One day equals sixty years; one night spans thirty decades.

Rustling, cracking sounds echoed from above in the darkness.

The withered branches of the barren trees scraped against each other, and from the twigs hung the figures of adolescent fruit-children, all searching for the silhouettes of a boy and a lamp.

“Where is he? Where is he?”

“Say something! I’m listening, I’m dying of impatience.”

“Chen Huangpi, Huang Two, your words are so interesting. Say more, let us hear!”

One after another, sharp and thin childlike voices shouted impatiently into the darkness beneath the trees.

“Chen Huangpi, are you still there?”

“I’m not here, I’m not here,” Chen Huangpi replied inwardly, eyes closed as his thoughts surged wildly.

Thoughts could not be overheard, only spiritual conversation could. The brass oil lamp knew this, and thus dared not urge Chen Huangpi even in its own mind.

“He’s brave, and good at playing dead. They won’t notice,” the lamp thought, its spiritual sense “seeing” that Chen Huangpi indeed stood motionless where he was.

He didn’t even breathe.

Anyone unaware might have mistaken him for a corpse.

Luckily, Huang Two was just as adept.

Both boy and lamp remained utterly still.

No matter how keen the fruit-children’s vision and hearing, they could not detect them.

But the fruit-children, brimming with energy and weak resolve, were easily distracted.

“Chen Huangpi won’t respond to us. He doesn’t want to play.”

“We should hang him on the tree and make him tell us new and interesting stories every day.”

“A day is a cycle of sixty years, a night is thirty years.”

“If I don’t hear another story, I’ll grow up!”

“Haha! While you were searching for him, I’ve already been secretly growing up—look, I’ve got hair now!”

“I need to hurry up and grow too.”

Before long, the rustling sounds of intertwining branches faded.

The fruit-children seemed to have fallen asleep once more.

They appeared to be playing a game—a race to see who would grow up first.

A day is a cycle of sixty years, a night is thirty years.

Hearing their words, Chen Huangpi could not help but feel a deep envy.

He grew quickly too.

Before nightfall, when he relieved himself, he’d noticed he’d grown.

But not as quickly as the fruit-children.

And, his master disliked his growing up, once saying it would be best if he remained a child forever.

Yet, like the fruit-children, Chen Huangpi longed to grow up.

His master had lost his mind.

And as the sole heir of the Pure Immortal Temple, he had no choice but to take charge early, assume the mountain patrols, and manage their affairs.

“Let’s go quickly,” the brass oil lamp urged. “While they’re asleep, let’s slip away.”

“Move your right foot five toes’ length,” it instructed.

Chen Huangpi complied silently.

He allowed the lamp to guide his movements.

Before long, they had advanced a fair distance.

The ground was riddled with roots from the withered trees, bursting through the stone slabs and arching up from the soil.

The path was treacherous.

But once they crossed this stretch, the road to the Sutra Repository lay straight ahead, with no further dangers.

Just then, however, the scraping of branches sounded again.

Chen Huangpi quickly resumed his feigned death.

If he spoke, the fruit-children would find him.

If he stayed silent, he had no idea how to proceed.

If he tripped on a root, their cover would be blown.

So, after each advance, Chen Huangpi and the lamp had to pause and wait.

Wait for the fruit-children’s attention to drift.

But this time, the wait dragged on.

It was a good half an hour before the rustling finally faded.

A deathly stillness settled over the surroundings.

“Huang Two, should I move my left foot or my right foot next?” Chen Huangpi urged inwardly.

But the brass oil lamp did not reply.

Instead, a raspy, duck-like male voice spoke up.

“If you step left, you’ll hit a stone. Must be right.”

“If you step right, you’ll trip on a root. Must be left.”

“Or maybe just try hopping over?”

“Hahaha, you’re teasing him again. If he hops, he’ll land right in the cesspit.”

It was the voices of the fruit-children.

In a heartbeat, they’d matured from youths to young men.

All were naked, their skin deathly pale.

They looked like corpses, each with a withered branch jammed through their skulls, suspending them high in the air.

Chen Huangpi drew a deep breath.

He understood now why the lamp had fallen silent.

The fruit-children had never truly left.

Now grown, their minds were sharper, their tone nastier and more malicious.

Chen Huangpi wanted to keep playing dead.

But the fruit-children jeered.

“Chen Huangpi, the same trick won’t work twice.”

“Tonight, we’ll keep our eyes on you.”

“Either you become one of us, hanging from the tree, or you wait for dawn and never leave this place.”

With that, the young men glared down at the darkness below.

They knew Chen Huangpi and the brass lamp were there.

The slightest movement would give them away.

Now mature, the fruit-children were like seasoned hunters, full of patience.

But Chen Huangpi was patient too.

He spent day after day patrolling the mountains, gathering herbs.

If it came to a contest of endurance, he could outlast these fruit-children.

But as they had said—

A day is a cycle of sixty years, a night is thirty years.

By tomorrow, they would be old and withered, decomposed into the earth.

Chen Huangpi could not wait so long; he still needed to reach the Sutra Repository.

He could not afford delays, nor could he endure the humiliation of their mockery.

The brass lamp was anxious as well.

They could not advance, nor could they continue to wait.

It still had plenty of oil, but as a treasure transformed into a living being—and split into thousands of fragments—its abilities were limited without a master to command it.

“If only Chen Huangpi hadn’t undone the Dog-Taming Sutra!” the lamp lamented. As soon as it awakened, it returned to its original form. Its hard-won mastery of the Dog-Taming Sutra had vanished as if never practiced at all.

Chen Huangpi must have deliberately nullified the technique.

Admittedly, being a dog was humiliating.

But on second thought, being a dog wasn’t so bad.

Worse still was not even having the chance to be a dog.

Just then—

Chen Huangpi’s decisive voice rang out in the lamp’s mind: “Huang Two, heed my command! I am the master, you are the dog—transform for me!”

“What?” the lamp exclaimed.

In an instant, the Dog-Taming Sutra, long dormant within it, flared to life beyond its control.

Its body stretched and elongated—a gaping maw full of fangs.

In the blink of an eye, it became a great brass hound!

The next moment, Chen Huangpi vaulted onto its back.

Once the Dog-Taming Sutra was in effect, the bond between master and dog was seamless.

No further words were needed.

The brass lamp leapt forward, covering dozens of meters in a bound.

“Chen Huangpi, you clearly undid the Dog-Taming Sutra! How am I still under your control?”

“You’re terrible, rotten to the core!”

“You’ve ruined me!”

Chen Huangpi protested, “I never undid it! But I promise, after this, I’ll set you free.”

The lamp grumbled, “Fine, I’ll trust you one last time!”

By now, the lamp was already running with Chen Huangpi astride its back.

Chen Huangpi could not open his eyes.

He had to rely on it.

In critical moments, the lamp was reliable.

The fruit-children, alert to the slightest movement, spotted them the instant they sprang into action.

Branches scraped and snapped.

The fruit-children clustered together, causing boughs to cascade downward.

Countless giant hands reached into the darkness.

The brass lamp and Chen Huangpi kept their eyes tightly shut; as long as they did, the withered tree itself would not notice them.

Sight is also a kind of light.

Without light, the tree was dead.

What lived were the fruit-children.

Luckily, they could only estimate the general area, and now that they had aged, their vision had dimmed.

Huang Two needed only a single leap to leave them behind.

“Brothers ahead, block their path—they’re almost out!”

“Those behind, cut off their retreat!”

The lamp twisted and turned, deftly avoiding the grasping fruit-children.

But the tree bore countless fruit-children; no matter how careful, it was inevitable—a hand snatched the lamp’s tail.

“I’ve got them! I’ve got them!”

“Aaah!”

The lamp let out a terrible howl.

It sizzled, as though a red-hot brand had been pressed into its flesh.

In an instant, a ghastly white handprint appeared on the lamp’s tail.

The mark began to spread.

And as the captured fruit-child cried out, countless others reached out their hands.

“Do something, Master! It takes a master to beat a dog—do something!”

With their minds linked, Chen Huangpi shared in the lamp’s strange spiritual perception.

“Rotten fruit! Take my sword!”

Chen Huangpi formed his hands into a sword gesture, riding backwards on the brass hound.

The inexhaustible essence from his kidneys surged along a mysterious path.

From his kidneys into his arms.

A metallic hum rang out—demonic-slaying sword energy shot forth, sharp as blades being drawn from their sheaths.

But this time, there was something different.

Enraged, Chen Huangpi’s sword energy was tinged with a faint, sinister black smoke.

It seemed as though a wisp of that dark mist had mingled with his power.

Where once his sword was a force of pure exorcism, now it carried an unearthly taint.

His kidney essence was inexhaustible, pouring forth in torrents.

The fruit-children reaching out had their hands severed by the sword energy in the blink of an eye.

Screams resounded.

“My hands—they’re gone! It hurts, it hurts!”

“That’s the sword energy of a demon!”

Severed hands fell to the ground, rotting away like spoiled fruit in moments.

Wisps of essence rose from them.

When fruit-children hit the ground, they died, their bodies decomposing to nourish the withered tree.

Yet, the essence did not flow into the tree.

Instead, it rushed eagerly toward Chen Huangpi.

“It’s the black smoke—the black smoke in your body!”

“Chen Huangpi, your sword energy is tainted by that ghostly thing. How do you feel?”

“I feel incredible!” Chen Huangpi replied, as the essence poured into him, bringing a rush of cool relief like a drink of ice water on a sweltering summer’s day.

Before, though his kidney essence was endless, it was but a single thread.

And the technique required no cultivation, operating on its own, leaving him helpless.

Now, with his sword energy infused with black smoke, the essence from the fruit-children was drawn into him, and that single thread grew stronger.

Even the efficiency of forging his kidney-temple increased.

“Huang Two, I feel frighteningly powerful now!”

“It’s the black smoke that’s strong, not you,” the lamp retorted.

“I’ve grown up. The black smoke flows from me—its strength is my strength!”

“I’ll hack these fruit-children to pieces! I won’t let them bully you!”

He spoke solemnly to Huang Two, “Just keep moving forward—the rest is up to me!”