With the jade pendant in hand, Zuo Mo safely arrived at the entrance of Cold Mist Valley.

  The entrance was shrouded in thick, white mist.

  After hesitating for a long time, Zuo Mo couldn’t find any other path and had no choice but to brace himself and walk into the mist.

  As soon as he entered the mist, it seemed to recognize him, parting automatically to reveal a small path. He felt a surge of relief and couldn’t help but admire the sect’s methods. If only he could possess such abilities one day, it would be a dream come true.

  Lost in his reverie, he followed the path through the mist for about half a mile before the scenery suddenly opened up before him.

  The valley floor, about five acres in size, was filled with various spirit herbs. They came in all colors and shapes, creating a vibrant carpet that stretched across the valley. Dozens of colorful swallowtail butterflies fluttered among the herbs, while black-striped yellow bees buzzed around in groups.

  At the far end of the valley, a silver waterfall cascaded down the cliff face with a thunderous roar, crashing into a deep pool and sending up a spray of sparkling water droplets.

  The mist from the waterfall mingled with the fragrance of the spirit herbs, and as Zuo Mo took a deep breath, he felt an indescribable sense of comfort. He suddenly thought that tending to the herb garden might not be as bad as he had imagined.

  Remembering Hao Min’s instruction to summon rain once a day, Zuo Mo quickly began to perform the hand seals for the "Minor Cloud and Rain Technique."

  Moisture from the surroundings gathered visibly, forming a white cloud that floated above the herb garden. Zuo Mo’s hands moved swiftly through a series of complex seals, and soon, a light rain began to fall, nourishing the herbs.

  The rain lasted for about half an hour before the cloud dissipated. Zuo Mo let out a sigh of relief. The abundant moisture in the valley made the technique easier to perform. He began to calculate in his mind that, with some extra effort, he might still be able to fulfill the agreements he had made with his fellow disciples.

  Now, all he could do was pray that nothing would go wrong with the herb garden, and that it would remain safe until Senior Sister Hao Min returned.

  Any mishap would be beyond his ability to handle.

  If he had harbored any illusions before, he now fully understood the harsh reality. He was highly sensitive to spiritual energy, and the concentration of spiritual energy in Cold Mist Valley was exceptionally dense. Such a precious location, cultivated into an herb garden, undoubtedly housed high-grade spirit herbs.

  If anything were to go wrong under his watch, the consequences would be dire...

  He shuddered at the thought.

  Although the path to the valley was heavily guarded with formations, the valley itself had none. Zuo Mo explored every corner of the valley. The pool was deep and icy cold, and the roar of the waterfall echoed throughout the valley.

  He crouched in the herb garden, carefully examining each plant, committing their characteristics to memory. He had only ever grown spirit grains and knew nothing about spirit herbs, so this was the only method he could think of. He no longer hoped for any rewards; he just wanted to avoid any mistakes.

  Any single herb here was worth more than he could ever afford.

  He could guarantee that he had never been so meticulous in his life.

  By the time the sky began to darken, he dragged his exhausted body back to his courtyard. When he saw the wreckage of the formations around his courtyard, he felt like crying.

  But he was too tired to set up new formations. He was utterly spent, barely able to keep his eyes open.

  Back in the quiet room, he managed to infuse a tiny bit of spiritual energy into the Sound Gui before collapsing onto the meditation cushion and falling into a deep sleep.

  He woke up to the sound of the Sound Gui playing.

  "The selection for the 23rd Qualification Tournament has been completed. So far, 4,253 sword cultivators have qualified. The rewards for this tournament are the richest in history. The top 100 will receive fourth-grade flying swords, while the top 10 will receive fifth-grade flying swords. The first-place prize has been confirmed: the 'Seven Star Sword,' a seventh-grade flying sword. It is reported that this sword, the highest grade in history, has attracted the interest of disciples from major sects such as the Wushuang Sword Sect and the Suoluo Sword Sect..."

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  "Such a good thing, I want it, I want it, but I have no chance, no chance..."

  Zuo Mo got up from the cushion, humming a strange tune.

  He walked out of the quiet room and began to set up new formations. As for the walls, he would have to rebuild them later.

  The scattered debris from the destroyed walls had to be cleared away before he could set up the formations. At the seventh level of Qi Refinement, setting up formations required many restrictions.

  Humming, he cleared the rubble. The courtyard had been built many years ago, and the walls were old and dilapidated. Now, they had been completely destroyed by Senior Brother Luo Li. Thinking of Luo Li’s domineering presence when he descended from the sky, Zuo Mo still felt a pang of fear.

  Suddenly, Zuo Mo stopped and bent down to pick something up.

  It was a small pink paper crane, much smaller and more delicate than his white paper crane. This was a "Little Thousand Crane," used for sending messages. However, it was slower than flying swords, especially over long distances, making it inconvenient. Thus, it was mostly used by cultivators below the Golden Core stage.

  How did it end up here?

  Zuo Mo unceremoniously unfolded the pink crane and immediately understood—it was a "Wishing Crane."

  Long ago, when cultivators ventured into the void to explore new realms, they often encountered dangers and became trapped. When they realized they couldn’t escape, they would write their wishes and pleas for help on a Little Thousand Crane and release it into the wind. Without any identifying marks, no one knew where these cranes would end up. But cultivators had long lifespans, and if they were lucky, they could survive for quite some time.

  After the first instance of a cultivator being rescued because of a Wishing Crane, the practice became popular in the cultivation world. Over time, it became a game for some female cultivators to write their feelings on a Wishing Crane and release it, leaving a mark so that whoever found it could send it back to them.

  What could be more thrilling for a young girl than the unpredictable and mysterious fate of a Wishing Crane?

  Zuo Mo couldn’t understand such behavior. In his mind, there was only spirit stones, spirit grains, and cultivation. Romantic notions were a luxury he couldn’t afford.

  Unfolding the crane, he saw several lines of delicate handwriting.

  "How I wish

  To carry a backpack

  And wander alone

  In a place without people

  Humming a song

  Basking in the sun"

  "Melancholy nonsense," Zuo Mo sneered in his heart, giving it the most accurate description he could think of. What a waste of such fine paper. Although he didn’t know what kind of paper it was, judging by its texture, it was at least third-grade.

  Using third-grade paper to make a Wishing Crane was an outrageous waste.

  Once used, the paper couldn’t be reused again, which was a pity, Zuo Mo thought.

  Just as he was about to crumple the pink paper into a ball, he suddenly stopped, tilting his head expressionlessly. After a moment’s thought, he ran back into the house.

  He quickly found what he was looking for: thick, red cinnabar and a wolf-hair brush.

  Picking up the brush, he dipped it in the cinnabar and with a flick of his wrist, wrote two characters in one fluid motion.

  —"Idiot."

  Looking at the two bold, crimson characters that almost filled the entire sheet of paper, Zuo Mo burst into laughter, feeling immensely pleased with himself.

  His life was busy and demanding, leaving him no time for sentimentality. He understood the hardships of survival. Everyone around him was struggling to live, to support their families, and to secure a future for the next generation, like Old Black Head. Though life was hard and tiring, he didn’t dislike it. On the contrary, he felt that this was what life was all about.

  Melancholy nonsense was for those who lived leisurely and lacked motivation. Zuo Mo despised such people from the bottom of his heart.

  In a cheerful mood, he hummed a tune as he folded the pink paper back into a crane.

  "Who’s the idiot? Who’s the idiot? You’re the idiot! You’re the idiot!"

  The crane bore the mark of its owner. After infusing it with spiritual energy, Zuo Mo tossed it into the air.

  The pink crane flapped its tiny wings and disappeared into the sky.

  Zuo Mo’s mood improved remarkably. He energetically cleaned up the courtyard, his steps light and almost buoyant.

  By the time he finished setting up the formations, it was already past noon. He hastily ate something and then obediently went to the quiet room to meditate.

  Most outer disciples didn’t spend much time meditating, as it was less cost-effective compared to practicing techniques.

  But Zuo Mo insisted on spending two hours a day meditating. After discovering the spirit vein in the quiet room, he spent even more time meditating. Cultivation was the foundation, a truth every cultivator understood. With the advantage of the spirit vein, even though he practiced the most basic cultivation technique, the results were quite impressive.

  He had a deep understanding of the strict hierarchy in the cultivation world. If he could reach Foundation Establishment, even as an outer disciple, Hao Min and Luo Li wouldn’t dare treat him so dismissively. Foundation Establishment was a watershed moment that directly determined one’s quality of life.

  To achieve a better life, one had to continuously improve their strength.

  He meditated for three hours, and when he opened his eyes, they were filled with joy.

  The eighth level of Qi Refinement!

  His persistent cultivation had finally paid off—he had reached the eighth level!

  Among all the outer disciples of the Wukong Sword Sect, his eighth-level Qi Refinement cultivation would undoubtedly place him in the top three.

  He extended his finger, silently activating the "Metal Edge Technique." A faint layer of Gengjin Qi Blade appeared around his finger. With his cultivation level increased, the technique felt much easier to use. Excited, Zuo Mo began to practice the "Minor Cloud and Rain Technique."

  As soon as he started, he noticed the difference. The moisture gathered much faster than before, and the rain fell in continuous silver threads. He savored these new sensations for a long time.

  Suddenly remembering the herb garden, he snapped out of his reverie and rushed out of the courtyard.

  He ran all the way to Cold Mist Valley, barely catching his breath before he began to summon rain. Only after he had finished watering the entire garden did the weight in his heart finally lift.