Whew~, brothers and sisters, I need fire support! Just one more vote and I'll make the list! I'm eternally grateful! －－－－－－－－－－－－－－－ The late autumn wind carried a bone-chilling cold.

With agile hands and feet, Ye Qin grasped the rope and scrambled up the sheer cliff face. Before the sky turned completely black, he reached the summit and returned to his temporary shelter beneath a massive boulder atop the mountain.

On the summit, the night wind was piercing.

Ye Qin gathered some dry twigs and wild grass, struck a spark with flint, and built a small bonfire beneath the great stone. He set a small iron pot over the flames to boil some water for drinking. Illuminated by the firelight, he could clearly see that his coarse, cyan cloth clothes were torn in several places, leaving numerous cuts and scabs of hardened, dark blood across his arms and body.

Looking at his battered state, he managed another bitter smile, a trace of profound disappointment crossing his features.

A wave of exhaustion washed over him. But rest was impossible now. He cleaned his wounds, rummaged through his large medicinal herb basket, found a stalk of the lowest-grade Hemostasis Grass, chewed it, and smeared the pulp onto his cuts, wincing in pain.

After tending to himself, he reorganized his small herb basket, taking inventory of the day’s harvest. This accounting was the greatest reward for his day’s arduous labor, the happiest moment for him.

After Ye Qin finished sorting the herbs, he nearly burst out in a celebratory cheer on the spot.

The herbs he gathered from the cliffs today were easily worth over a hundred copper coins, equivalent to three or four days of normal foraging work. And that didn't even include the rare Small Green Grass he plucked from the edge of a rock outcropping. It seemed taking risks did have its rewards.

All the gathered herbs were categorized and placed into the large basket.

Finally, Ye Qin held the small green stalk. After being dug up, this little plant hadn't wilted like the others; it remained vibrant and tender. The single, crystal-clear bead of dew still clung to it, and it even emitted a faint, herbaceous fragrance that created a powerful urge within him to simply swallow it whole.

Ye Qin fiercely suppressed this urge, gazing at the plant with unwilling admiration, yet he couldn't ascertain its precise value, which brought a fresh wave of frustration. He supposed he would have to wait until he returned to the County Town's Herb Hall and asked the experienced Apothecaries inside to appraise it.

With meticulous care, he used a small leather pouch to carefully secure the roots of the little grass, complete with the clinging soil and root hairs.

Gulp.

Ye Qin rubbed his belly, realizing a pang of hunger.

He pulled out the gray egg nestled among his herbs and chuckled, pulling a mock-ferocious expression. He muttered inwardly, That damned flat-feathered beast—daring to catch me, nearly costing me my life! I’ll eat your egg.

He meticulously wiped the foul mud and dry leaves from the gray eggshell with his sleeve.

The shell of this gray egg was peculiar; it bore several faint markings, perhaps scratches left accidentally by a Gray Eagle, or perhaps some obscure, ancient inscriptions. Within the depths of these lines, a faint, unsettling purple glint occasionally flickered.

Unfortunately, Ye Qin’s stomach was nearly empty, and the mountain peak was pitch black. There was no time to dwell on any strangeness the egg might possess.

Ye Qin lightly tapped the egg against the edge of his pot. The shell immediately cracked along several fine fissures, yet it remained held together by a thin layer of inner membrane, not allowing a single drop of yolk to escape—a testament to the delicacy of his touch.

Ye Qin gently cracked the shell apart, peeling back a section. He poked through the membrane, brought the shell close to his mouth, tilted his head back, and sucked in sharply—Whoosh! The entire contents of the gray egg, both albumen and yolk, were swallowed in one gulp. He let out a small burp and then meticulously licked the entire shell, inside and out, leaving not a trace of the contents, even swallowing the membrane. When it came to food, he wasted absolutely nothing.

“Quite delicious; the eggs of those flat-feathered things taste rather good!”

He licked his lips, still unsatisfied.

Night had fallen. What Ye Qin failed to notice was that while the shell of the gray egg appeared ordinary, its contents radiated a faint, ethereal gray light, seeming both divine and illusory, as light as vapor yet as dense as a mountain. This stream flowed into his abdomen and vanished.

He casually tossed the clean eggshell near the bonfire.

Having eaten the egg, Ye Qin patted his stomach contentedly.

He spread some straw beneath the great boulder, extinguished the bonfire, and was just about to lie down when a tremendous surge of energy erupted within his lower abdomen, churning and boiling like a thousand-foot tidal wave in the sea. His small frame felt like a mere lake, utterly incapable of containing such a wild onslaught.

What was happening?

Ye Qin was greatly alarmed.

Had he ingested something poisonous?

Based on his years of studying herbalism, only consuming potent poison would cause such agonizing, knife-like pain in the gut.

But he hadn't eaten anything particularly unusual tonight.

Could it be that eagle egg?

Unlikely.

Whatever creature or venomous insect had laid the egg, it was almost certainly not poisonous. Eagle eggs certainly wouldn't be toxic; he had never heard of such a preposterous notion. Ruling out the egg, the only remaining possibility was that the shell had been coated with some highly toxic soil or residue that he failed to wipe off completely and had consumed along with the contents.

Ye Qin’s mind raced, instinctively analyzing every possibility.

The pain became almost unbearable. He crawled toward the large herb basket, intending to find some detoxification herbs. Although he didn't know the nature of the poison, the basket held numerous remedies for poison, along with herbs that could induce vomiting to expel the ingested toxins and lessen their potency.

But he couldn't make it. The pain was so intense he was nearly rolling on the ground, wanting only to scream out loud and release the monstrous surge within, lest he pass out from the agony.

I cannot panic. I cannot pass out. If I can’t detoxify in time, I’m dead!

Ye Qin clenched his jaw so hard it ached, desperately scrambling toward the location that mattered most in his mind—the large herb basket. He reached inside. For years, it was this very calmness and willpower for survival that kept him alive.

Using his last reserves of willpower, he managed to grasp a single herb, though he couldn't even see clearly what it was; he only knew he had to cram it into his mouth. But then, a powerful blast of energy slammed into his forehead. He let out a painful cry and lost consciousness.

It was not over.

Heat began to radiate from Ye Qin’s skin, and soon his entire body was enveloped in this white, steaming mist. His veins bulged violently, his face contorted in a mask of agony and ferocity. His meridians continuously swelled and contracted as a mysterious force rampaged through his body. His vital energy and blood boiled, and thin trickles of blood seeped from his five sensory orifices.

A vortex even began to form around him—a whirlwind that spun without wind, automatically drawing in dried wild grass, soil, broken stones, unburnt twigs from the bonfire, and even scattered embers that hadn't fully died out. Driven by the vortex, these elements danced, circling Ye Qin until they gradually encased him in a sealed cocoon of dried vegetation.

Ye Qin lay unconscious inside this sealed pupa, his hand still tightly gripping the tender, ethereal small grass.