The young man’s figure swayed, and with a leap, he landed atop the water crane. With a slight surge of magic power within him, the water crane carried him as it flew up the mountain.

“The true form of the Wood Kui spirit should be this tree.”

Not long after, Grant Sullivan stood before a large tree on the mountaintop, half withered and half flourishing. After circling it a few times, he confirmed his suspicion.

He immediately raised both hands, and silver powder scattered out once again, transforming into billowing white flames that began to burn.

An astonishing thing happened.

The seemingly half-dead tree actually let out babbling, childlike monster sounds in the flames, which lasted for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea before finally falling silent.

By then, the entire tree had been reduced to ashes.

The young man carefully examined the roots of the tree, then took out a small bottle and sprinkled some black liquid into the nearby soil, finally revealing a satisfied expression.

When Grant Sullivan once again rode the blue water crane away from the mountaintop, flying toward the distant horizon, his seemingly calm face could not conceal the faint excitement in his heart.

Three years had passed; that thing should be complete by now.

As long as he retrieved and refined it, his magic power would advance once more, breaking through to the perfected Foundation Establishment stage, even surpassing the Wood Kui spirit.

At that time, he would officially enter the ranks of the upper disciples of the Zhong family.

Chapter Two: Encountering a Woman at the Ancient Temple

Beside a dirt-yellow road stood a dilapidated temple, its main hall half-collapsed.

Several men dressed as woodcutters sat around a campfire in the still-intact part of the main hall, speaking in low voices.

In the center of the fire, a few blackened sticks supported a black-and-yellow iron pot, from which something was bubbling and boiling, sending out a rich aroma of food.

Not far from the woodcutters were a young scholar and a twelve-year-old page boy.

The scholar sat on a small stool, holding a scroll in his hands, reading with a swaying head.

The page boy sat directly on a clean stone step nearby, gnawing dryly on a piece of coarse bread, his face occasionally showing the pain of swallowing something hard to eat.

On the central offering table at one side of the main hall stood a nameless deity statue, its features already somewhat blurred.

The statue wore green armor, held a brass halberd, and had a pair of wings on its back. Its whole body was covered in dust and cobwebs, looking particularly fierce and terrifying.

Suddenly, a gust of cold wind blew in from outside the temple doors, making the campfire inside flicker wildly, and the temperature in the temple dropped to a chill.

The three woodcutters shivered, feeling a coldness throughout their bodies and weakness in their limbs.

“Hmm, something’s odd!” The scholar, who had been reading, changed expression slightly and couldn’t help but look toward the temple entrance.

“Young master, what’s wrong? Is there something unclean out there?” The page boy, who had been gnawing on his bread, perked up at these words, his face full of eager anticipation.

“I’m not sure yet, but just in case, take out my jade scroll. With its deterrent, ordinary ghosts shouldn’t be able to approach.” The scholar stared outside for a moment, then frowned and gave instructions.

“Yes, sir.” The page boy immediately jumped up from the stone steps, walked quickly to the book chest behind the scholar, and pulled out an object wrapped in yellow cloth, from which faint white light seeped.

After placing the cloth bundle beside the scholar, the page boy looked around excitedly.

Strangely enough, the chill in the temple began to recede as the white light flickered from the bundle, and soon the temperature returned to normal.

“Heavens, he’s an immortal master!”

“Truly an immortal master—only an immortal could possess such a treasure!”

The woodcutters were all shocked at the sight, their six eyes fixed on the bundle for a few moments. When they looked at the scholar and his page again, their gazes were full of awe, and their voices dropped even lower.

Seeing this, the scholar sighed, tossed the scroll into the book chest behind him, and stood up, about to say something.

But just then, hurried footsteps sounded outside the temple, and a figure stumbled into the main hall. After a few steps, the person fell headlong to the ground, unconscious.

The scholar looked closely and saw that it was a petite young woman in green clothes, her body covered in wounds, her ten fingers bloody and mangled, as if she had just endured severe torture.

The three woodcutters were dumbfounded, and the page boy was equally shocked.

Only the scholar remained somewhat calm. After carefully examining the woman in green, he gave an order without turning his head:

“Warren, what are you standing there for? Hurry and help her up, and take out my Spring Transformation Pill.”

“Young master, there are only two Spring Transformation Pills left. Are you sure you want to use one on her?” The page boy called Warren finally came to his senses, showing some hesitation.

“A mere healing pill—how can it compare to a human life?” the scholar replied without hesitation.

“Young master, you always act so generous. Fine, you’re the master, so I’ll do as you say.”

The page boy could only agree with a bitter face, then quickly rummaged through the book chest for a small white bottle and went forward to help the woman in green sit up against a pillar.

With a loud “ah!”