“Mmm, smells amazing,” An Lang murmured, her ghostly face lighting up as she inhaled deeply.


    “You’d probably say the same about a fart,” Han muttered under his breath.


    An Lang shot him a glare. “Master, that’s crass!”


    The “fart” in question was just a polite dodge around the obvious. Han had cracked open the beehive, revealing golden honey inside—rich, vibrant, and mouthwatering. Its scent was irresistible, even hooking a ghost like An Lang. Packed with spiritual essence and potent vitality, it was clearly a cultivation treasure.


    “An Lang, you really outdid yourself snagging this hive,” Han said, praising her. “This honey’s all thanks to you.”


    Back there, he’d been laser-focused on the treasure flower—honey hadn’t even crossed his mind. Good thing An Lang had the wits to grab it, or they’d have missed out.


    “When I was alive, I loved sweets,” An Lang said, a nostalgic glint in her eyes. “Honey was one of my favorites. Lucky for me, my family could afford it—otherwise, I’d have been out of luck.”


    She’d been gone over five years now, drowned after a misstep. It sounded odd to say, but time softened everything. The melancholy of death, the shock and denial—it had all faded. Her body was dead, sure, but as a ghost, her consciousness lingered. Sometimes, it almost felt like she was still alive, blurring the line between life and death.


    That was pretty standard for ghosts. Some didn’t even realize they’d died until someone pointed it out.


    “Don’t worry,” Han said, offering comfort. “Someday, you’ll taste food again. Whatever you crave, I’ll track it down—maybe even raise a hive of demon bees just for you.”


    Ghosts and humans were worlds apart. Mortal food was edible for a ghost like An Lang, but it morphed into something else—yang flavors turning yin, nothing like what she’d savored alive. To the living, that yin taste was… let’s just say hard to stomach. Ghosts didn’t eat with their mouths anyway—they absorbed the food’s essence.


    But a Manifested Saint-level ghost? That was different. Their ghostly forms could mimic the living, tasting yang delights like it was nothing.


    An Lang rolled her eyes. “Demon bees? Who knows if their honey’s even edible—might come with nasty side effects.”


    She was a proper lady at heart, sharp and sly, but years with Han had rubbed off on her. She’d picked up a bit of his wild streak—though Han would never admit he’d influenced her. Five years cooped up in a lamp could mess with anyone, right?


    Han pulled out the treasure flower. Inside its petals sat a red, translucent gel—soft and springy. But that wasn’t what caught his eye. He zeroed in on the stem, marked with deep, winding grooves, as if something had coiled around it tightly, leaving faint black traces at the edges.


    Pensive, he measured the marks and landed on a figure: three feet, three inches, and three fractions—an exact length if straightened.


    An Lang noticed his focus. “What, some bug wrapped around it before?”


    Han chuckled, shaking his head. “Not a bug. Probably what we’re after.”


    The Sky-Mending Vine measured three feet, three inches, and three fractions—colorless and transparent, with black-tinted edges. It matched these marks almost perfectly. Per the Mountain God’s intel, divine objects hid themselves and even moved, seeking ideal growth spots. This flower’s stem might’ve once hosted the vine before it wandered off.


    An Lang’s jaw dropped. “That’s wild—a vine that moves on its own?”


    “Not too shocking,” Han said. “Think about folklore—ginseng that runs away. You need tricks to catch it. A treasure like the Sky-Mending Vine moving around? Par for the course in this weird world.”


    “Either way, it’s good news,” he added, grinning. These traces boosted his confidence that the vine was indeed in Black Mountain.


    He glanced at the navigation artifact. The remaining spots—especially the deepest—now seemed the most promising. Without hesitation, he dialed Lu Qingmo on the snail device to share the update.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    A long silence followed, broken only by her steady breathing. The vine’s trace hit her hard, stirring a whirlwind of thoughts.


    “Don’t rush,” she finally said. “Take it slow and stay safe.”


    “Relax, Aunt Mo,” Han replied, brimming with optimism. “These last steps? I’ve got it covered.” Then he shifted gears. “By the way, any idea what this flower is? And the honey—what’s it do?”


    “I don’t know that flower,” Lu Qingmo admitted. “But honey like that usually aids cultivation. You’re deep in there now—those bees aren’t your average critters. Their honey should boost true essence and temper the body, even up to Marrow Cleansing. Other perks depend on the bee species, but those two alone make it worthwhile.”


    Han wasn’t fazed by the unknowns. A treasure that enhanced Marrow Cleansing essence and physique was rare—hard to come by even in Tianyue Prefecture. Scoring it was a win, flower or not.


    Lu Qingmo not recognizing the flower didn’t surprise him. Xuandu Temple disciples weren’t walking encyclopedias. The world was vast—no one, not even the temple master, could claim to know it all.


    Hanging up, Han had An Lang lift him into the air, soaring over ancient trees to get his bearings. Far off loomed the true Black Mountain, piercing the sky—a genuine blessed land. Where they were now was just its outskirts, yet still teeming with mighty beasts.


    Only the Mountain God and its chosen could dwell on the true peak. What lay up there? Few knew.


    Top sects like Suzhen Palace operated similarly—their gates nestled in blessed lands, the outer regions serving as training grounds or resource hubs. But their domains outclassed Black Mountain by leagues. Blessed lands varied wildly, from the pinnacle to the barely qualifying.


    The Mountain God’s marked spots didn’t reach the true peak, though the deepest came damn close.


    Back in the forest, Han pressed on, cautious as ever. Along the way, Marrow Cleansing beast auras grew frequent, jolting him with dread. His pace slowed further, often hunkering down for ages to confirm safety before moving.


    Marrow Cleansing beasts in Black Mountain? Way out of his league. He had tricks to handle them, sure, but using them would draw a mob, sparking a desperate chase. Surviving that? A coin toss.


    Night fell as he reached the third potential spot—a waterfall, nearly dried up. Below, a shallow puddle sat, its trickling stream swallowed by the earth before it could stretch far. What once roared down now dribbled in feeble strands.


    From behind a boulder, Han peeked out, sizing up the falls. An Lang poked her head above his, their faces stacked like a totem pole.


    After a while, she whispered, “Master, no beasts here?”


    “Seems that way…” Han wasn’t sure. He sensed no beastly presence—a rarity that threw him off.


    No beasts meant he could just stroll in and explore. Was it really that easy?


    “Master, send the zombie to scout,” An Lang suggested.


    “You’re working that corpse to death,” Han quipped, but he released the Green Zombie anyway, letting it shamble over.


    Nothing stirred. No reaction.


    Han couldn’t believe it. “This simple?”


    He edged forward, reaching the waterfall’s base without a hitch. Used to rough patches, this sudden ease felt alien. Still, he wasted no time, scouring the area for anything off.


    No vines, no grass—just rocks everywhere. His senses honed in on a spot midway up the cliff—a long, three-foot-plus groove.


    Soul slipping free, he floated up for a closer look. Nothing else grew there.


    Crack!


    A faint sound rang out as he chipped at the rock, revealing a small hollow. A flash of dark red caught his eye. Heart racing, he hammered harder, shattering more stone until the prize lay bare: a head-sized, irregular chunk of dark red metal.


    “Was this why the Sky-Mending Vine grew here?” Han wondered, clearing space to extract it. Fiery patterns swirled across its surface, exuding heat.


    He didn’t linger on it—into the spatial pouch it went. A quick rummage confirmed nothing else remained. With An Lang, he left, found a safe spot, and dialed Lu Qingmo.


    “Sounds like Molten Ruins Gold,” she said. “Pretty rare stuff—True Blood-grade material, perfect for crafting top-tier martial weapons.”


    “So, like Yin Spirit divine materials?” Han asked. “Can it work for artifacts?”


    “Nope, not soul-based.”


    “Damn,” Han sighed, hoping to feed it to his One Treasure Wonder Tree. No matter—he was a martial artist too, and this would serve him well. True Blood-grade stuff was as coveted as divine materials, hot commodities even in elite sects.


    No danger, big reward—what’s to complain about? He wished every stop was this smooth.


    “No sweat this time, so let’s keep the momentum—on to the next!” Han declared, waving them forward.


    The fourth spot wasn’t as far. Barring surprises, they’d make it before dawn.


    By midnight, under a shroud of darkness, Han and An Lang reached a valley’s edge. He glanced at it—not his target, but something about it felt off. A misty haze clung to it, laced with an odd aura.


    He’d studied Earth Corpse Sect texts on terrain and geography—not a master, but he knew the basics. “This place has some secrets,” he muttered, eyeing it briefly before turning to leave.


    The Sky-Mending Vine took priority—side quests could wait.


    But then, a figure flickered at the valley’s mouth, darting onto a tree. Han’s sharp eyes locked onto it: a palm-sized fox, staring back with bright, curious eyes. Its snow-white fur glowed faintly, a living lantern.


    A fox in Black Mountain? Normal enough. What stunned Han was its frail vitality—so weak he could crush it with one punch. In this deep zone, how could anything be that feeble?


    Wait—no beastly vibe. Instead, a subtle, unique air.


    Han pieced it together.


    “Human?” the fox spoke, its voice young and childlike. “Who are you? How’d you get here?”


    Han nodded inwardly. Bingo—a fox demon. A young one, sure, but where there’s a cub, there’s a parent lurking nearby.


    A midnight run-in with a fox demon in the wilds? Things just got interesting.