After bidding farewell to Elder Huang Hai, the remaining climbers—Han Lie, Xiao Yuruo, Bai Ling, and Xiao Zi—pressed onward.

Boom.

The moment they crossed the six-thousandth step and set foot on the seven-thousandth, the invisible pressure spiked violently. Bai Ling gasped, her chest constricting as if a granite mountain had been dropped onto her heart. Suffocation clawed at her throat. Sweat ran down her face in rivulets, but she bit her lip, desperate to hide her struggle from Han Lie.

In contrast, Han Lie moved with the inexorable momentum of a glacier.

Perhaps it was the century of humiliation he had endured as a servant, forging a will of iron. Perhaps it was the divine resilience of the Pure Yang Sacred Body. Or perhaps, simply, he was Han Lie.

At seven thousand steps, he felt the weight, certainly. It wasn’t easy. But it was far from his limit.

If not for pacing himself to match Bai Ling and Xiao Yuruo, how could a clown like Zhao Batian be prancing ahead of him? If Han Lie unleashed his full power now, he would have already shattered the eight-thousand-step barrier and be knocking on the door of the nine-thousandth.

Bai Ling’s pace slowed to a crawl. Her legs trembled with every lift, her body screaming under the crushing spiritual gravity. Han Lie did not rush her. He walked beside her, matching her agonizingly slow rhythm. This, too, was training. He would let the mountain temper her spirit, but he would be there to catch her if she broke.

Xiao Yuruo walked silently alongside them, her breath hitching but her resolve firm.

Meanwhile, far above at the 7,800th step.

Li Qingyu collapsed. She slumped onto the white jade stairs, gasping like a dying ox.

“Holy Son,” she wheezed, her face gray. “This old woman has reached her limit. You must walk the remaining path alone.”

Zhao Batian stopped and looked down at her, then further down the stairs. Far below, at the 7,200th mark, he could see the tiny figures of Han Lie’s group.

“Since that is the case, Senior Qingyu, rest here.”

He turned back toward the distant figures below and cupped his hands around his mouth, his voice dripping with scorn.

“Han Lie! Xiao Yuruo! I once considered you rivals. I never expected you to reveal your true colors so soon!”

“With such pathetic willpower, you aren’t even qualified to crawl in my shadow!” Zhao Batian lifted his chin, preening like a victor.

Han Lie and Xiao Yuruo merely glanced up, their expressions flat, before ignoring him entirely.

This dismissal only fueled Zhao Batian’s arrogance. “I hope I can still see you the next time I look back!”

With a haughty laugh, he turned and resumed his climb, his steps heavy but steady.

“Huff… huff…”

Time blurred. Nearly ten days passed on the endless stairs.

Finally, Han Lie’s group stood before the 7,999th step. Bai Ling was drenched, her robes clinging to her skin as if she had walked through a monsoon. Blue veins pulsed dangerously on her forehead.

“Ei… Eight… thousand!”

Under Han Lie’s watchful gaze, Bai Ling clenched her teeth until they creaked. With a guttural cry, she forced her trembling leg up and slammed her foot onto the 8,000th step.

Thump!

The pressure of the eight-thousandth tier crashed down. It was unparalleled—a crushing ocean of force. Bai Ling’s knees buckled instantly, and she collapsed hard onto the jade.

“Bro… Brother Lie,” she whimpered, her voice barely a breath. “I… I really can’t go on. Leave me.”

Eight thousand. This was her absolute limit.

“Me… me too, meow!” Xiao Zi groaned, sprawling flat on the step beside her.

Han Lie looked at Xiao Yuruo. She was standing, but barely. Her face was pale, her breathing ragged. She looked exactly as Bai Ling had a thousand steps ago. Nine thousand would likely be her breaking point.

“Daoist Han, how about you?” Xiao Yuruo asked between gasps.

“Me?” Han Lie’s lips curled into a faint, confident smile. He rolled his shoulders. “I’m fine. The pressure has increased, yes, but I can still handle it.”

He bent down and scooped Bai Ling up onto his back.

“Ah!”

Both women stared at him in shock.

“Brother Lie! Put me down! You—you can’t!” Bai Ling struggled feebly, panic rising in her voice. “If you fail to reach the summit because of me, I… I will never forgive myself!”

“Daoist Han,” Xiao Yuruo added urgently, “I understand your kindness, but the priority must be the summit! You cannot risk the inheritance for this!”

“It is just one person. Do not panic,” Han Lie said, his voice calm and utterly unshakeable. “Saintess, since I brought you here, I will not leave you at the eight-thousandth step. We go to nine thousand. You deserve the reward.”

“You…” Bai Ling’s eyes reddened, tears mixing with sweat. “Thank you… but will it really not affect you?”

“Relax. I know my limits.”

Han Lie adjusted her weight. It was heavy—doubling the crushing pressure on his soul—but it was within his calculations. He beckoned to the cat.

“Xiao Zi, get in.”

The purple cat scrambled into his robes, adding yet another weight.

“Fairy Yuruo, shall we?”

“Mm.” Xiao Yuruo looked at him, speechless.

They began to climb. And now, Xiao Yuruo witnessed the terrifying reality of Han Lie’s strength. Carrying two lives on his back, bearing triple the pressure, Han Lie moved faster than she did alone. His steps were rhythmic, powerful, and relentless.

By step 8,500, Xiao Yuruo began to falter. The spiritual gravity was tearing at her cells, a physical agony that demanded she stop. Her vision blurred. She stumbled.

“Fairy Yuruo.”

Han Lie stopped ahead of her. He turned around and extended a hand.

Xiao Yuruo stared at it, her mind blank.

“Don’t just stand there,” Han Lie said, his eyes burning with competitive fire. “We can’t even see that little beast Zhao Batian anymore. I refuse to let him beat me to the top.”

Xiao Yuruo froze, then a pained, grateful smile broke through her exhaustion. She reached out and took his hand.

“Alright!”

Higher up. Step 8,750.

Dongfang Xuehong, the Iron-Masked Asura, collapsed.

He lay on the stairs, his chest heaving, every muscle screaming in protest. He had given everything.

“Damn it,” he wheezed, cursing the heavens. “This is harder than I imagined!”

Every single step now felt like a life-and-death battle with an equal opponent. The summit was a dream. Even the nine-thousandth step, so close he could see it, felt like an unbridgeable chasm.

He closed his eyes. Push yourself? No. Better to let yourself off the hook. He had reached his limit. There was no shame in stopping here.

He sat up, intending to meditate.

Whoosh.

A sudden gust of wind whipped past his ear.

Dongfang Xuehong blinked, startled. He looked up.

There, marching past him with vigorous, swift strides, was Han Lie.

He had a woman on his back. A cat in his robes. And he was dragging another woman by the hand.

Han Lie didn’t even look at him. He just kept climbing, carrying the entire group toward the nine-thousandth step as if he were out for a stroll.

“What the hell!?”

Dongfang Xuehong’s jaw dropped. His scalp went numb with shock.

“That young man… is he a monster?!”