"Fang Han..."

Sensing the terrifying might of Gong Biao’s aura, Fang Lingyuan and the others paled, scrambling to aid Fang Han.

But the black-robed elder and the Gong Family Martial Artists naturally blocked their way, instantly engaging them in combat.

HISS—

Facing Gong Biao’s incredibly ferocious attack, Fang Han remained perfectly calm.

Not until Gong Biao was mere feet away, the force of the punch already blasting his face, did he leisurely raise the Flowing Wind Sword and execute a simple, direct thrust.

There were no flashy moves, no astonishing display of power.

But as the sword thrust forward, the very air at its tip seemed to compress, emitting a faint but piercing shriek.

Twenty percent of his Wind Momentum was concentrated at the tip, pushing the sword’s speed and piercing power to an unbelievable level.

He struck first despite moving last.

PFFT!

The tip of the sword met Gong Biao’s incoming fist with perfect accuracy.

First came the dull thud of Inner Qi colliding, followed instantly by the sickening squelch of a blade piercing flesh.

Gong Biao felt an indescribably sharp surge of Inner Qi. It tore through the protective layer on his fist as if snapping dry twigs, shattered the bones within, and then flooded violently up the meridians in his arm.

"AAAAHHH—!"

He let out a bloodcurdling shriek as his body was sent flying backward even faster than he had charged, a spray of blood erupting from his mouth.

His right arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, the bones clearly shattered. The aftershock of the Sword Qi had even raked across his chest, leaving a gash so deep that bone was visible, blood pouring from the wound.

BAM!

He slammed hard against the back wall, spiderweb cracks spreading from the point of impact. He then slid limply to the floor, his face ashen and his aura completely depleted, eyes filled with terror and disbelief.

A single strike!

With just a single strike, he, a Sixth Grade Martial Artist, had been utterly defeated and grievously wounded!

’How is this possible?’

Fang Han glanced dispassionately at the grievously wounded Gong Biao, then moved again.

Like a tiger let loose among sheep, he executed the Flowing Wind Shadowless Step, leaving a trail of afterimages in his wake.

With every flash of his sword, a Gong Family Martial Artist clutched at their throat and fell to the ground, dead.

The black-robed elder saw things were going south and was about to act, but a cyan streak of sword light shot toward him like a venomous snake. He parried desperately, only to feel a sharp pain in his wrist as his weapon was knocked from his grasp. In the next instant, the tip of a sword was at his heart.

The black-robed elder’s eyes filled with despair and indignation before his body slumped to the floor.

As for Gong Bao, he had been allowed to accompany the Gong Family not because of his strength, but because he was Gong Biao’s son. Naturally, he had been one of the first to be killed.

In the time it took to draw a dozen breaths, the remaining Gong Family Martial Artists, including Gong Bao and the black-robed elder with his Peak Seventh Grade Cultivation, had all been slain.

The air in the hall was thick with the nauseating stench of blood.

The members of the Fang Family stared blankly at the scene before them, as if they were trapped in a dream.

From the moment Fang Han appeared to the complete annihilation of the Gong Family contingent, only a mere dozen breaths had passed!

The situation had reversed so quickly that their minds had all but ceased to function.

Fang Han sheathed his sword, his gaze landing on the grievously wounded Gong Biao, who lay collapsed on the floor.

"You... Your robes... they weren’t borrowed..."

Gong Biao looked at the corpse of his son, Gong Bao, and those of his many clansmen. A wave of grief and rage washed over him, and he violently coughed up another mouthful of blood, his eyes filled with boundless regret.

’I was wrong. So terribly wrong!’

’His True Inheritance Robe wasn’t borrowed at all. With that terrifying strength, he is without a doubt a True Disciple of the Qingxuan Sect.’

’To think I provoked such a baleful star, brought such a disaster upon the Gong Family... and even my own son, Gong Bao, is dead.’

"Weren’t you so arrogant just now?"

Fang Han walked up to Gong Biao, his eyes like ice. The Flowing Wind Sword left its sheath again in a flash of light.

"AAAAHHH—!"

Gong Biao let out another, even more piercing shriek. His right hand had been severed at the wrist, and blood gushed from the stump.

"Crawl back and tell Gong Xing."

Fang Han’s voice was level, yet it carried a bone-chilling coldness that made the heart tremble.

His gaze was like a blade, fixed on Gong Biao’s face, which was contorted with pain and terror.

"I will wait for him at the Fang Family estate for five days. If he doesn’t come within five days, and instead waits until I leave to make a move against the Fang Family..."

Fang Han paused, a biting killing intent radiating from him. The temperature in the entire hall seemed to plummet.

"...then I will personally pay a visit to the Gong Family, and I will slaughter every last one of you, down to the last dog and chicken."

Gong Biao trembled violently. Feeling that palpable killing intent, he had no doubt that Fang Han meant every word.

He struggled, using his remaining left hand to scoop up the body of his son, Gong Bao. He took one last look at the corpses of his clansmen littering the floor.

Limping and staggering like a beaten dog, he fled the Fang Family hall, his retreating figure a picture of desolation.

Fang Han watched Gong Biao disappear, his expression unreadable.

He had spared Gong Biao’s life and given a five-day deadline for one reason: to completely eliminate the threat that was Gong Xing.

Otherwise, if Gong Xing were to attack the Fang Family after he left, they would be utterly defenseless.

A thick, metallic stench still hung in the hall.

Fang Lingyuan, Fang Mingde, Fang Tu, Fang Zhenshan, and the other core members of the Fang Family gathered around Fang Han, their faces a mixture of shock and elation.

But deep in their eyes, a hint of worry lingered.

"Fang Han, you... have you really become a True Disciple of the Qingxuan Sect?"

Fang Lingyuan took a deep breath. His gaze swept over the magnificent and stately Silver-Striped Cyan Robe Fang Han was wearing, and he asked for confirmation, his voice trembling almost imperceptibly.

"Yes, Patriarch."

Fang Han nodded, his voice calm but firm.

"I am now ranked thirtieth on the Qingxuan Sect’s Grand List and have been granted the status of a True Disciple."

Even though they had already guessed, hearing Fang Han confirm it with his own lips still made Fang Lingyuan and the others gasp. Immediately after, their faces bloomed with irrepressible excitement and pride.

"Excellent! Truly excellent!"

Elder Fang Tu slapped his thigh in excitement, his voice booming.

"I knew it! Our Fang Family has produced a true dragon! Fang Han, you’ve brought great honor to our family!"

"In just over two months, you jumped from ninety-fifth on the Grand List to thirtieth and became a True Disciple... Such a rate of advancement is unheard of!"

Elder Mingde’s eyes were filled with amazement.

Elder Zhen Shan also nodded emphatically, a rare smile gracing his usually stern face. "The heavens have blessed the Fang Family!"

After the initial excitement passed, Fang Lingyuan quickly composed himself, and the trace of worry returned to his brow.

"Fang Han, while it’s true you are now a True Disciple of the Qingxuan Sect, Gong Xing is a veteran True Disciple of the Netherworld Pavilion. His strength is bound to be immense. Are you confident that you can..."

He didn’t finish his sentence, but his meaning was clear.

Gong Xing had been famous for a long time; his strength was unfathomable. Although Fang Han was also a True Disciple, he was newly promoted. If the two of them were to clash, the outcome would be impossible to predict.

Fang Han understood the Patriarch’s concern. He glanced at the assembled Elders, his gaze calm and self-assured, and spoke slowly.

"Patriarch, Elders, there is no need for concern. Since I dared to challenge Gong Xing to come here, I naturally have a way to deal with him."

"If Gong Xing doesn’t show, then so be it. But if he dares to come, I will make him pay the price."

His voice wasn’t loud, yet it carried a firm, convincing power.

It was the kind of absolute confidence born from one’s own strength, a steady presence forged through countless life-or-death struggles.

Looking into Fang Han’s calm yet bottomless eyes, Fang Lingyuan and the others felt a strange sense of reassurance.

They suddenly realized that the Fang Han before them was no longer the boy who needed the family’s protection, but a true expert, capable of standing on his own—and even protecting them.

His Realm, his perspective, the very world he inhabited, had already surpassed anything they could imagine.

"Good! That’s good!"

Fang Lingyuan nodded emphatically, pushing aside his stray thoughts.

"Leave this to us. You’ve traveled for days on end and just fought a battle. Go get some rest."

"Yes."

Fang Han cupped his hands in salute, then left the reception hall, which still faintly smelled of blood. He headed straight for the depths of the family estate, toward Tingyu Pavilion where his parents resided.

News of his return and the events in the front hall had clearly preceded him, carried by servants.

He had just stepped through the moon gate of Tingyu Pavilion when two figures hurried out from the house to meet him: his father, Fang Zheng, and his mother, Lin Wan.

Their faces were a mask of urgency, excitement, and disbelief.

"Han’er!"

Lin Wan rushed forward, grabbing Fang Han’s hands and looking him over from head to toe, as if to confirm he was truly unharmed.

"A servant just came and reported that you killed the members of the Gong Family who came to cause trouble, and that you’ve become a True Disciple of the Qingxuan Sect? Is it really true?"

Fang Zheng remained silent, but his intense gaze and trembling lips betrayed the extreme turmoil in his heart.

The news from the front hall was so shocking they could scarcely process it.

"Father, Mother, it’s true."

Now that he was home, a relaxed, gentle smile appeared on Fang Han’s face.

"Your son is now a True Disciple of the Qingxuan Sect. The trouble in the front hall is over. All the men from the Gong Family have been dealt with; only one was left to carry a message back."

Hearing their son confirm it himself, the heavy weight on Fang Zheng and Lin Wan’s hearts finally lifted, replaced by a wave of overwhelming joy.

"A True Disciple... My son is a True Disciple of the Qingxuan Sect!"

Fang Zheng murmured to himself, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

He was merely from a side branch of the Fang Family, with no Talent for martial arts. He had lived an unremarkable life, yet his son had become a True Disciple of the Qingxuan Sect.

This was an honor that would glorify their ancestors, enough to change the status of their branch within the clan—and perhaps even the fate of the entire Fang Family.

Lin Wan was so happy she began to weep, dabbing the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief. "Wonderful, just wonderful! I always knew my son would be successful! The ancestors are truly watching over us!"

"Brother! Brother is back!"

A little girl of about seven or eight with her hair in pigtails, as cute as a porcelain doll, ran out of the house. It was Fang Han’s younger sister, Fang Ying.

She was now seven, old enough to understand things. While she didn’t fully grasp what a "True Disciple" was, seeing her parents so happy told her that her brother had done something truly incredible.

She fluttered to Fang Han’s side like a happy little butterfly, hugging his waist and tilting her small face up to him, her big, sparkling dark eyes filled with adoration and curiosity.

"Brother, is the Qingxuan Sect really, really big? Did you become the strongest person there?"

Seeing his little sister’s innocent expression, the smile on Fang Han’s face widened. He bent down and scooped her up into his arms.

"The Qingxuan Sect is very big, and Brother isn’t the strongest one there yet. But I’ll keep working hard to get stronger, so I can protect Father, Mother, and you, Xiaoying."

"Mhm! Brother is the best!"

Fang Ying nodded enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around Fang Han’s neck.