Three more months slipped by…
With the Soul Master Academy Elite Tournament approaching, Tian Dou City buzzed with activity.
Academies from across the land had already booked hotels, ensuring their teams could shine at this once-in-five-years event.
Yang Fan strolled through the city streets—recognizable academy insignias everywhere.
"Back again? What'll it be today?" the apothecary clerk asked warmly. Yang Fan's frequent visits had made him a regular.
"Thousand-Spirit Ginseng, Crimson Blood Spirit Fruit."
He placed 2,000 gold soul coins on the counter.
Soul masters had one advantage: fast money.
A single thousand-year soul beast hunt yielded hundreds of gold coins.
"Right away—please wait."
Today's herbs were all for soul nourishment.
Yao Lao had sacrificed so much for him—it was time to repay his master's kindness.
Though these herbs couldn't match true soul-repairing pills, they were better than nothing.
As Yao Lao often said: "Cultivation is built drop by drop."
"Clerk!" a raspy, aged voice cut in. "Two Crimson Blood Spirit Fruits."
If the man had requested anything else, Yang Fan wouldn't have noticed. But the same herb? He glanced over.
Shi Nian!
Instantly recognized—the Canghui Academy team leader. His presence in Tian Dou City was unsurprising.
Yang Fan recalled only two things about him:
1) A Soul Saint specializing in illusions.
2) A 10,000-year Illusion Wisdom head bone atop his skull.
He'd once asked Yao Lao about it.
"It's spirit-type," Yao Lao replied, "but inferior to pure spirit bones."
At the time, Yang Fan hadn't cared. But seeing Shi Nian now sparked an idea:
If I can't get the big pill yet… why not craft a smaller one first?
Waiting five and a half years for the tournament's soul bone reward was too long.
Yang Fan took his wrapped herbs and left.
…
Later.
"Master—if we use a spirit-type head bone under 10,000 years, how much would the pill restore your soul strength?"
Yao Lao pondered, then answered:
"It'd weaken the pill's effect… but soul repair would still occur. With it, I could face Title Douluos like Dugu Bo—even without antidotes."
Yang Fan understood.
This pill could grant Yao Lao true Title Douluo power—while remaining in soul form!
What level would he reach if he rebuilt his body in Soul Land?
On his way home, Yang Fan plotted Shi Nian's death and bone theft.
Killing him wasn't hard.
The challenge? Doing it without alerting the Spirit Hall or Tian Dou factions.
Currently, every academy in the city enforced strict curfews—no unnecessary solo outings.
Ambush? Lure him out? Both seemed impossible.
"Master—if I face illusion-crafting soul masters, how should I respond?"
No reply.
Yang Fan dared not ask again.
With elites gathering for the tournament, Yao Lao rarely appeared—especially during city errands.
But then—a chill prickled Yang Fan's neck.
His hair stood on end. Dou Qi surged through his limbs.
A year in the soul beast forest had honed his danger sense to razor sharpness.
Someone wants me dead!
Who?
His only enemy was the Elephant Armor Sect—but they didn't know his identity. And Yao Lao hadn't warned him…
Suddenly—the air warped beside him. Yang Fan punched without hesitation.
CRACK—!
Reality shattered.
Buildings inverted. Mountains crumbled. The world flipped upside down.
The quiet suburban path became a jungle. Before him stood Shi Nian, grinning.
"How old are you?" Shi Nian marveled.
No child under ten should react this fast.
"What do you want?" Yang Fan demanded, baffled.
He'd just been scheming to kill Shi Nian—and now the old man ambushed him?
Does he read minds?!
Shi Nian chuckled—a grating, ugly sound.
"I never expected you to be a spirit-type soul master too. No wonder you bought Crimson Blood Spirit Fruit."
'Ah!' Yang Fan realized.
Shi Nian waited here for his herbs. With tournament demand spiking, supplies ran low. The old man must've failed to buy any—so he targeted Yang Fan.
"No point looking around," Shi Nian sneered. "We're already outside Tian Dou City."
Yang Fan's eyes lit up.
"You son of a bitch!"
"How'd you know I planned to kill you outside the city?!"
From Shi Nian's tone, Yang Fan knew: this hidden realm was undetectable.
Perfect. Shi Nian created this trap—exactly what Yang Fan wanted.
"Brat," Shi Nian hissed. "Do you think anyone will save you here?"
He couldn't fathom Yang Fan's glee.
This kid isn't an idiot…
Remembering the villain's creed—"Talking too much gets you killed"—Shi Nian stopped talking.
Seventh Soul Skill—Nightmare!
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