Squinting slightly, the Monkey King could sense a faint spiritual energy from this blade of grass—pure spiritual energy, not demon qi.
This detail surprised him a little.
This should be a blade of grass on the verge of becoming a grass spirit—so why did he sense spiritual energy instead of demon qi?
Plant demons are rare to begin with. For an old tree demon, it usually takes over a thousand years to complete its transformation—a truly long process.
Grass has a lifespan far shorter than trees, yet the time required for transformation is nearly the same. As a result, most plant demons encountered are tree demons; as for grass spirits, they are almost unheard of.
"How long have you been here? You know I’ve been here before, so you must have stayed here for at least a dozen years, right?"
"A dozen years, a dozen years..." Little Grass gently swayed her emerald leaves. "Has it really been that long? I suppose so. You were so small the last time you came in."
Reaching out to touch the damp stone, the Monkey King swept his gaze around in the faint light filtering through the waterfall outside. "Is it just you here? How did you end up in this place? Even at noon there’s only a little light—if any grass seeds landed here, they shouldn’t have sprouted at all, right?"
Little Grass’s leaves drooped as if in thought. After a long pause, she answered, "I don’t know. I feel like I’ve always been here."
"What did you mean when you told me not to go in just now? What’s inside?"
"I don’t know."
"You don’t know, yet you tell me not to go in?"
Little Grass fell silent.
"Has anyone lived inside before?"
"Yes. There used to be an immortal living inside. He often talked with me, but after he left, he never came back. It’s not right to trespass in someone else’s home."
"How long ago was that?" The Monkey King realized after asking that it was a foolish question—this grass spirit clearly had no concept of time.
Little Grass slowly lowered her leaves.
Turning away, the Monkey King stepped deeper into the darkness.
"Don’t go in!" The grass spirit called out, shaking her leaves.
The Monkey King turned back and pointed to the ground. "I am the king of Blossom Mountain now. King, do you understand? All of this is mine. I go wherever I wish."
Ignoring Little Grass’s protests, he walked deeper inside, slowly closing his eyes and then opening them again—his pupils now emitting a faint glow.
Everything in the darkness was laid bare before his eyes.
This body’s aptitude truly is extraordinary.
In the process of cultivating immortality, many techniques have cultivation requirements—without reaching the necessary level, learning them is pointless. The Seventy-Two Transformations and Cloud Vault are examples. But even reaching the required level doesn’t guarantee mastery.
Aptitude is crucial here. The clearest example is the celestial generals. The Heavenly Army is not like the demons on earth; acquiring techniques isn’t difficult, but mastering them is another matter.
That’s why many humans prefer to cultivate the Sage’s Path. The Traveler’s Path demands true aptitude—if you lack it, no amount of elixirs or time will make up the difference. On the Sage’s Path, even if you can’t master the techniques, you can use formations and sigils to achieve similar effects.
The Monkey King’s body was clearly at the highest level of aptitude. He mastered the basics of the Seventy-Two Transformations in just two months. Now, he could wield various techniques with ease, though his cultivation still limited his full use of the Seventy-Two Transformations.
But it won’t be much longer—give it another year. In just a year, he should reach the Spirit-Refinement Stage. Beyond that, unless the technique requires Celestial Sage level or higher, there are no real restrictions.
As he walked, in just a dozen yards, he discovered three powerful defensive arrays. Yet all three had nearly exhausted their spiritual energy due to age, and he dispelled them with a casual gesture.
He couldn’t help but feel fortunate. If, back when he first arrived in this world, he had blindly trusted that Journey to the West book and rushed inside, he might never have made it out.
But then again, if he’d had the thought to go deeper back then, Little Grass probably would have stopped him.
As he continued inward, the cave gradually widened. At the end of the tunnel, he saw a stone bridge with a rushing stream beneath it. Across the bridge lay a vast chamber, where two rows of decayed brazier stands could be seen in the distance. The smooth floor bore marks of blades and axes, and at the center stood a throne, surrounded by branching tunnels.
Dim and damp.
It didn’t look like the dwelling of an immortal at all—more like a demon’s lair.
And it was clear that quite a few demons had once lived here—a fairly powerful demon force, by the looks of it.
The Monkey King searched the entire cave, and actually found a stone tablet inscribed with: “Blossom Mountain Blessed Land, Cascade Cave Paradise.” But aside from this and a dozen abandoned simple arrays, there was nothing else.
There weren’t even any traces of battle.
It seemed the demon force that once lived here wasn’t wiped out—they’d simply migrated.
Standing dazed in the cave, staring up at the ceiling three or four stories high, the Monkey King glanced down at the stone tablet again.
“Blossom Mountain Blessed Land, Cascade Cave Paradise… Wait, didn’t Journey to the West say this was written in regular script? Why is it clerical script here?” He sighed. “Whatever. There have been so many discrepancies by now. If I’d tried to conquer the world by relying on that book, I’d have died countless times. At least I’ve learned most of what I needed these past years. The road ahead should be much smoother.”
After wandering around a bit more, the Monkey King hefted his Cloudwalker Staff and started heading back.
There wasn’t much to gain from this place, but it was undeniably a good spot—spacious, hidden, perfect as a secret base.
At the cave entrance, the Monkey King glanced at Little Grass again.
"I told you not to go in, but you went anyway," Little Grass muttered.
She had neither eyes nor a face, so the Monkey King couldn’t read her expression—but from her tone, she sounded upset.