Chapter One: Grazing

Dao Sansheng, you’re still eating? The master’s spirit beasts are starving—hurry up and take them to the back mountain to graze.

A child dressed in black servant’s robes, his face somewhat tanned, hurried over, almost running two steps at a time.

“Third Granduncle, I’ll go right away!”

Crumbs still clung to the corner of his mouth as he ran, stuffing the remaining flatbread into his shirt pocket, panting heavily while dashing inside.

The middle-aged man’s face brimmed with pride; he straightened up and took a couple bites of vegetables.

“Who’s your Third Granduncle? With your family’s status, you still want to claim kinship?”

He muttered as he set down his chopsticks.

Watching the other servants eating at the table, he suddenly stood and shouted, “You all only know how to eat, eat, eat! If you subtract the time spent on cultivation, how many hours a day do you actually work for the master, you little brats?”

His gaze swept across the room. The servants, all children around ten years old, trembled in fear. Once they recovered, they scattered like startled fish.

After his outburst, the man sat down and served a mouthful of vegetables to the man beside him, who wore a white brocade robe with a golden belt.

“Manager Dao, please eat. Now that those little brats are gone, doesn’t it feel much quieter?”

He smiled eagerly, waiting for a reply.

The man in white turned, sword-like brows and sharp eyes, his high nose framing his dignified face. He took out a silk handkerchief and wiped his mouth, gazing at the middle-aged man.

“I say, Dao Ping’an, we share the same surname and were once part of the same clan. You shouldn’t be so strict with the children. But don’t spoil them either, or they’ll become unruly. I’ll stop eating for now; I’ll come find you if anything comes up later.”

The middle-aged man quickly rose, bent over in respect, and saw the man in white off.

“Dao Sansheng, wait for me! Let’s go together.”

A chubby boy chased after the child ahead, calling out.

Dao Sansheng glanced back at the plump boy’s smiling face, feeling rather annoyed—this fellow always wore a grin.

“Dao Dadan, you’re so fat you look like a pig’s head. When you smile, your eyes squint into lines, and your whole face scrunches up like a freshly steamed dumpling.”

He burst out laughing.

The chubby boy whimpered and began to cry.

“Dao Sansheng, I wanted to play with you and brought my spirit beast just to find you. I didn’t expect you to be like this. Go by yourself! I’ll find someone else to go to the back mountain with.”

Dao Sansheng watched the chubby boy, whose anger twisted his features even more, making him look even more like a steamed bun. He couldn’t help but laugh.

Shaking his head at the boy’s retreating figure, he thought, children are easy to fool, always looking eager to learn.

“Wait for me, chubby. I’ll pick a couple oranges for you when I return from the mountain.”

Dao Sansheng headed toward the spirit beast stable. Along the way, any child who greeted him or invited him to herd beasts in the back mountain was politely refused.

Because today, he was going somewhere dangerous.

When he reached the stable, he found only a single Blood Python Horse left. Its coat was sleek and pure, none other than the foal he had raised for six years.

This breed was a hybrid between a spirit unicorn and a white python beast. The offspring were soft-bodied, incredibly fast, comfortable to ride, and had enduring stamina—but they were expensive, usually reserved for wealthy families as riding pets.

Dao Sansheng patted the horse’s hindquarters, reflecting on the events of the past six years. Everything still felt surreal.

He had once been a student at a paleontology research lab, but somehow, he had ended up here.

The surroundings were pleasant, but his family was poor, and daily life was a struggle.

He was not only a child but also worked as a servant for others. Comparing this to his former comfortable life, it all felt like a dream.

After all this time, he had learned nothing of real significance—only common knowledge.

This was Dao Family Town in Chichen County, Donglin Prefecture. His circle consisted of other servants; his parents had never left the town, so he had little information about the world beyond.

But yesterday, he heard news that a fight took place in the back mountain two days ago. They said two powerful cultivators battled in the sky.

The ground had been whipped into chaos, the sky shrouded in darkness.

Later, someone fell from the heavens, landing in the back mountain. The family head sent the core disciples to search, but nothing was found.

Still, Dao Sansheng decided to take his chances—this was his only opportunity to turn his life around.

Dao Sansheng led his spirit horse to the back mountain. Normally, just grazing on dew-laden spiritual grass at the mountain’s edge was enough.

But he wouldn’t give up so easily. This time, he was determined to seek fortune—perhaps this was his turning point, and he’d never have to work for others again.

The road grew narrower, the greenery denser, until the main path ended and Dao Sansheng had to take a side trail.

As time passed, the path twisted and turned. Eventually, Dao Sansheng lost his way.

It seemed he’d gone astray, but while he didn’t know the route, the spirit beast could always find its way back—the Python Horse remembered every path it took and could return by its own markings.

He stroked its mane. “Good boy, I’ll be counting on you.”

The horse snorted in reply.

Dao Sansheng pressed onward, curiosity burning within him. His elders had always warned him never to venture deep into the back mountain—what secrets lay within?

Now that he was here, he intended to investigate thoroughly.

No danger had appeared so far; it didn’t seem as terrifying as the stories claimed.

“Hisssss—”

The horse reared, letting out a startled cry, broke free from Dao Sansheng, and bolted.

Dao Sansheng was shocked—never had the horse reacted this way. Something must be wrong.

He rushed after it, but it was too late.

A giant python lunged forward, its gaping maw emitting a foul stench even before it reached him.

“Ah!”

Dao Sansheng screamed and fainted.

The python was over thirty yards long, newly evolved into a spirit beast.

It flicked its tongue, sniffing the unconscious Dao Sansheng.

Fortunately, Dao Sansheng had lived with the Python Horse since childhood; his body carried a peculiar scent secreted by pythons, masking his vital aura.

Smelling the familiar odor, the python relaxed. Seeing Dao Sansheng wasn’t breathing, it suspected nothing and wrapped him in its tail, dragging him into its lair, eager to chase the escaped prey.

The so-called lair was actually a hollow in a large pine tree, its heart dead, forming a spacious cavity.

After depositing him inside, the python remained uneasy and licked Dao Sansheng’s face with its tongue.

A streak of blood was left on his cheek; satisfied, the python turned to pursue the runaway, leaving Dao Sansheng lying in the hollow, his face streaked with blood.

After a moment, Dao Sansheng opened his eyes. His head throbbed from hitting the ground; rubbing the back of his skull, he sat up.

He looked around: the tree’s heart was hollow, over a hundred square feet, dry and well-ventilated.

Seeing the python was gone, Dao Sansheng ran to the entrance.

Just as he was about to leave, he remembered: this beast dragged me in without reason—I won’t leave empty-handed. I’ll loot everything here and even leave some urine for it to reflect on.

Let it know that Dao Sansheng is not to be trifled with. With that thought, he turned back inside.

After searching for a while, he found nothing—just bare walls.

A pauper, not even a single spiritual herb, let alone secret manuals. If he had something, he could have exchanged it for pocket money at home.

At least, he thought, I should burn this lair to the ground.

Just as he was about to set fire, he heard movement outside.

The python had returned. Dao Sansheng panicked like an ant on a hot skillet, darting about.

“What should I do, what should I do?”

Sweat poured down his face. “I’m doomed, I’m doomed.”

Suddenly, he looked up and saw a rough opening in the uneven wall.

Above—he should climb up! Such a simple solution, yet he hadn’t thought of it in his panic.

For an eight-year-old, climbing was no easy feat.

But threatened with death, Dao Sansheng gripped the tree’s crevices tightly, clawing his way up several meters.

The sounds outside grew louder; the wood, rotted with age, crumbled. Just as he grabbed a protruding chunk, it snapped beneath his fingers. His other hand found nothing—he fell.

“Thud.”

Dao Sansheng hit the ground.

A loud crash echoed inside the hollow. His face turned pale with fear.

Am I going to die here? Guanyin, Supreme Elder, Three Pure Ones—please show me mercy!

In his despair, Dao Sansheng prayed to spirits and gods, though fortunately none appeared, lest they too be dragged into his world.

The python, startled by the crash, halted, hesitating to enter.

It flicked its tongue, eyes fixed intently on the entrance, observing without moving.

Dao Sansheng stood, brushed off the wood splinters, and began climbing again.

“My fate is mine, not Heaven’s. If this is Heaven’s will, I’ll defy it. If Heaven won’t grant me life, I’ll find another sky.”

He murmured as he climbed, each step more cautious than the last.

Outside, the python, sensing life within, lunged into the hollow.