Yang Yong breathed a sigh of relief.
Old Cao's condition looked perilous.
The Northeast Immortals had always been mysterious and unfathomable. Perhaps they really could save his life.
Before long, Hu Xian'er returned to the Farm Vehicle, a trace of satisfaction on her face.
Yang Yong grumbled inwardly at the sight.
It seemed Old Cao really did have some good stuff.
Even Hu Xian'er, that three-hundred-year-old spirit, felt she had come out ahead.
The convoy sped blindly through the darkness.
They drove for two full hours.
At last, Cao Xianming's voice came over the radio again, a little steadier now:
"Attention. Find somewhere for the convoy to rest first."
Under Cao Xianming's guidance, the convoy arrived beside a reservoir and parked directly on the dam.
This was only a temporary camp. Without needing to discuss it, everyone stayed in their vehicles and rested quietly.
The convoy assigned Transcendents to take turns keeping watch.
Yang Yong volunteered for watch duty.
Watch duty, he called it.
In truth, he sat cross-legged on the roof of his Farm Vehicle, eyes closed in cultivation, furiously absorbing the energy cast down by the Blood Moon.
As he cultivated, he recalled everything that had happened that night.
The Paper Craftsman Sequence.
Ou Lenzhang.
The Ancient House's curse.
The cost in lifespan.
The black-robed, scythe-wielding Eerie.
What exactly had been planted inside that old man?
It could actually strike back directly at Old Cao's divination from so far away.
This apocalyptic world truly held far too many secrets he knew nothing about.
Yang Yong gently stroked the Thousand-Hammer, Hundred-Refinement Furnace at his dantian.
The clanging of forging still rang from inside the furnace, day and night without pause.
What he wanted to know most now was-
*After all this time being forged, how much longer would the