While most cultivators were getting absolutely steamrolled, a group of monks moved effortlessly through Medicine King Valley.
"Bald donkey, give it up already!" Halfway up the mountain, a few oddly-shaped medicinal herbs burst out of the ground and launched sharp spiritual attacks.
Boom.
A low bell toll echoed across the valley.
A golden bell shimmered into existence, etched with swirling Sanskrit symbols that looked like swimming tadpoles. The aura it released was calm, unwavering, and impenetrable.
At the front of the group, Master Randel conjured the bell as a shield, effortlessly absorbing the incoming attacks. Then, with a composed motion, he raised a palm as clear as polished jade and glided forward, smacking down the herbs one after the other.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
The herbs crashed to the ground like they'd been hit by divine thunder, lifeless and twitching.
"Master Randel is incredible! With him leading the way, we're definitely returning with a haul!" One of the disciples dashed over, stuffing the defeated herbs into his storage pouch, eyes gleaming.
The monks of Hanging Temple looked at Master Randel as though he were a living Buddha.
When they first entered Medicine King Valley, anxiety was thick in the air.
Their cultivation had been suppressed to the Qi Refining stage, and the herbs they encountered were far too intelligent and dangerous—strong enough to toss them around like toys.
But all that panic had vanished thanks to Master Randel. With him at the helm, they'd breezed through the valley, cutting down dozens of sentient herbs along the way.
To the monks, it felt like a dream. Normally, finding even one decent herb outside required luck and timing. Yet here they were, barely into the valley, and already hauling in a small mountain of treasures. At this rate, they might even bag the legendary Medicine King itself.
"All thanks to Master Randel. Once we return, Hanging Temple will definitely reward us handsomely. This trip's been beyond worth it." The group of monks were all smiles, spirits soaring.
"Amitabha," Master Randel murmured, hands clasped together. A faint light passed through his eyes.
Internally, he was thrilled.
"All my preparation paid off. Last time, I was humiliated here. I was weak, exposed, and stomped on by those weeds. But now? I've returned to take what's mine."
The group pressed on.
Up ahead, they spotted a group of cultivators being publicly humiliated by animated herbs, forced into grotesque performances.
Among them were royal descendants, high-ranking elders from prestigious sects, and cultivators from noble families. Normally, these were people who commanded respect. Now, they were crawling in the dirt, eyes hollow, utterly defeated.
The monks from Hanging Temple couldn't help but shudder. They thanked the heavens they had Master Randel as their guide.
Master Randel's expression remained calm, though a flicker of emotion passed through his eyes. A hundred thousand years ago, he had been just like them—beaten, helpless, and humiliated in this very place.
But that was the past. Now, he had returned to reclaim his pride and crush everything that once stood in his way.
"Hey, check it out! A bunch of old bald donkeys! Get over here, boys, we're eating good today!" a nearby herb shouted gleefully.
"Arrogant fool!"
Master Randel raised his hand, and a massive golden palm appeared midair, crashing down with holy might. The herb exploded on impact, its medicinal scent instantly flooding the air.
"Hey! How dare you lay a finger on our noble medicine clan, you wrinkled old monk!" Several herbs nearby shouted, charging forward in rage.
Swish, swish, swish.
Energy blasted in all directions as the herbs unleashed every trick in their arsenal.
"Finally, saves me the time of hunting you down," Master Randel said coolly, stepping right into the chaos.
In a blink, he was surrounded.
Even so, with the golden bell shield protecting him, he moved like an unstoppable force, brushing off bizarre spiritual techniques and retaliating with brutal, precise strikes.
"This old bald guy's shell is tough!"
"Don't back down! We're the top dogs in Medicine King Valley!"
"Let's crush him!"
The herbs coordinated, channeling energy into a unified assault.
Soon, cracks began to spread across the golden bell. Within seconds, it shattered completely.
Seeing this, the herbs went wild. Their excitement surged—they thought they had him.
But Master Randel didn't panic. Instead, he smiled.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Light exploded outward. A figure emerged, unharmed, wrapped in a faint golden glow.
"What... what is that?" The herbs froze. This wasn't supposed to happen.
Master Randel's body was glowing with radiant energy, his skin shining like polished stone. He looked untouchable, as if no attack could ever land again.
From the smoke, his voice rang out, calm yet commanding.
"To deal with your kind, I spent centuries refining my body, enduring hardship, climbing sacred mountains, and training in obscure arts. I've forged my body into a weapon, leaving no weaknesses."
"Now, even at Qi Refining level, none of you can lay a finger on me."
He stepped forward, eyes glowing with the confidence of someone who had transcended limits.
Blow after blow landed. The herbs fell one by one.
The rest, overwhelmed with fear, scattered in retreat.
Nearby cultivators burst into cheers. Some collapsed, weeping, crawling forward to bow in gratitude.
"Master, thank you for saving us!"
"Your compassion is endless!"
"You're a living Buddha!"
Their words rang loud and clear.
Master Randel clasped his hands, faking a humble sigh. "It's what I must do."
The cultivators around him only became more reverent, treating him like a divine being.
The Hanging Temple disciples looked around proudly. This was their moment.
Master Randel let out a dry cough, and immediately his disciples got the hint—scrambling to collect the herbs on the ground and stash them away.
These were the real prizes.
Beneath his saintly facade, Master Randel was already smirking inside.
He wasn't here for prayers. He was here for the herbs.
"Master, please let us follow you! We'll do anything, just don't leave us behind," one cultivator pleaded, terrified of ending up back in the herbs' hands.
Master Randel nodded gently. "Amitabha. I understand. Come, walk with me. You'll be safe under my guidance."
Tears flowed from the crowd.
They praised him endlessly, lifting him up with compliments that nearly outshone the Buddha himself.
Master Randel appeared serene, but inwardly, he was giddy. Fame, fortune, reverence—it was all lining up perfectly.
"Amitabha," he said once more, this time with steel in his voice. "I'd like to see what else in this valley thinks it can challenge me."
With that, he led the group deeper into the valley, radiating confidence and hunger for whatever lay ahead.
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My apologies for not uploading this past few days.