Chapter 936: Mixing Up the Bonus

The moment he stepped out of the portal, Cui Yu shut his eyes against the blindingly intense sunlight.

Wei Yuan, by contrast, felt every microscopic particle of his flesh and blood sighing with comfort. Here, the wind was gentle, the sunlight warm, every rock sang a song and smiled at Wei Yuan, even as if longing to leap into his arms.

Wei Yuan was greatly puzzled. When he left, the Wasteland had not been like this—had the return of the Molten Dragon’s body to the heavens caused such a drastic transformation? But if the Wasteland had become like this, how could one still refine the body?

At that moment, a groan came from beside him; Cui Yu’s voice was hoarse: “I can’t take it anymore—can we find some shade quickly…?”

Wei Yuan turned and saw Cui Yu’s face flushed crimson, white steam rising from his scalp, his gaze dulled by the scorching heat. In just a few breaths, Cui Yu was nearly fainting from the sun.

Only then did Wei Yuan recall how he himself had been unable to endure the sun shortly after entering the Wasteland. Cui Yu’s physical body was far weaker than his own had been then—he couldn’t last even a few breaths. It seemed the sun’s power in the Wasteland hadn’t changed at all; he himself had simply grown stronger.

Wei Yuan first swept his spiritual sense around him, and discovered to his surprise that its range was vastly expanded—it now encompassed everything within three thousand li!

After scanning, he saw the surroundings were barren, with no fortresses, outposts, or Flame Demons. Relieved, he carried Cui Yu to the shadow of a stone platform and tore off slabs of rock with his bare hands, shaping them carefully.

Cui Yu, seeing Wei Yuan rip through rock as if it were tofu, tried to help—but when he reached out to grab, the rock wall didn’t budge. He grabbed again—still not a single inch moved.

Cui Yu refused to believe it. He summoned every ounce of strength and spiritual power, straining with all his might—and his fingers bled profusely, while the rock remained utterly unmoved, as if mocking him.

Wei Yuan, slicing the rock slabs into paper-thin sheets with his hands, said: “The rocks here are nearly as hard as Divine Artifacts. You can’t move them.”

Cui Yu finally gave up. As for why Wei Yuan could tear them so easily—he didn’t even bother to ask. He knew Wei Yuan well enough: soon enough, Wei Yuan would tell him himself. If Wei Yuan didn’t mention this, he’d surely find something else to boast about.

In moments, Wei Yuan had built a sunshade from the newly cut materials, adjusting the amount of sunlight filtering through with thin stone sheets, then gestured for Cui Yu to lie beneath it and record the internal changes in his body, to submit the data to Human Smoke later for gradual analysis.

The Wasteland’s sunlight could penetrate straight through organs and viscera—strangely miraculous. Cui Yu gritted his teeth, enduring the sensation of constant micro-scale destruction and regeneration.

Suddenly, Cui Yu noticed his magic robe and armor were decaying at an alarming rate. Startled, he leapt up, frantically stripped it off, and laid it beneath him before lying down again. This gear was expensive, acquired only through family support—if it was ruined here, replacing it would hurt deeply.

Wei Yuan wasn’t particularly concerned about his own robe; the Wasteland was far gentler toward him now. Still, he casually shed his robe, basking in the sunlight as he sifted through the earth, searching for natural Wasteland iron ore to take back.

Cui Yu tried practicing the technique. As each sound escaped his lips, his blood qi surged, his vitality visibly strengthened, and the sun’s destructive force lessened somewhat.

What Wei Yuan taught him wasn’t just a single note, but dozens of varying pitches combined. After finishing the lesson, Wei Yuan simply strung them together, added lyrics, and bellowed: “We cultivators…”

Cui Yu followed, shouting along. Though he felt absurdly embarrassed, there was no one else around—he didn’t need to care. The moment he shouted, his blood qi and vitality surged rapidly, and the suffering gradually became bearable.

Wei Yuan let Cui Yu sunbathe while he himself wandered nearby, sifting through the soil, picking out natural Wasteland iron ore to take back.

Suddenly, Wei Yuan spotted a stone slab on the ground, as large as a washbasin, radiating an ancient, primordial aura—he didn’t know what rare ore it was, but anything that stood out in the Wasteland was invariably top-tier.

Wei Yuan rejoiced and immediately walked over, grasping the stone and pulling—but it was rooted as if grown into the earth, utterly immovable.

Only then did Wei Yuan realize something was wrong. Beneath the stone, the soil and rock suddenly turned to fine sand, sliding away on both sides, revealing a tubular tendril.

Wei Yuan followed the tendril upward—and saw, over ten zhang away, a massive eye opening upon it, blinking at him.

Wei Yuan instantly relaxed, grumbling: “Lord Nine Eyes, are you here to kill me? I wasn’t killed, but you nearly scared me to death!”

Nine Eyes said: “How bold of you to sneak back into the Wasteland! Don’t you fear I’ll capture you and claim the reward?”

Wei Yuan paid no mind: “The Molten Dragon still holds you in high regard. You wouldn’t do something like this.”

Nine Eyes immediately perked up: “How exactly did the Molten Dragon praise me? Tell me every detail!”

Wei Yuan was embarrassed—he had no idea how the Molten Dragon had evaluated Nine Eyes. But he knew that the stronger one became, the more one cared about the opinions of other supreme experts. So he’d taken a guess—and it worked.

After a pause, Wei Yuan said: “The Molten Dragon said… you still carry the spirit of the Ancient Witch within you…”