Chapter 0001: The Golden-Scaled Primordial Spirit Emerges in Datian

In the ninth month, the air was cool with the touch of autumn.

At dawn, as night and day exchanged places, Datian Town lay shrouded in thick fog, still deep in slumber. Aside from a few diligent hunters heading into the mountains, the occasional crow of a rooster or bark of a dog did not disturb the town’s peaceful dreams, soon swallowed by the silence.

Living by the mountain, living by the water—Datian Town, nestled against Xiaoyu Mountain, carried in its name the hope of fertile fields, yet, due to the scarcity and barrenness of the land, generations had been forced to hunt for a living.

As the rooster crowed for the third time, the sky gradually brightened, and figures began to appear on the streets. From time to time, the shouts of martial practice echoed above Datian Town.

Most of these shouts were still childish, coming from the boys doing their morning exercises. Gritting their teeth, they trained hard, all with the goal of surpassing Henry Sullivan and Jason Bolton.

In the hearts of Datian Town’s youths, besides the dream of surpassing Henry Sullivan and Jason Bolton, there was another dream, as illusory as a fantasy: to be chosen as disciples by the immortals on Xiaoyu Mountain, to master extraordinary skills, or at the very least, to become an outstanding hunter.

In a rather grand courtyard at the west end of Datian Town, their target of aspiration, Henry Sullivan, was still lying in bed, fast asleep.

Among the children of Datian Town, Henry Sullivan was the most skilled. He always slept in until the sun was high, yet was unmatched among his peers. Not only did he possess superb hunting skills and techniques, but he also occasionally brought rare herbs to sell at the town’s pharmacy, earning a handsome sum to help his family. He was admired and envied by many of his peers, and even the adults praised him endlessly, admitting their own inferiority.

No one noticed a small, colorful snake quietly slipping into Henry Sullivan’s room, skillfully slithering up to his bedside, and then lying motionless in front of his pillow.

The little snake was about half a foot long, its skin a dazzling array of colors, covered with countless tiny bumps—rough to the touch, like scales but not quite. Its head was not the usual wedge shape of a snake, but rather square and blocky, looking extremely odd.

“Mm…” Henry Sullivan rubbed his eyes and sat up abruptly. Seeing the colorful, motionless snake at his bedside, he was not startled at all. Instead, he casually took a yellow object from the snake’s mouth. The yellow object was about the size of a pinky nail, emitting a faint, refreshing fragrance. He then tucked the motionless snake into his shirt.

This small yellow object was a precious polygonatum root. Though it looked like a yellow pebble and was not much to look at, its delicate texture and the refreshing scent it gave off marked it as something extraordinary. No wonder the pharmacist Old Brooks had been talking about it for years, certain it would fetch a good price.

Henry Sullivan reached into his shirt and touched the cold little snake, his thoughts drifting as he recalled scenes from years past.

His ancestors had once held official positions, but after moving to Datian Town, they set a family rule: descendants must study, but never become officials. Now, his father did some farm work, earning little, while his mother did laundry and odd jobs in town to help support the family.

From a young age, Henry Sullivan studied and realized from books that learning was for understanding, not for seeking fame. More mature than his peers, he began hunting with the adults at eight, honing his skills amid danger and struggle. Since most of the game went to the adults, by the age of ten, he was already hunting alone in the mountains.

Though he often faced danger, Henry Sullivan always managed to escape unscathed. The only injury he ever suffered was at age twelve, when he was bitten by a strange little snake—a single bite that changed his life forever.

It was an early summer morning, after four days of heavy rain. The mountain paths were muddy and treacherous, and miasma filled the air. With no rice left at home, Henry Sullivan had to set out at dawn to search for prey.

However, the game near the mountains had long been hunted out. After wandering all morning with nothing to show for it, Henry Sullivan was at a loss when a roe deer suddenly darted past. Without hesitation, he gave chase.

The deer was cunning, weaving through the underbrush. Henry Sullivan shot several arrows but missed each time, and the deer led him deeper into Xiaoyu Mountain.

Though Datian Town had hunted for generations, they always stayed on the outskirts. Even now, with game growing scarce, no one dared venture deep into Xiaoyu Mountain. Some bold hunters had tried, but never returned.

Legend had it that not only did immortals dwell in Xiaoyu Mountain, but also many fierce demons and monsters.

Henry Sullivan was half-skeptical about the tales of monsters in the deep mountains, but he knew for certain that the depths were filled with miasma and countless fierce beasts, so he had always avoided hunting there. But now, if he returned home empty-handed, his parents and he would have to go hungry.

Gritting his teeth, Henry Sullivan pressed on, relentlessly pursuing the deer until he finally shot it down. By then, he had ventured deep into Xiaoyu Mountain, a place rarely touched by humans. Towering ancient trees, thick enough for two to encircle, blocked out the sky, dense shrubs grew everywhere, and the damp ground was layered with rotting leaves. He could only determine the direction of Datian Town and, relying on memory, tried to retrace his steps.