On a bright day, the sun cast its golden rays, piercing the dense forest canopy outside Green Leaf Village. The light splintered into a thousand bright spots that danced on the forest floor. Chen Huang stepped forward, his feet, accustomed to the forest ground, now traversed alone the green corridors filled with the scent of moss and wet earth.
The morning air was tranquil, as if the forest held its breath; there was no sound of turmoil, only the gentle symphony of nature. The forest, with all its dangers, was sometimes truly a calming place, offering freedom from judgmental eyes.
Chen Huang's pace slowed and eventually came to a complete halt. His eyes, trained to spot the smallest details in flora, were now focused on something peculiar. On the trunks of several towering ancient trees, he saw clearly etched claw marks. The scratches were not too large like those of a jungle tiger, nor too small like a squirrel's. They curved in an unfamiliar pattern, their depth uniform—a hint of mysterious strength.
Chen Huang slowly raised his right hand, the tip of his index finger gently touching his clean chin, while his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. This movement indicated an intense thought process, comparing this claw pattern with all his knowledge of fauna.
"Not an animal, but not human either. Then what is this?" He whispered, his voice low as if afraid to disturb the forest's secrets.
The confusion peaked. He raised both hands, his nimble fingers scratching his head in exasperation, showing frustration at the unsolved puzzle.
"Perhaps a new kind of beast?"
Chen Huang bent forward, tilting his head to the side, and leaned his face closer to the claw marks. He stretched out his left hand and slid his fingertip over the torn bark, trying to feel and analyze the texture. He searched for clues, footprints, or other remnants, but the result was nil.
Time passed, marked by the changing angle of the sunlight piercing the canopy. After finding no satisfactory clues, Chen Huang let out a long sigh—a resigned breath released into the air. He shrugged his shoulders slightly before finally continuing his journey. He had only entered the forest to search for medicinal herbs, a task far more important than this mysterious riddle.
Village Chief Wang Nan had reached his twilight years; his breath was growing shorter, and his strength was diminishing. He needed medicinal herbs as a life support, an aid to survive.
Chen Huang, despite often displaying a rebellious spirit and rejection of Wang Nan's advice, in reality, harbored deep respect in his heart. This was respect for the person who had accepted him, his only anchor amidst a storm of insults.
Chen Huang refocused. His eyes scanned the forest floor, now searching for the colors, shapes, and characteristics of the medicinal plants he knew by heart. His eye movements were swift yet meticulous, a manifestation of knowledge trained over many years under Wang Nan's guidance. That knowledge was now proving invaluable.
Suddenly, he saw it.
Under the shade of a thick fern bush, a medicinal plant appeared, radiating an undeniable aura. The plant had a mesmerizing bright blue color, a pigment so intense that it seemed to glow amidst the greenness of the forest.
Chen Huang felt a subtle flow of energy. The plant emitted an aura of life Dou Qi that was so pure, calm, and warm, fully matching its legendary description.
"Nine Lives Grass!"
The exclamation burst from his lips, an almost inaudible gasp filled with overflowing excitement. This was a rare plant, a botanical jewel. Its value was extremely high; if sold, it could fetch a great deal of money, because of its regenerative power capable of instantly healing severe wounds.
Without delaying for a second, Chen Huang moved quickly and efficiently. He lowered his body until he was kneeling on one knee on the damp earth. His left hand held back the surrounding leaves, clearing the workspace, while his slender right hand, with practiced skill, began to slowly dig around the base of the plant. He pulled out the Nine Lives Grass with its roots intact—an act that demonstrated his full understanding of how to harvest rare herbs.
Upon succeeding, he immediately placed it into the cloth pouch tied to his waist, securing it tightly with a strong, quick knot.
The next step was defense. Chen Huang's head spun quickly—his eyes and neck movements were sharp, sweeping the entire 360-degree area. He made sure there were no lurking shadows, no movement in the bushes, to ensure no one else had seen him pick the plant.
The Nine Lives Grass was indeed a healer, but its presence attracted danger. Danger that did not come from poison, but from greed. Chen Huang knew, in this world, the stronger person would sometimes take from the weak.
Chen Huang straightened up, his muscles tensing slightly as he assessed the risk. If common people came—hunters from other villages—he felt confident. His fingers lightly clenched, recalling the martial arts techniques taught by Wang Nan.
However, the shadow of a greater threat flashed in his mind. If he encountered a cultivator, a figure whose energy was far above his stagnant Dou Zhi Qi level, then the only options left were two: run or die.
After securing the rare treasure, Chen Huang continued his journey. He raised his right hand, wiping his forehead with the back of his palm, removing traces of cold sweat. Then, he resumed his steps—calm and measured, as if the recent discovery of the Nine Lives Grass was just a minor incident that changed nothing.
The leaves in the canopy began to stir and rustle, a melody produced as the gentle midday wind blew. The forest atmosphere in the daytime was a blend of strong light and deep shadows.
Although Chen Huang's face appeared calm, a mask of indifference he wore to the outside world, inside his head, a storm of thoughts began to churn.
What will I use this plant for? If I use it for Grandpa, maybe it will allow him to live longer.
His thoughts drifted to Wang Nan, the fragile yet affectionate old man. Giving him the Nine Lives Grass would grant him a precious extension of life.
Suddenly, Chen Huang stopped his steps—just for a moment, before slowly moving again. His mind leaped in another direction, a temptation that touched his greatest ambition.
Wait... if I sell this plant, and get a lot of money, I can buy pills. Maybe then I can advance my cultivation.
A thin, genuine smile began to form on his face. The smile was pure, representing the dreams and hopes he had held tightly all this time. However, the smile faded in an instant, as if a dark cloud had just covered the sun in his heart. His expression returned to serious, his eyes radiating cold determination.
No... Grandpa is far more important; I can do the cultivation later.
Although he possessed a burning resolve to become a strong cultivator, Chen Huang was still a boy with a conscience. He let out a heavy sigh, a physical gesture that demonstrated his inner struggle. He knew what was more important for now, even though this decision tormented him, forcing him to sacrifice his chance to escape his "trash" status. The sacrifice for Wang Nan was an undeniable priority.
As Chen Huang was immersed in the whirlpool of his thoughts, a sharp, dazzling reflection of light suddenly struck his retina. The light was so intense that he instinctively squinted. He quickly and alertly turned his head, searching for the source of the glimmer.
In a place filled with wild grass and protruding roots, he saw it: a sword lying on the ground.
The sword had a deep, dark red color, as if absorbing the hue of a sunset and ancient blood. On its surface, ancient inscriptions twisted and coiled, forming a mysterious pattern that felt alien yet exuded majesty. The most astonishing thing was the immensely strong Dou Qi aura—a wave of energy that felt cold and primal—emitted by the sword. It was truly a strange thing for an object this powerful to be lying carelessly in a quiet forest.
Chen Huang began to approach with very slow steps, each footfall filled with the highest caution. He walked as if approaching a deadly trap. When he was within range, he cautiously stretched out his right hand, his index finger being the first to touch the sword's cold surface.
The moment his fingertip made contact, a cold energy shock slammed into his body. His consciousness was immediately sucked into a vortex, like a whirlpool pulling him into another dimension. His eyes squeezed shut from the pain and shock.
When he opened his eyes again, the world had changed. He was now in a dark, empty place. As far as the eye could see, there was only nothingness. Black, thick water wet his ankles; the water was cold, and strangely, he could feel it contained unimaginable Dou Qi power. This was the ocean of spiritual consciousness—the place where spirit and energy meet.
Even more surprising was the figure before him.
A woman was sitting in mid-air, as if gravity did not apply to her. Her body floated unbound, a sight that transcended Chen Huang's understanding of cultivation.
The woman was extraordinarily beautiful. Her face was a painting that could not be described by human words—perfect, yet radiating an alluring danger.
Her hair was a dark crimson, hanging down like a curtain of burnt silk. Her blood-red eyes emitted an unknown and mysterious ancient power. She wore a rather revealing outfit, showcasing her flawless curves, a masterpiece crafted from spiritual energy.
As she moved slightly in her floating position, her slender waist seemed to sway gently, creating tempting ripples in the spiritual silence. The chest beneath her minimal attire—her firm and full curves—could be seen trembling slowly with her graceful breath, a small movement full of heavenly charm.
Chen Huang, trapped in awe and confusion, could only utter one question hoarsely from his throat.
"Who—who are you?" Chen Huang asked, his voice slightly trembling, he was frozen.