Little Rascal didn’t enter Duan Kong City but vanished into the horizon, embarking on a solitary journey to leave the clamor behind. For him, that place was perilous—if powerful clans recognized him, they would surely execute him. Without the protection of his kin, death was inevitable.
A hundred-meter-long dragon earthworm slithered past, spewing mud as it curiously eyed the boy sitting in the marsh. It didn’t attack, sensing danger.
“Where to go?” Little Rascal scratched his head, seated on a clean boulder in the swamp. His earlier gloom had lifted, replaced by childlike cheer. “With all these treasures I’ve got, I can just find a quiet place in the wilderness to cultivate. No need to wander anymore.”
He gleefully opened his Qiankun Bag, yanking out Er Meng, who had been sneaking bites of spirit herbs, and plopped him under his rear to take stock. The haul was staggering—precious artifacts, spirit herbs, monkey wine, immortal peach trees, Taiyi True Water—any one of which would cause a sensation if revealed. There was also a mountain of remnant beast flesh, including the precious flesh of a pure-blooded Zhujian.
“So much!” He grinned, proud of having acquired these treasures through his own efforts, enough to fuel his cultivation. But he wouldn’t use them all—he’d bring some back to Stone Village for his kin and the children, repaying the warmth and joy they’d given him.
“Let me up!” Er Meng wheezed, having nearly suffocated under the boy’s weight. “You almost killed me!”
“Shouldn’t have stolen,” Little Rascal retorted. “Lucky you didn’t touch the silver peaches, or I’d have stewed you into medicine.”
“Tsk, your days are numbered,” the featherless freak muttered ominously.
Little Rascal stood, dusting himself off. “Enough doom-talk. Let’s find an ancient cave to cultivate. Teach me some treasure techniques while we’re at it.”
“Why should I? Do I owe you?”
“If I master them, I’ll shake the world, conquer ancient divine mountains, and subdue that female beast clan. Then you won’t have to run anymore.”
Er Meng was speechless at the boy’s audacity. But recalling his feats—chasing a Flood Dragon, riding a Zhujian—he had to admit the kid had terrifying potential. The only concern was whether his explosive growth could sustain into adulthood, unlike divine beasts whose power surged continuously.
“Enough nonsense. I see death looming over you—a black wisp in your divine light. A vengeful ghost’s curse. You won’t last days.”
Little Rascal shivered. He knew Er Meng wasn’t entirely lying. His quest in Hundred Broken Mountains had been to find a sword for a ghostly elder.
“I’ve got the broken blade. Guess I’m heading to Heaven Mending Pavilion.” He kicked a rock. But with Duan Kong City swarming with sharp-eyed experts, it wasn’t safe yet. “Two more days,” he murmured.
He spent the time absorbing celestial essence, refining runes, and delving into the mysteries of the Primordial True Solution, his body brimming with power after opening his ninth heavenly passage.
“Time to go.” At dawn, he set off to find Elder Tao Ye, confident the pavilion would protect him now that his exploits were known.
Two days later, Duan Kong City was deserted. Most geniuses had left, exhausted from their month-long trials.
“Uncle, want to buy a sword?” Little Rascal grinned, spotting Tao Ye outside his old residence.
Tao Ye, who’d been searching frantically with the pavilion’s treasure gourd, nearly jumped. “The cursed sword. Nothing else.”
“Deal.”
The elder smacked his head fondly and whisked him inside.
“Junior Brother!” A sharp-eyed girl recognized him.
“Let’s move. Now.” Tao Ye activated a teleportation array, and with a flash, they vanished.
“Why the rush?” a disciple asked.
“Nobody cares about us, but this troublemaker? Many want to cage him like a rare beast.”
Little Rascal puffed up. “I haven’t even caught a True Hou, Taotie, or Yazi yet, and they’re after me? I’ll crush them all!”
“Once we’re back, no one dares provoke us. Our ancient guardian still lives,” Tao Ye reassured.
From the Qiankun Bag, a voice grumbled, “Still alive? I thought it’d died centuries ago.”
The group started as Little Rascal pulled out the naked, herb-stealing Er Meng.
“Ugly thing,” the girls giggled.
“Stop staring! No clothes, no shame!” It yelped as pinches rained down.
The teleportation ended at the pavilion’s sacred grounds.
“Safe.” Tao Ye exhaled.
The higher-ups swarmed them, having heard the boy had scraped even the mud from the Fountain of Youth’s basin.
“Did you bring the fountain?”
“Nope. Dried up.”
“But the sand—?”
“Yep. Dug the whole pit. Now, about that year in the scripture vault…?”
The elders exchanged glances.
“Ten years, if you wish,” a radiant figure declared.
“Pavilion Master!”
The veiled leader patted the boy’s head. “Learn well. Chaos approaches in the wastelands.”
This domain, endless wilderness dotted with ancient nations, was aptly named—the Barren Lands.
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