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

However, the way the other clansmen looked at Chen Fan changed again.

He used to be just a beast slave who could heal wounds, but now he is a beast slave whose bloodline has broken through and who is qualified to become a warrior.

The two are completely different in importance.

After his bloodline breakthrough, Chen Fan's understanding of the ancient demon body-refining method deepened. He could now clearly perceive that the fundamental difference between the upper three-grade bloodlines and the lower three-grade bloodlines lay not in the amount of bloodline power, but in the degree of harmony during their operation.

Using the Blood Tempering Technique on the lower three levels of bloodline is like rowing against the current, encountering resistance at every turn.

The circulation of blood in the upper three grades is as natural as water flowing into a channel.

This difference in compatibility reminded Chen Fan of the innate talent of human cultivators.

Both are Foundation Establishment disciples, but one day of cultivation with good aptitude is equivalent to ten days for someone with poor aptitude. Ancient demons and humans actually share many similarities on their cultivation paths, only the forms they manifest are different.

But this discovery wasn't what Chen Fan cared about most.

After living among the tribe for more than a year, he gradually discovered that the ancient demons were not just a group of bloodthirsty and murderous beasts as he had initially thought.

They were indeed fierce and showed no mercy to their enemies; wars between tribes often ended with one side being completely wiped out.

But they also have a different face when facing their own kind.

Chen Fan had seen two soldiers fight tooth and nail over the right to allocate a mineral vein, but after the fight, they sat on the same rock drinking and laughing at each other's mistakes in the fight.

I once saw the ancient witch who had lost her cub cry all night in the stone house, holding the urn containing her child's ashes. The next day, she went to work in the mine as usual, but her eyes were so swollen that she could barely open them.

I've seen the toddler Gu Mo stumble and fall on the muddy ground, then burst into tears.

They could tear apart the monster's father with their bare hands, then clumsily squat down, gently wipe the mud off the child's face with their rough fingers, and then hoist him onto their shoulders and stride back to the stone house.

They also feel sad, happy, and angry, and after a long day, they might collapse on a rock, too tired to move.

They have an extremely strong sense of belonging to their tribe. Even the fiercest warriors will restrain their ferocity and respectfully bow to the statues of their ancestors during the tribe's sacrificial ceremonies.

Even the lowest-ranking beast slaves would be buried in the tribe's communal cemetery after death, and their tombstones would bear at least one name.

This sense of belonging stands in stark contrast to the ancient demons' cruelty towards other races.

This is a logic that Chen Fan can understand.

To their own people are their own kind; to outsiders, they are prey. Kindness may exist among their own people, but only slaughter is possible against them.

Like a wolf pack—they groom each other and share prey with their own kind, but only have teeth and claws against other species.

This way of survival has been etched deep into the bloodline of the ancient demon race throughout its long history, passed down from generation to generation. It has long transcended the realm of judgment of right and wrong, good and evil, and become an instinct as natural as breathing.

Realizing this, Chen Fan began to consciously step out of the stone house and the medicinal herb field, and participate more in the daily life of the tribe.

Besides raising Netherworld Beasts, practicing Blood Tempering Technique, and growing herbs to heal his injuries, he started going out for walks more often in the evenings.

Look at the soldiers drilling in the square, the children chasing and playing by the animal enclosure, and the women washing clothes by the ditch.

Watching the miners drag their weary bodies out of the mine, their faces covered in stone dust, yet still exchanging crude jokes.

Chen Fan even participated in several tribal sacrificial ceremonies.

A colossal ancestral statue stood in the center of the square, while hundreds of ancient demons knelt on the ground, chanting ancient and desolate sacrificial hymns.

Chen Fan knelt at the back of the crowd, bowing and kowtowing like the other tribesmen.

The hymn's melody was deep and resonant, each syllable resonating as if from the depths of the earth.

At that moment, he did indeed feel a strange resonance.

It's not about reverence for the statues of our ancestors, but rather a kind of understanding of the way of life that these creatures on this land have passed down through generations for thousands of years.

They simply live their lives in their own way.

Just as human farmers cultivate the land, merchants trade goods, and cultivators seek the Dao, the ancient demons survive by fighting, plundering, and worshipping their ancestors.

No judgment or approval is needed; understanding is enough.

Several months later, a small patch of newly cultivated medicinal herb field appeared in front of Chen Fan's stone house, planted with several rarer herbs.

His ointments and powders became increasingly popular among the tribe, and even a few ancient demons from outside the tribe heard of his reputation and traveled for several days to seek his treatment.

The old witch doctor who used to ignore him now comes to him every few days to discuss the properties of the medicine.

Although he still spoke defiantly, his attitude had changed from initial disdain to a respectful inquiry.

In the Netherworld Beast Pool, the Netherworld Beast he had personally saved had grown to over eight zhang tall, becoming the undisputed overlord of the entire beast pen.

Every time Chen Fan walked to the edge of the pool, it would rise from the bottom of the water and gently touch his arm with its huge mouth full of backward teeth.

The other Netherworld beasts behaved respectfully before it, daring not to overstep their bounds in the slightest.

The furnishings inside the stone house are also more abundant than before.

In the corner were piles of gifts of gratitude from the clansmen: dried animal meat, several jars of cloudy fruit wine, a few spirit stones of decent quality, and a set of bone needles and a bone knife made from the bones of demon beasts.

Although these bone artifacts cannot compare to his original magical treasures, they are still considered decent tools in the hands of this ancient demon body.

Chen Fan carefully put away the bone needles, intending to use them later when suturing the wound.

The bone knife is hung at the waist, readily available.

However, amidst all these changes, the core question remains unresolved.

He still doesn't consider himself a true Ancient Demon.

Chen Fan knew that he was just observing, learning, and imitating.

Just like back in the Daeyu Palace, he learned the rules of the palace and how to survive in the cracks of the inner court, but he never truly belonged there.

Now in the Black Rock tribe, he has learned the art of blood tempering, how to heal his tribesmen, and how to worship his ancestors during sacrificial ceremonies, but he still does not belong here.

The third test is still ongoing; it's unclear how long it will last.

It might end tomorrow, or it might never end.

Chen Fan didn't dwell on it too much.

He continued to feed the Netherworld Beasts every morning, practiced the Blood Tempering Technique in the morning, worked in the herb field in the afternoon, and studied ancient demonic texts in the stone house at night.

Life here is peaceful and fulfilling; compared to the earth-shattering battles outside, life here can almost be described as tranquil.

But Chen Fan knew that no matter how long this third trial would last, his time in the Black Rock Tribe had already left an indelible mark on his heart.

These ancient demons may never know that he is not a true member of their race, and he may not necessarily regard them as true compatriots.

But that relationship of mutual understanding and mutual need has quietly taken root in their daily interactions.