Travis Whitman was tricked by his uncle and, fuming with anger, refused to go to sleep. He pulled a marionette out from his chest—it seemed to be a toy he had loved since childhood. However, the toy in his hands was far more complex than an ordinary marionette, with countless control strings densely packed together. Travis Whitman skillfully manipulated it a few times, and the puppet moved as if it were alive, every joint in its body incredibly flexible.

　　Nathan Whitman was drawn over as well and shouted, “Yue Buqun, you despicable villain, give back the lives of all five hundred members of my Independent Regiment!” He also started playing with a marionette, making it charge forward with exaggerated noises.

　　Travis Whitman was not to be outdone: “Watch my family’s ancestral Dharma Fist!”

　　The two brothers laughed and made their puppets fight, their loud shouts scaring the crows for miles around into a cacophony of cawing...

　　Logan Whitman followed his uncle deep into the mountains, with the two silly uncles accompanying them, constantly making a fuss and laughing. Nathan Whitman and Travis Whitman were simple-minded, just like children who had just learned to walk. Especially when surrounded by family, they became even more spirited, curious about everything they saw, and quickly became familiar with Logan Whitman.

　　Harold Whitman showed not a trace of impatience. On the contrary, there was even a hint of reluctance in his gaze as he looked at them, and from time to time he would remind his two silly brothers, “If Logan ever gets bullied in the future, you uncles mustn’t stand by and do nothing!”

　　“If anyone dares to bully our Sun, I’ll beat his guts out!”

　　The two brothers could never remember Logan’s name and called Logan Whitman “Sun” all day long, but he was already used to it.

　　The mountains stretched on, with peaks upon peaks. Logan Whitman had long since lost his sense of direction, only remembering that they kept heading west, crossing mountain after mountain. Whenever he had a moment, he would reach into the incense burner and play with the firefly beetles for a while, then grit his teeth and draw out the poison, until three days later, his uncle pointed to a grove of red-leafed trees not far away: “Logan, we’re here!”

　　All around were green mountains, lush with the vitality of spring. Amidst the endless sea of green, that small patch of red forest looked like leaping flames, strikingly conspicuous.

　　Logan Whitman gave a wry smile: “Uncle, can you finally tell me where we are now?”

　　Before Harold Whitman could answer, Nathan Whitman came over, grabbing Logan Whitman’s hand: “Sun, I know, this is the old demon’s home!”

　　Travis Whitman nodded vigorously in agreement, saying with great seriousness, “That’s right, the old demon’s family is huge, and they eat meat every day! If you go, you’ll get to eat meat too!”

　　Before the two could finish, suddenly a hoarse voice, impossible to tell if it was male or female, called out: “You two are here, you’ll get to eat meat too, why don’t you come over!”

　　Nathan Whitman and Travis Whitman acted as if they’d seen a ghost, each letting out a strange cry and hiding behind Harold Whitman. Nathan Whitman even loyally reminded, “Sun, run! The old demon is here!”

　　Light, nimble footsteps sounded, and an old woman in a long robe, with a head full of white hair and a face covered in deep wrinkles, tottered over from afar. Yet in no time at all, she was standing before Logan Whitman and the others.

　　Harold Whitman hurriedly called out to Logan Whitman: “Come quickly and pay respects to our Wen family elder!”

　　Logan Whitman immediately knelt down, bowing his head to the ground: “Logan Whitman pays respects to... grandaunt...” Before he could finish, Logan Whitman felt a sudden darkness before his eyes, and then his skin tightened abruptly, as if it were cowhide doused in cold water, clinging tightly to his bones and flesh. The intense pain nearly took his breath away.

　　Harold Whitman quickly supported his nephew: “The boy’s blind! This is your Fourth Grandfather, hurry and bow again!” Then he turned to the old man and said, “Fourth Dad, this child has always been a bit muddleheaded, please don’t...”

　　The three elders of the Wen family village were all around eighty years old, but they took such good care of themselves that they looked barely over sixty. However, this Fourth Grandfather before them looked to be over a hundred, with the shallowest wrinkle on his face half an inch deep, so old that it was impossible to tell his gender.

　　Logan Whitman had never heard of having a Fourth Grandfather, and calling him grandaunt was entirely due to being misled by his two uncles—generally, monsters were male and spirits were female.

　　Mr. Whitman’s cold snort was like an icy needle, piercing sharply through the air and stabbing deep into Logan Whitman’s eardrum.

　　Logan Whitman trembled all over from the pain, and with his uncle’s support, managed to bow again: “Greetings, Fourth Grandfather. Your grandson Logan Whitman was rude, please forgive me.”

　　Only then did Mr. Whitman wave his hand lightly: “So this is the Wen family disciple who passed the grand exam this time? Each generation is worse than the last!” Logan Whitman suddenly felt his whole body relax, and that excruciating, bone-gnawing pain vanished in an instant.

　　Harold Whitman put on a fawning smile, bowed to the old man, and then said, “Fourth Dad, please don’t say that. Once you spend some time with him, you’ll see—this child does have some redeeming qualities! Would you like to tell him, or shall I?”

　　Mr. Whitman impatiently waved his sleeve, signaling Harold Whitman to speak, while his cold, piercing gaze swept up and down Nathan Whitman and Travis Whitman. The two simple-minded men, who usually wouldn’t stop chanting spells for even a moment, now stood stock-still under the old man’s gaze, which was colder than a viper’s, not daring to move a muscle.

　　Logan Whitman groaned inwardly. It looked like he’d be eating meat with this Fourth Grandfather for the next couple of years.