“Ninth Uncle!”

“Thirteenth Uncle!”

The two men immediately looked at each other in confusion. One of them asked, “Is it Ninth Uncle or Thirteenth Uncle?”

“It’s your Ninth Uncle, my Thirteenth Uncle, because we’re not the same age,” the other man explained.

“Oh!” The first man suddenly understood.

……

Logan Whitman fetched some clean water, carefully eyeing the two strange men grinning flirtatiously at him. “Ninth Uncle? Thirteenth Uncle?” He then looked toward Great Uncle: “They… are my Ninth Uncle and Thirteenth Uncle? They also practice the wrong fist, and are inner disciples of the The Whitman Family?”

Logan Whitman had never seen these two oddballs before.

Harold Whitman helped the two strange men wash up. The two of them sat on the ground, grinning, not moving at all, letting him do as he pleased. “Ninth Elder and Thirteenth Elder aren’t right in the head.” As he spoke, he pointed to his own head, and the other two also grinned foolishly, sticking out a finger to poke their own temples, imitating Harold Whitman.

“Their bodies are extraordinary, their physical talent is unmatched in our generation, but they don’t understand the ways of the world. Although they can’t concoct formulas suitable for their own cultivation, your Great Grandpa still took them in as disciples, taught them the wrong fist, and usually just lets them play in the mountains when there’s nothing else to do. In the future, when you practice boxing, you can always ask these two uncles for advice. The variations they’ve created from the wrong fist are so tricky that even I can’t handle them!”

As Logan Whitman listened, he also helped Great Uncle wash his own Ninth Uncle and Fourteenth Uncle. The two silly men grinned at him with great politeness: “Thank you, Seventh Uncle (Nineteenth Uncle)!”

Their sense of numbers was truly a mess.

Harold Whitman patted the two oddballs on the shoulder and pointed at Logan Whitman: “He’s your nephew, not your uncle. From now on, just call him Logan!”

Suddenly, Logan Whitman remembered something, and looked at his Great Uncle in panic: “Great Uncle, I’m not going to be taught by these two uncles, am I?”

Harold Whitman spat and cursed: “Nonsense! The two of them don’t know anything about poison formulas. Someone else will teach you!”

Only then did Logan Whitman breathe a sigh of relief. His two silly uncles grinned at him and said, “Don’t be afraid, sun, Old Rascal will teach you!”

It didn’t take long for Nathan Whitman and Travis Whitman to finish washing up. After kicking off their beards, both of them looked quite dignified, except for the dullness in their eyes and the silly grins that made them look even more foolish.

Harold Whitman looked at his two brothers with affection and chuckled, “That’s more like it. Just wait, next time I go down the mountain, I’ll make sure to bring each of you a wife!”

Nathan Whitman and Travis Whitman looked at each other and laughed heartily: “First Elder, are wives tasty?”

The four of them were joking around when Harold Whitman suddenly slapped his forehead: “Damn, I almost forgot the important thing!” With that, he tossed his two silly brothers up into the tree and whispered, “Nobody move!” Then he added, “Whoever moves is a bastard!”

The two of them, just about to move after being thrown into the branches, immediately froze like clay statues when they heard the last part, each hugging a big branch without moving an inch.

Harold Whitman pointed to the black jade incense burner not far away and made a shushing gesture to Logan Whitman. The uncle and nephew quietly climbed up the tree as well, barely making a sound.

It was midnight, and all around was silent. Only now did Logan Whitman notice that the chirping of insects and cawing of crows in the forest had disappeared at some point. There was only a faint, almost imperceptible sizzling sound, like burning paper, coming from not far away, as if something was slowly creeping toward them.

Harold Whitman gently patted Logan Whitman and pointed in a direction. Logan Whitman looked over and saw that in the northwest, the thick wild grass was eerily bending to both sides, and a thin line was spreading toward them from afar.

In the past two years, Logan Whitman had improved greatly, and his eyesight was much sharper than before. Even at night, he could vaguely see things in the distance, and those nearby were even clearer.

That thin line moved extremely slowly, as if it had to rest after crawling a bit. It took nearly two hours to cover just a few dozen meters. The two oddballs were still hugging their branches, keeping the same expressions as when they first climbed the tree. It seemed they really didn’t want to be bastards.

Harold Whitman seemed to know exactly what was coming. He glanced sideways at his Eldest Nephew and chuckled softly, “Good kid, you’ve got some luck!”

Logan Whitman was both nervous and excited, wiping the sweat from his palms onto his pants.

Volume One: Breaking New Ground

Chapter Six: Secrets

The thin line finally slithered into the clearing in the woods, and a faint burnt smell rose in the air. Logan Whitman squinted and finally saw what it was.

It was a little crawling creature, no longer than a pinky finger, with a few sparse barbs on its body. Its whole body was dark red and extremely plump, looking like a chubby caterpillar that had just crawled out of a can of red paint.

Behind the bug, it left a scorched black line. Whether grass, wood, or stone, everything looked as if it had been seared by hot tongs.

The caterpillar circled the incense burner a few times, then suddenly bounced and jumped inside, squeaking in delight, and then fell silent.