Chapter 49: Blessing in Disguise
In a crack between rocks, a strand of violet-golden vine revealed its strange, dazzling glow.
Scattered rocks littered the ground, along with tufts of withered weeds.
It seemed the edge of the crevice had recently split open, exposing the Purpleblood Vine—otherwise, it would have long been taken by someone else.
The moment Zhou Ming discovered the vine, he immediately ordered his Ironthread Snakes to spread out.
Not losing his head over profit, he knew that preserving his own life was the foremost rule.
After confirming there were no hidden dangers, Zhou Ming rushed toward the Purpleblood Vine.
With his understanding of it, Zhou Ming wasn’t worried about poisonous insects or Ferocious Beasts guarding the plant.
During its growth, Purpleblood Vine emitted a special scent that attracted poisonous insects to gnaw at it, yet its sap was deadly to them.
The piles of insect corpses around it served as the best nourishment for the vine.
It was called Purpleblood Vine precisely because, when mature, the cuts on its surface oozed a blood-like purple sap.
Due to its high value and extensive medicinal uses, this sap was known as Violet-gold Liquid.
Violet-gold Liquid served as a key ingredient in the production of low-grade potions, with a single liter worth millions of Alliance Coins.
It was even nicknamed a pseudo-spiritual material.
Low-grade potions were not mass-produced by pharmaceutical factories—they could only be crafted by potioners, an auxiliary transcendent profession.
The history of potioners could be traced back to the birth of the Beast Tamer profession.
These specialists utilized a Beast Tamer’s Spiritual Power alongside precise instruments to extract the essences of various herbs, stimulating their properties and guiding their fusion through Spiritual Power to create potions with extraordinary effects.
Because mastering this craft required both extremely refined control over Spiritual Power and vast pharmacological knowledge, only major powers could afford to train potioners—the cost of trial and error was simply too high.
Potions were classified into low-grade, high-grade, super-grade, and legendary. The level of potion one could produce was the sole measure of a potioner’s rank.
Since the founding of the Blue Star Alliance, only one Legendary Potioner had ever appeared—yet even he had fallen over a hundred years ago.
That Legendary Potioner had only reached the level of a Transcendent Master in personal strength, and despite using precious longevity potions, had lived just over three centuries.
Even so, during the century after he became a Legendary Potioner, he helped the Blue Star Alliance nurture two Legendary Saints, enabling the Alliance to regain its footing amidst the encirclement of Ferocious Beasts and alien races.
It was said that had he not devoted all his focus to potions, he might have become a Legendary Saint himself—one with a thousand-year lifespan, and a true pillar of the Alliance.
When Zhou Ming read that anecdote in the library, he couldn’t tell whether the man’s choice had been right or wrong.
If he had focused his efforts on the Beast Tamer’s path, perhaps he might have become a Legendary Saint.
With seven or eight centuries of life remaining, there would still have been enough time to research the art of potioncraft in depth.
In that case, the Alliance might have birthed even more Legendary Saints, perhaps reclaiming its status as the ruler of Blue Star.
Of course, there was also the possibility that he would have failed to reach the Legendary level altogether, achieving neither mastery in potioncraft nor ascension as a Beast Tamer—and the two Legendary Saints might never have existed, leaving the Alliance far less stable than it was now.
But such thoughts were irrelevant to Zhou Ming’s current situation.
What mattered was that, after briefly inspecting the Purpleblood Vine before him, he found that most of it was still hidden within the crevice.
The portion he could harvest alone would already earn him over a million Alliance Coins.
Zhou Ming had left Qinshan Base well-prepared. He took out a specially-made glass bottle from his backpack, used his dagger to slice a shallow cut in the vine, and carefully positioned the bottle beneath it.
Watching drop after drop of Violet-gold Liquid fall into the bottle, Zhou Ming could almost see countless Alliance Coins pouring into his pockets.
After confirming that the bottle’s base was stable, Zhou Ming withdrew his hand and waited patiently by the side.
Of course, he wasn’t completely idle—his focus was entirely immersed within his Radar Sensory Domain, alert for any approaching danger.
Inkband and Vermilion Jade patrolled the surroundings restlessly.
All that remained now was to wait until the Violet-gold Liquid had fully dripped into the bottle, then he could withdraw safely.
As the liquid continued to drip, time passed slowly. After an hour, the bottle was already more than half full.
At this moment, Zhou Ming could confidently say one pretentious line: I earn over a million an hour.
Glancing at the nearly full bottle, a satisfied smile crept across his face beneath his mask.
The dripping had slowed, and judging by the pace, it wouldn’t take much longer to finish. Zhou Ming refocused on his Radar Sensory Domain.
He knew that in an environment like the Green Mist Jungle, constant vigilance was the key to survival.
Just as he closed his eyes, a sudden chill touched his forehead—but his radar domain detected nothing unusual.
Whether it was instinct or pure alertness, Zhou Ming’s head suddenly shifted sideways like a serpent’s, moving several centimeters to the right.
“Bang!”
A gunshot rang out, and the moment his eyes snapped open, he saw a bead of blood flying past his face.
Ambush. Sniper rifle. Someone’s here.
Countless thoughts flashed through his mind, yet none hindered his reaction.
In the same instant his eyes opened, Zhou Ming pressed his right hand to the ground and lunged forward, his legs snapping like a python’s tail to propel his body in a low slide—this was a unique movement art of the Mad Python Martial Hall.
In the blink of an eye, he reached the spot where the glass bottle sat, grabbed it in one swift motion, and rolled behind a rock for cover.
“Bang! Bang! Bang…”
Moments later, just beyond his radar’s edge, two figures pushed through the grass and vines, firing wildly at where Zhou Ming had just been.
“Boom!”
A roar like an enraged beast thundered out, overpowering the sound of gunfire.
“Thunder Revolver! Watch your own beast!”
The moment that shout sounded, the attackers instantly retreated into cover, hastily recalling their beasts.
The Thunder Type-2 Revolver—aside from particularly tough or lightning-fast low-level Ferocious Beasts—was powerful enough to heavily wound, if not kill, any ordinary low-level creature.
Its only flaw was its immense recoil, which made it difficult to aim accurately.
Even for Zhou Ming, his right hand needed a moment’s rest after each shot—hence its reputation as the King of Close Combat Weapons.
He hadn’t expected to actually hit his target; his goal was simply to disrupt the enemy’s rhythm and buy himself a moment to breathe.
The sniper missed his long-range shot, and now someone was pressing in with close-range fire. If Zhou Ming failed to break their tempo, he risked being completely suppressed to death.
Even with Inkband and Vermilion Jade by his side, the enemy had their beasts as well. If Zhou Ming died, his beasts would perish too.
Such was the reality of the Beast Tamer’s world—it wasn’t about standing behind one’s beasts and issuing commands.
Even ordinary people knew the best way to deal with a Beast Tamer:
kill the tamer first.