After three years of secluded cultivation, Han Li had brought himself to peak condition. Though his cultivation had not advanced, the solidity of his foundation, the seasoned ruthlessness of his methods, and the tenacity of his resolve were far beyond what they had been three years ago. Bidding farewell to Nangong Wan and Elder Li, he set out alone for Hanging Mountain.
Hanging Mountain lay within a chaotic belt of spiritual energy tides in the central Heavenly South Continent. It was not a single mountain floating in the sky, but a strange airborne mountain range formed when ancient mighty cultivators forcibly gathered countless enormous peaks with supreme magical power and bound them together through formations. Spiritual energy ran wild here, and space was fragile. Yet those very conditions had made it a lawless zone, an ideal venue for shady dealings and secret meetings. The Firmament Trade Fair, held here once every hundred years, magnified that chaos and opportunity to the utmost.
Rather than parade about on a flying artifact, Han Li relied on his Shadowstream Glimmer escape technique, hiding by day and traveling by night along treacherous mountain paths rarely trodden by others. With his ordinary features and restrained aura, he looked like an unremarkable independent cultivator devoted to arduous cultivation. Along the way, he encountered several bands of rogue cultivators who murdered others for their treasures, gave a wide berth to several sizable sect battles, and even casually slaughtered a few hidden Black Fiend Cult sentries who recognized him and tried to report his whereabouts. He destroyed their bodies and erased all traces, cleanly and decisively.
A month later, the outline of a towering mountain range stretching beyond sight appeared on the horizon. Countless peaks of varying sizes were scattered like pieces across a vast chessboard, suspended amid swirling