Chapter 141

In the days that followed, Han Luo shifted constantly between tension and busy work.

He completed the upgrades for all Twelve Divine Generals.

As expected, each of them now possessed the ability to transform.

But since they were about to venture out into the world, he had to ensure they were equipped with proper trump cards. After all, these Twelve Divine Generals were like his children—when sending them out, one couldn’t possibly let them go empty-handed.

So, he specially prepared a "three-pack" of trump cards for each puppet.

Each pack contained thirty-six powerful techniques and tools—for escape, traps, pursuit, counterattacks, and much more. Everything one might need was included.

Additionally, Han Luo had the Twelve Divine Generals practice several combination formation arrays—two-person, four-person, six-person, and twelve-person formations. Among them, the twelve-person formation could easily dominate other Foundation Establishment cultivators.

He was like a mother fussing over her twelve children, preparing this and that, far more meticulous than if he were setting out himself.

Though they were puppets, Han Luo never treated them as cold machines. That was just who he was—he didn’t want to change, nor did he need to.

Once everything was ready, and after a thousand reminders, the Twelve Divine Generals finally departed from Luoxian Sect and entered the world of young cultivators.

With the Twelve Divine Generals gone, Han Luo remained occupied—this time preparing spare parts for them.

He deliberately didn’t let the Divine Generals carry the spare parts themselves. Since they weren’t true cultivators, there was a risk that powerful figures might capture and dismantle them.

Thus, each puppet carried five hidden self-destruct devices, along with three spare "trump card packs." Even if captured, they could still self-destruct.

Meanwhile, the spare parts would be kept in a storage ring. Given their durability and the ring’s protection, they would likely survive even if the puppet itself was destroyed. However, if an enemy obtained these parts and used them to reconstruct the puppets, they might eventually trace the trail back to him—a risk Han Luo couldn’t accept.

So, after carefully preparing three complete sets of spare parts for each puppet, he sealed them away for future use.

With the Twelve Divine Generals, Jiu Tong, and Hei Feng all away, the once lively Luoxian Sect grew quiet again.

Han Luo, happy for the peace and quiet, devoted himself once more to his study of puppet techniques.

He’d realized that puppets were ideal tools for intelligence gathering. Unlike cultivators, puppets had no distinctive aura. No matter how skilled a cultivator was at concealing their presence, traces would remain. But a puppet—say, a tiny ant puppet—would simply appear as an ordinary insect. Its core energy was minuscule, smaller than a strand of hair. Even a perceptive cultivator would only sense an insignificant wisp of spiritual energy, indistinguishable from ambient natural qi.

Thus, Han Luo enthusiastically began crafting micro-puppets—ants, spiders, centipedes, mosquitoes, and more.

These tiny creations would become his eyes and ears, monitoring everything within a hundred-thousand-li radius of Luoxian Mountain. Any approaching powerhouses would be detected instantly, giving him time to respond appropriately.

This sort of "paranoia" gave him an immense sense of security—like when he was a child, hiding in a secret corner for comfort.

Before he knew it, Han Luo had made countless micro-puppets, consuming nearly all of his available materials.

"Ah..." he sighed.

When you throw yourself wholeheartedly into something, time flies.

Looking at the calendar, his thoughts turned to Mo Jiu, that unfortunate child.

It was about time.

——

Inside the Sealed Realm, where Mo Jiu was imprisoned.

"Xi Yangyang, Mei Yangyang, Lan Yangyang, Fei Yangyang, Man Yangyang, Ruan Mianmian... Hong Tailang, Hui Tailang... Don’t look at me, I’m just a sheep… green grass grows sweeter because of me... the sky turns bluer, white clouds softer..."

Mo Jiu lay sprawled on the ground.

His eyes were vacant, as if senile, muttering the theme song of Pleasant Goat and Big Big Wolf.

When Han Luo saw this scene, he wondered if he had been too cruel.

After all, he’d locked this person in a room for one to two years, playing the same childish cartoon episode on repeat every moment of every day.

Han Luo himself would’ve cracked after half a day.

Yet here Mo Jiu was—still alive.

He couldn’t help but marvel at the tenacity of demonic lifeforms.

Snap.

With a finger snap, Han Luo shut off all the cartoons within the sealed realm.

The sudden silence clearly unsettled Mo Jiu.

Moving sluggishly like a zombie, he sat up and turned to look at Han Luo.

His body language and expression revealed that he was on the verge of a complete mental collapse. Just a little more pressure and he would likely snap.

"I’m just a sheep... you’re Hui Tailang... I’m just a sheep..." Mo Jiu murmured, staggering toward Han Luo.

"Drop the act," Han Luo folded his arms, calmly watching the near-broken Mo Jiu.

"Gah gah gah..." Mo Jiu’s shoulders trembled, his previously blank face regaining the cruel gleam typical of demonkind.

"Kid, you think such childish tricks can break my powerful soul? Dream on. It’s laughable..." he sneered.

As the son of a Demon Emperor, how could he be undone by such nonsense?

Han Luo simply shook his head.
"I’m telling you—stop pretending. You’re a demon. Can’t even live with some dignity? Should I just send you on your way?"

At this, Mo Jiu’s facade cracked.

His expression grew downcast—like an abandoned child.

"Your true body has abandoned you," Han Luo continued.
"Even if I release you now, your main body will eliminate you."

He was stating the truth.

This Mo Jiu was merely an incarnation of his true self.

While technically part of the main body, the two were now effectively separate.

Demonic incarnations usually split from the main self, and this connection had clearly been severed. Even if he escaped, his main body would hunt him down. Mo Jiu himself would never tolerate even the slightest potential threat.

"You want me to tell you something?" Mo Jiu finally relented.

He knew this irritating human wasn’t wrong.

He had indeed been abandoned—the link between him and his main body had been cut.

Even if he got out, he was as good as dead.

"And what is it you want to know?"

"Where did you enter the Eastern Domain from?"

This wasn’t just something Yun Yangzi and the Imperial Capital wanted to know—Han Luo himself needed an answer.

If the demon race was preparing a large-scale invasion, someone like him wouldn’t be able to stop it. He hated feeling helpless.

Knowing in advance was critical.

Mo Jiu stared at him—eyes gradually regaining clarity.