Emerald leaves and jade-green tendrils cascaded down, the entire tree radiating a crystalline glow. The Willow God transformed daily, with the lightning-scorched sections now nearly invisible—the charred bark replaced by dragon-scale-like patterns, its eighty-one tender branches swaying gracefully. Towering and brimming with vitality, it exuded a hazy verdant light.
Stone Village was serene, suffused with spiritual energy. Dozens of spirit herbs flourished within its bounds, and at its heart stood a silver peach tree nearing the realm of sacred medicine. A faint, milky mist drifted through the streets—astonishingly rich spiritual essence nourishing this hidden paradise.
“Zhu Zi, stop running! Come home for dinner!” a tall, robust youth called out.
Children of all ages—from toddlers barely steady on their feet to eight- or nine-year-olds—raced through the village, chasing after a multicolored sparrow. Shi Hao couldn’t help but smile. This was a mirror of his own childhood mischief, the village kids inheriting their wild, carefree spirit.
“Someone’s at the village entrance!” a little one piped up in a babyish voice.
“Ah! It’s Brother Hao!” an older child shouted.
“Uncle Hao’s back with treats!” a two-year-old squealed, toddling excitedly toward him.
Shi Hao had returned to Stone Village after his journey to the North Sea, only to leave again upon hearing of his grandfather’s rampage in the Stone Nation’s capital. Though his absence had been brief—mere months—even the youngest remembered him fondly, especially the delicacies he brought: giant lobsters, sea turtles, and other mouthwatering treasures.
His return stirred the village into a joyous uproar. Everyone, young and old, gathered, their laughter filling the air. The clan was safe, and the village had become a sanctuary, its people thriving under the nourishing aura of spirit herbs. The children, growing up in such an environment, boasted exceptional physiques—far surpassing their parents’ potential.
“Another pure-blooded creature! The last Qing Luan meat had me drooling just thinking about it, and now we’ve got a gray flood dragon!” The villagers cheered, the younger boys leaping and tumbling in excitement.
The benefits were undeniable. Such flesh surpassed any spirit herb, their pores radiating light with every bite, propelling their cultivation to new heights. Many had already reached the Cave Heaven Realm, while Shi Linhu and Shi Feijiao, the village leaders, had ascended to the Transformation Spirit Realm. Even the clan chief’s white hair had darkened—a testament to the pure-blooded creature’s potency.
The youths—Da Zhuang, Er Meng, Pi Hou—had long entered the Cave Heaven Realm, while Qingfeng had astonishingly stepped into the Transformation Spirit Realm at his tender age.
The village buzzed like a festival as they butchered the gray flood dragon with Shi Hao’s broken sword. Soon, the aroma of roasting meat and boiling essence filled the air.
“Easy there, kid! This is pure-blooded meat—even if it’s not fully grown, it’s still potent. Eat too much, and you’ll be running wild all night!”
Despite the elders’ warnings, the boys wolfed it down, only to yelp moments later, their bodies glowing as they sprinted around the lake. The energy was too much—their blood boiling, their veins aflame.
“Thank you, Uncle Hao!”
Some of the younger ones were tossed into bronze cauldrons, where elders added drops of flood dragon blood. The children gritted their teeth, enduring the searing heat. Unlike Pi Hou’s generation, who had wept and fled, these kids trained diligently.
“You’re lucky—even your Uncle Hao never had a pure-blooded baptism like this!”
The warmth of the village filled Shi Hao’s heart. Here, he could truly relax, free from vigilance.
“I broke through! My cultivation leaped forward!” Er Meng’s father roared with laughter.
“Me too, Dad! I’ve surpassed you!” Er Meng scratched his head, grinning foolishly.
His father smacked him lightly. “Brat! I started too late—missed my golden years!”
“Whoa! I broke through too!” Snot-nosed Kid, now a tall youth, hollered in the distance.
By the pristine village lake, dotted with golden-scaled dragonfish, Shi Hao lounged on a boat with Da Zhuang, Er Meng, Pi Hou, and Qingfeng. He hadn’t trained or prepared for battle—just relaxed, sharing stories of his adventures.
It felt good. These childhood friends had grown, most now fathers themselves.
“The village’s spiritual energy is incredible. The newborns are so strong—some toddlers can already lift millstones! They might surpass even Shi Hao’s childhood feats one day.”
On the lakeshore, a herd of unicorns galloped, their silver coats shimmering. Among them, a towering white steed—Xiao Bai—gnawed on flood dragon meat. It had evolved fiercely, now devouring beasts alongside plants. The elders speculated it might one day ascend to become a Heavenly Steed.
A gust of wind heralded the arrival of giant birds overhead.
“Aunt Qinglin Eagle, Da Peng, Xiao Qing, Zi Yun!” Shi Hao waved excitedly.
The four massive birds—each dozens of yards long—circled the lake, their joyous cries stirring waves. Shi Hao leaped onto Zi Yun’s back, soaring through the clouds before returning to the water.
Onshore, an Eight Treasures Chicken strutted past, utterly indifferent. Revered for its spirit eggs, even the rowdiest kids left it alone.
“Playing hard to get, huh? Careful, or I’ll cook you. Heard you were a delicacy even gods craved!” Shi Hao flashed a grin.
The chicken bolted into the village, its arrogance forgotten.
“Where’s Mao Qiu, Er Tuzi, and Big Red?” Shi Hao asked, eager to interrogate Mao Qiu about the mountain treasure.
“Those three are always off hunting for the Supreme Treasure. They’ve even kidnapped Western Paradise disciples for interrogation!” Da Zhuang chuckled.
“They found the treasure’s entrance once, but the damn thing fled underground,” Pi Hou added.
That night, Stone Village lay tranquil under a silvery veil of moonlight. The great willow glowed softly, its branches thicker than before.
Beneath it, Shi Hao recounted his travels. The Willow God listened silently, its power now unfathomable—eighty-one branches pulsing with boundless vitality.
“Willow God, what do you think of the Kun Peng’s technique?”
“Peerless. Worthy of the Ten Calamities of antiquity. When unleashed, heaven and earth invert, the cosmos shatters.”
Shi Hao marveled at the gap between their realms. The Willow God, who had descended through thunder from the heavens, would wield the technique with terrifying might.
“I have a technique for you too—but not yet. Your battle approaches, and your cultivation isn’t ready.”
Shi Hao’s heart raced. A technique from the Willow God would shake the world.
Three days remained until the duel—a storm the entire realm awaited. The virtual realm buzzed with anticipation.
Two godlike youths, legends of the wasteland, would clash on the Sky Battlefield—a sealed, divine arena. Its opening heralded a collision of domains, a prelude to cross-border warfare among prodigies.
The countdown had begun.
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