This left Wenlong confused as well. What this society had no record of, his ancestors had recorded-but it sounded like mythology.
He stood up and set the matter aside for now. It had been a long time since he had checked the crack in the rock where the spirit spring flowed out.
Taking the chance to unwind, he walked toward the crack. Even from a distance, the white stood out vividly against the black rock.
Delighted, Wenlong quickly took out a clay pot and carefully collected the spirit water. He could give it to his little brother later. Even if it could not awaken his talent, extending his lifespan would be good enough.
He put away the clay pot, feeling pleased as could be. This really was good stuff; he had already tested it himself.
This time, he did not end his seclusion. Instead, he headed toward the place where he had first fallen from the mountain.
The mountain wind still howled past. Wenlong leaned out for a look. Below the cliff lay the same vast expanse of white, its depths impossible to see.
He saw vines as thick as his arm growing along the rock face, stretching all the way down the cliff.
Wenlong thought about exploring below. He had been in seclusion for so long, yet the alarm bell had never rung, which meant nothing major had happened in the clan. He decided to get to the bottom of what lay beneath the cliff.
He was confident. With his current abilities, descending the cliff should pose no difficulty.
Wenlong gripped a vine and slid down. When he reached the end of its length, he caught another and continued his descent.
Back in Wen Family Village, Wen Tiancheng had long since emerged from seclusion. Unlike Wenlong, he had no