The Han family courtyard was in chaos. Servants were running back and forth, shouting for doctors, while the air reeked of a foul, nauseating stench.

Han Cui, the patriarch, stood at the center of it all with veins bulging on his forehead. His eldest son Han Zukong, his second son Han Zhanjian, and the two Sword Shandian Sect representatives lay sprawled on the ground.

All four of them were pale, unconscious, and covered in sweat.

"Quickly! Get the healers here!" Han Cui roared, his voice echoing through the courtyard. "Bring the physicians from the east wing! Hurry!"

The servants scrambled to obey, but the doctors were already there—kneeling beside the fallen men, hands glowing faintly with spiritual energy.

The doctors exchanged helpless glances as the smell grew stronger.

One of them gagged softly, covering his nose.

"P-Patriarch Han," one doctor stammered, "they… they've lost consciousness due to extreme backlash and—" he hesitated, eyes darting toward the brown stains beneath the three men, "—and there seems to be… a spiritual from immortals involved that we are not expert on."

Han Cui's eyes widened. "Spiritual!? What do you mean!? My Han Zukong has never practiced cultivation in his life. How can this be!? Doesn't matter, just treat them as best as you could!"

"It's not a normal spiritual attacks," the doctor said carefully. "Their meridians are… tangled, almost as if something forced spiritual energy backward into their cores. And this… odor… it might be the result of a laxative or an alchemical reaction."

"Alchemical reaction!?" Han Cui snapped. "You useless fools! Fix it! Fix them right now!"

The doctors could only bow their heads and try to stabilize the flow of spiritual energy, sweat dripping down their temples. One of them muttered, "Their pulses are unstable… the energy keeps slipping away…"

Han Cui knelt beside his eldest son, gripping his cold hand. "Zukong! Zukong! Wake up! You're the pride of our family! You can't die like this!" He looked at Han Zhanjian next, then at the sect representatives. "And these two are from the Sword Shandian Sect! If anything happens to them, do you realize what will happen to the Han Family!?"

The courtyard trembled faintly as he shouted. The doctors trembled as well, their spiritual techniques failing to stabilize the bodies.

Suddenly, one of the younger servants screamed. "Patriarch! Look!"

Everyone turned.

From the ground, faint green vines began to slither up like snakes, curling around Han Zukong's arm, then his torso.

The doctors panicked, trying to cut them with spiritual blades, but the vines regenerated faster than they could slice them.

"What is this!?" Han Cui shouted, stepping back as the vines spread to the Sword Shandian Sect representatives.

The vines glowed faintly with a dark green light, pulsing like veins under skin.

Then, slowly, they wrapped completely around Han Zukong and the two sect men, pulling them into the ground.

Their bodies sank as if swallowed by the earth itself, leaving behind only traces of soil and fading light.

"NOOO!" Han Cui roared, grabbing at the dirt with his bare hands. "ZUKONG! ZUKONG!" He dug frantically, but nothing remained—no body, no blood, nothing but the lingering scent of dirt and faint traces of spiritual Qi.

Only Han Zhanjian remained unconscious on the ground, untouched by the vines.

The courtyard fell silent. Servants stood frozen, trembling. The doctors looked pale, muttering prayers under their breath.

"Who dares…" Han Cui whispered, his voice trembling with rage. "Who dares harm my sons… inside my own house!?"

Then, he'd remember who uses these plant attacks, "Han JIIIIIII!!!"

Far away, under the shadow of a tall flowering tree, Wei Ji sat cross-legged. His face was calm, but his fingers were forming quick, complex hand signs. His eyes glowed faintly, and three small sprouts bloomed before him.

The petals quivered, then opened like mouths.

Three translucent figures rose from the flowers—Han Zukong and the two Sword Shandian Sect representatives.

Their faces were twisted in horror and confusion, their forms faintly flickering like candles in the wind.

Han Zukong screamed first, "Elder brother Han Ji! Please! Let me go! I was wrong! I didn't mean to harm you! Please forgive me!"

Wei Ji didn't respond. His fingers continued moving, faster, tracing sigils in the air. Spiritual light shimmered around his hands.

One of the sect representatives snarled, "You dare touch us!? You don't know who we are! The Sword Shandian Sect will hunt you to the ends of the earth!"

The other shouted, "Release us! Release us now, and we might spare your life!"

Their voices overlapped, echoing in the still night. The flowers trembled from their cries, petals falling like sparks of light. Wei Ji's eyes remained half-closed, but his breathing was uneven.

He muttered under his breath, "Noisy…"

Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His complexion was pale. "With my current cultivation, I can barely do this much," he whispered to himself. His voice trembled slightly as he formed another hand sign.

The souls screamed louder, their faces stretching unnaturally as the flowers' glow intensified.

"Stop! Stop! We'll give you anything!" Han Zukong begged. "Please, elder brother, I'll kneel before you, I'll—"

"Too late," Wei Ji said quietly.

He pressed his palms forward. A burst of spiritual light shot out from his hands, and the three flowers glowed like miniature suns. The souls screamed one last time before twisting together, their forms merging into a single spiraling light. The sound of crackling energy filled the air.

Wei Ji coughed again, more blood spilling from his lips. His whole body trembled.

The light condensed into a small, round seed glowing faintly with spiritual energy. The air was filled with an eerie stillness.

Wei Ji's gaze softened as he looked at the seed. "Soul Seed Han Zukong… complete."

The two remaining souls—those of the Sword Shandian Sect representatives—were faint, trembling like dying flames. Wei Ji glanced at them. "You two… I still have use for you."

The remaining souls whimpered, fear flooding their translucent faces.

Wei Ji raised one hand, channeling the last of his spiritual power. "Rest now," he murmured. His fingers trembled as he drew a circle in the air, sealing their spirits back into the ground.

The earth beneath him rippled. Three vines sprouted upward, twisting and growing until they became thick stems with closed buds at the top. The buds pulsed faintly with life. From within, faint outlines of human shapes could be seen—Han Zukong and the two sect representatives.

Wei Ji wiped the blood from his mouth and looked down at them quietly. His expression was unreadable.

A faint breeze passed through the garden, carrying the smell of flowers mixed with something darker, like burning incense at a grave. The moonlight fell on Wei Ji's face, highlighting the cold calm in his eyes.

"Han Zukong," he murmured softly, "you brought this on yourself."

He looked at the two other buds beside it. "And you two… your sect's arrogance ends here."

He exhaled slowly, his hand hovering over the soil as the vines settled back into stillness. For a moment, everything was silent except for the faint rustle of leaves.

When he finally stood up, his legs wavered slightly, but his eyes burned with quiet determination.

"These three," he whispered, glancing toward the direction of the Han estate. "Should be enough to face another group of people beside the Sword Shandian Sect."

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