“He already had a Spirit Root?!”

The revelation struck Wang Ba with the force of a physical blow. It was just as shocking as the day he first learned the Physique Strengthening Scripture could supposedly help a mortal forge a Spirit Root.

His mouth went dry, and his mind reeled, buzzing with a chaotic swarm of thoughts.

“Could it be… this whole thing is a scam?”

“Brother Wang, did you say something?”

“No, nothing,” Wang Ba stammered, recovering his wits. “I was just saying… how is that possible? Does this mean the Physique Strengthening Scripture can’t actually help us achieve immortality?”

Deacon Li met his doubt with a calm, almost pitying expression. “That is simply the reality as I know it. Brother Wang, please, keep this between us.”

He paused, then shifted his tone to something more official. “By the way, the reason I came today was to update you. The Elders have been swamped with sect matters recently. I’ve submitted your report several times, but there’s been no word yet. Don’t be anxious, though. Once their schedule clears, I’m sure there will be a directive regarding your reward.”

“Not anxious, not anxious at all.”

Wang Ba let a look of heavy disappointment settle over his features.

Seeing this, Deacon Li didn’t linger. He bid farewell and turned to descend the mountain path.

“Brother Wang, there’s no need to see me off.”

“Nonsense, I insist,” Wang Ba replied, walking him all the way to the villa’s gate and watching until the Deacon’s figure disappeared into the mist at the foot of the mountain.

Only then did the disappointment vanish from Wang Ba’s face, instantly replaced by a look of glacial calculation.

“There is definitely something wrong with Deacon Li.”

Wang Ba’s eyes narrowed.

With his senses heightened by the Yin Spirit power, he typically heard visitors the moment they stepped foot on the mountain path. Yet, Deacon Li had arrived right at his doorstep in total silence. If Li hadn’t knocked, Wang Ba wouldn’t have known he was there.

The Physique Strengthening Scripture granted immense physical power, but it came at a cost: a lack of fine control. Practitioners were heavy-footed. Their movements created friction and noise.

Niu Yong, the ‘Dung Tyrant’, was only at the Seventh Layer, yet his footsteps sounded like rolling thunder in Wang Ba’s sensitive ears.

Deacon Li claimed to be at the Ninth Layer. Logically, he should be stomping craters into the ground. Yet, he walked as silently as a ghost.

And if that wasn’t proof enough, the Yin Spirit Great Dream Scripture provided the smoking gun.

Even after Li left the immediate vicinity of the villa, the consumption of Yin Spirit power in Wang Ba’s mind only slowed slightly.

The terrifying drain hadn’t come from cloaking the chickens. The main drain was Deacon Li himself.

The stronger the target being deceived, the faster the Yin Spirit power burned.

Deacon Li was consuming energy even faster than the genuine Sect Disciple Wang Ba had encountered that fateful night.

How could a mere mortal Deacon of the Outer Sect—even one at the Ninth Layer—exert more spiritual pressure than a Qi Refining cultivator?

It was impossible.

Unless Deacon Li was not who he claimed to be.

But why hide? What was his purpose? And why come here specifically to leak the devastating secret of the Physique Strengthening Scripture?

“Is he after the breeding method for the Spirit Poultry? or does he have a darker scheme?”

Wang Ba couldn’t fathom the man’s true intentions, but his vigilance ratcheted up to the highest level.

And then there was the information about Meng Randao.

It wasn’t the Physique Strengthening Scripture that gave him a Spirit Root; he already had one.

The phrase haunted him.

“Why did he answer my question about the Ninth Layer bottleneck with that specific story?” Wang Ba mused, pacing the yard. “Why say that if you fail within three years, you’re doomed to fail forever? And what did he mean by saying I’d ‘understand’ once I reached the Ninth Layer?”

The puzzle pieces were scattered, and the picture they formed was terrifying.

He didn’t have enough data to form a conclusion. All he could do was prepare.

He returned to the coop, grabbed a roasted Spirit Poultry, and began to eat. He needed more Yin Spirit power.

The next day.

Old Hou arrived, navigating the treacherous, bumpy mountain road with the sure-footed grace of a mountain goat. He dropped off several buckets of feed with practiced ease.

To Wang Ba’s surprise, the usually chatty old man didn’t linger. The moment the buckets hit the ground, Hou jumped back onto his donkey cart, ready to bolt.

Wang Ba had questions. He couldn’t let his best source of intel vanish.

“Hey, Old Hou! What’s the rush?”

Wang Ba lunged forward, barely grabbing the old man’s sleeve.

“Hey! How can I not be in a rush?” Old Hou snapped, wrestling his sleeve free. “Another feed delivery guy got conscripted! I’m doing the work of two men now—I have over twenty manors to hit before sunset!”

He looked genuinely frantic.

Wang Ba smiled and pressed two boiled eggs into Old Hou’s hand.

Old Hou glanced at them but didn’t seem impressed. He started to turn away.

Wang Ba gritted his teeth. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a third egg—this one smaller, with a faint luster.

A Spirit Poultry egg.

“This is…” Old Hou’s eyes bulged. He sniffed it, instantly recognizing the rich spiritual aroma. “Wow! You really managed to cultivate them?!”

“Just luck, pure luck!” Wang Ba waved it off with a humble smile, then quickly pivoted. “Old Hou, what’s the situation with the Avian Plague?”

The mention of the plague acted like a spark to dry kindling. Old Hou’s gossiping soul ignited, overriding his rush. His face twisted into an exaggerated mask of horror.

“Let me tell you, it’s a tragedy! A massacre!”

“They’re throwing Rare Fowl into the furnaces by the hundreds! Just scooping them up and burning them alive! All turned to ash!”

Old Hou slapped his thigh. “It breaks my heart! Why burn them? Why not give them to us Laborer Disciples to eat? The plague doesn’t jump to humans!”

Wang Ba felt a phantom pain in his wallet. All that potential profit, up in smoke.

He leaned in, asking the question that really mattered. “Have any Spirit Poultry caught the plague?”

“Haven’t heard of a single case,” Old Hou said, shaking his head firmly. “I heard that Spirit Poultry are like the Spirit Beasts raised by the Immortals—filth can’t touch them. The plague is nasty, but it can’t harm a true spirit creature!”

Wang Ba let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His flock was safe.

They chatted for a few more seconds before Old Hou started eyeing his donkey again. Wang Ba knew he had to strike now.

“Old Hou, one last thing. Did your friends in the Ascension Society ever mention… why is it that if you don’t master the Physique Strengthening Scripture in three years, there’s no hope for the rest of your life?”

Old Hou froze.

He scrambled up from the cart seat, his head swiveling like an owl as he checked the surroundings. Confirming they were alone, he glared at Wang Ba.

“Don’t talk nonsense!”

“Yes, yes, I’m just asking!” Wang Ba said quickly. He slipped a hand into his sleeve and pulled out a small, jagged chip—a two-fen Spirit Stone.

He pressed it into Old Hou’s palm.

Old Hou glanced down. His hand reflexively clamped over the stone, pressing it against his belly to hide it.

He looked up at Wang Ba, his expression a mix of greed, fear, and resignation.

“You know I shouldn’t… sigh. Forget it.”

“You absolutely cannot repeat this.”

“I swear to the Heavens,” Wang Ba promised solemnly.

Old Hou hesitated one last time, rubbing the Spirit Stone through his clothes. Finally, he leaned in and whispered the secret that unraveled the entire mystery.

“It’s because the Physique Strengthening Scripture… was originally created for people with Spirit Roots!”

Wang Ba froze.

“But these are ‘Hidden Spirit Roots’,” Old Hou explained rapidly. “Normal tests by Qi Refining or even Foundation Establishment disciples can’t detect them. To ensure no talent slipped through the cracks, someone created this technique.”

“If you have a Hidden Spirit Root, the scripture forces it open. You are guaranteed to succeed within three years.”

“But if you don’t have a Spirit Root… you will never break through the barrier between the Ninth and Tenth layers. Not in a lifetime.”

Old Hou paused, his voice dropping to a barely audible whisper.

“Unless…”