The Wood Demon froze, its emerald eyes flickering with a mixture of malice and calculation. Slowly, the aggressive vines withered back into the canopy. It had weighed the cost: if Wang Hao unleashed that fire, he would reduce the Spirit Medicine Garden to ash.

For a creature of wood, these plants were not merely scenery; they were its eyes, its ears, and its lifeblood.

It was an intelligent horror. It understood that relying on photosynthesis and slow growth was a path to stagnation. To evolve, it had to plunder.

It had sensed Wang Hao the moment he entered the valley—the entire garden was its nervous system—but its control waned with distance. It had waited until he was deep in the core to strike, certain that a mere human would fall to its ambush.

It hadn’t accounted for the Red Lotus True Fire.

The crimson flames made its very soul shudder. It was an instinctual terror, the biological panic prey feels when the shadow of a hawk crosses the sun. To the demon, this human wasn’t just an enemy; he was a natural disaster given flesh.

It was a stalemate. The demon yearned to kill him to remove the threat, but it feared mutual destruction.

“Whatever you are,” Wang Hao said, his voice calm and steady, “let’s stay in our own lanes. I take my harvest, and you keep your life.”

He lowered his hands but kept the flames dancing at his fingertips—a silent, burning threat. “I could hunt for your main body. I’d find it eventually. But the noise would attract every beast in the ruins. If a Third-Rank monster shows up, we both lose.”

The massive tree in front of him shook violently, a wooden roar of refusal.

“Relax. I’m not here to clear-cut the forest,” Wang Hao countered. “I want two fruits. The rest of the garden remains yours.”

He stepped closer, his tone shifting from threat to negotiation. “Think about it. A fight benefits no one. If the chaos draws in other beasts, they’ll strip this place bare. How many stalks of spirit grass can you protect when a horde descends?”

The demon paused. It possessed a higher intellect than the mindless beasts of the ruin; it understood leverage.

“This realm is dying,” Wang Hao pressed, sensing the opening. “The spiritual veins are degrading. Even if you consume every plant here, you’ve hit your ceiling at the Third Rank. If you want to reach the Fourth Rank, you need to leave this cage.”

The tree went still.

“You can’t walk out on your own,” Wang Hao said softly. “But I can take you. There is a vast world outside these crumbling walls. I’m offering you a ticket out. But, naturally, there is no such thing as a free lunch. You have to show some sincerity first.”

He was painting a cake—a beautiful, impossible promise—but he knew the starving creature wouldn’t be able to resist the smell.

The branches swayed, a rustling sound like a heavy sigh echoing through the grove. A moment later, a vine snaked forward, offering a cluster of fruits.

Wang Hao glanced at them and scoffed. “Second-Rank spirit fruits? That’s spare change. Your sincerity is lacking.”

The vine retracted, hovering uncertainly.

“I want the Gold Essence Fruit.” Wang Hao pointed to the radiant golden tree at the center of the garden.

The Wood Demon hesitated. Finally, a vine curled around two of the precious gold fruits. It extended them, but jerked back just as Wang Hao reached out.

“Worried I’ll renege?” Wang Hao locked eyes with the creature. “I swear by my Dao Heart: within one hundred years, I will remove you from this place. Satisfied?”

The vine dipped in a gesture of submission and dropped the fruits into his hand.

Wang Hao suppressed a grin of triumph. Finally.

As for the oath? He wasn’t lying. He fully intended to drag the demon out eventually. A sentient plant monster with surveillance capabilities would be an incredible asset for the family. He just neglected to mention the “servitude” part of the contract.

The demon, naive to the depths of human cunning, believed the deal was a partnership.

Pocketing the Gold Essence Fruits, Wang Hao felt a weight lift. With these seeds, his path to the Golden Core was paved. He could stop risking his neck in these monster-infested pits and let the other clan members handle the grunt work.

He turned and vanished into the mist, heading for the exit.

By the time Wang Hao reached the extraction point, Ji Xiaotang and Li Derong were already waiting in the shadows.

They emerged when they saw him, though they kept a respectful distance. Trust was a scarce currency here.

“We’ve been watching for half a day,” Li Derong whispered. “No sign of the Qi family. Do we keep waiting?”

Wang Hao frowned, calculating the odds. “They won’t just walk out to die. Trying to lure them into an ambush inside the ruin is risky; one wrong move and we attract the beasts. It’s better to leave. We can blockade the exit from the outside.”

Ji Xiaotang nodded, her hand resting on her sword hilt. “The island sinks in three days. If they don’t come out by then, the ocean will bury them.”

“Agreed. Let’s move.”

The group organized their formation and stepped into the yellow curtain of light, vanishing from the ruin.

High in a distant tree, Qi Li lowered a peculiar Magical Artifact.

It consisted of polished lenses within a brass tube—remarkably similar to a telescope from Earth. Through it, he had watched the entire exchange.

He slammed his fist against the trunk. “The Ji family… treacherous dogs! They’ve allied with the outsiders!”

Beside him, another Qi cultivator paled. “The Ji clan wiped out the Huang family years ago with similar tactics. Now that the Qin forces are dead, they’ll turn on us. If they secure the ruin and attack our stronghold…”

“We have to send a runner,” another urged. “The family must be warned.”

“But how?” a young disciple wailed, looking as though he were mourning his own parents. “We can’t stay here! The island is sinking!”

The morale was shattered. They had come expecting a lucrative harvest, a stepping stone to Foundation Establishment. Instead, they were trapped in a tomb.

“Stop howling!” Qi Li snapped.

He opened his palm, revealing three dark, metallic spheres. They spun slowly, emitting a faint, ominous hum.

“Wait two days. Then we rush them,” Qi Li said, his voice cold. “I have three Sky Thunder Beads. As long as we survive their initial volley, we can break their blockade.”

The disciples stared at the spheres, hope flickering in their eyes. Sky Thunder Beads were devastating; few below the Golden Core stage could take a direct hit and live.

They weren’t perfect weapons—you had to actually hit the target—but as tools of chaos, they were unmatched. A few well-placed explosions would be enough to cover a retreat.

Outside, on the small island.

The air rippled, and the exhausted forms of the expedition team materialized.

“The Elders are back! They’re back!” the Li family disciples shouted, rushing forward.

Wang Yanfeng flew to the front, relief washing over his face as he spotted Wang Hao. “You’ve returned! These last ten days have been torture.”

He scanned the group, counting heads. His smile faltered. He looked left, then right, but the face he sought was missing.

The celebration died in his throat.

“Where is Yanlang?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.