Mostly the Same

The Ten-Thousand-Year Spirit Beasts in the surrounding region had been wiped out centuries ago by Spirit Hall-organized hunting squads. The occasional straggler would be discovered during regular patrols, then either killed or marked and assigned to noble youths who needed them.

Eighty li north stood Potou Mountain. Behind it lay a ravine called Soul-Severing Ravine, where legend claimed several big ones still remained. But no one dared go there, because it was private land—a hunting ground the Heaven Dou Empire had granted to some marquis. Trespassers would be treated as poachers.

Zhou Qiubai thanked the old hunter and turned back toward the main road, his face revealing no emotion.

They did not head north.

It was not that they feared trespassing into a marquis's hunting grounds. Rather, Yang Guyun's words had awakened Zhou Qiubai.

Their current condition was not suited for battle.

Although their injuries had healed on the surface, damage to muscles and bones took a hundred days to recover from. He could not claim to be fully healed. He had no desire to experience that feeling of every meridian in his body being hollowed out a second time.

Caution was not cowardice.

They had records of defeating stronger enemies, but every victory had depended on the perfect combination of timing, terrain, and circumstances.

In the battle against Tang Hao, if the four Title Douluo of Spirit Hall had not first exhausted more than half his strength, they would have been the ones to fall.

In the battle against Gray Shadow, if he had not comprehended the Soul Power Condensation Method at the last moment, the two of them would have been worn to death in the street long ago.

Luck would not stand on their side every time.

And even if they found a Ten-Thousand-Year Spirit Beast, if