This time, the sword formation proved far more intricate than they had anticipated. Han Li observed the two figures below, whose faces had grown pale, yet who had not truly displayed any signs of panic. Their eyes flickered with thoughtful intensity, and Han Li's own gaze subtly widened. At that moment, the elderly woman and the gray-robed monk retrieved several additional treasures, attempting to ward off the advancing sword threads. Han Li's expression shifted. The humanoid automaton standing behind him suddenly flashed with a soft glow of luminous energy and then vanished silently from its original position. A short while later, the golden threads encircling the formation had drawn close to the two figures, now only twenty or so paces away. Compelled to unleash their own ancient relics, the elderly woman and the monk began to exhaust their reserves, though even this temporary interruption could not halt the threads' relentless advance. "It's no longer possible," Han Li remarked. "This formation is truly unusual. Ordinary treasures cannot withstand it. Quickly employ that item—only its power can shatter the formation!" The old woman, watching the golden threads draw closer to her, finally showed signs of fear, suddenly turning her head and urgently speaking to the gray-robed monk. "With that object, we can certainly break the sword formation. But what about handling the Han youngster afterward?" The gray-robed monk hesitated. "We can't afford to worry about that now. As long as we break the sword formation, we still have a chance. Otherwise, once the formation closes completely, we'll be dead in the matter—this object will be of no use then." The old woman spoke without hesitation. Upon hearing this, the gray-robed monk's facial muscles twitched slightly. He glanced around and saw the golden threads having drawn together several zhangs in a short while. Finally, he clenched his teeth and nodded. At once, he struck his storage sack at his waist, and instantly a strange object appeared in his hands—a round, bright red sphere the size of a clenched fist, glowing warmly, so that it was difficult to make out exactly what it was. Yet the surface of the sphere is simultaneously inscribed with a seal of silver and gold. The gray-robed monk holds it in one hand, his face displaying a careful, serious expression. "Moji, act swiftly! If this seal activates too closely, we will be drawn into its effect as well," the old woman shouts, her voice sharp, looking at the golden silk array just十余 zhang away. With a sigh, the monk raises his hand to pull the seal from the red sphere, clearly preparing to deploy it. At that moment, however, a faint silver glow flashes behind the monk, and a figure materializes from the void—moving with the grace of a ghost, silent and unperceived. The old woman standing opposite the monk immediately notices this anomaly and exclaims in alarm. "Watch out—behind you!" She calls out urgently, while simultaneously brushing her sleeve, sending a flash of yellow light toward the emerging figure. The gray-robed monk, upon hearing the old woman's warning, was naturally struck with alarm, and without further thought, his body swayed and he immediately surged forward, at the same time instinctively drawing his arm that held the spherical object inward, intending to fold the sphere into his robe. Yet his movements proved slightly delayed. Right behind him emerged the humanoid automaton, which possessed the abilities of a late Yuan-Infant stage cultivator. As it moved, one hand shot straight toward the monk's back, while the other grasped the fiery red sphere with remarkable speed—so swift and decisive it could be described as thunderous and lightning-fast. A deep gasp escaped the monk as he staggered slightly. Though the automaton's silver hand easily parted the monk's protective aura, upon making contact with his back, a strange phantom of a black-feathered bird suddenly materialized from his spine. Although the puppet's hand, glowing with silver light, easily severed the spectral bird, its movement naturally slowed slightly, allowing the monk to evade the vital area and only slicing a long, gushing wound across the monk's shoulder. Meanwhile, the hand reaching for the crimson orb nearly succeeded—yet at the last moment, the orb suddenly detached from the monk's grasp and shot toward the elderly woman. As the woman expelled a burst of yellow light and reached the form of the humanoid puppet, she found herself holding a slender, shimmering yellow needle. The humanoid puppet emitted a powerful purple glow from its eyes, neither dodging nor retreating from the needle; yet the arm that had been reaching for the red orb suddenly trembled, then gave a sharp "crack," detaching entirely from the body and flying forward. It swiftly pursued the orb, seized it in hand, and then executed a spiraling, powerful thrust back. At the same time, the yellow needle struck the humanoid puppet's head with a deep, resonant crash, causing a burst of yellow light to surge forth. "Unfortunate!" "Aha!" two distinct sounds of surprise and delight simultaneously issued from the monk and the old woman. It wasn't that they held different thoughts, but rather that the monk, seeing the bright red orb taken away by someone else, was naturally startled and furious, while the old woman, who had watched her meticulously cultivated, life-sustaining artifact strike directly at her opponent's vital point with no defense at all, could hardly contain her joy. The humanoid automaton stepped back several paces before steadying itself, then straightened up and stared coldly at the old woman. At the spot on her temple where the automaton's head met the woman's, a small hole the width of a thumb appeared, yet instantly shimmered with silver light and vanished as if nothing had happened—leaving not even a trace of injury. The old woman was utterly stunned, yet soon sensed something else and suddenly cried out, "Huangmei needle! What have you done to my Huangmei needle?" The humanoid automaton raised one of its hands motionlessly. At the center of that palm, the yellow slender needle was bouncing and trembling vigorously, desperately trying to escape from the palm, yet it was firmly enclosed within a shimmering silver glow that prevented it from moving. Upon seeing this scene, the old woman grew pale, her lips parting as she prepared to speak—when suddenly, the humanoid automaton abruptly rubbed its palms together, causing a brilliant silver light to surge between them. Instantly, the yellow needle dimmed, losing much of its luminous vitality. As the old woman's spirit was deeply affected, she gasped aloud, spitting out several precious drops of blood, and suffered a noticeable depletion of her vital energy. The gray-robed monk, his face turning ashen, disregarded his own injuries and suddenly raised both hands. From them, countless massive silver orbs surged forth, radiating a thunderous and electrifying sound—unlike any known artifact, the display was astonishing in its power. Yet, from the air above, Han Li observed the scene, chuckling softly to himself, then stirred his spiritual awareness. The humanoid automaton simply pressed its palms together in a series of gestures, and a brilliant silver glow radiated from its body. As the light gradually subsided, the figure mysteriously vanished right where it stood. The silver light orbs naturally struck the void, yet achieved no effect at all. The monk and the old woman exchanged glances, both seeing despair in each other's eyes. At that moment, golden threads stretched only seven to eight zhang away from them—no matter how great their abilities, they now found themselves helpless, wings spread yet unable to take flight. Han Li floated high above, arms crossed behind his back, observing the scene with a cold, detached demeanor. Finally, the Great Dang Sword Array fully converged, and countless golden threads coalesced into a massive golden orb. A thunderous burst of crackling sound first erupted within the orb, shaking it several times before the cries of the monk and the old woman came in succession. Through his spiritual vision, Han Li clearly saw that these two mid-stage Yuan Ying cultivators were swiftly torn apart into fragments. The Yuan婴 within their bodies managed to hold on a little longer, but ultimately, under the relentless cuts and slices of the golden filaments, it gradually transformed into scattered points of green light, vanishing completely from this world. As for the storage bags carried by the two and the various treasures they summoned, not a single item remained—every single one was utterly extinguished by the power of the sword array. Only two small clusters of cold flame, glowing yellow and green, floated gently in the air. Around this firebird, various colorful runes shimmered. Upon closer inspection, each rune appeared to be an ancient script—strange, yet vaguely familiar. Even with Han Li’s extensive knowledge of ancient characters, he could not determine the origin of these writings. It seemed as though they represented a completely new type of ancient script! Han Li studied the sphere for half the day, his brow slightly furrowed. Since this object had been produced by the two at the very last moment, it must surely be of great significance—clearly regarded by them as their decisive weapon. Though the sphere indeed seemed remarkably magical and appeared to contain a substantial amount of fiery spiritual energy, that energy alone could hardly disrupt his Dàgē Sword Array—such a claim would be nothing short of absurd. Clearly, the true power of this object lay within those runes. Yet, despite his best efforts, he could not recognize a single one of them, let alone comprehend or internalize their meaning. It wasn't the right time for Han Li to carefully examine the details. After thinking for a moment, he pulled out a few more sealing scroll tablets from his storage pouch and affixed them to the spherical object. Then, he retrieved a wooden chest that resembled neither pure gold nor wood, carefully enclosing the globe and setting it aside for future use. Han Li's sleeve, motionless, brushed gently, and the small swords transformed into streaks of golden light, vanishing into the breadth of his sleeve. Then, his gaze shifted, landing on the two small clumps of cold flame remaining in place. These two clumps remained still below, emitting a faint, subtle glow, appearing quite unremarkable. (Replying normally tomorrow, everyone—may your Year of the Tiger bring you good fortune and all your wishes fulfilled!)