Qin Yang did not know what state the divine tree was currently in, nor did he know exactly how Twelve had sweet-talked it.
In any case, Qin Yang's only impression of the divine tree now was that its spirituality had increased tremendously. Was it about to develop self-awareness?
As for whether the divine tree could turn back into immortal grass again, Qin Yang had never considered the possibility of success.
At least, before he died, he truly had never considered it.
The nurturing, growth, and maturation of immortal grass—every step was as difficult as ascending to heaven.
Just look at Tai Hao, a dignified Heavenly Emperor. To cultivate a single stalk of immortal grass, consider how much effort and how many years he had spent before he finally succeeded through a fortunate coincidence, and one would roughly understand.
Therefore, Qin Yang had never considered how to squeeze the Wood Spirit dry and make the little fellow help him cultivate immortal grass.
That so-called legend that Wood Spirits could cultivate immortal grass, Qin Yang reckoned, probably only increased the success rate from one in a trillion by a hundredfold or so.
Or perhaps it increased it by a thousandfold, turning it into one in a billion.
Better forget it. There was no point hoping for it. He might as well cultivate properly himself and let the little fellow play however it pleased.
With that in mind, let alone an immortal grass that had grown crooked—even wanting to turn it back to how it had been would be harder still.
After all, Qin Yang had never seen a fully grown crooked-necked tree straighten itself out again.
That was what he thought, but he could not say it aloud and pour cold water over it.
Now that the divine tree was so cooperative,