The little boy was astonishingly slippery; even four or five young men couldn’t catch him. He darted here and leapt there, about to escape the encirclement, when suddenly a pale, thin young man with cold, sinister eyes sprang out from the crowd. With a cold sneer, he said, “So you actually know some moves, but it’s not enough to impress me!” As he spoke, he reached out, grabbed the boy by the back of his collar, and lifted him up.

The little boy struggled with all his might, but in this young man’s grasp, he was utterly trapped, like a snake caught by its vital spot.

“Ah, thank you, brother! May I ask your name?”

Fat Preacher came running over, panting, and was overjoyed at the sight. He hurriedly thanked the young man.

“Greetings, senior brother. I am Alice Murray. I was merely lending a hand to catch this little monkey for you—no trouble at all, not worth mentioning…”

The young man was very polite, bowing respectfully to Fat Preacher.

“Not at all, not at all. Let me teach this little brat a lesson first, then I’ll take you to register up ahead…”

Fat Preacher said with a smile, then turned his gaze to the little boy, a hint of cruelty flashing in his eyes. “I am an outer disciple of the Qingyun Dao Sect. How dare a lowly beggar like you insult me? Even if I don’t take your life today, I’ll make sure you remember this lesson!”

With that, he jumped forward, rubbing his fists together and grinning menacingly.

But after all, as a Daoist disciple, he couldn’t just harm people at will—even if the other party was a beggar. At most, he’d slap him a couple of times to teach him a lesson.

“Don’t… don’t hurt my young master…”

Suddenly, a little girl squeezed out from the crowd and blocked Fat Preacher’s way.

She was as dirty as the little boy, looking only seven or eight years old, thin and frail, but with delicate features and bright, lively eyes. Most striking were her slightly pointed ears, fox-like in appearance, and her eyes glimmered with a hint of green, giving her a somewhat otherworldly look. Clearly, she was not pure human, but a mixed-blood barbarian.

“Stupid little barbarian, why did you come out? Didn’t I tell you to hide?”

The little boy, still dangling in midair, immediately scolded her.

“Young master, if I didn’t come out, he would have hit you…”

The little barbarian maid said aggrievedly, stubbornly spreading her small arms to block Fat Preacher.

“I’m plenty capable myself—do I need you to stand up for me? Get out of the way, now…”

The little boy flailed his arms and legs, making people want to laugh. Though he wasn’t very capable, his bravado was impressive.

“A beggar like this even has a barbarian maid?”

Fat Preacher clicked his tongue in amazement, eyeing the little barbarian maid’s pretty face with a hint of greedy desire.

In this world, such people were called “barbarians,” the lowest of all races. The demon clans didn’t accept them, and humans looked down on them even more. Even if someone kept one or two, they were either concubines or lowly servants. Yet even as a servant, not just anyone could afford one. This little boy looked like a beggar, yet had a barbarian servant—truly unusual.

“Hmph, filthy, lowly race…”

Alice Murray, still holding the little boy, sneered coldly. His eyes flashed, and he kicked the little girl, sending her flying.

“You bastard! How dare you bully my little barbarian—I’ll kill you!”

The little boy screamed like a madman, kicking and punching, flailing wildly.

The little barbarian maid was kicked by the young man named Murray, flying over ten yards before crashing into a tree. Although he hadn’t kicked her to death, she still hit the ground with blood streaming from her head, lying motionless. The onlookers were shocked into silence, but no one stepped forward to say anything. After all, she was just a little demon barbarian; even in the mortal world, her life was as insignificant as an ant’s—no one cared whether she lived or died.

“In this life, I hate demon barbarians most of all. Sorry to let you see that, senior brother…”

Alice Murray realized he’d been a bit too harsh and smiled awkwardly.

“Uh… it’s fine… it’s fine…”

Fat Preacher replied awkwardly, secretly thinking Alice Murray was rather vicious, but it wasn’t convenient to say so.

As for the little boy still struggling in Alice Murray’s grasp, no one paid him any more attention, no matter how much he shouted and cursed.

“Ah, look at that little demon barbarian girl’s blood… what’s happening?”

Suddenly, someone exclaimed softly. Everyone turned to look and saw that blood from the little demon barbarian’s forehead had seeped into the wild grass nearby. Astonishingly, the withered grass—already yellowed by autumn and winter—began to revive, new green shoots slowly sprouting, lush and vibrant, as if made of jade, almost dripping with life. It was truly amazing.

“Wood Spirit bloodline… That little girl actually has the rare Wood Spirit bloodline…”

Among those seeking apprenticeship, most were wealthy or noble and had some knowledge. Someone immediately whispered in surprise.

The crowd buzzed with discussion—some amazed, some disdainful, some envious.

The Wood Spirit bloodline was one of the world’s rarest, with miraculous effects on the growth of plants.

Such a bloodline was highly coveted by Daoist sects everywhere.

From the earlier exchange between Fat Preacher and the little boy, it was clear that Daoist sects valued different qualities in their prospective disciples.

Either you had a letter of recommendation—someone connected to the Daoist sect vouching for you, allowing you to become a disciple.