Back in his room, Wang Hao had no clue what those two youths outside were saying about him—if he had, he would have loudly protested. With a clear conscience, he wasn't playing the victim. He'd practiced spells for years; it was only natural his Taoist robes were worn. It wasn't that he lacked money for new ones, just that he hadn't ventured out recently. Who could have guessed he'd be greeting visitors at that moment?
He paused to consider a gift. Not strictly required, a present seemed appropriate when asking a favor. The golden-threaded spirit damasks from his farm had yielded many seasons—he'd sold some to upgrade his red earth plots and still had hundreds left. But the Wang clan also grew those damasks, so it wouldn't impress, and explaining their origin would be awkward.
Next he considered his crimson blood ginseng—fifty years old, a superior first-order herb. Still, too common to thrill a clan member. Finally, he chose a forty-year-old White Snow Lotus, a rare spirit herb unseen in Green Bull Market for years. A fifty-year specimen would fetch hundreds of stones—nearly a low-grade second-order herb's value.
Realizing how few resources he had—and that he'd squandered six red-earth plots—only reinforced his determination to leave the market. Cultivation could be done in secrecy, but resources had to be earned!
When the day arrived, Wang Hao was ready. To keep his golden-eyed duck from mischief on the journey, he fed it first. The duck devoured chunks of demon-beast meat, quacking impatiently for more, then finally—after a second helping—grew drowsy.
"Advancement sign?" he murmured. Spirit beasts advanced differently from cultivators—just by "eating" enough.
He fed it a crimson-strengthening herb next. Lacking the formula, a raw dose still gave over 70% effect to a spirit beast. The duck ate it hungrily, then dozed off.
Satisfied, Wang Hao stowed the duck in his beast pouch and set off for the Wang family pill shop. There he found Wang Yanfeng awaiting him—along with Wang Wenmei and Wang Wenzhi, tasked with delivering invitations to Second Uncle's Foundation Establishment Ceremony. They exchanged greetings and climbed into a Windstorm Horse–drawn carriage. As Qi Refiners, none could fly on swords; the Wang clan lacked mounts or ships for low-level cultivators, but Windstorm Horses—first-order, superior-grade spirit beasts—could traverse thousands of li a day.
Their destination, Wangjialing, lay 5,000 li away—a journey under five days. Along the way, Wenmei's lively stories of the family seat drew Wang Hao into conversation, and they bonded quickly.
He learned Wangjialing had once been Crouching Tiger Mountain, home to a powerful superior second-order demon tiger. An ancestor slew the beast, founded the clan, and renamed the peak. A superior second-order spirit vein ran beneath, supporting a couple of Foundation cultivators and hundreds of Qi Refiners—now overloaded with three Foundation members. Wang Hao suspected the clan planned to remedy this.
The scenery—bamboo groves, streams, waterfalls—made his first long journey delightful. When Wenzhi asked how he'd advanced so quickly, Wang Hao cited his Spirit Gathering Formation and homemade pills; the siblings believed him. Yanfeng—a bit more worldly—noticed the math didn't add up but chalked it up to gifts from his mother or Uncle Yanzhao.
Wangjialing itself was a crescent-shaped ridge, thirty li long, ten wide, with peaks over 400 meters. Its base featured a family portal, where cultivators gathered to welcome arriving guests. A Ninth-Level Foundation cultivator and four youths guarded the entrance. When the carriage arrived, the guard stepped forward:
"Guests are coming! Straighten your robes and show your Qi! We represent the Wang clan!"
Yanfeng called back:
"No need for formality—that's me!"
The guard grinned:
"Ah, Eighth Brother! I thought you were other guests."
"Why—disappointed to see me?"
"You brat! How dare you tease me after all these years!" His gaze flicked to Wang Hao:
"And this one?"
"This is Wang Hao, Second Brother's eldest son," Yanfeng introduced, pulling Wang Hao from the carriage. "Hao, this is your Uncle Wang Yanzhong. Greetings!"
At once the mood chilled. Wang Hao set his face in a cold stare—this was the man who had driven a wedge between his father and mother without so much as a word to Qin Xiuer. Though he did not inherit the original host's emotions, he loathed such cruelty.
Sensing the tension, Yanfeng quickly broke in:
"Ah, brother, I just remembered we have more to prepare—let's be off! Good work here!" He ushered Wenmei and Wenzhi back and cracked the whip, urging the Horse onward.
Once out of earshot, Yanfeng sighed and spoke sternly:
"Hao, Uncle won't pry into the past, but Second Brother hopes you'll acknowledge the clan and live here in Wangjialing. If you want to stay…"
"No need, Eighth Uncle," Wang Hao cut in. "I have no intention of rejoining the Wang clan or settling here."
He was here only to advance his Scripture levels—the rest held no interest.
Yanfeng frowned but relented:
"Very well. Discuss it with Second Brother later. Onward."
The carriage halted at a broad mountain plaza, dominated by a massive blue stone engraved with "Wangjialing." From there they would proceed on foot: stone staircases winding upward past pavilions, bamboo forests, streams, and waterfalls—truly worthy of a top-tier scenic site in any world!