“Yikes!” Bai Shuo made a final jump, landing on solid ground. She patted her chest in relief. “Finally here.”
Bai Shuo tightened the medicine pouch around her waist and glanced back at the sea. Strangely, the once clear blue sky had suddenly darkened, and the island was enveloped in a heavy silence.
“Why’s it so quiet?” She felt a chill, and just then, a few crows flew overhead, cawing. Bai Shuo rolled her eyes. “Of course, it’s a deserted island. What sound would there be?”
Muttering, she turned and began making her way toward the island’s depths.
While most islands in the Eastern Sea were lush and green due to the abundant spiritual energy, this island was barren, filled with yellow soil and rocks. Not a single blade of grass grew here. If anything made this island special, it was that three years ago, she and Chong Zhao had discovered Master Song He here.
Miao Miao Island was no longer as powerful as it once was, but Song He had been an Upper Lord for five hundred years. Yet three years ago, he was found gravely injured and unconscious on this island, and after his return, he refused to speak about who had attacked him—a mystery in itself.
Bai Shuo pulled out the book she’d secretly taken from the library and opened it to the last page.
"South of Miao Miao, a celestial fire descended, burning the island and destroying all life. Only a single spring remains in the southeast of the island, now untouched for more than ten years."
This passage wasn’t part of the original text but had been written by someone’s hand. Bai Shuo, having spent years quietly studying notes in the library, recognized the handwriting as Song He’s. If this island had indeed been burned and left barren, why had Song He come here three years ago? And what was the spring he’d marked?
The old turtle, Miao Miao Island’s alchemist, might be a spirit beast and never allowed into the inner hall, but it continuously provided disciples with foundation-building elixirs, earning the respect of past Sect Leaders. It was quite influential on the island. If there had been a grade-one treasure here, it would have likely already been used for alchemy. But when Bai Shuo questioned it, she could tell the old turtle knew something about the location of a grade-one treasure.
Several years back, Sect Leader Song Feng had foreseen his third heavenly tribulation approaching. If he survived, he’d enter the final stage of the Upper Lord realm; if he failed, he’d turn to dust under the tribulation. He had long since reached a bottleneck in his cultivation, and his only hope of surviving the tribulation was to take a grade-one immortal pill. Three years ago, on the eve of his tribulation, he had come to this island. Perhaps he was searching for something he needed.
Bai Shuo tucked the book back into her medicine pouch, trudging across the burning hot yellow soil, sweating profusely. Though the fire on this island had been extinguished years ago, the ground remained searing hot, as though flames still smoldered beneath it.
Following the directions in the book, Bai Shuo moved toward the southeastern part of the island, going deeper and deeper into the rocks. Suddenly, she stopped, staring in shock. About ten steps ahead, there was a forest densely packed with trees that hadn’t been there three years ago. These trees were hidden deep within the island, nearly impossible to spot from the outside.
Given the island’s intense heat, how could trees grow here? Could it be due to that spring? Curious, Bai Shuo dashed toward the trees, and the moment she stepped into the forest, a faint celestial light flickered around the perimeter.
Back at Miao Miao Island, in a small chamber behind the main hall, Song Feng’s eyes snapped open.
“How could anyone have entered that place?”
Song Feng furrowed his brow, transforming into a streak of light as he flew toward the island where Bai Shuo was.
On the desolate island, Bai Shuo wandered aimlessly through the forest, unsure of where the spring was located within the vast trees. Suddenly, she heard rustling behind her and spun around, only to find nothing there—just branches swaying in the wind.
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