Chapter 138

"Before I even get a chance to strut around, some big-shot will probably pop out of nowhere, kill me, and snatch away my immortal iron puppet. You're not helping me—you're digging my grave!"

It was obvious: Hei Feng was just spewing nonsense. Not a single word could be trusted.

“Come on now, kid, don’t be so pessimistic. Try to be a little more optimistic, will you?” Hei Feng launched into his usual sales pitch. “What if a big-shot takes a liking to you and accepts you as their disciple? Wouldn’t that be amazing? Why waste your time in this backwater when you could be in the Imperial Capital—or better yet, a Super Immortal Dynasty? That’s where real glory lies!”

Han Luo remained unmoved. “Cut the crap. However much so-called ‘immortal iron’ you’ve got, hand it all over.”

Though the first few samples Hei Feng provided weren’t actually immortal iron, Han Luo had discovered—after testing them—that they were still extremely tough spirit iron. The only reason they’d gone unnoticed was their complete lack of spiritual essence.

“I swear, that was all of it,” Hei Feng insisted, blinking innocently.

Han Luo didn’t believe a word of it. He raised his hand, and thunder rumbled overhead.

“Hey—what are you doing now?” Hei Feng’s feathers fluffed up defensively. The sound of thunder alone was enough to send him into panic.

“How many pieces do you really have?” Han Luo asked, his tone cold.

“One? Two? Three?”

Cornered by lightning and intimidation, Hei Feng finally surrendered—spitting out three more chunks of the so-called immortal iron. As expected, he’d tampered with them too, spitting on each and coating them with long-lost, highly toxic poisons.

With a total of five pieces surrendered, Hei Feng looked like he was about to cry. His smoke-colored eye rings even turned red.

“Kid, let’s sign a contract,” he suddenly suggested, as if hit by a bolt of divine inspiration.

Han Luo blinked. That was not the turn he expected.

Hei Feng continued, “This is called knowing when to fold. I believe in following the strong to survive. You’ve got potential. Let’s make it official.”

He didn’t know exactly who Han Luo was, but his strange colorless qi—capable of converting into any type—was rare beyond belief. Hei Feng figured there was a chance Han Luo could even help him rebuild his shattered foundation and return to the path of cultivation.

Otherwise, even if the Heavenly Emperor himself showed up, Hei Feng wouldn’t sign a contract with anyone.

Han Luo hesitated, so Hei Feng pressed on.

“Relax, kid. Once we’re bound, I’ll teach you divine techniques. You’ll be second only to the heavens in all the Eastern Domain.”

Han Luo raised an eyebrow. “You? The master?”

“Who else?” Hei Feng looked absolutely serious. “Don’t think you can keep me bound forever.”

As if to prove it, Hei Feng released a surge of spiritual energy and shattered the Heaven-Binding Chains.

“See? Easy.”

“Oh really?” Han Luo smiled faintly.

The next instant, the mirror world darkened and storms surged. Within this world, Han Luo was practically the Dao itself. Add to that the power of the Ten Directions Realm, and he didn’t even fear a Golden Core cultivator.

Ten minutes later...

“Okay, okay! You could’ve just said you wanted to be the master. Why beat a chicken, huh? Don’t you know poultry abuse is illegal?”

Hei Feng was black and blue, squawking in pain and outrage. Deep down, he was furious. Had he been at full strength, this brat would’ve been on his knees begging for mercy.

Han Luo crossed his arms. “Tell me the truth. You want to sign the contract because my qi can help heal your injuries, right?”

He saw through Hei Feng immediately. This so-called powerful spirit beast had once devoured the essence of a ten-thousand-year-old Nether Tree and yet was only at the Foundation Establishment mid-stage. Clearly, his injuries hadn’t healed.

“You-you-you… what are you talking about?” Hei Feng stammered, feigning innocence. “How could you suspect the sincerity of such an earnest rooster?”

It was written all over his face—you got me.

Han Luo nodded slowly. This contract might actually be worth it. Hei Feng might be unreliable, but he definitely wouldn’t dare defy the Dao Oath. If he were truly that capable, Han Luo would’ve been dead by now instead of wasting words.

“So what’s in it for me if I sign?” Han Luo asked.

“I won’t tell anyone your secrets.”

“If I kill you, there’ll be no one left to tell.”

“Whoa there, kid. Don’t overestimate yourself. You think you can refine me?” Hei Feng scoffed.

“Let’s find out.”

Han Luo formed a hand seal and summoned a scarlet flame—a wisp of the legendary Red Talon Divine Flame—and hurled it at Hei Feng.

To his surprise, the flame didn’t even singe a feather.

“Ha! Think you can burn me? Even the ancestor of a Grand Luo Golden Immortal couldn’t melt a single feather of mine. My plumage is tougher than high-grade immortal iron!”

If arrogance were a crime, Hei Feng would be serving a life sentence.

“Immortal-grade feathers, you say?” Han Luo narrowed his eyes, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“Wait, hold on, I didn’t mean that! You definitely misheard me! Hey—what are you doing?! Stop! I’m a rooster, not a hen!”

Han Luo moved swiftly, stripping all of Hei Feng’s feathers and leaving behind a shiny, bare chicken.

“Y-You’ve insulted my dignity! Violated my personal rights! This is an outrage!” Hei Feng squawked, shielding himself with his wings like a scandalized maiden.

Unfazed, Han Luo pulled out a pre-prepared master-servant contract.

“Ten thousand years. Take it or leave it. If you say no, I’ll lock you up, cut off your access to the Nether Tree, and you’ll slowly rot to death. Then I’ll dissect your corpse—eat the edible parts, refine the rest into pills, and toss what’s left into a latrine. Either way, you’ll be of use.”

Han Luo wasn’t bluffing. He was dead serious when it came to threats.

“Ten thousand years?!” Hei Feng exclaimed. “You think you’ll live that long? Even Grand Luo Immortals don’t live that long!”

“Three seconds,” Han Luo replied coolly, conjuring a tiny sealed realm. “After that, this hut becomes your eternal prison.”

“Three—”

“I’ll sign!” Hei Feng shouted, practically tripping over himself to get to the contract.

Truth be told, he’d already resigned himself to death. Without the Nether Tree, he’d waste away sooner or later. This brat might be his only chance at survival—or even rebuilding his cultivation.

Once the contract was signed, Han Luo’s understanding of Hei Feng deepened. He immediately sensed the terrifying power of Hei Feng’s soul. If this chicken had launched a spiritual attack earlier, even with the bronze mirror’s protection, Han Luo would’ve been gravely—possibly permanently—injured.

Of course, he’d come prepared.

Han Luo’s true body had never stepped into the mirror world. What Hei Feng saw and interacted with was merely a clone, powered by a substitute charm. Even the contract was forged to bind with a clone—it didn’t need his real presence to take effect.

After everything was settled, the two returned to the outside world.

The moment they emerged...

“HAHAHAHA! Cultivation world! Your Hei Feng Daddy is back!” Hei Feng flapped proudly—until he choked on his own laugh.

Han Luo simply rolled his eyes—and promptly smacked him back into silence.