[Target Lifespan: 149.7 Years]

Wang Ba withdrew his hand from the warm, feathered head of the High Grade Spirit Poultry and nodded in satisfaction.

A Middle Grade Spirit Poultry possessed a lifespan of roughly 120 years. These High Grade specimens, however, pushed close to 150.

Calculated conversion: Consuming one High Grade Spirit Poultry would grant him approximately 15 years of lifespan.

But to eat them now would be a waste of resources. Their true value lay in their genetics.

Although Wang Ba had not yet standardized the protocol for artificial insemination using the Prime Yang Inversion technique, he believed in the law of large numbers. As long as the population base was large enough, the “genetic lottery” would eventually produce a naturally occurring, fourth-generation High Grade chick.

There was only one flaw in the data.

Alpha-Nine had laid four eggs that successfully hatched into High Grade birds—one rooster, three hens. Yet, tragically, not a single one inherited her peerless, hypnotic beauty. They were certainly better looking than the average chicken, retaining the underlying skeletal structure of a Rare Fowl, but they lacked her supernatural charisma.

“Hypothesis confirmed,” Wang Ba muttered, rubbing his chin. “Alpha-Nine, like Alpha-Seven, is a mutant.”

“Alpha-Seven mutated for combat effectiveness. Alpha-Nine dumped all her points into Charisma and Aesthetics.”

“It is a pity both are hens.”

“Furthermore, the heritability of these mutation traits remains unverified. Conclusion: Alpha-Nine cannot stop laying. The sample size must increase.”

Strictly speaking, Alpha-Nine was just as valuable as the combat-ready Alpha-Seven. Her overwhelming charm ensured a 100% success rate in mating, guaranteeing a steady stream of fertilized eggs.

Every egg was a lottery ticket for a High Grade cultivator resource.

Wang Ba glanced at the coop. Alpha-Nine was leisurely strolling through the yard, her plumage shimmering. Behind her, a line of roosters—including her own High Grade son—watched her tail feathers with glassy-eyed obsession, eager to try their luck.

“That is an affront to moral decency,” Wang Ba critiqued dryly. “Violating the cardinal human ethics… but then again, you are chickens. Carry on.”

He was pleased to see the enthusiasm.

He needed the High Grade rooster to mate with Alpha-Nine. In breeding science, backcrossing with a high-quality parent was a standard method to stabilize desirable traits. A higher-tier maternal line meant a stronger foundation for the offspring.

Once the flock achieved a lifespan breakthrough, their performance would skyrocket.

Wang Ba pulled out a jade slip and updated his research log:

Generation 1 (Low Grade) + Generation 1 (Low Grade) = Generation 2 (Low Grade). Gen 2 (Lifespan Breakthrough -> Middle Grade) x Gen 2 = Generation 3. Gen 3 (Lifespan Breakthrough -> High Grade).

It was a tedious, multi-year process of selective breeding and lifespan infusion, but the results were undeniable.

He also had a working theory on why Alpha-Seven failed to break through to High Grade.

The parentage of Alpha-Seven likely wasn’t two pure Spirit Poultry, but a cross between a male Spirit Poultry and a female Rare Fowl. The genetic incompatibility or “insufficient bloodline density” limited the Potential of both Alpha-Five and Alpha-Seven.

If Alpha-Seven had been born from two stable Middle Grade parents, she likely would have ascended to High Grade by now.

“Variables beyond my control,” Wang Ba sighed, closing the log.

He had been lingering in the chicken farm for a while when Shen Fu and the others came jogging over, looking excited.

“Senior Brother Wang! You’re still here? The Merit Ranking for the mandatory mission has been released. Aren’t you going to take a look?”

“Merit Ranking?”

Wang Ba felt a flicker of curiosity.

Between his constant spending of Spirit Stones in the market and the completion of the mandatory mission, his merit points had accumulated to 140.

He had already unlocked Level 2 Authority, granting him a 10% discount on market purchases. It was a classic “mark up to mark down” scam, but a discount was a discount.

However, the jump from Level 2 to Level 3 required a staggering 800 points. At his current rate of “spending money to buy status,” it would take at least five or six years.

“You guys go ahead,” Wang Ba waved them off, his caution overriding his curiosity. “I’ll pass.”

Shen Fu didn’t push him. The group left for the central plaza.

However, not long after, they returned to the farm entrance, breathless. Shen Fu handed a crumpled sheet of paper to Wang Ba.

“We brought it to you.”

Wang Ba took the list. His senses were sharp; he scanned the dense text with photographic speed, instantly locating his own name.

“Why did you bring this back?” Wang Ba asked, frowning. “Is it safe to remove?”

“We didn’t tear it down,” Shen Fu explained. “Every cultivator in the market was given a copy. I grabbed an extra one for you.”

“Everyone has a copy?”

Wang Ba narrowed his eyes. He looked at the paper in his hands, not as a list of names, but as a weapon.

Ruthless, he thought. Absolutely toxic.

On the surface, it was a leaderboard to stroke egos. In reality, it was a “burning of ships.” By distributing this list to everyone, the Heavenly Gate Sect ensured that the names of these “Left-Path Cultivators” would eventually leak back to the Eastern Sage Sect.

Once your name was on this list—proving you earned merit by serving the enemy—there was no going back. You were a traitor, documented in black and white. Even those who only earned merit by trading Spirit Stones would be guilty by association. Who in the orthodox sects would believe you were innocent?

It was a forced conversion. A blood pact.

Wang Ba didn’t care—he had no loyalty to the old sect—but for those still harboring hope of return, this piece of paper was a death sentence for their dreams.

He shifted his focus to the top of the list.

Rank 3: Jing Kuang. Merit: 980 Points.

Level 3 Authority. Wang Ba’s eyes went cold. To earn that much merit in six months, that psychopath must have slaughtered dozens of fellow disciples.

But surprisingly, even with nearly 1000 points, Jing Kuang was only third.

Rank 1: Dong Qiyu. Merit: 2,860 Points.

A stranger. But the number was terrifying. He was approaching Level 4 Authority.

Rank 2: Meng Randao. Merit: 1,235 Points.

Wang Ba paused. Meng Randao?

“He’s alive?” Wang Ba murmured, genuinely surprised. “And he became a Left-Path Cultivator?”

Meng Randao was a legend among the trash tier. He was the only one of the “Top Ten Outer Sect Disciples” who had climbed up from the rank of Laborer Disciple. He was the idol of every cleaner and farmer, proving that hard work could bridge the gap of talent. Conversely, the highborn disciples despised him.

Wang Ba had assumed Meng Randao died in the chaos or was evacuated by the Sect elites.

To see him here, alive and thriving as a hunter, was a shock.

Analysis: Why wasn’t he recruited?

Even a useless disciple like Lin Yu was taken into the inner fold because of her connections. Meng Randao’s talent and combat ability were superior. The fact that the Heavenly Gate Sect left him in the outer “Left-Path” pool suggested they didn’t trust him.

Or perhaps they wanted to see if he would break.

Wang Ba scanned down. He found himself in the 200s—mediocre, invisible, safe. Shen Fu was in the 600s.

At the very bottom, he saw names with negative merit. Bu Chan and the other two women were there.

“By the way, Senior Brother Wang,” Shen Fu said, his voice tinged with excitement. “I heard that now the first mandatory mission is over, the ‘Free Mission’ module in our Heavenly Gate Tokens will unlock. We can accept commissions from Heavenly Gate Sect disciples to earn Spirit Stones!”

Wang Ba nodded slowly. “The exploitation continues.”

It was the “Gig Economy” of the cultivation world. The Left-Path cultivators would fight over scraps, doing the dirty work for the true disciples for pennies on the dollar.

They were no different from the Laborer Disciples of the old sect. The masters had changed, but the slavery remained the same.

Bu Chan and her sisters looked downcast. With negative merit, they were likely locked out of the system.

Shen Fu noticed their depression and patted his chest. “Don’t worry. I’ll take missions for you. You do the work, I turn it in, and I give you 100% of the Spirit Stones. When the next mandatory mission comes, I’ll help you clear your debt.”

The women nodded, looking relieved.

The ranking list was merely a ripple in the stagnant water of Wang Ba’s life. He noted it, analyzed the threats, and went back to farming.

Days later.

Yu Changchun visited the farm.

This time, the old man wasn’t alone. Trailing behind him was a stiff, blank-faced figure wrapped in cloaks.

“Fellow Daoist, come take a look,” Yu Changchun called out, pointing at the figure with a grin.

“This is…” Wang Ba squinted. The aura was familiar, yet alien.

“It’s the rat,” Yu Changchun laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “The one who used a puppet to spy on your farm. I dug through the purchase records of my Profound Puppet Path brothers and finally tracked him down. After reporting to the Elder, I hunted him, skinned him, and refined him into a Human Puppet!”

He patted the puppet’s shoulder affectionately. “Tsk. Qi Refining Level 8. It took a hell of a lot of effort to break him.”

Wang Ba stared at the puppet, then at Yu Changchun. He sensed a shift in the old man’s pressure.

“Senior… you broke through?”

“Thanks to you!” Yu Changchun beamed, his face flushed with pride. “Over the last six months, concurrently cultivating the Blood Bone Path and eating your Spirit Poultry every month… I finally broke through to the Tenth Layer not long ago.”

Wang Ba was internally shaken.

When they first met, Yu Changchun was Level 8. In less than a year, he had jumped two levels to the peak of Qi Refining.

The difficulty gap between Level 8 and Level 9 was a wall that stopped most cultivators for life. Yu had smashed through it like it was paper.

“Senior Yu is truly a cultivation genius,” Wang Ba said, and for once, the praise was sincere.

Compared to Yu Changchun’s rocket-like ascent, Wang Ba—who literally had a system panel—felt mediocre.

Yu Changchun waved his hand, looking surprisingly humble.

“Fellow Daoist exaggerates. You don’t know the mechanics of the Blood Bone Path. It follows the philosophy of ‘Sweet First, Bitter Later.’ Once you enter the path, as long as you have enough blood and flesh resources, Qi Refining is a smooth highway with no bottlenecks.”

“The price comes later.”

Yu Changchun’s expression turned solemn. “To reach Foundation Establishment, one needs not only a Foundation Establishment Pill but also a mountain of biological resources. And after that? If you want to form a Golden Core? Heh. It is harder than ascending to heaven. It requires talent, luck, and an ocean of blood.”

“I have no such delusions,” Yu Changchun sighed. “I am seventy-four years old. The orthodox path to Foundation Establishment was closed to me long ago. But with the Blood Bone Path, I have a chance. If I succeed, I gain another hundred years of life. I will be content with that.”

As he spoke, he gently pulled up his wide sleeve.

Wang Ba’s pupils constricted.

The flesh on Yu Changchun’s arm was gone.

There was no skin, no muscle, no veins. Only bare, crimson bone, gleaming with a wet, metallic sheen. It looked like red jade carved into the shape of a skeleton.

“Once I refine every bone in my body into Blood Bone,” Yu Changchun whispered, looking at his skeletal arm with obsession, “I can step into Foundation Establishment.”

He rolled the sleeve back down, hiding the horror.

Yu Changchun enjoyed visiting Wang Ba. Initially, it was purely transactional. But over time, he found that Wang Ba possessed a trait rare among demonic cultivators: Sanity.

Tranquility.

The Blood Bone Path was fast, but the pain of melting one’s own flesh into bone generated massive amounts of negative emotion. If not vented, it led to madness. Many of his peers had become “heartless”—emotionless killing machines or raving lunatics.

Yu Changchun didn’t want to lose his mind. He wanted to live. Talking to Wang Ba, a normal, rational person, helped him anchor his humanity.

The two chatted for a while longer—a demonic cultivator slowly turning into a skeleton and a chicken farmer hiding his power.

Finally, Yu Changchun left, strolling away with a leisurely grace that belied his gruesome transformation.

Wang Ba watched him go, then returned to his coop.

Peace returned to the farm.

In the blink of an eye, three years passed.