"Squeak, why aren't they farming?"
The monkey squatted atop a smooth stone at the edge of the field, shading his eyes as he watched. Curious, he wondered why those rogue immortals on the distant hillside were fighting to the death instead of doing something meaningful. The trees had all been burned down; if it rained, a landslide would surely bury the farmland.
With practiced ease, he pulled out the long-seasoned dry tobacco pipe tucked at the back of his waist.
He packed in the tobacco leaves and carefully pressed them down twice with his fingers.
Snap~
He struck a spark to light the tobacco, took a gentle puff, and stared at the thriving fields with a foolish grin. His ugly, crooked face looked even uglier.
"The harvest will definitely be good. Good fertilizer makes crops grow well."
He blew out a smoke ring, picked the dirt from between his toes, and considered whether he should weave himself a pair of straw sandals.
Those corpses had originally bred resentment, especially the Immortal Corpse. But the Killing Intent accumulated by a certain monkey over countless years was even more terrifying. The slightest hint of it scattered the resentment. Wasteland became fertile fields, and once the crops ripened, he would no longer need to gnaw on grass roots and branches. Unfortunately, Bai Moulong would never get to eat any of it.
Puffing away at his dry tobacco pipe, he watched spells and weapons fly back and forth through the sky overhead...
"Squeak, all top-grade fertilizer. Demon horns can be turned into plowshares too, and there'll even be scraps left over."
Squatting at the field's edge, watching the excitement and spacing out, he unknowingly finished his tobacco.
He knocked the pipe twice against the sole of his foot and tucked it back into his