“It’s… actually fine?!”
Wang Ba frowned in surprise.
It was not that he wanted the Rare Fowl to roll about in agony. He was worried the Tendon-Severing Nematode might not be working. Without any effect, Bloodline Breakthrough would be out of the question.
He observed the bird for a while longer. Nothing changed. The rooster eventually grew bored of the staring contest and turned to wander off, completely unfazed.
Wang Ba thought for a moment, then blocked the rooster’s path. He pulled out a Spirit Stone and placed it directly in front of the bird’s beak.
The rooster, annoyed by the obstruction, pecked at the stone out of habit.
Zip.
The nematode didn’t shoot out of its mouth. Nor did it exit through the nostrils.
Instead… it shot out of the cloaca at the rear.
The worm landed with a wet splat. Its pitch-black body was glistening, smeared with a distinct layer of chicken filth.
Wang Ba grimaced in disgust, but his eyes sharpened. He noticed something crucial: the Tendon-Severing Nematode was significantly shorter than before.
“It worked!”
Wang Ba let out a long breath of relief.
The nematode functioned by gnawing through blockages in the meridians, dissolving its own body in the process to clear the path. A shorter worm meant it had expended its life force to do exactly that.
Wang Ba didn’t waste a second. He took a portion of the ground Spirit Stone powder, mixed it with one liang of ground Chicken Gizzard Lining, and stirred it into the feed.
He had restricted the twenty birds’ feed since the previous day, so the rooster rushed over eagerly when it saw the mixture.
Before long, it had eaten the entire troughful.
Almost immediately after finishing, the rooster’s behavior changed. It walked over to a corner, tucked one leg up, and buried its head under its wing.
It stood there, motionless. Like an ostrich trying to hide from the world.
After watching for a while and deciding it was not ill, Wang Ba left it alone.
He proceeded to treat two more Rare Fowl with the remaining Spirit Stone powder and nematodes, marking them carefully. The result was identical: after consuming the medicine, they huddled in the corner, dormant and listless.
…
By day, he fermented feed, fed the flock, cleaned, and collected eggs. In his spare time, he did his best to eat the other Spirit Poultry, sparing the named birds, Alpha-One through Alpha-Six.
After consuming six Spirit Poultry and immediately performing the Visualization of the Yin Spirit, the depleted drop of Yin Spirit power in his abode finally swelled back to the size of a raw grain of rice.
“It seems one drop of Yin Spirit power costs about seven or eight Spirit Poultry to replenish,” Wang Ba noted, recording the data in his mind.
He casually tossed a discarded spirit insect into Alpha-Five’s mouth as the rooster wandered nearby.
Snap.
Alpha-Five flapped happily and, after eating the insect, rubbed affectionately against Wang Ba’s thigh.
Alpha-Five seemed a little more intelligent than the other Rare Fowl and Spirit Poultry. When Wang Ba worked, it would often squat nearby, watching with its head tilted.
Wang Ba didn’t mind the company. He had raised Alpha-Five by hand, after all.
In his downtime, he even started training the bird. He taught it simple gestures and voice commands: “Come,” “Down,” “Fly.” It even learned to run back and hide in Old Man Sun’s room on command.
It was obedient and docile—no less intelligent than a well-trained dog.
The only downside was the poop.
It pooped constantly. Far more than any other bird in the manor.
So, Wang Ba bestowed upon it a new title: The King of Poop.
Training the King of Poop became Wang Ba’s sole source of entertainment in the lonely, filthy manor.
After seven or eight busy days, he had fed Spirit Stone powder to all twenty Rare Fowl and implanted nematodes in them.
Perhaps the spiritual energy in the stones was too abundant for them: after eating the powder, none would eat any more food.
Nothing Wang Ba tried would make them eat.
The manor needed much less feed, which made Old Hou worry on his behalf.
“Brother Wang,” Old Hou said, his brow furrowed with concern as he unloaded the sacks. “Why not ask Great Doctor Xu from the Clean Mountain Department to take a look? He’s an old hand at veterinary medicine. When things go wrong in the hundreds of manors in the Ding Section, most people go to him.”
“Thanks, Old Hou. I’ll ask him if I get the chance,” Wang Ba replied, feigning a look of deep worry.
Old Hou didn’t leave immediately. As was his custom, he lingered to gossip. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Speaking of problems… you aren’t the only one in the Ding Section having a rough time.”
“Oh?” Wang Ba’s ears perked up. “Do tell.”
Seeing his interest, Old Hou grew animated.
“I hear Ding Manor Fifty-Four has a chicken plague and lost many birds! And a Spirit Beast belonging to an Outer Sect Elder escaped and ate a hundred or two hundred Rare Fowl from Ding Manor Sixteen!” The source of this chapter is g.com.
“That many!”
It pained Wang Ba to hear it. Those birds could have supplied him with over a thousand years of lifespan. Unfortunately, they belonged to Ding Manor Sixteen, not him.
“The plague is just bad luck,” Wang Ba said, shaking his head. “But if an Elder’s beast ate them… surely there was compensation?”
“Naturally!” Old Hou held up a finger, his eyes wide with excitement. “The Ding Section raises chickens for the ‘Myriad Beast Department,’ so even an Elder can’t just brush it off. He sent a disciple to deliver compensation to Section Sixteen. Guess what it was?”
Old Hou paused for effect, but he couldn’t hold it in.
“One hundred Spirit Stones!”
“A hundred! My heavens, I’ve never seen so many in my life!” Old Hou exclaimed.
Wang Ba looked shocked too, though he was fairly calm inside. He had held more than forty Spirit Stones himself and could obtain far more if he were willing to take the risk.
“Song Lun of Ding Manor Sixteen has turned misfortune into good luck!” Old Hou said with envy and a little jealousy. “He’s buying Rare Fowl everywhere to refill his manor. Even after buying two hundred, he’ll have plenty left. That Elder was generous!”
Old Hou nudged Wang Ba. “He might come knocking on your door soon. Don’t forget to fleece him if he does!”
Wang Ba waved his hands frantically. “No, no! My chickens are all sick. How could he possibly want them?”
Even so, a few days later, Song Lun of Ding Manor Sixteen did come to visit.
“Brother Wang, I expect you know why I’m here. If you have any Rare Fowl to spare, I’ll pay a good price,” said the finely dressed Song Lun, a man past fifty. He saluted, looking sincere.
Wang Ba sighed, putting on his most apologetic face. “Brother Song, it is not that I am unwilling to sell. I truly have no spare birds.”
Song Lun frowned, clearly skeptical.
Then he noticed the dispirited-looking Rare Fowl behind Wang Ba.
His brow relaxed. After exchanging a few polite words, he left in disappointment.
…
A few more days passed. It was time for the monthly tribute.
Deacon Li arrived on schedule to collect the quota. But this time, along with the collection, he brought news that hit Wang Ba like a physical blow.
“Old Man Sun is dead?”