“Easy there, you’re going to crush me! Don’t be so rough. I’ve told you everything—I’m just a stubborn rock, enlightened by the Divine Spirit Flower to speak. In my past ignorance, I truly knew nothing of this divine garden’s origins.” The head-sized stone grimaced and howled, feeling utterly unsafe in the hands of this savage child, certain it would shatter at any moment.
“A mere flower has such divine power?” Little Rascal didn’t believe it.
“Of course! It’s a Sacred Medicine, rare in this world. Every single one of these Earth Treasures possesses astonishing efficacy. Known as the Divine Spirit Flower, it naturally enlightens all ignorant, nascent life forms on the verge of gaining sentience. Since it’s called ‘Divine Spirit,’ it also greatly benefits powerful cultivators like you, making it easier to comprehend the Great Dao and uncover Treasure Spells.” The stone truly had a mouth, eyes, and could move, its joints creaking as it spoke, now looking utterly miserable, hoping Little Rascal would spare it.
“So that’s how it is. I never knew Sacred Medicine was this incredible. Just how many of them are in this spiritual herb garden?”
“More than one? A true Primordial Divine Mountain would be lucky to have even one! Those places are likely guarded by ancient beasts like the Qiongqi, Taowu, or Taotie—ordinary people can’t even get close. This place has no divine or demonic guardians, so having even one Sacred Medicine is already defying the heavens. Of course, maybe I don’t know enough—the garden is vast. I’ve heard there used to be two or three ancient Sacred Medicines, but they haven’t appeared in years. They might have fled this minor world.” The stone answered every question and even volunteered extra information, cooperating fully.
“From what you’re saying, this Divine Spirit Flower entered the herb garden later?” Little Rascal was curious, but also suspicious—this stone seemed to know too much.
The stone replied, “It’s more accurate to say it was born later. I heard from an ancient tree that the Sacred Medicine was originally just a rare treasure herb. Then it fell into the Fountain of Youth, absorbing vast amounts of essence, and finally broke through, transforming into a Divine Spirit Flower—the most precious of Sacred Medicines.”
Little Rascal’s eyes widened instantly. He shook the stone violently. “Tell me, where’s the Fountain of Youth?”
“Stop shaking me! I’ll break! The Fountain of Youth is deep in the herb garden—go find it yourself. I’ve never seen it anyway.”
“If you’re lying to me, little stone, I’ll deal with you later.” Little Rascal weighed the stone in his hands, testing its hardness. Despite its wails, it remained intact.
“Who’s spying on me?” Little Rascal muttered softly before silently hurling the stone away.
Two cries of pain rang out simultaneously—one from the stone, the other from a powerful genius who’d been struck on the forehead, blood gushing out.
“What did I do to you? Why attack me?” The creature was bizarre—a bird-headed humanoid with purple-glowing wings, now furious with a massive lump on its head.
“Damn, that’s tough!” Little Rascal muttered, referring to the stone, which had struck a powerful ancient descendant yet remained unbroken.
But the creature took it as mockery. With a roar, it charged. It hailed from the Winged Tribe, a mutated branch surpassing even the main lineage’s royalty. Its purple wings spread like lightning as it lunged.
“I wasn’t talking about you—I meant the stone is really hard!” Little Rascal explained.
“Enough nonsense!” The Winged Tribe expert flared its power, its beak opening to unleash a beam—but it forgot this was the Divine Garden. Nothing came out.
With a thunderous crash, it adapted swiftly, slashing a wing like a violet heavenly blade, its gale-force wind splitting the ground.
*Clang!* Little Rascal blocked defensively, arms crossed. “I didn’t mean to!”
The Winged Tribe expert sneered. “I’m hungry. If you’re sincere, offer your flesh as apology.”
“You’re forcing my hand… and you’re humanoid too. What a shame.” Little Rascal sighed.
The battle erupted. This time, he held nothing back. His palms and fingers spun like wheels, striking relentlessly. Dozens of exchanges later, purple feathers filled the sky.
The Winged Tribe expert shrieked, its wings now bare, feathers plucked, its body exposed in utter humiliation. It turned and fled—any longer, and it’d be stripped completely, ready for the pot. It refused to be eaten by a human child.
“I’ll spare you this time.” Little Rascal huffed, disappointed he couldn’t take a bite.
The stone on the ground was quietly rolling away, trying to escape, but Little Rascal stomped on it and picked it up. “You’re pretty tough. Since we can’t use treasures here, I’ll borrow you for now.”
“Nooo!” the stone wailed.
The Divine Garden was vast, radiant with scattered spiritual herbs at first. But deeper in, the scenery changed.
“So fragrant!” Thick, intoxicating aromas flooded the air. Ahead lay an ocean of spiritual energy, divine mist swirling, essence billowing—dazzling brilliance spreading everywhere.
This was a true ancient herb field, still nurturing spiritual plants after countless years. Many ancient herbs had withered to mud, their seeds sprouting anew.
Spiritual energy surged like a tidal wave, awe-inspiring. Even an emperor’s garden couldn’t compare. Blazing radiance, misty vapors, and auspicious auras enveloped the area.
“I feel like I’ve entered a mythic realm!” Little Rascal was stunned. So many spiritual herbs, each spaced just meters apart, interspersed with exotic grasses, their scents overwhelming.
Outside, a single spiritual mountain might host one herb. Here, they grew in abundance. The field was vast, ancient herbs gleaming, their fragrance intoxicating.
Little Rascal dashed forward. But as he neared, the field’s energy spiked tenfold, stiffening his body, his bones creaking under immense pressure.
An ordinary cultivator would’ve exploded. The very space seemed distorted, swirling with eerie, terrifying power.
“So strong—this is meant to stop herb gathering.” Little Rascal pressed on, undeterred.
Finally entering the garden, he was submerged in spiritual mist, as if stepping into a divine sea. The energy was so dense it nearly liquefied.
He breathed deeply, pores radiating divine light, his body glowing like forged sacred metal.
“Mine, mine, all mine!” Little Rascal flipped joyfully. Even if he ate one and discarded two, there were enough herbs here.
Then he frowned. Though spaced apart, the sheer number was staggering. How could he carry them all?
“If only my Qiankun Bag worked…” He grimaced. Leaving so many herbs behind felt like inviting divine punishment.
“I’ll eat them! I’ll eat them all!” The ruthless child never wasted. He lunged at a crimson orchid.
*Boom!* He was blasted back, bones cracking. Had his body not been so tough, that impact would’ve shattered him.
“What was that?” He rubbed his sore arms.
“Please don’t take me closer!” the stone begged.
Little Rascal tossed it toward the herb. Ripples erupted, flinging the stone away.
“Aaargh! I’m breaking! Help!” it screamed—though, in truth, it remained unbroken.
“Strange. The field’s energy is strongest around the herbs. There must be a hidden barrier protecting them.”
He approached cautiously, reaching for the crimson orchid. A violent force repelled him—equivalent to battling a White Tiger or Roc.
Undeterred, he strained to uproot it.
*Boom!* He succeeded—but the herb shattered. The backlash sent him flying, blood trickling from his lips.
“Such a brutal barrier! This is bullying!” he fumed.
At least the herb, though broken, was still edible. He caught the fragments with his sleeve and devoured them.
“One herb, one mouthful of blood. Infuriating.”
He ate four more herbs, bleeding twice. Though his body healed swiftly, it was maddening.
With such a vast garden, must he cough blood for every harvest?
“Even so, I’ll eat!” The ruthless child’s world knew no waste. After four mouthfuls of blood, he’d eaten nine herbs.
He pressed on, seeking the rarest treasures. Gazing at the glowing garden, he agonized—why couldn’t he take it all?
Suddenly, a metallic scent hit him. Alert, he spotted a corpse among the herbs.
“It’s him!” The Winged Tribe expert he’d fought earlier—now half-eaten.
“Dead so quickly?” His heart sank. That expert was strong, yet had become another’s meal—eaten raw.
Further in, four more corpses appeared, blood dried, dead for days. The fifth chilled him—the Spirit Tribe expert he’d battled, whose arm he’d broken.
“He’s dead too? He was powerful…” Little Rascal frowned.
Though undeterred, he grew warier, advancing step by step. Ahead, he sensed something monstrous.
“Don’t go further. You’ll meet pure-blooded creatures,” the stone warned mournfully.
Soon, Little Rascal’s eyes gleamed. Ahead, seven or eight beings were gathering herbs, coughing blood. A dozen more corpses littered the ground—those who’d failed to endure the field’s power.
“You! Come here! Gather herbs!” a voice roared.
A humanoid creature covered in golden fur, a foot long, with gleaming horns, glared at him.
“A Golden Beast?” Little Rascal gasped. Legends said these served pure-blooded creatures in Primordial Divine Mountains. Though servants, they surpassed ordinary beasts, nearing half-blood divinity, gifted with terrifying bloodlines by ancient beings.
This one shone like a golden sun, its aura overwhelming.
“You’re all gathering herbs together?” Little Rascal asked.
“For my master! Get to work!” the Golden Beast bellowed, eyes like golden lanterns.
“What? All for one person? Good—hand them over.” Little Rascal reached out.
“What did you say?” It roared, shaking the heavens.
Another icy voice cut in: “Who dares take my herbs?” Though soft, it pierced eardrums painfully.
“Me!” Little Rascal answered, peering deeper.
Golden holy light surged like waves, veiled in auspicious mist.
“The Fountain of Youth!” Little Rascal gasped.
A golden spring, just a square zhang wide, radiated brilliance, its sacred mist flooding the world. Several creatures clustered around it, striving to approach.
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