thought, feeling those words like a dismissive salt in the wound.

From outward bearing, these seven riders were clearly junior to Fang Qingxue. They had not pierced into Divine Ability; otherwise they would not ride cranes but fly on air with mana. Still, their aura matched Fang Tong’s in a way—perhaps seventh or eighth stage flesh cultivators pushing for the Divine Ability threshold. Fang Han watched them from the corner of his eye, studying their energy.

“Since when did my people become the ones to be lectured?”
Fang Qingxue’s brow lifted in a slight frown—whether irritation or mere annoyance, none could tell. “It seems Senior Brother Jin is not pleased I was named a true-transmission disciple.”

“Then we shall leave,”
one of the crane-riders said. The youth who had lashed at Fang Han motioned; they were about to mount and withdraw.

“Wait.”

Fang Qingxue’s voice sliced the air.

“You rush in on cranes and scare my people, injure my horse, and think you can leave without consequence?”

“What, Sister Fang—come now. A mortal horse is just a mortal horse. Are you demanding compensation?”
another rider scoffed, his tone thinly mocking.

“Whether mortal or mount, both are mine. You’ve challenged me—so have your lives,”
Fang Qingxue said. She rose to her feet, and in an instant hovered, wind spiraling about her white robes. Three zhang away, purple lightning filaments crackled and danced.

Her presence cut the world down to a needle of force. In that moment Fang Han felt as if she were a blade unsheathed—sharp enough to pierce the sky itself.

She raised a thumb.

A streak of lightning-blade—Violet-Lightning Yin-Thunder—lashed out and obliterated a mountain-sized boulder a thousand paces away, cleaving it in two.

So this is the Yuhua Sect’s Violet-Lightning Yin-Thunder Blade. Fang Han’s hair rose on end. This was the power that had felled Bai Haichan. The raw electric charge that saturated the air sent tremors through his skin. He had never before seen the might of a Divine-Ability practitioner in full bloom.

The rider who had pointed the whip at Fang Han screamed as purple lightning struck him; his mount reared, and another blade of violet light ignited, tearing the crane in two. Man and crane collapsed in a rain of burning embers.

One man, one crane—gone in an instant.

The remaining riders, shaken, scrambled to ascend their cranes and flee.

“You dare kill our people? You disregard sect rules! Senior Brother Jin will not let this pass—what will you say to the Heavenly Punishment Elder?”
the leader of the riders shouted.

“True-transmission disciples are appointed by the Sect Master and hold the power of life and death. You challenged my authority—if I do not strike, what dignity remains to a true-transmission? Blame Senior Brother Jin for bringing you out to test me. Look sharp in your next life!”
Fang Qingxue’s voice was still cool and unruffled. She flicked her fingers seven times—seven streaks of lightning like coiling dragons—swept across the plaza and struck the remaining riders and their cranes.

“Stop!”

At that moment a great cry rose from the mountain, and a green figure streaked into the sky. A young man in jade robes—handsome, brows like blades—charged across the distance in an instant. He sent out seven blasts of emerald flame that collided with Fang Qingxue’s violet arcs, the two energies clashing and vanishing on contact.

“Senior Sister Fang, there are matters we can discuss. Why the killing?”
the newcomer called out, his voice carrying both reason and warning.

“Jin Shitai!”
Fang Qingxue’s lightning did not pause. The green flames met the violet onslaught, but her strikes pierced through, each bolt cleaving its way. Though Jin’s defense protected some, he could not stop them all. One by one, the seven riders and their cranes were struck; seven explosions ripped them into flaming corpses that fell from the sky in smoking wreckage.

“All dead!”

Jin Shitai’s face darkened with fury.

“Jin Shitai—you’re only a true-transmission by appointment, yet your present mastery is no more than transforming false energy into real—only the Second Stage of Divine Ability: the Cultivation-Reality stage. If you dispute me, meet me at the Heavenly Punishment Platform,”
Fang Qingxue said icily.

The Heavenly Punishment Platform—three words that made Jin Shitai’s expression shift. It was the place for true-transmission duel to the death over deep grievances. Only one would walk away. He had not expected Fang Qingxue to exert such ruthless force.

“Hmph. I will report this to the elder who enforces sect rules!”
Jin barked and swept away in a cloud of jade.

Fang Qingxue descended without a tremor and climbed back into the carriage as if nothing had happened.

“That is what it means to be domineering—what it means to be absolute. A true-transmission disciple of the Yuhua Sect is not to be trifled with. I have truly seen Fang Qingxue’s might now. Bai Haichan had no hope against her,”
the servants whispered among themselves.

Fang Han watched the scene, his heart pounding. In the span of breath he understood how far he still had to travel. If Bai Haichan had wanted him to kill Fang Qingxue, the task now seemed a thousand times farther away.

“One day,”
he thought, clenching his fists against the chill, “I too will be so mighty—to look down on the heavens and the earth.”