“Little Brat, you have a long life ahead of you. You can’t understand the fear gnawing at this old Daoist’s heart.”

Old Daoist Li, over ninety years old, had clung to existence for the past few years solely by relying on the Blood Refining Art—a Pseudo-Immortal Method—and consuming Blood Food.

“How much longer I can last… even I don’t know!”

“I’ve struggled my whole life. How could I ever be content to die with nothing but empty hands?”

Inside the dim stone hut, Old Daoist Li poured out his soul to Han Yu. He lifted the bowl of Blood Essence, threw his head back, and gulped it down in one go.

His hair was stark white, contrasting sharply with the chilling crimson stain that now smeared his lips.

Though the sight was grotesque, Han Yu remained calm. “Master Daoist, you must be careful. Wanchun Valley strictly forbids the cultivation of unauthorized techniques, especially those related to the Demonic Path. If you are discovered, it will mean your life.”

Old Daoist Li laughed, a sound like grinding gravel. “You have a good heart, child. Just like your grandmother.”

“But if I don’t practice the Blood Refining Art, I might die even sooner. I’ll take my chances.”

He wiped his mouth with a sleeve. “You waited for me and refused that girl Wei’s offer. In a way, I held you back. As compensation… I’ll teach you the last of my skills.”

“My martial arts are worthless to cultivators. Techniques for mortals fighting mortals are nothing special in this world.”

“But the Blood Refining Art has a supplementary spell called the Bloodlust Technique. It allows you to burn blood to temporarily boost your strength. However, you must prepare enough Blood Essence beforehand or replenish it immediately after.”

“Like the Blood Droplet, this spell is a desperate measure—a trump card to save your life. Never use it unless absolutely necessary. And if you use it in front of orthodox sects like Wanchun Valley, you will be hunted down as a heretic.”

“Now, listen closely. I will teach you the chant.”

Han Yu was surprised. “Master Daoist, you were hiding another spell?”

Old Daoist Li scoffed. “Who knew what kind of person you were before? The fact that I didn’t slap you dead when we first met, and instead taught you the cultivation method, was already entirely out of respect for your grandmother!”

Han Yu had no retort. He had no memory of his grandmother, yet her legacy seemed to be the only reason the Old Daoist tolerated him.

After mastering the basics of the Bloodlust Technique, Han Yu returned to his own stone hut.

Perhaps angered by Han Yu’s perceived “ungratefulness,” Senior Sister Wei never greeted him or invited him over again. Han Yu was relieved.

He would remember the genuine kindness of someone like Senior Brother Sun Kang and repay it in the future. But a connection formed through a transactional offer—like Senior Sister Wei’s—felt like a debt hanging over his head.

Accepting gifts for no reason was always uncomfortable.

The days passed in a blur of routine. Apart from patrolling the spirit fields, Han Yu spent his time cultivating. One spirit rice ball a day, followed by a Circulation Cycle, allowed the spiritual seed in his dantian to grow incrementally. Yet, the second layer of Qi Refining still seemed miles away.

He occasionally used the Blood Refining Art to replicate Blood Essence for cultivation. His vitality surged, and he could now easily condense three drops of Blood Essence with energy to spare.

He also fed the two crows. The larger one grew increasingly intelligent and spirited, while the smaller crow developed sleek feathers, faster flight speed, and a slightly larger frame.

Unfortunately, likely due to the sheer number of cultivators in Wanchun Valley, the two crows searched for days without finding a single unowned spirit herb.

Old Daoist Li, meanwhile, secretly visited the market every two or three days. He bought Blood Food from the servants and practiced the Blood Refining Art relentlessly. His spirit seemed higher than before, but he became reclusive, avoiding Zhang Shan, Sun Kang, and Liu Lan entirely.

Whenever Han Yu saw him, he sensed a suppressed, bloodthirsty impulse deep in the old man’s eyes.

This Blood Refining Art was truly eerie. And to think, this was merely a Pseudo-Immortal Method practiced by the disposable blood slaves of the Demonic Sects, not even a true inheritance.

Han Yu, having never consumed Blood Food and relying only on replicating his own blood, had never experienced such side effects.

Early one morning, Han Yu was surprised to see many Laborer Disciples sitting cross-legged in the spirit fields. The group included Zhang Shan, Liu Lan, Sun Kang, and Senior Sister Wei.

“Senior Brother Sun, why is everyone meditating in the mud?”

Sun Kang replied, “Our Green Grain Spirit Rice was planted around the same time, so the harvest is about ten days away for all of us. At this stage, the rice pulls in massive amounts of spiritual energy. Cultivating near the plants gives a slight boost to our speed.”

“More importantly,” he added, “this energy spike attracts pests. We need to guard the fields constantly to ensure a successful harvest.”

Han Yu nodded, gaining a new appreciation for the hardships of a Laborer Disciple. No wonder their cultivation was slow; constant labor and worry, combined with meager resources, created a vicious cycle.

Han Yu’s Four Spirit Roots were mediocre at best. Yet, with an unlimited supply of spirit rice, he had reached the first layer of Qi Refining in under two months. Few others could dream of such speed.

However, Han Yu soon noticed a troubling trend. The pests and rodents attracted by the ripening rice were starting to encroach on his territory.

The insects were manageable. A simple Wind Control Technique or Water Control Technique could scatter or kill the palm-sized bugs.

The rats were a different story.

These were Spirit-Stealing Rats. The size of raccoons, they had tough fur and burrowed with terrifying speed. Basic utility spells like Wind or Water Control couldn’t kill them. Only disciples with offensive spells or sharp Magical Artifacts could land a fatal blow.

After Zhang Shan and the others drove the rats away from their plots, the surviving rodents didn’t leave the valley—they just moved next door.

Rat holes began appearing near Han Yu and Old Daoist Li’s fields.

If their yield fell below fifty jin per mu, they would receive nothing. Below thirty, they would be punished. Ignoring the rats was not an option.

For the first two days, chasing them worked. The Spirit-Stealing Rats would hear footsteps and scurry underground. But soon, the beasts realized that Han Yu and the Old Daoist had no lethal spells. They stopped dodging, boldly burrowing into the soil right in front of the two helpless cultivators.

They couldn’t ask the other disciples for help—everyone was busy guarding their own crops. They couldn’t ask Steward Wang. They were forced to run around like madmen, chasing rats with sticks and stones, frustrating Old Daoist Li to the point of stomping his feet and cursing the heavens.

One night, in the dead silence, Old Daoist Li crept up to Han Yu’s door.

“Little Brat, wake up! Our chance to earn Spirit Stones is here!”