The bonfire crackled and danced, casting a lively glow over the jubilant celebration. Shi Feijiao and a group of adults feasted heartily on meat while boasting about their children’s strength, proclaiming them future heroes capable of lifting cauldrons and moving mountains, destined to awe the Great Wasteland. Naturally, Little Rascal received the most praise. Shi Linhu bellowed, “Kid, you’re not so little anymore. In a few months, you’ll be eight, and with your skills, it’s time to think about marriage. What do you say to my daughter, Tiger Girl?”
Little Rascal flushed. “Uncle, I’m still too young!”
Shi Linhu scoffed. “Nonsense! I married at twelve, and I was nowhere near as strong as you are now. You’re more than ready!”
The children snickered, winking and nudging Little Rascal, who squirmed under their teasing. Shi Linhu glared at them. “What are you laughing at? You’re not little either—time to think about it too. Da Zhuang, Er Meng, and Holy Terror have made rapid progress. They’re strong enough to marry now.”
“Indeed, they are,” an elder agreed.
“What?!” The children gasped, their faces burning red under the firelight. While the others took the teasing in stride, Little Rascal found himself cornered when a few bold girls pressed him directly.
“My grandpa and father said I should be betrothed to you. When will you agree?” Shi Feijiao’s daughter demanded.
“I’m too young! I don’t want to marry yet!” Little Rascal scratched his head, his cheeks warm.
Nearby, Tiger Girl—smaller than him, with her hair in pigtails—planted her hands on her hips and glared. “Little Rascal, when are you going to marry me?”
“Who said I would?!” He nearly bolted, overwhelmed by the attention.
The adults roared with laughter.
“Child, what are your plans?” the clan leader finally asked, smiling.
“I want to escort Qingfeng to the Heaven Mending Pavilion while training along the way. As Grandpa said, ‘Better to travel ten thousand miles than read ten thousand bone scriptures,'” Little Rascal replied.
“But you’re still young, and the journey is perilous. None of us even know where the Heaven Mending Pavilion is,” the old clan leader fretted.
“Don’t rush this decision,” other elders urged.
Shi Hao nodded. “I understand. I’ll wait for the Willow God to awaken. He promised to take me to a mysterious world. Besides, I’m still worried—what if those bandits return?”
That night, the clan reveled late into the evening, swapping tales of the Great Wasteland’s wonders, leaving the children spellbound. The only regret was that the pangolin had destroyed itself at the last moment, shattering its primordial bone and scales, leaving no treasure spells behind.
By midnight, the village was in chaos as the children, glowing and feverish from overindulging in sacrificial spirit meat, dashed around before plunging into the lake to cool off. Despite the elders’ warnings to limit themselves to two pieces, their gluttony had consequences. At dawn, the exhausted youngsters—some with dark circles under their eyes—slunk home sheepishly.
Early risers laughed at the sight.
The sacrificial spirit had been extraordinary, its flesh a potent tonic that enhanced the villagers’ physiques. Years ago, the village had feasted on a slain Lion-Dragon, drastically improving their constitutions—otherwise, how could the children have mastered bone scriptures? Even among ten-thousand-strong tribes, few could reach the Blood Moving Realm, yet these children had the potential.
The pangolin, though inferior to the Lion-Dragon, was no ordinary beast. Hailing from the enigmatic Western Paradise, its true power had been diminished by its efforts to revive the golden bone shears, leading to its downfall.
Half a year passed, and the massive sacrificial spirit was entirely consumed. The children’s skills soared, astonishing the elders, who grinned so widely they nearly tugged off their beards. Even some adults, like Shi Linhu and Shi Feijiao, broke through to the Blood Moving Realm, their years of latent cultivation finally unleashed.
Months later, nearing Little Rascal’s eighth-and-a-half-year mark, the Willow God stirred. After a year of dormancy, the sacred tree at the village’s edge erupted in emerald radiance, its branches regenerating. Five verdant willow strands now shimmered like divine chains, enveloping the land in an aura of profound mystery.
“Willow God, you’ve recovered!” the villagers cried joyfully.
The tree’s voice resonated in their minds. “I am well. My slumber has ended.”
Celebrations erupted—with the Willow God’s protection, they feared no bandit reprisals.
“You did well to slay that sacrificial spirit,” the Willow God remarked to Little Rascal. “It surpassed the Cave Heaven Realm, though its foundation was shattered. Otherwise, you’d have been in grave danger.”
“Willow God, I’ve opened four Cave Heavens. According to Grandpa’s ‘potential theory,’ I want to open more,” Little Rascal said eagerly.
After a pause, the Willow God responded, “Eight Cave Heavens are not the limit for humanity. Nine exist beyond legend—and ten is the true pinnacle, as the ancient supreme beasts believed.”
Little Rascal gasped. This revelation shattered conventional wisdom.
“The Great Wasteland is too isolated. You lack the chance to face true prodigies or life-or-death battles against young True Hou beasts. It hinders your growth.”
“Can you help me, Willow God?”
“I once promised to take you to a mysterious world. Would you go? There, you might even encounter your ‘brother’—Shi Yi—though not in the flesh.”
“I will go!” Little Rascal declared without hesitation.
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