After a while, Harold Whitman chuckled and said, “It’s done!” Then he leapt down from the tree, reached out to pick up the incense cauldron, opened it to check that everything was fine, and then handed it to Logan Whitman: “Kid, do you know what this is?”

Logan Whitman held the incense cauldron and shook his head. The caterpillar that had made such a grand entrance earlier was now curled up into a ball, lying comfortably inside the cauldron, completely motionless. It was impossible to tell whether it was sleeping or already dead. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but didn’t dare—any bug attracted by the incense cauldron was so poisonous that even a member of the Wen family wouldn’t touch it lightly.

Harold Whitman burst out laughing: “Coward! Don’t worry, this kind of bug is called a Buddha Lamp Worm. Don’t be fooled by how it scorched all the plants along the way—actually, it’s not very poisonous!”

Logan Whitman looked puzzled. “Not very poisonous?”

Harold Whitman nodded, still grinning. “This is a larva. Once it cocoons and transforms into a ‘Buddha Lamp Guide,’ then it’s something else entirely. That’s the most potent fire poison in the world! Put your hand in!”

The two silly uncles lying on the tree branch blinked curiously at the scene below, but neither was willing to make the first move. Their eyes on the incense cauldron looked as if little hands were about to reach out.

Logan Whitman didn’t understand why his uncle wanted him to do this, but he still nervously reached his hand into the incense cauldron. The fat little worm suddenly straightened its body and shot onto his palm, its plump body wriggling and rolling around as if playing. Logan Whitman only felt a burning heat in his palm and instinctively tried to pull his hand back, but his uncle pressed down on his wrist: “Don’t move! You mustn’t move!”

The ‘Buddha Lamp Worm’ played in Logan Whitman’s palm for a while, then, as if tired, jumped back into the cauldron, curled up again, and began to sleep.

Only then did Harold Whitman let go of his hand. “Kid, from now on, play with it for a while every day. Remember, until it leaves on its own, your palm must never leave the incense cauldron!”

Logan Whitman withdrew his hand and, by the moonlight, saw a fiery red thin line slowly spreading along his veins toward his shoulder. His palm was covered in countless tiny holes, all pricked by the worm’s stiff hairs.

Logan Whitman was truly alarmed now. If the fiery red line reached his chest, not even a god could save him. He hurriedly fumbled for the Wen family’s detoxifying powder and applied it to his palm, while his other hand pressed and kneaded three inches below the poisoned arm’s vein. The poison line quickly stopped spreading and slowly receded. After a moment, a few drops of extremely dark red blood oozed from the wound in his palm.

Ever since he started soaking in toxic medicinal wine and practicing the wrong-fist technique, poisonous creatures like scorpions and centipedes always avoided him. Once, a large, nearly three-inch-long, fiery red centipede was cornered by him and bit him in desperation, only to flip over and die, while he was completely unharmed.

This Buddha Lamp Worm, though not considered extremely poisonous by the Wen family’s inner disciples, would be absolutely fatal to ordinary people. This bug belongs to the fire element, is naturally mischievous, and loves to play with young boys, but usually, anyone it plays with ends up dead.

Harold Whitman watched him skillfully detoxify himself, a trace of satisfaction flashing across his face. “Whenever you have time, play with it for a while. One day, if it’s willing to leave the cauldron along your arm, that means it’s recognized you as its master. Then you can carry it with you. If by chance it manages to break its cocoon and become a Buddha Lamp Guide, well, kid, your fortune will be great!”

Logan Whitman nodded happily at first, then asked in confusion, “By chance?”

The Buddha Lamp Worm carries the fire element of the five elements. After transforming into the Buddha Lamp Guide, its fire poison increases dramatically, making it one of the most potent poisons in the world. But according to the Wen family’s ancestors, most of these bugs die in their cocoons before they can become butterflies, and no one knows exactly why.

Logan Whitman stuck out his tongue. Since even his uncle didn’t know, there was no point in worrying about it. Still, the idea of a bug recognizing him as its master—especially such a chubby one—seemed amusing. The Wen family had dealt with poisonous bugs since childhood, and usually, the more poisonous the bug, the more hideous and bizarre it looked. There weren’t many as cute and clumsy as this one.

After giving his nephew instructions, Harold Whitman suddenly pointed at Travis Whitman and shouted, “Thirteen, you moved! You’re a bastard!”

Travis Whitman let out a strange cry and jumped down from the tree. “I didn’t move!”

“If you didn’t move, why did you jump down?!” Harold Whitman laughed heartily, then winked slyly at Logan Whitman and whispered, “If those two brothers ever pester you too much, just use this trick.”

Logan Whitman gave a wry smile. “I wouldn’t dare call uncle a bastard.” Then he paused, quickly adding, “And I wouldn’t dare call uncle a bastard either!”

Harold Whitman spat. “Go to sleep, go to sleep! Whoever doesn’t sleep is a bastard!”