Zen Master Kongchan sneered. With a single finger, the golden śarīra atop his head descended like a needle point, deflecting the charging shadow.

The shadow whistled, flipped in mid-air, and landed on the ground.

It was a monster clad like a servant, entirely black-skinned, standing twelve feet tall with an ugly visage. He held an iron broom in his left hand, while his right palm was monstrously large, like a cattail fan, with a mouth revealing sharp teeth roaring fiercely in its center.

Zen Master Kongchan knew that the puppets guarding this place were mere servants meant for sweeping and organizing, and he couldn't fathom why they hadn't dissipated. They remained diligently at work, and when intruders arrived, they resisted fiercely. Strangely, their strength surpassed the Foundation Establishment stage, and the previous incursions had seen them suffer significant losses at the hands of these servants.

This time, knowing it was the final opportunity in sixty years to enter the secret mansion, they had all sharpened their skills, determined to cultivate their divine abilities at any cost. Though they hadn't gone as utterly ruthless as the Iron-Masked Man, they had endured hardship and would stop at nothing.

Zen Master Kongchan had slain a thousand people in Dongying, using their skull bone to forge a magical artifact, which he then steeped with his three śarīra. This infusion granted the artifact a devastating power beyond mere self-protection, allowing it to wound and devour flesh—precisely what he needed to deal with these fearless puppets.

With that single strike of his śarīra, the golden light dissolved the fierce puppet's flesh. The puppet recoiled in shock and anger, retreating a few steps to stand ready for battle.

Most of the puppets here were primeval demonic beasts, varied in form and impossible to categorize. They had seemingly survived in this secret mansion for eons, each possessing unique divine abilities. Yet here, they were relegated to serving as menials, handling cleaning and kitchen duties. This circumstance was a major reason why these cultivators harbored such intense longing for the mansion.

"There is one more. Rest is over, why hide your head and tail?" Zen Master Kongchan cackled bizarrely, shouting loudly.

Meanwhile, Feng Zikang had quietly infiltrated the Xun Palace, the area that was originally the sixth courtyard. He chose this location not because Zen Master Kongchan had specifically settled here, but because his primary goal upon entering the mansion was the Star-Light Grand Annihilation Sword Art housed in this sixth courtyard.

Furthermore, this spot was likely the study where the mansion's master kept inheritances of demonic cultivation techniques. Although half the structure was ruined by that single strike of Star-Light Grand Annihilation sword energy, the other half should still retain much of value, which would be immensely beneficial for Feng Zikang's cultivation of the Formless Heavenly Demon path.

He knew, of course, that Zen Master Kongchan was not addressing him, but rather calling out the other puppet lurking in the shadows. Feng Zikang quietly concealed himself in a corner, observing secretly.

"Hmph!" A crisp, cold snort echoed, and from the main chamber emerged a female puppet, moving with a graceful, swaying gait that was captivating, like a willow in the wind. However, her head was disproportionately large, like a pumpkin, her eyes were as wide as bronze bells, and her mouth split back to her ears.

"This is the study. The Master favors quiet and does not welcome outsiders. Withdraw immediately!"

The female puppet’s voice was chillingly sharp yet devoid of emotion, as if pre-programmed rather than autonomously spoken. Most of these puppets lacked true self-awareness; this response was likely arranged by the mansion’s master, who was long gone now—perhaps long perished, leaving only these loyal servants to carry on their duties.

Seeing both puppets revealed, Zen Master Kongchan gave a cold laugh, offering no reply. He pointed a finger, and the three śarīra above his head spun out like orbiting satellites. A torrent of golden light, sharp as needles, surged toward the two puppets. The puppets were formidable in their own right, each manifesting their divine powers, spewing fire that swirled together to resist the golden light.

The śarīra’s golden light was profoundly sinister. Within the gold, a streak of black materialized, and wherever it passed, the material turned into black fluid, even the earth and stone of the ground. Had Zen Master Kongchan not deliberately controlled the effect, he could have dissolved the entire courtyard.

Feng Zikang was inwardly startled. These people, having endured hardship for so long, indeed possessed unique, albeit wicked and insidious, skills gained through shortcuts, yet their power was immense, demanding extreme caution.

Seeing the stalemate, Zen Master Kongchan grew anxious. Hardening his resolve, he spat out a fourth śarīra—his vital essence śarīra, the size of a duck egg. Black energy swirled around this golden relic, intricately carved with one hundred and eight demonic figures, rendered with stunning, lifelike detail.

When this item appeared, the golden light intensified. The two puppets could not withstand it. Caught in the golden vortex, they dissolved into black fluid.

Feng Zikang observed that this desperate move had clearly taxed him; his face was pale as he slowly retrieved his vital essence śarīra and began regulating his breathing to recover.

A thought struck him, and he slowly stepped out.

Zen Master Kongchan was intensely vigilant. Sensing someone behind him, he immediately straightened up and turned back with an angry roar: "Who goes there?"

Feng Zikang adopted an air of confusion. Upon seeing Zen Master Kongchan, he exclaimed with feigned delight, "Master! How did you arrive here too?"

Iron-Masked Man and Qin Li’er entered the Li Palace. They were in no hurry. The Iron-Masked Man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, observing the serene courtyard ahead, and spoke in a low voice, "You are not afraid of me?"

Qin Li’er smiled sweetly. "What is there to fear from Uncle Iron-Mask?"

The Iron-Masked Man turned his head, observing her for a long moment, then nodded. "I always said that among the original five, Ghost King Tu was the cleverest. I didn't expect his disciple to be so astute as well."

He snorted, and blood-red sword energy erupted, sweeping through the room and instantly killing the puppets hidden inside, causing them to burst into nothingness. "Only by following me do you have a chance to gain some spoils. Ghost King Tu was not foolish."

The Iron-Masked Man walked arrogantly into the room and sat down leisurely. "Since we are here, there is no need to leave empty-handed. Go explore the surroundings. Take whatever you find of value!"

Li’er smiled brightly. "If I truly find anything worthwhile, I shall certainly present it to Uncle Iron-Mask; I would not dare keep it secret."

The Iron-Masked Man laughed heartily and said no more.

Zen Master Kongchan eyed Feng Zikang strangely, deeply perplexed.

"How did you enter?"

Zen Master Kongchan hadn't taken the young man, still only at the Qi Condensation stage, seriously, but Feng Zikang's sudden, inexplicable appearance here could not help but raise his guard.

Feng Zikang scratched his head, maintaining his bewildered appearance.

"Master, I am wondering the same thing. I was just chopping wood beneath the Fusang Tree when my feet suddenly slipped, and I fell into a pit. When I opened my eyes, I found myself here. I was puzzled until I saw you, Master, and called out."

Zen Master Kongchan clicked his tongue. "Could it be that you were drawn directly into the mansion, just like the Iron-Masked Old Freak's master? What an incredible fortune!"

"Drawn directly into the mansion?" Although Feng Zikang was feigning ignorance, he genuinely did not know about this matter.

Zen Master Kongchan had no desire to enlighten him, but his greed resurfaced upon thinking of the Vajra śarīra Feng Zikang carried. Having eliminated the puppets in the Xun Palace, he had ample time and was not in a rush. Wanting to acquire the relic, he patiently began to explain.

It turned out that the Iron-Masked Man's master had discovered this secret mansion purely by chance.

He had been passing by coincidentally when he was drawn in by the sword energy within the mansion. He fought the master of the place, resulting in mutual grievous injury, and he barely escaped back to his sect. On his deathbed, he recorded the treasures acquired in the mansion in a manuscript for his disciple.

The Iron-Masked Man then spent several decades confirming the mansion's location and figuring out the method for opening its gates to claim the treasures.

"Mutual grievous injury?" Feng Zikang was inwardly shocked. He knew the Iron-Masked Man was Liu Yuansu, the sect master of the Mount Tai Sword Sect, and his master must be the Qingmu Daoist, the founder of the sect, who created the Fengshan Sword Art.

The Qingmu Daoist was renowned for his sword techniques, but his cultivation was not peak-level. To have fought the master of this place—the one who created the Star-Light Grand Annihilation Sword Art—to a standstill resulting in mutual serious injury?

Feng Zikang found it hard to believe, but ultimately, it didn't matter. The master of this place must have perished long ago, otherwise, he wouldn't have allowed them to come and go freely for sixty years.

"Little benefactor, regarding the Vajra śarīra I spoke of when we were amidst the Li Fire Essence..."

Zen Master Kongchan’s face was instantly consumed by greed, as he immediately steered the topic back to that subject.

"That Vajra śarīra is of great use to this old monk. Would the young benefactor be willing to part with it?"

Feng Zikang played dumb, looking utterly perplexed. "This mere Vajra śarīra—if the Master desires it, it is fitting to offer it in charity..." But I wonder what use the Master has for it?"

This question struck the core of Zen Master Kongchan's pain.

Zen Master Kongchan’s expression darkened. "That is none of your concern. If you are sensible, hand it over quickly!"

His impatience flared. He remembered he was now inside the secret mansion; no one would know what he did here. If he kept his mouth shut, even if he killed this youth on the spot, the world would never know. Clearly, he didn't need to fear the Military Strategist school from Dragon-Tiger Mountain backing the boy.

Zen Master Kongchan’s threat was palpable, but Feng Zikang remained undaunted, pretending not to hear, and smiled slightly, showing a hint of difficulty. "Master, this item was bestowed by a senior. If it weren't for saving or helping others, giving it away freely to the Master might displease Zen Master Wule of the White Horse Temple. Would the Master at least inform me of its purpose?"

"Too wordy!" Zen Master Kongchan exploded in anger. "You Central Plains people are all so slow! This Buddha demands your Vajra śarīra today, and you still won't hand it over obediently!"

His ferocity broke through, finally discarding the veneer of a Buddhist monk, openly issuing a threat.

"If not, I will turn you into black fluid!"

Zen Master Kongchan pointed a finger, and the three śarīra above his head flew out again, trailing howling black air, swirling menacingly before Feng Zikang.

Feng Zikang burst into loud laughter. "Master, since you refuse to say, may I take a guess?"

"You cultivate demonic arts and tattooed your vital essence śarīra with images of writhing demons, greatly increasing its power. Unfortunately, this has damaged your life span. You have survived until today only by refining the śarīra of others. Tell me, haven't you killed quite a few monks from Dongying?"

"My Vajra śarīra can not only help you restore your life span but also aid your vital essence śarīra in returning to its origin. Perhaps then you won't have to rely on killing monks to live."

"Master, am I right or wrong?"

Feng Zikang spoke with a smile, his tone filled with absolute certainty, even though he framed it as a guess.

Zen Master Kongchan’s face changed drastically, his eyes flashing with murderous intent.

"Who in the world are you, brat?"