With just under two months before the Wildbeast Wasteland opened, Nana Toki finally sat still like a lake before dawn and trained hard, leaving no ripples of trouble on other spirit peaks.

For her, the first thing was strength, a blade to carve a path through thorns.

The Protagonist Lord had his golden‑finger cheat, wind in his sails and lightning at his heels.

She, on a slow body‑refinement path, was a sapling in a gale; if she didn’t grind, one clash and she’d snap.

Sense and survival both beat the same drum: train while the iron was hot and the night was long.

Across plane after plane, she’d learned her System’s temperament, a cat that purrs in one world and claws in the next.

In non‑xuanhuan worlds, main quests were normal; in xuanhuan, they always turned into “protect so‑and‑so until the plane ends,” a mountain strapped to her back.

Who could shoulder that boulder forever, under a sun that never sets?

Here, people lived long like old turtles basking on river stones—centuries, millennia.

Ascend, cross tribulation, become immortal, and the wait stretched like a desert horizon; long enough to make a quester want to die.

Still, this time the target was Nesting Phoenix; the name felt like warm embers, and Nana Toki didn’t mind.

Just train, let the fire breathe, and see it through.

Kill the Protagonist Lord when the time came, then treat the rest like a honeymoon under twin moons; the thought fanned her hunger to cultivate like bellows to coals.

Two months—long if you stare at the moon, short if you chase the sun.

She’d planned to binge pills and rocket three minor levels, a comet across night.

Reality slapped like cold rain off stone: not even one level.

She was still at Foundation Establishment, fifth stage, stuck like a cart wheel in mud.

The only change was her body—tougher, bark thickening against knives of wind.

Everything else was still water in a frozen well.

The old saying rang true as frost: a cultivator who tempers body and not qi walks a dead road.

Nana Toki muttered a tight “dammit,” a spark snuffed in snow.

And that wasn’t the only thing that blindsided her like thunder in clear skies.

Blue Magpie advanced to Golden Core.

Yup. The instant Nana Toki came out of seclusion and heard it from the System, her mood tilted like a boat in cross‑current.

She had ground for two full months and hadn’t budged an inch, while her ditzy little sister frolicked through hills, poked anthills, and vaulted a whole major realm.

So much for a good plane experience.

The System’s intel was ridiculous: back at Majestic Peak’s familiar rear mountain, at that same familiar anthill, Blue Magpie poked with a little stick, and—boom—Golden Core, as if a flower popped open mid‑laugh.

Nana Toki: “…”

Yeah. Real abrupt—like a chicken plucked bald under a blue sky.

She cursed again under her breath; nothing kills like comparison, a thorn under the nail.

Back on Majestic Peak, Nana Toki stood before Blue Magpie, whose aura towered like a cliff while her face stayed adorably blank as a snow hare.

Complicated feelings swirled like mist; maybe the main quest should be “have Blue Magpie protect me until the plane ends,” huh?

System: “… Host, don’t give up treatment!”

It was fine.

Half a minute of deep breaths, tides ebbing off reef, and Nana Toki steadied her heart.

The seal on the Wildbeast Wasteland would break tomorrow, a drumbeat under the earth.

Blue Magpie’s step into Golden Core shaved a chunk off the burden Nana Toki had to carry.

At dawn, when the sun peeked over the rear ridge like a golden coin, Nana Toki dragged a drowsy, stubborn Blue Magpie from her blankets.

They set out for the Heavenly Ascent Sect’s main plaza, morning wind cool as spring water on the face.

This trip into the Wildbeast Wasteland would be escorted by four elders, four anchors in a storm.

With elders escorting, they didn’t have to fear loose knives along the road.

By the time Nana Toki arrived with Blue Magpie and the System in tow, a flock of disciples already filled the plaza, a tide of robes and voices.

Before she could pick out faces, the eastern sky above Boundless Peak rippled.

Several massive flying beasts swept in, wings scything air, scales flashing like wet slate.

Nana Toki looked up; far off, the Third Elder of Heavenly Ascent Sect led the way, with his personal disciple Zhao Zhan at his side.

Whoosh—

The flying beasts landed and threw off a hard wind, a sandstorm of pressure.

Beast‑aura rolled out like heat from a kiln, and disciples on other peaks stiffened, hands damp, hearts tight.

“Figures it’s the Protagonist Lord,” Nana Toki said, watching Boundless Peak’s group with her two little idiots in tow.

“Even his entrance drips style, like a peacock on a thundercloud.”

Tianqi Yu, Zhao Zhan, Li Qian—old acquaintances, old thorns.

The System said they’d been quiet, like wolves lying low, during her two‑month grind.

“They’re probably holding back a big kill‑move,” she murmured, taste of iron in her mouth.

Rumor had it Zhao Zhan’s master, Sun Qianwu of Boundless Peak, protected his own like a mother bear.

She’d injured his disciple, then that duel stoked the fire; now her feud with Boundless Peak was oil and spark.

She doubted they’d let it go; the Wasteland was the perfect shadowed alley.

Paranoia was her daily seasoning, a pinch of salt on every thought.

After a long wait, like clouds gathering before rain, the lords of the other five spirit peaks arrived one after another.

With the last disciple checked in, four silhouettes bloomed in midair, quiet as cranes landing.

“Disciples pay respects to the four Elders!”

A wave of bows rolled through the plaza like wheat before wind.

Nana Toki looked up.

The one in front was an old man with a child’s face and crane‑white hair, an ancient pine wrapped in spring.

She couldn’t gauge his depth; his aura was a sea without shore, at least leagues beyond her sense.

“Looks like everyone’s here. Let’s move,” he said, gaze sweeping over them like a broom over frost.

A heartbeat later, the sky boomed, a muffled drum behind the clouds, as if something pressed at the world’s skin to break through.

A monster’s breath surged from above, making hearts drum and palms cool.

Vmm—

A cry rose like a whale‑song from the deep sea, ancient and clear, airy as moonlight on water.

“That’s… a Cloud‑Sea Void Whale,” Tianqi Yu said, sharp as a hawk, the instant the cloud cover split.

The leviathan hovered above the plaza like a floating island, a mountain of shadow blotting the sun.

Awe climbed spines like cold vines.

It was the crane‑haired Elder’s contract beast and their ship for this journey.

Nana Toki leapt up with the elders and disciples, boots kissing the whale’s broad back like dew on a lotus leaf.

Once everyone was aboard, the great whale flexed its vast fins like wings.

The Cloudpeak Sect fell away beneath them, a shifting tapestry of jade ridges and fire‑tipped blooms.

Only then did Nana Toki notice how breathtaking the land outside Heavenly Ascent Sect was.

Mountains ran like coiled dragons; the world wore green and red like spring and autumn folded together.

The giant cloud‑whale swam through it all without the slightest ripple of discord.

They said little on the way.

Nearly two hours later, the horizon opened like a curtain, and they arrived at the Wildbeast Wasteland.

It was a plain vast as an ocean, not the bleak desert she’d pictured.

The borderlands were clear streams and blue slopes; high green peaks wore veils of mist that teased the eye.

A gorge split the earth not far away, and a river like a silver serpent ran beyond sight, waves tossing and roaring.

Call it a wasteland if you like; to the eye, it was like any grand beast‑forest of the mortal world.

“We’re here,” called the White‑Browed Elder at the front, her voice a bell under the sky.

Whoosh—

All disciples dismounted with the four elders, landing on a broad meadow, grass shivering like cat fur in wind.

This was one of many entrances that dotted the mortal world, but this gate belonged to Heavenly Ascent Sect, stamped like a seal on wax.

White‑Browed Elder gathered the disciples into a tight flock, her face stern as a drawn bow.

“Listen well! The Wildbeast Wasteland stays open for six months.

It’s a thicket of crises, no safer than any secret realm you’ve explored.

You’ll also compete with disciples from other sects for chances like fruit on high branches.

Your elders already warned you of what waits inside.

Once you enter, tread with care, like foxes on thin ice!”

“And let me carve this into stone one more time: under no circumstances may fellow disciples kill each other.

If we confirm it, whoever it is, the blade of punishment will fall.

Do you understand?”

“Understood!” voices answered, a chorus like rain on tiles.

As she spoke, her beautiful eyes never left Nana Toki’s direction, a winter wind of warning pricking skin.

Around them, many disciples shivered, as if a cold shadow had passed over the sun.

“There are many ancient arrays still alive within the Wasteland,” she went on, voice steady as a river.

“Even Nascent Soul powers can’t break some of them.

Don’t bind your hands out of fear; such arrays nest deep in the Wasteland.

With your current levels, you won’t reach those grounds unless you blunder in or charge like moths to flame.

Train, explore, and you’ll likely return safe after half a year.”

“Take note: the Immortal Phoenix Flame Grass and the Holy Fruit of Illusory Feathers will ripen one after another in a few months.

If any of you secure either herb, your future cultivation will burn brighter, like oil poured on a lamp.”

“That’s all I’ll say.

If you’re ready, I’ll open the seal into the Wildbeast Wasteland.”

White‑Browed Elder swept her gaze across them one last time, skimming faces like a swallow skims water.

After a breath, she drew out a golden token and flung it into the air.

At once, several strange auras burst from the peaks around the plain, like hidden springs finally breaking stone.