Upon landing, Wen Buhuo immediately crouched low, simultaneously pushing his Breath-Restraining Technique to its limit, suppressing his aura to around the eighth layer of the Qi Condensation stage. Scanning his surroundings, he found himself within an eerie, primeval jungle.

The trees here towered into the clouds, but their leaves were a dark purple, a color that looked as if they had been repeatedly soaked in blood and then dried. The ground was covered in a thick layer of humus, making his footsteps soft and silent. A sweet, cloying fragrance permeated the air—Wen Buhuo immediately held his breath and placed a Heart-Clearing Pill under his tongue from his storage bag.

"At least it's not the most dangerous Central Ring Mountain area," he thought with silent relief, pulling a yellowed hide map from his robe. This was the "Simplified Map of the Bloodline Forbidden Zone" issued by the sect; though crude, it marked several common growth points for spiritual herbs.

According to the map, he was on the edge of the Purple Miasma Forest, an area rich in "Blood-Essence Grass." While not a primary ingredient for the Foundation Establishment Pill, a specimen of sufficient age could still be exchanged for significant contribution points.

Wen Buhuo did not act immediately. He found a massive tree and silently climbed thirty feet into the canopy. Hidden by the dense foliage, he observed the surroundings for a full hour. During this hour, he witnessed:

• Three groups of cultivators rushing past from different directions.

• Five emerald-green "Poison-Dart Frogs" leaping from the marsh to drag a passing deer-like spirit beast into the mud.

• Most importantly, a faint spiritual glow flickering about two hundred yards to the northeast—the sign of a maturing herb.

Once he confirmed the area was temporarily safe, Wen Buhuo slid down the trunk like a cat. He didn't rush directly toward the glow but chose a circuitous route, stopping every ten yards to listen and observe. Inside his sleeve, three "Vajra Talismans" were already half-activated; in his right palm, he held a "Fireball Technique" talisman.

The source of the light was a Blood-Essence Grass growing on a piece of rotting wood. Judging by its color and spiritual density, it was at least three hundred years old. Wen Buhuo felt a surge of joy.

But he did not rashly step forward. He stopped thirty yards away. It was too quiet—even the insects were silent. Wen Buhuo narrowed his eyes, his spiritual sense slowly sweeping the area. No beast aura, no formation fluctuations, but the shadow beneath the rotting wood seemed a shade darker than the rest.

Unperturbed, he pulled a palm-sized wooden puppet from his storage bag. This was a simple scouting puppet he had crafted during his leisure time tending the herb garden. While it had no combat capability, it was inexpensive.

The puppet wobbled toward the grass. Just as it reached five steps from the wood, a sudden change occurred! The shadow beneath the wood "stood up"—it wasn't a shadow, but a giant python perfectly camouflaged to match the rotting wood! The python, as thick as a water bucket, opened its maw and sprayed a cloud of dark green poisonous mist, instantly engulfing the puppet. The wood of the puppet rotted and disintegrated before his eyes.

"Rotting Wood Python!" Wen Buhuo’s pupils contracted. This was a peak Second-Tier spirit beast, equivalent to a cultivator at the Great Perfection of Qi Condensation. Its mist could corrode flesh and even low-grade dharma tools.

The python, having struck its target, immediately locked its cold vertical pupils onto Wen Buhuo’s hiding spot—it had discovered him long ago!

Wen Buhuo didn't hesitate. With a flick of his right hand, the pre-prepared "Fireball" talisman transformed into a basin-sized crimson orb, whistling toward the python's head. Simultaneously, he retreated rapidly, his left hand throwing out two "Ice Spear" talismans to block the python's pursuit.

The fireball exploded on the python's head, charring its scales but failing to deal a fatal blow. The python dodged two ice spears, while the third grazed its body, leaving a shallow bloody trail.

Enraged, the python’s massive body launched forward with incredible speed, its blood-red maw lunging for Wen Buhuo!

Cold light flashed in Wen Buhuo’s eyes—he didn't retreat; he advanced! At the moment the python was about to bite, his footwork shifted erringly—Smoke-Stepping Footwork! His figure became like mist, sliding past the python's jaws by a hair's breadth. Simultaneously, a golden light erupted from his sleeve!

"Golden Mother-Son Blades: Three Son Blades!"

Three golden flying knives shot out, precisely targeting the python's "seven-inch" heart-spot, its eyes, and the roof of its mouth! These were his highest-tier dharma tools. Though his cultivation limited their full power, their sharpness far exceeded ordinary weapons.

The python instinctively closed its eyes and retracted its neck. Two knives clanged off its scales, but the one aimed at its mouth slipped through the gap in its lips and buried itself deep into the soft tissue of the upper palate!

The python hissed in agony, thrashing its head wildly. Wen Buhuo seized the opportunity. He flicked his fingers, releasing five "Entangling Talismans." Upon hitting the ground, they transformed into tough vines that burst from the soil, tightly binding the python’s body.

The python struggled, snapping the vines inch by inch, but Wen Buhuo only needed that moment of restraint! He took a deep breath, pouring his spiritual power into the Mother Blade. The foot-long golden blade hovered before him, humming deeply as its light intensified.

"Cut!"

The Mother Blade turned into a streak of golden light, several times faster than the Son Blades, piercing straight into the python's open, screaming mouth!

Pfft!

The golden blade entered through the mouth, pierced the brain, and exited through the back of the head! The python's thrashing stopped abruptly. Its massive body crashed to the ground, twitching a few times before falling still.

Wen Buhuo panted as he recalled his dharma tools, his face slightly pale. This sequence of attacks seemed fluid, but it had consumed nearly thirty percent of his spiritual power and eight talismans. He didn't immediately take the herb. Instead, he waited another half-hour to confirm the python was truly dead and that there were no other ambushes.

He skillfully dissected the python, taking a green beast core the size of an egg and the gall, as well as the toughest scales and fangs. Only then did he carefully dig out the three-hundred-year-old Blood-Essence Grass and place it in a specialized jade box.

"A good start." Wen Buhuo stowed the box in his storage bag, a trace of a smile finally appearing on his lips. He didn't rest, however. He quickly moved away from the area—the battle had made quite a noise, and it wouldn't be long before other cultivators or beasts were drawn to the scent of blood.