Chapter 63: The Primordial Truth Revealed

“Of course I’ve seen it,” Little Rascal murmured with a nod.

“The autumn wind fells yellow leaves, wildfires burn withered grass, the cold wind howls past, and spring brings forth new branches,” the Willow God transmitted through divine sense.

The withering and flourishing of plants is the most natural thing in the world, yet at this moment, it struck Little Rascal profoundly. He understood the Willow God’s meaning.

“Willow God, are you saying… my Supreme Bone can still regenerate?” Little Rascal’s large eyes gleamed with tears, his youthful face brimming with vitality.

“Nothing in this world is absolute. I merely suggested a possibility,” the Willow God neither confirmed nor denied.

Little Rascal immediately clenched his tiny fists, his bright eyes sparkling with hope and anticipation. Though cheerful by nature, he had never believed that a single Supreme Bone could dictate his fate. Yet, the thought that it had been cruelly ripped from him—his birthright, something that could have allowed him to rival the True Howler and the Golden-Winged Roc—still left him with a deep sense of loss.

Now, it was as if a sliver of dawn had pierced through the darkness, illuminating his heart and igniting his fighting spirit even brighter.

“Willow God, can you explain in more detail? Guide me through this confusion,” Little Rascal pleaded, his large, innocent eyes shining with clarity and brilliance.

“There is little to explain. The simplest and purest truths are often hidden within the mundane,” the Willow God replied calmly. “An ancient tree, once broken, may perish if its vitality has long been exhausted. But consider the leek—when first planted, it is yellow and frail. Yet with each cutting, it grows greener and sturdier. Or the silkworm—if trapped in its cocoon, it suffocates and dies. But if it breaks free, it transforms into a butterfly, radiant and beautiful. This is a rebirth, a transcendence of the past.”

Little Rascal’s eyes grew even brighter as he gazed at the Willow God’s charred trunk and its single tender green branch. “Just like you, Willow God—flourishing anew from destruction, destined to become even stronger. This is a trial, a unique cultivation, a rebirth that will surpass the past.”

“Your insight is keen, but do not draw parallels with my situation,” the Willow God transmitted, its voice carrying a rare hint of amusement.

“Willow God… was it you who saved me?” Little Rascal suddenly recalled how frail he had been, his body deteriorating to the brink of death.

A mountain breeze stirred the emerald branch as the Willow God replied, “Had I bestowed vitality upon you, you would have merely survived—living an ordinary life. At first, I simply watched.”

“I… survived on my own?” Little Rascal was astonished.

“Yes. When you were on the verge of withering, your vitality rekindled, growing stronger bit by bit until you endured without my intervention,” the Willow God stated plainly.

“So I persevered through the withering and flourishing…” Little Rascal murmured in realization, his obsidian-like eyes gleaming even brighter.

The Willow God, having witnessed Little Rascal’s resurgence from near-death, had been moved as well. Their circumstances were similar, and in the past, there had been a sense of shared suffering.

“Yet I must remind you—nothing is absolute. Though you survived and regained vitality, whether your Supreme Bone will truly regenerate remains uncertain.”

“I understand!” Little Rascal nodded solemnly, refusing blind optimism. He had yet to sense the emergence of any treasure bone within him.

“But if it does regenerate,” the Willow God continued, “it will undoubtedly shake the ages. A rebirth upon the original foundation—its runes will be even more profound, containing the secrets of the heavens, surpassing all before it. It will be entirely different!”

As the mist of chaos dispersed, tranquility returned to the village. A streak of golden light darted over—a round, fist-sized furball—landing on Little Rascal’s shoulder, chittering incessantly.

The clan chief and the others soon gathered around. Seeing the tears on Little Rascal’s face, the village women comforted him, wiping them away with affection.

“Little Rascal, this is your home. Whether you know your origins or not, we are your family,” the women assured him.

Meanwhile, the village men ruffled his hair with their rough hands, grinning broadly. “It’s nothing to fret over. Our Stone Village once birthed a deity. One day, you’ll stand toe-to-toe with the Golden-Winged Roc—a beast capable of slaying gods!”

“Don’t cry, Little Rascal! We’re here for you. We grew up together, and we’ll face everything as brothers!” the children chimed in.

“Mm!” Little Rascal wiped his tears and nodded firmly. His clan had raised him with love, filling his childhood with joy rather than hatred.

Yet, one day, he would surely visit that ancient kingdom—to demand answers.

“Grandfather, I want to become stronger!” Never before had Little Rascal yearned for power so intensely. But within Stone Village, his cultivation had reached its peak. There was nothing left to learn.

That ancient kingdom, ruling over endless lands with countless geniuses emerging in every era, was unimaginably vast. His “elder brother,” Shi Yi, was a blazing sun among them—a prodigy with double-pupiled eyes, a talent rivaling ancient sages and deities. And now, with Little Rascal’s Supreme Bone, his rise would be unstoppable.

Shi Yi, nearly ten years old now, must already be renowned in the imperial capital. Facing such a dazzling figure—one destined to challenge the heavens and rival the True Howler—Little Rascal felt the weight of pressure.

“To grow stronger… What a pity our ancestral heritage has been lost. This is our ancestral land—it should have passed down the most terrifying bone texts and treasure arts. Yet all have faded with time,” the clan chief sighed deeply, regret heavy in his voice.

But then, his heart thudded violently. He touched the bone hidden in his chest, unable to calm himself.

When the crowd dispersed, only Shi Yunfeng, Little Rascal, and the golden Zhu Yan remained. The chief solemnly led Little Rascal beneath the Willow God.

“Child, I have nothing left to teach you. You are a true prodigy. But I possess this bone—its runes are so complex that a mere glance can make one vomit blood. I dared not show it to you before, fearing it would harm you. Yet now, with no other recourse, I must entrust it to you. If you choose to study it, be cautious!”

With great care, the elder retrieved a palm-sized bone—lustrous and white as mutton-fat jade, exuding an indescribable purity. Despite its small size, it was densely inscribed with countless runes. Faintly, the chants of gods and demons seemed to echo from it, stirring the blood.

The moment it was revealed, its presence was overwhelming.

“Do not stare at it for long. Glance, then look away, lest you injure yourself,” the chief warned gravely.

“I understand, Grandfather.” Little Rascal accepted it gently, marveling at its cool, soothing texture.

No explanation was needed—this bone held an extraordinary origin, clearly a vessel of supreme bone-text truths.

“Chii—!” The golden Zhu Yan, no larger than a fist, leaped about in agitation, its bright eyes wide with alarm. It screeched sharply, as if desperate to seize the bone for itself.

“Grandfather, how did you obtain this? It seems… extraordinary,” Little Rascal asked.

“Of course!” The chief’s voice trembled as he spoke. He looked up at the massive, charred Willow God, his heart pounding.

“Does it… relate to the Willow God?” Little Shi Hao gasped.

The chief nodded. Decades ago, on a night of thunderous storms, lightning had split mountains, floods surged like seas, and beasts stampeded in terror. The Willow God had bathed in a sea of lightning, its countless branches transforming into radiant divine chains that pierced the heavens.

In the end, it had broken, charred black, descending from the sky—along with a glowing light that carried this very bone into Stone Village.

“Wait… it fell from the heavens with the Willow God?” Little Rascal exclaimed.

“Yes!” The chief nodded firmly. He had been young then, witnessing it all—an experience that had shaken him to his core.

For decades, Shi Yunfeng had offered sacrifices to the Willow God with this bone, yet never received a response. He hadn’t even known the Willow God could communicate.

Perhaps, the chief mused, the Willow God only took interest in Little Rascal. Every time it had spoken in the village, it had been for him.

“Willow God… what is this?” Little Rascal couldn’t resist asking.

Silence. The massive, blackened trunk stood unmoving like a monolith.

“Chii—!” The golden furball grew increasingly restless, as if struggling to recall something. Its eyes darted about before it lunged for the bone, desperate to clutch it.

After what felt like an eternity, the Willow God finally spoke—just four words:

“**Primordial True Record.**”