Cultivation of immortality begins with an eighty-year-old eunuch.

The principle is actually not complicated.

The difficulty lies in finding the path that best suits you.

Even a slight deviation in the circulation route can cause minor injuries such as blood flowing backwards, resulting in muscle and bone contusions, or even serious injuries such as blood surging into the internal organs, leading to immediate death.

Over the past year, Chen Fan has made no fewer than hundreds of attempts using this body.

Each adjustment involves either shifting the bloodline power slightly to the left or slowing its circulation by a breath.

He failed more often than not, but on a few occasions, he did feel that the tempering effect was slightly stronger than before. It was this slight improvement that convinced him that he was on the right track.

At the end of his cultivation session for the day, Chen Fan opened his eyes and exhaled a long breath.

This turbid air was pale gray, condensed in the air and did not dissipate. It churned for a while before slowly dissipating. It was the impurities expelled during the circulation of blood.

He looked down at his arm, where a faint red light flowed beneath the dark gray scales, a sign that the power of his bloodline was running steadily through his meridians.

"It'll be soon," Chen Fan murmured.

He could sense that after a year of refinement, this body had vaguely reached a bottleneck.

Once he breaks through, his Blood Tempering Technique will be able to enter a completely new level.

Besides cultivation, there was another matter that Chen Fan could never let go of.

A year has passed, and he still hasn't developed any sense of identification with the ancient demon race.

It's not that they reject it, it's that they can't accept it.

Walking among the tribes, watching those tall ancient demons talk, fight, and eat, he always felt like an observer.

Their joys and sorrows, their way of thinking, and their natural love of killing were all incompatible with him.

He still can't calm down when he sees those scenes of torture and killing of human cultivators.

It wasn't anger, but rather that after ten years of bloodshed, he had learned to suppress his anger, which had led to a more fundamental unease.

It's like someone who's used to holding chopsticks with their left hand being suddenly asked to use their right hand; they can do the movement, but it feels awkward.

Chen Fan was not in a hurry.

The desire for recognition is something that, if deliberately pursued, is a inferior approach. He believes in time and in the gradual influence of others.

Just like when he first entered the Da Yuan Palace, he felt awkward everywhere, but he got used to it over time.

Although he eventually left the palace, the skills he learned within its walls—the ability to read people and endure hardship—accompanied him throughout his life.

That evening, Chen Fan was grinding medicinal powder by the edge of the medicinal field when a series of heavy footsteps came from afar.

He looked up and saw a sturdy ancient demon with half an ear missing walking towards the stone house.

Chen Fan recognized this person; his name was Shi Chi. He was a low-ranking miner in the tribe responsible for mining the veins. His bloodline was of medium to low quality, and like himself, he belonged to the lower tier of the Black Rock Tribe.

He had a horrifying wound on his left calf, stretching from below his knee to his ankle. The skin was torn open, the edges of which had begun to turn black, and the oozing blood mixed with pale yellow pus emitted a putrid stench.

Shi Chi limped up to Chen Fan, his rugged face contorted with pain.

He stopped in front of Chen Fan, his lips moving for a long time before he finally managed to utter, "Beast slave... my leg... there was a rockfall in the mine..."

Chen Fan put down the pottery jar in his hand and gestured for him to sit on the stone. Shi Chi sat down as instructed, his injured leg not daring to touch the ground, only lightly touching the ground with his toes.

Chen Fan squatted down to examine the wound carefully.

Fortunately, it was just a superficial injury and the bones were not damaged.

However, the wound was embedded with many small stone chips and slag, and because it was not cleaned in time, it had become severely infected.

If it's not treated soon, even if the leg isn't ruined, it will leave a limp in the future.

"Bear with it." Chen Fan uttered two words briefly, then turned and walked into the stone house.

He fetched clean water, dark red herbal ointment, and a small knife made from a bone shard. First, he rinsed the wound with water, washing away most of the pus, blood, and surface dirt. Then, he carefully scraped away the rotten flesh with the bone knife, picking out the stone fragments embedded in the flesh one by one.

Shi Chi trembled all over from the pain, the veins on his forehead bulged, and his rough fingers gripped the stone under his buttocks tightly, making a grinding sound with his knuckles, but he didn't utter a sound.

The ancient demon race revered bravery, and even the lowest-ranking miners were unwilling to cry out in pain in front of others.

After cleaning, Chen Fan applied the dark red herbal ointment evenly to the wound, and then tore off a piece of clean animal hide to bandage it properly.

Shi Chi looked down at his bandaged leg, moved his ankle, and found that the pain had significantly lessened.

He remained silent for a while, seemingly considering his words, before finally muttering "Thanks" in a low voice, then got up and limped away.

Chen Fan watched his figure disappear into the gray-yellow twilight, then sat down again to continue grinding the medicinal powder.

Three days later, Shichi came again.

This time, his leg injury had mostly healed. Although he still walked with a slight limp, the wound had scabbed over and was no longer bleeding.

He was carrying a half-grown ibex, the most common herbivorous monster on the ancient demon planet, whose meat was coarse but rich in fat.

Behind them followed an ancient witch woman of similarly stout build.

The woman's coarse cloth bundle contained dried animal meat, a small bag of gray wheat flour, and a small basket of blood-patterned fruit that could replenish blood and energy.

Stone Teeth threw the ibex to the ground, grinned at Chen Fan, revealing his uneven teeth: "Beast slave, your leg is healed, it doesn't hurt anymore. This is a thank-you gift."

He spoke haltingly, seemingly unaccustomed to thanking people.

The woman next to him was quite clever; she spread out the package, revealing dried meat, gray wheat, and blood-striped fruit scattered all over the ground, while muttering something to herself.

Her common language was even more stilted than Shichi's, with a heavy ancient demonic accent, which Chen Fan could only understand a large part of.

The gist of the message was that the patient had been suffering from severe toothache for the past few days and couldn't sleep at night. The patient had only calmed down after applying the medicine. The patient requested that the food be accepted by the benefactor, as it was some of the good things the family had stored away.

Chen Fan did not refuse.

In tribes like the Blackrock tribe, accepting a gift is a sign of respect for the giver.

He nodded, accepted the items one by one, and then handed a small jar of freshly brewed ointment to the woman, pointing to Shi Chi's leg: "Change it once a day, and apply it for a few more days, and it will be completely healed."

The woman accepted the medicine pot with profuse thanks, holding it carefully in both hands as if it were a fragile treasure.

After the Stone Tooth couple left, the story quietly spread throughout the tribe.

At first, it was just word among the miners that the beast slave who raised the Netherworld Beast could heal wounds, even more effectively than the tribe's shaman, and that he didn't charge any fees, accepting whatever was offered.

Later, ordinary members of the clan gradually came to their door.

Some were hunters bitten by monsters, some were reserve soldiers who had suffered sprains and bruises during training, and some were quarry workers who had broken their arms.

The ancient demons were brave and warlike, and injuries were commonplace for them.

Unfortunately, there were few shamans in the tribe, and most of them only served the soldiers and the chieftain.

When members of the lower-class tribes are injured, they often have no choice but to endure it. If they survive, it is considered lucky; if they do not, they will suffer lifelong disability or even lose their lives.