Little Rascal’s eyes widened into perfect circles, his mouth forming an “O” shape. Could this pristine little pagoda, barely an inch tall, truly have such an extraordinary origin? It was utterly astonishing! Then, a grave question struck him—just how ancient was Willow God? Were the events it spoke of witnessed firsthand? If so, this towering lightning-scarred divine tree was truly terrifying.
“Willow God, did you personally witness those events?” the holy terror probed cautiously, though his scheming thoughts couldn’t escape the deity’s notice. The scorched tree remained silent, its dozen or so emerald-green tendrils swaying gently in the wind. Calm and unperturbed, it replied, “I heard of them.”
Little Rascal’s eyes darted about. The answer was disappointingly plain, as if Willow God had no intention of elaborating, which only deepened his suspicion. “Who originally owned this little pagoda? What kind of past does it have?” he pressed, eager for more details.
“The river of time flows too distantly to trace,” Willow God answered. “Knowing too much would bring you no benefit—only danger. All you need to understand is that this object is extraordinary, a true divine treasure of unparalleled might.” Its tone carried a solemn authority, a stern warning against digging too deep, lest he invite calamity.
Little Rascal scratched his head, unconvinced. The delicate little ornament didn’t seem dangerous at all—could it really silence him?
“It has lost part of itself,” Willow God continued. “The pagoda once had more layers. Its appearance has changed.”
Startled, Little Rascal placed the pagoda on his palm, examining it closely. Now only four layers remained, exquisite and translucent, showing no obvious signs of damage. Yet, it was incomplete. No wonder even Willow God hadn’t recognized it when he first returned to Stone Village—its form had altered.
His thoughts then drifted to the Hundred Shattered Mountains, where the pagoda had drawn upon the Earth Phoenix Fire to refine itself, clearly repairing its structure and purifying its essence.
Meanwhile, Er Meng and the Crimson Bird drooled shamelessly, their eyes locked onto the pristine little pagoda. If not for the holy terror’s ferocity, they would’ve snatched it in a heartbeat. The mischievous furball, Little Rascal, clambered onto his shoulder, sliding down to his wrist to clutch the pagoda again—though this time, it dared not bite, its teeth still aching from its last attempt.
Qing Feng was overjoyed for his elder brother, thrilled that he now possessed such a divine treasure. If he could one day wield its power, he would surely become invincible.
Yet, the original problem remained unresolved. Little Rascal pleaded with Willow God for help—the Leviathan Roc’s wings and the Qiong Qi’s claws had been swallowed by the pagoda, which stubbornly refused to release them.
“Unlikely,” Willow God said. “It absorbs essence to refine itself. At best, only a trace may remain.”
Frustrated, Little Rascal gnawed on the pagoda in protest. The pure-blooded creatures’ essence and bones were priceless—any fragment would cause an uproar in the outside world. Er Meng and the Crimson Bird tensed, longing for a taste but knowing their hopes were slim.
A rustling sound followed as snow-white powder drifted down like snowflakes. Little Rascal yelped—the pagoda had digested the bone essence, now expelling the remnants.
“These are powdered bones of pure-blooded creatures, invaluable as medicinal catalysts,” Er Meng declared, eyes gleaming as it scrambled to collect the abundant dust in a vessel.
A willow tendril descended, coiling around the milky-white pagoda and gently shaking it. Mystical runes shimmered, accompanied by an ethereal resonance.
*Thud!* Two enormous chunks of flesh, each weighing thousands of pounds, crashed to the ground, their essence surging like divine treasures unearthed. Er Meng and the Crimson Bird’s eyes turned red with greed, while Little Rascal gaped—how had the mountain-sized wings and claws dwindled to this?
The Leviathan Roc’s flesh gleamed darkly, while the Qiong Qi’s radiated crimson light, both exuding overwhelming auras that inspired awe.
“Fetch two jade vessels. I shall refine them for you,” Willow God instructed.
Snapping to attention, Little Rascal produced two crystalline jade containers, carved from the finest spiritual jade for storing precious medicines.
Two willow tendrils pierced the flesh, erupting in dazzling emerald radiance, brimming with serenity and resonating with divine chants. Wreathed in mystical runes, they swiftly distilled the pure-blood essence.
The flesh dulled, desiccated like fossils, while one tendril cradled a drop of ink-black liquid—the Leviathan Roc’s condensed blood. The other bore a scarlet droplet, shimmering like a blood diamond.
Though the remaining flesh still held vast divine energy, Willow God deemed it unworthy of further refinement.
*Rustle.* Another tendril coiled around the pagoda, shaking loose two more massive chunks—remnants of beings from the Southern Fall Divine Mountain and Yi Mountain. Their original forms were indiscernible now.
Willow God repeated the process, extracting two more divine liquids—one golden, the other pure white, both pulsing with such intensity they seemed capable of piercing the heavens.
Little Rascal watched in delight as the four jade vessels brimmed with concentrated divine essence, their power so immense it crackled with lightning.
Even the furball stared wide-eyed. Though mere droplets, their worth eclipsed mountains of medicinal treasures.
Er Meng and the Crimson Bird swallowed hard, eyeing the now-lifeless flesh. “Is this meat still needed?”
“No,” Willow God replied.
Before Little Rascal could react, the two bolted, hauling the meat away at breakneck speed.
“Where are you going? Take it to Auntie Tiger for a feast!” Little Rascal called after them.
The furball scampered after, perching atop the meat mountain, eagerly awaiting roasted delicacies.
“Willow God, can Qing Feng also undergo the baptism?” Little Rascal asked.
“Let him temper his body first,” came the reply, neither accepting nor refusing.
In the days that followed, Little Rascal relentlessly honed his physique and studied runes, preparing for his impending baptism.
*Boom!* The earth quaked as he sprinted across plains, bearing a boulder weighing hundreds of thousands of pounds. The ground split beneath him, unable to withstand his monstrous strength.
“Monster!” the Crimson Bird gasped. How could a child wield such power?
Undeterred, Little Rascal ventured into the mountains, leaping between peaks like a titan, each landing shaking the earth.
Stone Village’s hunters gaped in disbelief. No wonder he had returned with such legendary treasures.
Qing Feng, too, trained diligently, awestruck by his elder brother’s progress. “Big Brother, you can re-enter the Void God Realm now—two years have passed.”
Little Rascal’s heart burned with anticipation. He longed to return.
“What? The Void God Realm? We’re coming too!” Back in the village, Er Meng, Pi Hou, and the others clamored in excitement. Having never ventured beyond the mountains, they yearned to see the wider world.
“I’ll scout first, then we’ll storm it together!” Little Rascal declared, eager to assess the situation quietly.
Willow God did not object. It had always wished for him to temper himself there—though his last visit had ended in chaos, earning him an expulsion.
“Kid, check it out first. We’ll join you later,” Shi Lin Hu and the other men said eagerly.
Little Rascal nodded, though inwardly overwhelmed.
Now far more powerful than before, Willow God’s emerald tendrils surged skyward, piercing the heavens as runes formed a shimmering portal.
Seated beneath the scorched trunk, Little Rascal felt his spirit and body merge as he vanished into the radiant, thunderous gateway.
“Woooo!” the holy terror howled in exhilaration.
Amidst swirling chaos mist, he dashed through a vast ruin of shattered walls and rubble—a trial before reaching the Initial Land, the gateway to all sacred realms.
“Void God Realm, I’ve returned!” he roared, his heart ablaze with excitement.
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