“Cough… cough…”
“Deacon, sir… here is this month’s tribute. Please check it.”
Wang Ba coughed, his face weak and pale from illness.
Deacon Li stood with his belly protruding and his hands behind his back, counting the offerings.
He scanned the goods: two roosters, two hens, and exactly two hundred Rare Fowl eggs.
Once he had confirmed the numbers, he narrowed his eyes without expression.
Then, amidst another spasm of coughing, Wang Ba deftly slid a silver note into the Deacon’s palm.
Deacon Li’s face cleared like the sky after snow, and he beamed.
“Ah, Brother Wang! You really are too polite!”
“It is only right… only right… cough, cough!”
“This manor is cold and harsh. Take care of your health, Brother Wang, so you can serve the sect,” Deacon Li said with concern.
As he spoke, a conspiratorial, mysterious smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Brother, do you have any idea what I’ve brought for you this time?”
Wang Ba’s heart stirred. “Cough… could it be… cough… books about raising chickens?” he blurted out.
“Look at you! I can’t hide anything from you, can I? I wanted to keep you in suspense!”
Deacon Li laughed heartily, dropping the pretense. From within his wide, flowing sleeve, he produced a bound book and held it out.
Then, his expression turned grave.
“Normally, menial workers have no right to borrow books from the sect. Even a Deacon must submit many applications…”
Wang Ba understood the dance perfectly. He didn’t hesitate. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his very last silver note, and pressed it into Li’s hand.
This was money he had worked hard to earn selling manure. He had specifically exchanged the loose silver for notes a few days earlier.
“Hey now, Brother!” Deacon Li snatched the note with practiced speed while feigning a look of hurt. “What kind of person do you take me for? And here I thought of you as a dear friend!”
“Yes, yes! It is my vulgarity showing!” Wang Ba said, plastering an embarrassed smile onto his pale face.
Deacon Li didn’t push the protest any further. Satisfied, he tucked the note into his robe, patting it securely before delivering his final warning.
“You have this volume for two months. At most. After that, I must return it. And listen to me—do not damage it, and do not get it dirty. Understood?”
“Yes! I promise on my life, not a speck of dirt!”
Once Deacon Li was gone, Wang Ba clutched the book to his chest and retreated into his hut.
Perhaps it was the lingering shock from the previous night’s encounter with the lost cultivator, but he had woken up feeling as if his bones had turned to water. He was drenched in a cold sweat, his limbs heavy, his cough persistent.
He knew he was sick.
Yet, survival waited for no man. He forced himself to grind through the daily chores—feeding the flock, scraping the coop floor, and counting out the tribute.
While doing so, he had heard a piece of news from Old Hou.
“This morning, Deacon Mei, who oversees us menial workers, was given a scolding by an Outer Sect disciple!”
Old Hou looked distinctly pleased at the Deacon’s misfortune.
“Oh? What happened?” Wang Ba asked casually, unconsciously tightening his grip on his clothes.
“Rumor has it that this Outer Sect disciple had urgent business at the Merit Hall last night. But apparently, some confused laborer tricked him. The Merit Hall is to the north, but this laborer sent him running east! He missed out on some great opportunity because of it. So, first thing this morning, he stormed in to give Deacon Mei hell. You should have seen Mei’s old face…”
Old Hou described the scene with vivid relish, acting it out as if he’d been front row center.
Wang Ba, however, felt his blood turn to ice.
Last night. The Merit Hall. A laborer giving wrong directions.
He thought back to his desperate, terrified gesture in the dark. He had pointed randomly.
He had pointed East.
There was about a ninety percent chance that this was the sect disciple he had deceived last night.
A fresh layer of cold sweat broke out over his shivering body.
He had no idea how the disciple had belatedly realized it.
As soon as Old Hou shuffled away, Wang Ba sprang into action.
He buried the Spirit Stones deeper, moved the great fermentation vat over the spot, and piled up chicken feed rich in spiritual energy.
He also burned or buried any chicken bones and other traces he had not yet disposed of.
He did not know whether a sect disciple would come to investigate, but he had to minimize the risk.
Lying back on his bed, exhausted and trembling, the terror of the previous night washed over him again.
“There shouldn’t be any flaws left…” Wang Ba murmured to himself, staring at the ceiling.
Then he carefully picked up the book Deacon Li had brought.
He did not know what it was made of. Though neither large nor thick, the book was heavy.
Four large, bold characters dominated the cover: This chapter was taken from novelping.com without permission.
Notes on Avian Husbandry.
The signature below was written in powerful, sweeping strokes: Authored by Daoist Horn-Pot.
Wang Ba flipped it open.
Honestly, he hadn’t held much hope. No matter how profound the text, it couldn’t possibly compare to his cheat ability to transfer Lifespan.
However, as he read, Wang Ba’s eyes began to widen.
“I had no idea… there are so many ways for mortal creatures to ascend?”
Daoist Horn-Pot had written that, to his knowledge, there were three main paths to cultivate a common, mundane beast into a graded Spirit Beast.
The first path was Bloodline Breakthrough. Nourishment with sufficient spiritual energy could continually purify a creature’s bloodline until it broke through naturally. This required a powerful Spirit Beast among its ancestors; without one, advancement through bloodline purification would be difficult.
The second path was Lifespan Breakthrough. One who lived beyond the allotted span was a thief—a thief of Heaven, stealing life. If a creature exceeded its natural lifespan limit even slightly, it could share in Heaven and Earth’s fortune and advance in grade. But treasures capable of breaking that limit were exceedingly rare; most longevity treasures merely restored lifespan already lost. Perhaps because of the rules of Heaven and Earth, this method generally worked only once.
Wang Ba stared at the page, his breath hitching.
He began to understand his Golden Finger.
No wonder the Rare Fowl had broken through after he deposited just 0.1 years of lifespan. They seemed to have followed the path of Lifespan Breakthrough.
Once they became Spirit Poultry, further deposits had not brought a second advancement. That also matched Daoist Horn-Pot’s account.
“And the third method…” Wang Ba read on. “Awakening spiritual intelligence to practice cultivation?”
He shook his head. Awakening the mind of a chicken? That sounded like a fantasy far beyond his current means.
Lifespan Breakthrough was the method he used, but it was his greatest secret. He could never reveal it.
“Therefore,” he whispered, “the only method I can show the world… the only explanation for my success… must be the first one. Bloodline Breakthrough.”
He eagerly flipped to the section detailing Bloodline Breakthroughs.
His eyes lit up with genuine shock.
Daoist Horn-Pot had recorded eight bloodline breakthrough methods for birds, beasts, fish, and insects!
“The method of Bloodline Breakthrough is the Great Dao!” the text proclaimed.
“Yet simply nourishing and purifying the bloodline with spiritual energy is slow. Different kinds of birds and beasts each require different methods!”
“Thus, through years of diligent and meticulous research, I have derived eight specific methods for purifying the bloodlines of various creatures. These eight are as follows—”
“Locusts, Gold and Silver Ringed Snakes, Yang Tigers, White Carp, Seventeen-Year Cicadas, Mysterious Phoenixes, Yellow-throated Stone Turtles… and Rare Fowl.”