After placing the tracker brought by Gu Xingxi on himself, Han Ling realized he couldn't take the other three with him, and he didn't know how to pilot a spaceship in this world. Left with no other option, he pulled out his optical brain and contacted Butler Liu, asking him to come and take him to Ning Ling's location.
According to the tracker, Ning Ling was slowly moving northward. Han Ling guessed that the Celestial Master on the other end must have let down their guard somewhat—which, in this case, was a good thing.
Once he confirmed that Gu Xingxi was not seriously hurt, Lan Qihan, who had been holding on all this time, finally collapsed. She had taken most of the enemy's attacks head-on, and given her vast difference in cultivation level, even her personal spirit-guarding artifact couldn't block all the damage.
Gu Xingxi, startled, tried to get up and help her despite her dizziness, but Han Ling stopped her.
"Take care of yourself first. She'll be fine."
As he spoke, Han Ling knelt down, flipped his palm, and took out a pale golden pill from his storage pouch. It wasn't very large, but its surface was smooth and glossy, its body jade-like and warm to the touch. The faint scent that spread from it immediately washed away the stench of blood in the air, replacing it with a refreshing and sweet aroma.
Lan Qihan was still coughing up blood, but the moment she saw the pill, her eyes stung slightly. An indescribable sense of clarity rose from her throat to her chest. Without thinking, she took it. Before she could ask, Han Ling gently instructed, "Hold it in your mouth. Don't bite. Swallow it after three breaths."
She did as he said.
A few breaths later, the stabbing, burning pain in her lungs slowly began to subside, as if soothed by warm water. She stared blankly at Han Ling, astonishment still lingering in her eyes.
—She had taken countless "medicines" before. As a Deputy Director of the Special Division, being seriously injured and needing meds was routine. But whether it was C-grade drugs or S-grade healing serums from the National Research Institute, not a single one had ever made her feel this… comfortable.
Was this even medicine? It felt more like some kind of celestial treasure.
Just as that thought flashed across her mind and the medicine took full effect, she slowly fell into unconsciousness.
A soft cough came from nearby.
"Cough, cough… I…" Gu Xingxi, still dizzy and palpitating from being pushed aside by Han Ling, sat up slowly with the help of a pile of rubble. Her hair was a mess, and a trail of blood ran from her forehead down to her chin. She hadn't even finished her sentence when she caught a whiff of that sweet, pure scent.
Her eyes shifted—only to fall on another identical pill in Han Ling's palm.
Gu Xingxi froze, eyes wide.
"W-Wait… is that… is that one of those legendary ancient pills?! Where did you even get something like that?!"
Ancient pill?
Han Ling raised a brow but didn't answer. Instead, he looked down at Jiang Mingyao, who was still lying beside him.
His breathing was erratic, brows furrowed tightly, and blood-tinged froth appeared at the corners of his mouth as his chest heaved—clearly, his internal injuries were severe. Han Ling sighed and handed the pill to Gu Xingxi.
"Feed him this. It will stabilize his pulse and protect his heart. It'll stop him from dying of a burst vein."
Gu Xingxi's hands trembled as she took the pill. She'd seen high-grade potions before, and she'd fed unconscious patients their meds plenty of times—but this pill… this scent… she took a deep whiff.
It was just a single pill, yet the nearly stagnant energy channels in her body, which had been on the verge of shutting down earlier, now began to subtly loosen.
"This is really… just a legendary ancient pill??" she whispered in disbelief.
Han Ling replied calmly, "Mm, just a basic one. Handmade by me. I used a few low-grade spirit herbs. I don't feed people anything filled with too many impurities."
Gu Xingxi: "…"
—Was that a jab at modern alchemists and their garbage-tier formulas?
…Well, fair enough. There were too many impurities in today's drugs. She couldn't even argue.
Her mind was a mess, but her hands continued moving. She carefully pried open Jiang Mingyao's mouth, placed the pill inside, and supported his chin gently as she helped him swallow.
Almost instantly, color began to return to Jiang Mingyao's pale face, and the tightness in his brows eased ever so slightly.
Gu Xingxi looked like she'd just seen a ghost.
"…He was in such bad shape we'd normally have to put him in intensive care for three days straight—nutrient drips, stabilizers, the works. And your one pill… just replaced like ten bottles of meds?!"
Han Ling said nothing. He only turned slightly to the side and put the now-empty porcelain bottle back into his storage pouch. The pouch itself looked ancient and plain—just a tattered piece of cloth to outsiders.
Gu Xingxi just stared at him. Her gaze had gone beyond admiration, bordering on pure… awe.
Not long after, the rescue team arrived. Only after watching each of them being carried into the medical pods did Han Ling finally board the spaceship that Butler Liu had brought. The timing was perfect—just as the rescue team arrived, Butler Liu's ship touched down.
At the very last moment before the cabin door opened, Han Ling stood on the boarding platform, unmoving. His brows lowered slightly as his gaze fell beyond the beige single-seat sofa inside the ship.
There—hidden just behind it—was a faint spiritual aura, not well concealed at all.
Perhaps ordinary cultivators wouldn't have noticed the subtle ripple of spiritual energy, but Han Ling was different. He had sealed his own spiritual power and withdrawn his divine sense, becoming as still as dead water. And that flicker of restless energy was like a wisp of smoke drifting across a still pond.
…That little rascal. What is he up to now?
A small smile appeared in Han Ling's eyes as he silently stepped into the cabin.
A soft "thump" sounded as he deliberately stepped harder than necessary.
A startled yelp immediately came from behind the sofa. A flash of silver burst out like lightning, circling in midair—only to freeze the moment it saw Han Ling, hovering awkwardly in place.
It was a sword spirit, still in its pre-formed state. The light around it flickered, spiritual power unstable, even leaking traces of sword intent. Clearly, the control was still quite poor.
"…How the heck do you have no spiritual signature?" Yun Qian, the sword spirit, grumbled bitterly like a failed sneak-attacker throwing a tantrum.
Han Ling raised a brow and caught the floating sword in one hand, brushing his fingers over the faintly glowing spiritual rune on the hilt.
"Your control over your spiritual power is still lacking. Learn to suppress your breath first. And before you try to scare me again—maybe try hiding your tail better."
Yun Qian vibrated slightly in protest, as if grumbling.
But Han Ling could tell—his aura was far more stable than the last time they met. His sword bones were taking shape. If he cultivated another three to five years, he'd be able to fully form and materialize, even speak aloud.
But… it had only been a few months since he first sensed Yun Qian awakening.
This speed—
It was frighteningly fast.
"You awakened too quickly… and grew too fast," Han Ling murmured softly, lowering his gaze to the sword spirit, Yun Qian, floating silently above his palm.
Was it really just raw talent? Or… did this sword harbor something more from the start?
Yun Qian seemed to sense the subtle shift in Han Ling's emotions. His blade quivered, leaking spiritual energy once more. But the unstable flow made him falter, and the sword that had tried to stand proud trembled and bent slightly into a curve.
Han Ling let out a faint laugh, lifting a hand to lightly tap the blade's spine. A trickle of spiritual energy poured from his fingertips into the sword's body, like a gentle stream.
"Stop pretending. You turned way too sharply with that last move—your spirit sea nearly scattered," he said quietly. "Speedy cultivation doesn't mean you can afford to damage your core. Remember, you are my sword, not something I plan to discard."
As that warm energy flowed in, Yun Qian quieted down like a hungry little beast finally fed, nestling obediently into Han Ling's palm with a low, soft hum.
The sound wasn't a sharp metallic clang—it was more like a spoiled child purring in contentment.
Han Ling's brows furrowed ever so slightly. He subtly activated his divine sense and carefully scanned Butler Liu. As he had suspected, Liu was carrying a specialized device used in this era to mask one's cultivation level.
Just how many things was the Han family still hiding from him?
Now wasn't the time to delve into that.
Han Ling lifted his gaze. In the distance, the ship's navigation lights blinked—signaling that the cockpit was ready for departure.
He gently lifted Yun Qian and slid him back into the sheath on his back. In the instant his spiritual energy withdrew, his entire presence vanished once more—like a man stripped of all spiritual fluctuation, completely invisible.
He boarded the ship, his silhouette slicing through the shimmering light like wind.
The half-formed sword spirit quivered faintly, as if awakening from a prank and a strange dream. It let out a soft murmur… then fell back into slumber.
Northside Abandoned District —
Wind scraped across crumbling walls like a beast howling in the distance.
Han Ling stared down at the red dot projected by his optical brain. It was the tracker Gu Xingxi had secretly planted on Ning Ling earlier. The signal had remained in this location for over ten minutes—no movement, no shutdown.
That wasn't normal behavior. It was as if… everything had gone still.
"There's the old building." Butler Liu pointed toward a weathered concrete apartment diagonally ahead, his voice low. "No one's lived there in years. The spirit plants in this area became too active. There were several spirit beast attacks—eventually, the whole street was abandoned."
Han Ling didn't respond. He simply stepped forward. Under his spiritual sense, the dilapidated building resembled a silent tomb. There was lingering spiritual energy in the air—not strong, but enough to raise suspicion.
They stopped in front of a broken doorframe. The door itself had long since lost its form, leaving only two rusted hinges barely holding onto the fractured wood.
The red dot's location was directly behind it.
Han Ling lifted a finger—and pushed the door open.
The interior was even colder than outside, as if something had sucked all warmth and life from the air. The projection from his optical brain shimmered slightly, locking firmly onto the figure collapsed on the cracked floor between broken tiles and peeling walls.
Han Ling recognized her instantly.
—Ning Ling.
Her clothes were in disarray, soaked in blood. Her abdomen had been crudely slit open, without any attempt at stitching it shut. The flesh was torn outward, intestines spilled out, and there was no sign of life.
Han Ling rushed forward to examine her. Her pupils were dilated, and terror and pain were frozen in her eyes. Her lips were slightly parted, as if she had tried to cry out for help in her final moment. Beside her lay a tiny, already-lifeless body.
The infant was still connected to the umbilical cord, red threads unbroken. The body had been discarded carelessly on the floor—no wrapping, no covering. The child had never opened its eyes before death claimed it.
"…!" Butler Liu cursed under his breath and turned his face away.
Han Ling knelt down, running his fingers over the ground beneath Ning Ling. In the dried blood, his spiritual sense detected a faint tremor.
A formation.
A small sacrificial array, barely half a meter wide. Complex sigils intertwined in spirals, all converging toward a point—the exact location where the child had been born.
Blood for ink. Spirit bones as needles. Fate as the array's core.
This was no ordinary formation.
Han Ling stared at the faintly lingering runes, his expression turning cold. Though the spiritual fluctuation was minimal, the lingering trace… felt too familiar.
It wasn't a spiritual technique from this world. Not something from this era.
This fluctuation—he had seen descriptions of it in Celestial Realm manuscripts. Somehow, it had endured for generations…
One book had recorded an event years ago, when the northern seal in the Celestial Realm was broken, triggering a War of Fate. Tens of thousands perished. One demonic cultivator, in an attempt to seize the fate of a prophesied child, had laid a forbidden formation—extracting the child's destiny and transferring it into a substitute vessel.
The formation before him was nearly identical to the one used back then: a Life-Swap Fate Transference Array.
"…Impossible…"
Han Ling's finger touched the central rune. As his spiritual sense probed deeper, a faint residual force brushed against his mind—pulling on a hidden memory from deep within his consciousness.
"This kind of formation shouldn't exist here… unless…"
Before he could finish, that final strand of spiritual energy seemed to sense him—and exploded. The array collapsed entirely, its traces forcibly erased.
Butler Liu's face went pale. "This… was someone using a forbidden technique?!"
Han Ling didn't answer. He stood and swept his gaze across the room.
It wasn't a hallucination. Someone in this city was using techniques from the Celestial Realm. This wasn't mimicry. It wasn't a recreation. It was true origin art—direct inheritance from the Celestial Realm itself.
His arrival in this world, the entanglement of his fate with the original Han Ling, the secrets the Han family never spoke of… could they all be connected to these people?
Before he could piece it all together, Han Ling raised a hand and opened his optical brain, dialing Cen Wenyu's encrypted private channel.
The moment the call connected, his voice was ice-cold, devoid of emotion:
"Ning Ling is dead. The child is dead too. Before she died, someone laid a Fate Transference Array at the scene. Come verify if it belongs to this world. If not… it came from the Celestial Realm."
Cen Wenyu fell silent on the other end for a few seconds, then said quietly, "Send me the location. I'll bring a team immediately."
Han Ling uploaded the coordinates and added, "It was completed not long ago. The spiritual residue is faint, but I suspect… they've already mastered the full structure of the forbidden array. There may be a next time."
"Understood," Cen Wenyu replied, calm and clear. "I'll bring a forensic cultivator and an array specialist to the scene. Hang Zhongxuan will stay behind at HQ in case someone tries to go after Chen Qiyue. At the very least, he'll be able to handle it."
"Move fast," Han Ling said coldly. "Ning Ling's soul—and the child's—are both gone."
…This whole journey—tracking Ling Zhao, investigating the living dead, chasing down signal after signal—all led him here, to the scene of Ning Ling's death.
And suddenly, it hit him.
Why did every move the enemy made…
Feel like it came straight out of the Celestial Realm?
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