The tree hollow was brimming with luminous, amber-like liquor, exuding an intoxicating fragrance. Little Rascal, utterly blissful, squinted his large eyes into crescent moons—this was truly an unexpected shock and delight. This was no ordinary brew; it was a priceless concoction of various spiritual herbs. A mere cup of it would incite fierce competition among countless seekers. And here, an entire tree hollow, infused with silver immortal peaches—just the thought was staggering. Even the mightiest of sects would covet such a treasure.
Taking another small sip, Little Rascal felt waves of fragrance surge through him, flushing his cheeks and nearly sending him into a daze. Radiant light spilled from his mouth and nose as he exhaled the purest divine essence. “Better seal this quickly, or trouble will find us,” he muttered. His robust physique swiftly refined the sip of holy terror wine, and he sobered instantly. With a swift stroke of his broken sword, he carved a wooden stopper and resealed the dazzling liquor. Then, with sheer strength, he uprooted the entire tree and stowed it in his Qiankun Bag.
This was an absolute treasure! Even without the immortal peaches, the holy terror wine alone made this venture worthwhile. Behind him, the crimson bird drooled uncontrollably—this was like a dream. A liquor brewed entirely from spiritual herbs, stumbled upon so casually! It nearly pounced in excitement. The Nine-Headed Lion, the Five-Colored Luan Bird, the Fire Crow—all were stunned. Such a divine brew existed in the world, yet how many could ever taste it? Even the most fearsome elders would rejoice like children over a single cup.
Even Huo Ling’er, the daughter of the Human Emperor, stood dumbfounded. Though well-traveled and no stranger to holy terror wine, she had never seen such an astonishing quantity of supreme-quality brew. The elderly sealers beside her were utterly stupefied, hearts pounding, half-convinced they were dreaming.
“Little Ash, any more divine liquor?” Little Rascal asked, eyes gleaming. Rather than fighting for the spiritual lake, why not ransack the monkeys’ hidden treasures? The young deity, eyes like black gemstones, sniffed diligently, searching the area.
Meanwhile, the Monkey King, unaware of the theft, fought alone against a horde of kings. His golden fur clanged like metal, impervious to blades and flames, shrugging off attacks effortlessly. The Golden-Winged Great Peng, the Five-Colored Peacock, the Black Hound, the Savage Bull, the Ironblood Ancient Tree—all unleashed their might, yet none could subdue him.
“Hold nothing back!” roared the Spiked Beast, its silver quills firing like arrows. “If this violent ape lives, none of us will know peace!”
The battle reached its zenith. In the sacred land by the spiritual lake, four silver-glowing immortal peach trees stood, their fruits shimmering with lightning. Monkeys clashed fiercely with pure-blooded creatures. The Zhujian, a leopard-bodied beast with black scales, lashed its whip-like tail, sending golden monkeys flying, coughing blood.
“You dare?!” A golden monkey leader, ablaze with light, lunged like lightning. The Zhujian countered with a radiant artifact, but the monkey, though gravely wounded, broke free—only to be torn apart by the furious Flood Dragon.
The pure-blooded creatures, though young, had claimed their first major kill—a powerful monkey leader. The battle raged on, with the Bi Fang seizing a silver leaf, sparking outrage. The Rift Demon Butterfly intervened, determined to claim the tree intact.
Then, Shi Yi struck. A youth of peerless grace, his twin-pupiled eyes blazing, he carved through the monkeys like a god incarnate. A monkey leader hurled a dark iron artifact, but Shi Yi froze the air itself, dodging effortlessly before piercing the monkey’s chest with an unknown treasure.
The battlefield erupted. In the ancient grove, Little Rascal and his wolf cub uncovered another treasure—a second hollow, brimming with unfinished brew, two silver peaches floating within. Ecstatic, he sealed it and uprooted the tree.
“Two hollows! Enough for the village!” he cheered, imagining sharing this divine liquor with Uncle Lin Hu and the others. Though the village brewed crude wine, this would be a revelation.
After scavenging a dozen luminous monkey-head mushrooms—perfect for stew—he prepared to leave. “What a haul! Even without the peaches, no regrets.”
His mind raced with culinary plans: “Golden-Winged Great Peng stewed with monkey-head mushrooms, a pound of holy terror wine, roasted golden lamb, braised ancient beasts, tiger bone soup…” Salivating, he yearned to depart.
The holy terror wine, brewed from dozens of herbs, could reshape flesh, cure ailments, and erase hidden scars. Only the silver peaches’ incomplete saintly status kept it from being utterly peerless.
Gazing at the distant peach trees, he mused, “If I don’t swipe one in this chaos… would the heavens strike me down?”
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