She Dominates the Immortal Realm with Her HP Bar-Chapter 44

That aura of absolute stillness, as if he would rather die than yield an inch.

Little Wu pulled up his hood, tugging it down to cover most of his face. Feeling it still wasn’t enough, he yanked it even lower, as if trying to hide his eyes as well.

The cloak’s fabric emitted an ominous creaking sound. Yan Luoyue kindly reminded him, "It’s about to tear."

"..."

Little Wu fell silent.

Though he remained seated firmly, his posture unshaken, there was an unmistakable hint of panic in his demeanor.

It wasn’t fear or terror—just the instinctive urge to cover his face when the thin veil of truth was on the verge of being pierced.

But his face was already wrapped in layers of bandages, and Yan Luoyue had never seen his human form.

Even if he covered it with his hands, it would be no different from now.

If she could recognize him through the bandages and cloak, then covering his face would only make him resemble an otter even more.

And besides…

Besides, perhaps he wasn’t as selfless as he imagined.

Perhaps, in his selfishness, he secretly longed for his savior to recognize him.

Little Wu sat stiffly in place, frozen like a snake turned to ice in winter.

Yan Luoyue’s heart softened, and she nearly blurted out, "Forget it, don’t worry. I haven’t guessed who you are."

Ah, but if she said that, wouldn’t Little Wu wilt so miserably that even his bandages drooped?

At this critical moment, when the tension was almost palpable, Wu Chunhui lifted the curtain at the cave entrance and carefully helped a woman step out.

The woman wore an elegant white dress, her delicate features tinged with a sickly pallor, evoking the image of a fragile beauty—a true "sickly Xi Shi."

No wonder Wu Chunhui treated her with such care. Her aura was uniquely captivating, inspiring an instinctive desire to protect her.

Her belly was swollen high, as if she were seven or eight months pregnant, nearing the time of delivery.

When Wu Chunhui and the woman exchanged smiles, they looked like an immortal couple, the very picture of marital bliss that would draw admiration from anyone.

But whether it was Yan Luoyue’s paranoia or a momentary lapse in the woman’s disguise, in the blink of an eye, Yan Luoyue clearly saw something writhing beneath the woman’s belly—something like the tentacles of an octopus.

The cultivators greeted the woman warmly.

"Sister-in-law, you’re here."

"Sister-in-law, how are you feeling today?"

"Elder sister, you’re close to giving birth. You should rest more. Let us handle things for you."

The woman lowered her head, hiding her exhausted expression, and smiled gently as she responded to each greeting.

"Yes, I’ve come out."

"I’m doing well today, feeling comfortable."

"It’s alright. I just wanted some fresh air. I don’t want to trouble you all too much."

As she walked and spoke, she soon reached a large stone stove.

Before she could bend down, Wu Chunhui lifted the lid for her.

Instantly, a cloud of steam rose from the pot, revealing a stew of red and white chunks—as if someone had chopped up heads and thrown them in.

Yan Luoyue: "..."

So they really were cooking lover’s fruit.

The woman stirred the pot with a ladle and nodded in satisfaction. "It’s ready."

Without her needing to lift a finger, Wu Chunhui eagerly scooped out the stew, ladling the broth and cooked lover’s fruit into bowls before inviting everyone to help themselves.

As newcomers, Yan Luoyue and her companions received special treatment—Wu Chunhui personally served them their bowls.

"You three are still at the Qi Refining stage and haven’t reached fasting. After walking so long, you must be hungry. Here, eat."

Noticing Yan Luoyue’s conflicted expression as she stared at the bowl, Wu Chunhui chuckled knowingly.

"Does it look unappetizing? But the taste is quite good. I thought you’d know these plant tubers are edible."

Wu Chunhui urged enthusiastically, "The roots are naturally rich in flavor, and my wife’s cooking enhances them further. Such a delicious dish would be a shame to let go cold."

No matter how extravagantly he praised it, Yan Luoyue and the others remained unmoved, their expressions darkening.

True, ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‍lover’s fruit was a local specialty of these burrows.

With their stored rations depleted, it made sense for Wu Chunhui and the others to forage for food here.

The logic was sound, the reasoning airtight.

The only problem was…

Was the bowl in front of them really just lover’s fruit stew?

Their reluctance to eat wasn’t just due to the horrifying appearance of the dish, but also because of their lingering suspicions.

Wu Chunhui noticed this, a glint flashing in his eyes.

With a sincere smile, he chatted amiably with them while casually drinking his own bowl of stew.

As he drank, Yan Luoyue couldn’t resist adding her own commentary:

"...What a beautiful way to die—drinking soup."

"Hahaha, Little Yan is right. On a chilly autumn day like this, a hot bowl of soup is truly a delight."

After finishing the bowl, Wu Chunhui’s face flushed with warmth, his pale complexion gaining a healthy glow.

Picking up his bowl, he turned and said, "My apologies, my wife is calling for me. I’ll have to excuse myself for now."

With that, Wu Chunhui left without a hint of pressure, making no attempt to force or watch them eat.

Meanwhile, the other cultivators sipped their soup while occasionally casting glances their way.

Whispers drifted through the air—phrases like "Want to bet?", "Will they dare?", "I was the same at first", "It really does look awful"...

These murmurs and sidelong looks formed an invisible ring around the trio, pressing in like thorns against their backs.

The three sat around the table, each with a steaming bowl in front of them.

Yan Luoyue leaned back slightly in a tactical retreat, while Shen Jingxuan closed his eyes and silently recited sutras.

Their body language spoke volumes.

Suddenly, Little Wu picked up his bowl and downed the contents in one swift motion.

He drank as quickly as he ate—less chewing, more gulping.

Once the bowl was empty, he moved like lightning, swapping his empty bowl with Yan Luoyue’s full one.

The moment the empty bowl was placed before Yan Luoyue, she felt the weight of the surrounding gazes vanish instantly.

Before she could speak, Little Wu, without missing a beat, took a few more sips from the new bowl.

Only when Yan Luoyue hastily stopped him did he exchange the partially drunk bowl with Shen Jingxuan’s untouched one.

With that, the scrutiny on Shen Jingxuan lessened by a third.

It was almost amusing how easily they were fooled.

But there was one small detail that couldn’t be ignored.

Shen Jingxuan glanced down at his now partially emptied bowl, then at Yan Luoyue’s completely drained one.

They say the Buddha treats all equally.

But why do I feel like you're making an exception for yourself?

Little Wu said nothing, downing a bowl and a half of the soup in one go, which made Yan Luoyue a little worried.

Yan Luoyue whispered, "Is the soup alright?"

She had planned to take things slowly, but why was Little Wu so reckless, drinking it straight away?

Little Wu shook his head. "It's fine—it's poisoned."

Yan Luoyue: "???"

Wait, what did you just say?

...Isn’t there something wrong with your phrasing?

Little Wu smirked openly, finishing his earlier sentence like a delayed echo.

He said calmly, "—Since it's poisoned, I’m relieved."

The toxins in this bowl of soup were more than enough for him to uncover the other party’s true nature.

Compared to the toxicity he carried within him, a few measly hallucinogenic flowers were nothing.

The next moment, Little Wu leisurely unwrapped the bandages from his right hand.

He truly kept himself tightly wrapped. Layers of multicolored bandages unraveled, forming a sizable bundle in his grasp.

Beneath all those wrappings, he even wore a leather glove against his skin.

Holding the neatly arranged bandages in his left hand, Little Wu lowered his head, bit the fingertip of the glove, and pulled his right hand free.

He stood up and strode forward without hesitation.

Before Wu Chunhui could react, a pale hand had already seized his wrist in an iron grip.

Little Wu greeted him politely and evenly. "Greetings, fellow cultivator."

"...Wh-what?!"

From the point of contact, ominous black veins spread rapidly along Wu Chunhui’s blood vessels, creeping upward.

This deadly handshake was swift and decisive, catching everyone off guard.

Even the victim himself froze for a moment before reacting, his throat releasing a pained roar.

"—Aaaahhh!"

The illusion concealing his eyes dissolved like receding tidewater.

The scholar’s voice, once gentle and refined, now grated like coarse sandpaper.

At the same time, half of Wu Chunhui’s handsome face began to take on the rough texture of wood.

The wooden hairpin in his hair, the wooden bracelet on his wrist, the wooden pendant around his neck, even the wooden sandals on his feet—all transformed into dense, invasive roots piercing his skin.

In the blink of an eye, faster than a breath or a blink, Wu Chunhui’s body became half wood, half flesh.

Shen Jingxuan inhaled sharply, instantly recognizing Wu Chunhui’s current state.

Her voice was heavy with dread.

"A demon’s thrall," she enunciated slowly.

During the Demon-Subjugation War, those cultivators who were seduced, enslaved, or bribed by demons had turned their blades against their own kin.

Since then, such beings were uniformly called "demon’s thralls."

Wu Chunhui’s current condition clearly marked him as enslaved by this tree demon.

Behind Wu Chunhui stood his so-called "wife."

Of course, if he insisted on considering a towering tree covered in white blossoms as his spouse, Yan Luoyue could only marvel at his peculiar taste in partners.

Moreover, Yan Luoyue finally understood what those tentacle-like movements in "Madam Wu’s" belly had been.

It was a massive burl on the tree’s roots, composed of countless tangled branches and roots.

Most of it had been charred to brittle stumps, while the remaining tendrils were embedded in Wu Chunhui’s flesh.

Observing the scorched black marks on the hallucinogenic tree’s burl, Little Wu stated with certainty, "You’re injured."

Aside from the brittle, charred remnants of its branches, the ancient tree bore numerous scars from past battles.

Though years had passed, the stripped bark had yet to heal, and dark green sap oozed from the wounds like unending blood.

No wonder the illusion hadn’t seamlessly maintained its fabricated reality.

No wonder this hallucinogenic tree had lured Wu Chunhui to serve as its thrall.

In its severely weakened state, the tree had to meticulously plan its hunts, conserving every ounce of energy.

The once-harmonious settlement vanished in an instant.

Apart from Wu Chunhui, everything else had been an illusion.

The other cultivators who had been sitting around, sharing soup—they dissipated like mist, leaving no trace behind.

Branches sliced through the air with a whistling sound, like a mocking sneer.

Yan Luoyue and the others turned to find themselves surrounded by desolate emptiness—no people, no cooking pots, only gnarled tree trunks arranged like furniture, encircling them.

As for the soup bowls, they were indeed present.

But instead of steaming fruit soup, they contained a handful of torn flowers and leaves.

This was what Wu Chunhui had been subtly urging them to consume earlier.

The blossoms and foliage of the hallucinogenic tree.

Yan Luoyue guessed that if not for Little Wu’s extraordinary resistance, the best outcome for them after ingesting this "local specialty" would have been ending up like Wu Chunhui.

Beneath the overturned soil, skeletal remains entwined in roots testified to the fate of past cultivators who had wandered here.

Opposite them, Wu Chunhui had already severed one of his own arms in agony.

Though his body had taken on a wooden texture, the wound bled vividly, his face contorted in pain.

He glared at the trio with venomous hatred, as though they were mortal enemies.

"You—" Wu Chunhui’s voice was hoarse, his speech slow, now tinged with the cadence of a woody plant. "How... did you... find out?"

"From the moment we arrived at the settlement—no, from the moment we met you, we were suspicious."

Wu Chunhui stiffened. "What... do you mean?"

Yan Luoyue scoffed. "I mean, that grove of hallucinogenic flowers planted in the opposite direction was suspicious."

According to Little Wu’s explanation, that grove was less than thirty years old.

Therefore, somewhere, there had to be an older, far more ancient hallucinogenic tree.

Either it had grown deep in the forest over centuries, forming its own grove, or someone had transplanted cuttings to create this artificial one.

Yan Luoyue raised a finger. "If someone deliberately planted that grove, what would their goal be?"

Most cultivators wouldn’t recognize the tree’s traits as clearly as they did.

They’d simply see the grove as ominous.

Unless they were as impulsive as Yan Gan, most would avoid it and explore elsewhere.

And that was exactly Wu Chunhui’s trap.

"You've been lurking nearby, ready at any moment to 'receive' visitors and lead them to the settlement."

Speaking of the settlement, Yan Luoyue felt the urge to shake her head again.

At first, her wariness toward Wu Chunhui and Little Wu had been equal.

But ever since arriving at the settlement, one's suspiciousness had skyrocketed, while the other had quickly crossed into the safety zone, becoming a trusted companion.

Wu Chunhui really ought to reflect on himself for this.

Wu Chunhui's face went blank for a moment before he suddenly realized where he had slipped up.

"I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have said I've only been here for four months, right?"

"That's not it."

Shen Jingxuan, blunt as ever, had no patience for explaining things to a demon puppet and snapped back irritably.

Coming here four months ago, getting his wife pregnant, yet her belly was already round and full, as if she were about to give birth—under such circumstances, Wu Chunhui had two choices.

Either he could backtrack and claim his beloved wife was a dog or red panda spirit who only needed four months of pregnancy, or he’d have to admit that he’d spent the most blissful honeymoon of his life in an extremely... verdant state.

But that wasn’t what had tipped Yan Luoyue off.

The real issue was this settlement—why did it look so much like the tea stall at the Moonlit Market?

Earlier, Little Wu had mentioned that one of the ancient Illusionary Tree’s traits was its ability to plunge multiple people into the same illusion.

Wu Chunhui and the Illusionary Tree had worked together for years, their methods now seamless.

The tree skillfully plucked familiar, comforting scenes from the trio’s memories and wove them into an illusion.

But this was precisely what caught Yan Luoyue’s attention.

Which led her to a new line of thought:

If she and Jingxuan found the Moonlit Market familiar, that made sense.

But had Little Wu also been to the Moonlit Market?

If he were a demon, he certainly couldn’t have appeared openly there—otherwise, he’d have been sold on the spot as fresh ingredients for twenty spirit pearls a pound.

But if he were human or a spirit…

Just then, the exquisitely doll-like little girl who had been part of the settlement’s backdrop suddenly appeared before Yan Luoyue.

Now, let’s recall how Little Wu had described the Illusionary Tree’s nature:

"An Illusionary Tree that has grown for a thousand years can weave illusions from the deepest longings and desires in people’s hearts—even those they themselves have never realized."

Now, look at that little girl again.

She bore an uncanny resemblance to Yan Luoyue as a child.

Her face shone like the moon casting its gentle glow.

Because, in the mind of the one who had constructed this illusion, that little girl who had once saved him had been just that radiant.

And then there was the way she was practically buried in soft, fluffy white fur…

Putting all these elements together, Yan Luoyue instantly realized who Little Wu was!

She turned to him, disbelief coloring her voice as she asked,

"Did I really leave such an impression on you—just a pile of snowball fluff?"

Little Wu kept his head bowed, lips pressed tightly together, unable to speak.

The cloth wrapped around his ears was light in color, and beneath the white fabric, the tips of his ears burned a deep, embarrassed red.

She… she wasn’t just snowball fluff.

That little girl, treasured in the depths of his memory, shining so brightly—she embodied all his yearnings for purity, light, warmth, and joy.

Wu Chunhui’s eyes slowly rolled in their sockets.

He muttered to himself, "Damn it… damn it… we got careless because we were too practiced…?"

"Even if you learn from this and set up a near-perfect opening next time, it won’t matter." Yan Luoyue shook her head and made a "stop" gesture at him.

"There isn’t a single demon in this space—only demonic plants. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?"

Wu Chunhui: "I… I…"

"I’ve thought it was strange from the start."

Not wanting to endure his slow, halting speech any longer, Yan Luoyue cut him off.

"Ever since Little Wu suggested there might be a thousand-year-old Illusionary Tree here, I’ve had a suspicion—that all the living creatures with flesh and blood had already been devoured by the tree."

"And the exit from this den? It’s not hidden in the grove of illusionary trees, like the illusion claimed. If I’m not mistaken, it should be right behind this ancient tree. Am I right?"

All that talk about "seniors who had already left" and "the exit being in those woods"—those were lies.

Their only purpose was to keep travelers lingering in this seemingly peaceful settlement.

Stay for half a cup of tea, and Wu Chunhui would bring out that "soup."

Stay for another incense stick’s worth of time, and the Illusionary Tree’s branches would silently coil around the traveler’s limbs.

Even if the traveler sensed something wrong and fled, the old tree wouldn’t worry.

Because the exit was right here—the prey would have to come back eventually.

This den was no longer a haven for demons. It had become the hunting ground of this ancient Illusionary Tree.

"—Don’t… keep… talking… to them."

The old tree behind Wu Chunhui, which resembled a "woman in white," suddenly spoke.

Wu Chunhui’s voice was already grating, like tree bark scraped raw, unpleasant to the ears.

But the "woman’s" voice was even worse.

It rumbled like thunder trapped inside, or like a century’s worth of phlegm had congealed into a solid mass, never once expelled.

Yet the moment Wu Chunhui heard the tree’s voice, his face twisted into an expression of utter rapture.

The tree slowly commanded, "Kill… them."

"If… you can’t… kill them… drive them away. They’ll… come back."

To a tree that had lived a thousand years, even three to five years of wandering would pass in the blink of an eye.

As long as these people still wanted to leave, they would return eventually.

After all, the demon realm’s dens were scarce in spiritual energy, and there were no elixirs to be found.

Cultivators who stumbled in here would find their progress stalled for years.

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If they didn’t want to degenerate into savages, if they wished to retain even a shred of dignity, their only choice would be to return willingly—to stretch out their necks for the slaughter, to drink poison to quench their thirst.

This logic wasn’t entirely flawed.

Especially considering it came from a tree with a wooden brain—one couldn’t expect too much.

But there were two small problems with this plan.

The first was…

Yan Luoyue: What a coincidence—I only grow stronger with time.

The second was…

Little Wu: Actually, I also grow more poisonous with time…

Fortunately, neither of them intended to test who could outlive the ancient tree.

Otherwise, even after a millennium of life, the tree might have let out a final, bewildered cry before its demise:

—Just what in the world are you two???

Wu Chunhui obeyed the tree’s command and lunged at the trio.

At the same time, all three reacted.

Shen Jingxuan stepped forward first, shielding the two younger ones.

Yan Luoyue moved with lightning speed—utterly uncharacteristic for a turtle—and darted behind Shen Jingxuan in a flash.

As for Little Wu, he resolutely stepped forward, positioning himself at an angle with Shen Jingxuan, forming a defensive stance to shield Yan Luoyue.

Recalling their previous collaborations, Shen Jingxuan reminded Yan Luoyue,

"Luoyue, give me the necklace."

Yan Luoyue silently covered her face. "That won’t work now. Here, Jingxuan, use this instead."

As she spoke, she retrieved a wooden hairpin from her storage pouch and handed over "Xiao Ming’s Reservoir."

The necklace, also known as "Splitting Billions with Ma○," had the effect of reducing both parties' health proportionally.

But Yan Luoyue’s current health points stood at 10,000.

She could no longer slash her finger and watch her health drop by 30% in an instant.

Now, to lose 30% of her health, she’d practically have to swallow knives, tread on swords, and perform a chest-crushing stunt with a boulder.

Yan Luoyue knew her current health was in a middling state—neither abundant nor precarious.

This meant she couldn’t serve as a frontline attacker or a living shield in the short term.

An opponent like the ancient tree was clearly boss-level.

Her best role in the team right now was to protect herself, follow orders, and avoid causing trouble.

Before she could fully extend the hairpin, a bandaged hand snatched it away.

The moment Little Wu saw the unremarkable yet deeply familiar hairpin, his body moved faster than his mind, as if possessed by Yan Gan’s reflexes.

In less than a thousandth of a breath, "Xiao Ming’s Reservoir" was already in his grasp.

"...Huh?"

Only when the warmth of the hairpin seeped into his palm did Little Wu realize what he’d done.

Instinct had outpaced thought—even he hadn’t expected it.

For the second time, he bit his tongue in regret, his usually precise speech stumbling into a stammer.

"I… I didn’t mean to—"

Beneath the bandages, the tips of his ears flushed red again.

Yan Luoyue blinked in surprise but quickly smiled at him.

"You can use it too. Just aim it at the tree—first, you—"

"I know," Little Wu nodded, pulling his hood low as he turned away.

Even through the veil of his white gauze, he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

He insisted, "The moment I held it, I understood how to use it."

...Right.

Yan Luoyue belatedly remembered: the attribute of "Xiao Ming’s Reservoir"—[In combat, reduces total health by 10% within five minutes]—had been unlocked thanks to an encounter with a certain little snake.

But the mention of that little snake…

The memory of emerald-green scales and cool, silky smoothness resurfaced in her mind.

Unconsciously, Yan Luoyue circled her wrist, now empty.

Her distraction lasted only a moment before the battle erupted.

Perhaps because he both feared Little Wu and underestimated Yan Luoyue, Wu Chunhui ultimately chose Shen Jingxuan as his target.

He seemed to genuinely believe Shen Jingxuan was a naive, compassionate monk who’d offer her flesh to feed an eagle—even earnestly debating Buddhist doctrine with her.

The absurdity of the scene left Yan Luoyue speechless.

Wu Chunhui’s numb face twisted into a pained expression.

"Great Master… why not… pity me?"

He stammered, "You… are of the Buddha’s path. I’ve heard… Buddhists speak of karma, of past lives and future retribution. Do you not see… they harmed me in their past lives? I am… their present retribution!"

Shen Jingxuan didn’t waste a single word listening to his stuttered nonsense.

The young nun clenched her fist, golden light flickering across her skin.

Her rapid punches heated the air with friction, each strike primed to unleash a flurry of rapid-fire "thud-thud-thud-thud-thud!" crits.

With the fist just an inch from his face, Wu Chunhui’s stutter vanished in terror.

He blurted out flawlessly,

"Little nun, Buddhists must show mercy! If I’ve sinned, retribution will find me in the next life!"

Shen Jingxuan swung her "Compassionate Fist of Mercy" and roared a profoundly "compassionate" curse.

"I’ll show mercy to your ancestors for eight generations!"

"No need to wait for the next life, demon puppet—I am your retribution today!"

Today, her Demon-Subduing Vajra Fist embodied the philosophy: "I am retribution, retribution is me!"

Meanwhile, the tree’s branches split into two tendrils, lashing toward Yan Luoyue and Shen Jingxuan simultaneously.

The branch aimed at Yan Luoyue was thick and sharp—a single strike would pierce through her chest without mercy.

The tendril targeting Shen Jingxuan, however, sprouted from the uncharred roots near the tree’s tumorous bulge.

Clearly, it sought to corrupt her into a new demon puppet.

In that split second, Little Wu yanked Yan Luoyue behind him with his left hand.

At the same time, he savagely tore open the bandages on his exposed right wrist.

Masked by gauze, no one could see his expression.

Only his actions betrayed his emotions.

He spilled his blood without hesitation, letting it splatter across the branches and earth.

Where his blood touched the wood, black smoke erupted from the desiccated bark.

The ancient tree didn’t scream like Wu Chunhui, but the branches recoiled violently, writhing as if scalded.

The flailing limbs whipped through the air, narrowly missing Little Wu’s face with razor-sharp gusts.

Yet he showed no fear.

Though unarmed, his blood was the most lethal weapon in existence.

Most poison specialists were cunning survivors who outlasted their foes.

But Little Wu defied convention—he’d built himself into a blood-price fighter!

Only now did Yan Luoyue realize: though Little Wu spoke with rigid politeness and turned shy at the slightest misstep, his combat style carried a reckless, almost frenzied edge.

Whether this fury was innate or born of circumstance, she couldn’t tell.

Amid the chaos, Little Wu stood unwavering before Yan Luoyue.

His frame wasn’t towering—just enough to cast her in his shadow.

Yet his stance was ironclad, radiating a resolve that swore death before retreat.

In the next heartbeat, Little Wu ripped off his cloak, baring his entire body.

He even took two aggressive steps forward, as if daring the tree to impale him through the chest.

Little Wu smiled, his tone poised and restrained, yet his actions told a different story.

With utmost politeness, he extended an invitation: "Please, go ahead."

This gesture was nothing short of daring.

Because the ancient tree truly... didn't dare to act.

Back in the day, it had occupied the entrance to the den, feasting on the steady stream of prey delivered to its doorstep.

It was precisely for this reason that it had been forced into a brutal battle with another powerful demonic entity in the area.

After a life-or-death struggle, the old tree barely survived, but it was left hanging by a thread.

It wasn’t until recent years, when it first managed to seize control of Wu Chunhui, a demonic puppet, and later when human cultivators began stumbling into its grasp, that its strength began to recover somewhat.

Yet just moments ago, a simple handshake from Little Wu had instantly reverted Wu Chunhui to his original form.

Wu Chunhui still believed that severing his own arm had cut off the path of the encroaching poison.

But in reality...

With a soft snap, before the battle between Little Wu and the ancient tree could reach its conclusion, all the aerial roots embedded beneath Wu Chunhui’s skin spontaneously snapped apart!

The suddenness of it left Wu Chunhui utterly unprepared.

The half-human, half-wooden monster collapsed to the ground, turning his head toward the ancient tree in disbelief. Stunned, he stammered, "Madam... you... I... why...?"

Had a mirror been placed before him, Wu Chunhui would have realized that, unbeknownst to him, his human half had already been overtaken by ominous black veins.

Meanwhile, the wooden half of his face was now shedding bark in large, peeling patches.

His decision to sever his arm had been swift and decisive.

But it was all for nothing.

Because the venom Little Wu wielded was not something so easily countered.

In the instant of that handshake, the toxin had surged upstream with unimaginable speed.

It traveled along the "wooden bracelet" of aerial roots coiled around his wrist, feeding back into the branches of the Phantom Tree, infiltrating its trunk, and then channeling back into Wu Chunhui through the Phantom Tree’s tendrils.

Under Shen Jingxuan’s astonished gaze, Wu Chunhui’s throat emitted a series of strained gurgles.

His entire body began to swell grotesquely, expanding beyond reason.

The fingers of his remaining left hand bloated into a deep purple, resembling five plump carrots lined up in a row.

Wooden splinters burst from his body like blooming flowers, his skin stretching thinner and thinner, like an overinflated goatskin raft.

Yan Luoyue only needed to glance at him for a second before the image of a balloon pumped to its bursting point flashed through her mind.

Without needing a warning from Little Wu, all three of them instinctively scrambled backward.

As she fled, Yan Luoyue rummaged through her storage pouch.

She swiftly pulled out a large parasol and tossed it to Shen Jingxuan.

As for herself, before she could retrieve a second one, darkness abruptly enveloped her vision.

Little Wu had flipped his cloak over her, draping her from head to toe like a shop sign still veiled before its grand opening.

Then, Wu Chunhui, now stretched to his limit, finally reached his breaking point.

With a muffled boom—, his body exploded like scattered blossoms, spraying suspiciously colored fluids across the root-strewn earth like a shower from a broken faucet.

At the same time, Little Wu calmly informed the ancient tree, "Your puppet has exploded."

The force of Wu Chunhui’s detonation tore through the soil, exposing hundreds of bleached skeletons tangled in a dense web of roots.

Yan Luoyue hastily pulled the cloak off her head just in time to see Little Wu crouch down gracefully and drive a hairpin into one of the root networks.

Though his eyes were veiled by white gauze, the reluctance in his parting with the wooden pin was palpable.

Fortunately, Little Wu possessed both impeccable self-restraint and a deep appreciation for the virtue of moderation.

Otherwise, he might have sourly added, "Lucky you," to the ancient tree.

The old tree was already on its last legs.

Repeatedly doused in Little Wu’s venom, its combat power had dwindled drastically.

In comparison, a single hairpin embedded in its roots was no more significant than a scratch on a human fingernail.

Thus, it wasn’t until the shadow of death loomed overhead that the ancient tree realized the truth in its final moments.

White petals withered and fell, charred branches snapped and dropped, and the gnarled trunk met its end.

The ancient tree, which had thrived for at least a millennium, dissolved into a mirage of colored mist upon its death—its final illusion left upon this world.

The vision was a blaze of fire.

—Between heaven and earth, a streak of golden flame suddenly appeared.

Search a million years into the past or a million years into the future, and never again would such pure, burning gold be found.

The fire blazed across the sky as if to consume the world, bright enough to illuminate the cosmos and fierce enough to scorch the universe.

At the same time, the clear cry of a bird rang out above them.

Yan Luoyue barely registered the searing heat before tilting her head skyward.

There, at the heart of the flames, a radiant golden bird hatched from its shell, its brilliance rivaling the sun.

The creature boasted the most lustrous golden feathers in existence—and three legs.

Then, the inferno fragmented into a grand meteor shower of fire.

The once-arrogant golden blaze became an irretrievable spectacle of the past.

In that instant, an inexplicable terror and sorrow seized Yan Luoyue’s heart.

"—Wait!"

"—Hold on!"

The illusion ceased abruptly as the flames descended.

Both cries came simultaneously from Yan Luoyue and Little Wu.

They exchanged glances, only then noticing the rapid rise and fall of their chests. A thin sheen of sweat had even broken out on Yan Luoyue’s forehead.

"Gone," Little Wu murmured, clenching his fist with lingering unease. "Just an illusion conjured by the Phantom Tree in its death throes."

By all accounts, the Phantom Tree’s final vision should have revealed a great secret—perhaps its deepest hidden desire, an ambition even it had forgotten, or the ultimate purpose it had sought through countless trials.

But even after scouring his inherited memories, Little Wu found no trace of that fiery rain.

Yan Luoyue hesitated. "That bird just now... was it a Three-Legged Golden Crow? And what was that fire?"

A golden bird with three feet—it had to be the Three-Legged Golden Crow.

But what was the meaning of that meteor shower of flames?

Shen Jingxuan approached from a distance, still clutching the parasol Yan Luoyue had handed her, its surface now riddled with corroded holes.

"You didn’t recognize it? That was the Crying Crow’s Fire."