The path deeper into the Jade Serpent Hollow was winding and treacherous, shrouded in the thick, humid air of a place untouched by time.
Towering turquoise-colored spirit trees—that phased between the brightest blue and the richest green—stretched high into the misty canopy.
Their ancient roots twisting across the stone pathway like coiled dragons. Faint glows emanated from the underbrush—serpent flowers, their petals pulsing with a soft, eerie luminescence, birthing tiny, white-scaled snakes that slithered into the darkness.
Fang Lee walked with measured steps, his senses sharp despite his outward ease. He could feel the eyes watching them. Hidden figures moved within the foliage, shifting with a silence too precise to belong to ordinary men.
Guards.
Elite cultivators, their presence masked, but their killing intent coiled like a drawn bowstring. This was no ordinary garden—this was a sanctum, a domain where only the chosen were permitted entry. And he was an outsider.
Fang Meilin walked stiffly beside him, her fingers twitching near her sword hilt. "Fang Lee," she murmured under her breath, voice tight, "I really hope you know what you're doing."
Fang Lee smirked but did not answer.
Xian Rui, meanwhile, moved through the hollow like she belonged. Because she did.
The further they walked, the more the path changed. The stone beneath them became polished, embedded with swirling jade patterns. Ornate lanterns hung from the trees, casting soft golden light that flickered against the mist.
Then, the entrance came into view—a towering, circular gate carved from a single slab of dark green jade, its surface etched with winding serpents. Beyond it stood a courtyard lined with rows of disciples, all clad in deep emerald robes. Their expressions were unreadable, their stances disciplined.
At the center of it all, seated atop a raised platform beneath an open pavilion, was an old man.
His presence was overwhelming.
Elder Han.
His long, graying hair was bound in a simple knot, his beard neatly trimmed. His robes, though lacking ostentation, carried an unmistakable weight. Power radiated from him—not in an explosive display, but in the way the very air seemed to bend around him, as though the world itself acknowledged his authority.
Fang Lee felt it instantly.
A true master.
Xian Rui came to a halt before the pavilion and inclined her head respectfully. "Father," she said smoothly, "I have returned."
Fang Lee barely kept his expression neutral.
Father?
Fang Meilin's eyes widened beside him.
The old man opened his eyes slowly, golden irises eerily similar to Xian Rui's. His gaze swept over her, then flickered toward Fang Lee.
Silence.
The atmosphere in the pavilion was thick with tension as Rui's voice rang out.
"And this time, I brought guests from the Fang Clan with me."
She gestured toward Fang Lee and Fang Meilin.
"This here is Fang Lee," Xian Rui said, walking up to him. Her voice softened, and a faint blush crept onto her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around his.
"He has shown promise… and I believe he's a candidate worthy of consideration—for the role of my husband."
The words hung in the air, and the silence that followed felt as though it had settled into the bones of all those present.
The spirit beast guardsmen—standing nearby, their hidden forms flickering in the shadows, watching with interest—observed the scene. Their gazes were sharp, though their expressions remained unreadable, just as their presence was barely perceptible.
The pavilion was draped in silence, save for the faint rustling of leaves in the distance. They were all waiting, quietly assessing the young man standing at the center.
Fang Lee felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his temple, but his gaze remained unwavering. His chest tightened, and his heart began to race. The words "candidate worthy of consideration" echoed in his mind, but he didn't have the luxury of basking in praise.
This was no time for complacency.
Suddenly, the weight of Elder Han's gaze fell on him. The air thickened, pressing down on him with an almost physical force. The elder's eyes were sharp, his expression neutral, but Fang Lee could feel the palpable challenge in the air.
"You're weak," Elder Han said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "You lack the foundation required to stand beside my daughter. You will fall."
Fang Lee straightened, his lips curving into a grin that didn't reach his eyes.
He could feel the heat of the elder's scrutiny, but he refused to be intimidated. Not by this man. Not by anyone.
"Not weak enough to die from your presence alone," Fang Lee retorted—the words slipped out before he could stop them.
His hands slid around Xian Rui's delicate frame, fingers clenching gently at her flesh, not in desire, but to steady the fury surging within him. His Qi stirred like an untamed beast—unstable, coiled, and ready to lash out at the slightest provocation.
Elder Han's lips twitched into a cold, disapproving smile.
"Impudent… and you talk too much," he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself.
Before Fang Lee could react, Elder Han moved.
The speed was so great that Fang Lee barely had time to register it. One moment, the elder stood before him—
The next, he was right on top of him.
The world seemed to warp. The space between them collapsed in an instant. Elder Han's fingers pressed firmly against Fang Lee's chest—just a touch, yet the force behind it was unbearable.
Fang Lee's breath caught in his throat. Pain surged through his body, coiling around him like chains. His chest tightened, his lungs burned—but the agony wasn't just from the pressure.
No, it was deeper.
His Qi fractured, splintering within his veins. His body trembled, as though his very essence were being torn apart.
His vision blurred. The courtyard tilted.
He couldn't breathe. His heart hammered against his ribs, every beat a struggle. His body felt moments from collapse.
Cold and detached, the elder murmured, "Is this the extent of your strength?"
Then, turning slightly toward his daughter—now effortlessly retrieved from Fang Lee's grasp—he added,
"This is the one you called worthy of your hand?"
He scoffed. "Falling from such a weak show of my force… which I'd barely call a hollow display."
Fang Lee gritted his teeth, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. But he couldn't afford to fall. Not yet. He wouldn't give Elder Han the satisfaction.
With a desperate effort, Fang Lee forced himself to stand tall, his fists clenched at his sides. Despite the agony wracking his body, despite the darkness creeping at the edges of his vision, he refused to let go of his defiance.
"You think this is all I have?" Fang Lee's voice was low and hoarse, but his eyes blazed with determination. "I'm not done yet."
The air around him stirred.
Qi twisted violently in his meridians, fraying, unstable—but he seized it anyway. With a sharp breath and a growl, he coiled what little remained around his right arm, forcing it to condense, to take form.
Emerald light pulsed along his skin and then surged outward.
A jade-green dragon's skull burst forth—formed of raw, living bone, forged from his marrow, blood, and spiritual energy. It snarled around his arm like a gauntlet of fangs and horns. Its eyes glowed with flickers of soulfire, and each breath it exhaled sent ghostly wisps into the air.
The bone dragon's head floated just ahead of his fist, semi-detached, as if defending its master of its own volition.
For a split second, Elder Han's expression flickered—not with fear, but with something faintly resembling curiosity.
And that was all the time Fang Lee needed.
With a savage shout, he lunged, driving his arm forward. The jade dragon surged with him, jaws opening wide to meet the elder's descending palm. Dragon met Sarpent. Qi met Qi.
The impact was deafening. A shockwave rippled across the courtyard, kicking up dust and cracking stone. The phantom skull took the brunt of the blow—but even it could only hold for a breath's time. Hairline fractures raced through the bone, and with a final hiss of defiance, it shattered, jade shards scattering through the air like glass.
But the attack had bought him half a heartbeat.
Fang Lee twisted his body sideways, shifting his weight, his bones groaning in protest. His other arm moved instinctively to guard his core. Pain lanced through his side—he could feel something tear—but he didn't let himself falter.
Elder Han's eyes narrowed.
With a blur of motion, his palm struck again, this time straight into Fang Lee's abdomen.
The force ripped through him like a divine hammer. His feet skidded across the stone, boots tearing furrows as he was thrown backward. His breath vanished, stolen by the sheer violence of the blow. And then came the deeper agony—Elder Han's qi spiraling into him, cruel and refined, burrowing toward his dantian.
Fang Lee screamed through clenched teeth. It felt like a thousand needles stabbing into his core. His spiritual sea trembled. Something inside him cracked.
His vision blurred. His arms felt weightless. His legs buckled.
He collapsed, coughing blood; the jade shards of his shattered technique littered around him like the remains of defiance.
The world swam around him—sky and stone, shadow and blood. Still, even in the haze of unconsciousness, his hand twitched.
As if reaching for the fragments of his dragon.
Through the haze, he briefly saw the Xian clansmen—there, standing in the shadows of the pavilion, their hidden forms flickering as they observed the fight. Their expressions were unreadable, but he could feel their eyes on him, studying, assessing, and waiting for him to fail.
The beeping began then.
It was faint at first, like the distant sound of a clock winding down, but it steadily grew louder in his ears. Beep. Beep. Beep. The rhythmic sound pulsed in his mind, the only thing that pierced through the suffocating darkness. It felt like an alarm—like the countdown to his collapse.
And then, just as the world around him began to fade into oblivion—
He was gone.
And in the depths of his spirit sea, the visage of a Yin Cauldron solidified, taking root like an ancient curse.