Standing atop the mountains, Zhang Qiming squinted at the changing landscape in the distance.

In a vast basin, a section of vegetation rapidly turned black and withered. This black line even formed a pattern resembling a scorpion with its tail raised!

This "scorpion" was enormous, spanning several kilometers in diameter, encroaching upon the ancestral graves of Ma'an Village and even part of its farmland. The vegetation had been poisoned by toxic gas from the internal walls of the Zhang family fortress. Originally meant for defense against outsiders, the gas was now unleashed after a landslide had permanently buried the defenses. In a desperate attempt to survive, Zhang Haike and his companions had blasted a tunnel underground, triggering the deadly gas.

"This is bad! If the gas spreads unchecked, everyone in Ma'an Village will die."

Zhang Qiming rushed back to the fortress from the mountains, only to find at least seventy to eighty villagers pushing wooden carts up the hill. They were clearly trying to seize the grain!

"This is mine! This is our grain, don’t take it!" An old man sat on the ground, bitterly watching as sacks of grain were dragged away to others’ carts, shouting in vain.

Next to him stood a couple, one of whom was cradling the old man's grandson. The man, who bore a striking resemblance to the old man, looked flustered and overwhelmed, clearly an honest fellow who hadn’t anticipated this situation.

"What’s going on? Why are so many people suddenly here?" Zhang Qiming frowned and asked.

"Little immortal, please tell them not to steal! This is all our grain!" the old man continued to lament. Zhang Qiming drew his knife, instantly silencing him.

"Is it your family that's too ostentatious with the grain?"

The old man's son dared not speak, nearly soiling himself in fear of the knife. It was the woman beside him who replied, "Um, this gentleman… our son was tempted by a piece of malt candy. He just mentioned it…." She noticed Zhang Qiming’s knife, her eyes filled with panic as she clutched the boy tighter.

"Your uncle?"

Zhang Qiming realized this might be a family dispute, but there was no time for such trifles. He sternly commanded, "Quickly call your neighbors! A disaster is about to happen here. You must leave before noon!"

The man stuttered, "We farm the fields; where would we go if we leave?"

"You have so much grain; where can’t you go? Why stay here and wait to die?!"

Pointing at the cart piled high with grain, he urged them to leave. "You foolish son, do you dare disregard the immortal’s words? When he tells you to go, just go! Stop wasting time!" The old man had lived long enough to know Zhang Qiming’s power; he needed no further persuasion. The son, clearly someone who feared his father, nodded quickly and threw the rope of the cart over his shoulder, trudging down the hill.

However, the remaining villagers were not so easily swayed. Zhang Qiming shouted several times to the crowd, but they paid no heed, too focused on grabbing the hundreds of sacks of grain from the warehouse, completely ignoring his warnings.

"Hey! Is the old man gone? Not crying out anymore? Haha, still thinking of hogging it all for yourself. I’ll make sure the whole village knows! Look at that old man’s family leaving in disgrace," laughed a man, likely the uncle of the boy.

"Stop shouting! Get your relatives out of here! This place is dangerous!"

The uncle seemed to find this hilarious, laughing uproariously.

"Haha, where did this fool come from? Did you think I didn’t see you all together? You’re in cahoots, trying to keep the grain for yourselves while telling us to leave?"

Zhang Qiming’s anger turned to irony. "Have you thought about where all the bandits went?"

The uncle paused, glancing at the knife in Zhang Qiming's hand, appearing slightly afraid. But seeing Zhang Qiming was just a child, he relaxed again, thinking there was no threat now that the bandits were gone.

"Bandits? If they were all here, I wouldn’t be afraid! I’ll kill one if they come! What’s wrong, you disagree?"

His words garnered agreement from nearby villagers. "Yeah, what can a kid do? You think you can drive away the bandits?"

"I bet you’re just a coward, left behind by the bandits, right? Little brat, I advise you to mind your own business. Here, take this sack of grain, but don’t block the way!"

"Hey! I saw that sack of grain first! Put it down!"

Zhang Qiming shook his head. The people of Ma'an Village seemed utterly irrational. They feared the bandits but wouldn’t listen to his warning to save their lives, instead squabbling over grain.

Zhang Qiming was no saint; he had no reason to get angry at them.

"Fine, then you can all fend for yourselves."

He turned and left. The toxic gas was slowly spreading toward them. Before long, those scrambling for grain would be dead!

As the saying goes, "Men die for wealth, birds die for food." These people were so greedy for the grain, and if they ignored his good advice, they deserved their fate.

In Ma'an Village, clan leader Ma Pingchuan frowned deeply as he prepared to head out.

Ma Pingchuan’s ancestral grave was located in the center of the basin. At nearly fifty years old, he was wealthy, with over ten guards, each armed, making him a powerful figure in the area. He attributed all his success to the feng shui of his ancestors' graves. Upon hearing unusual noises from that direction, he felt it was of great importance.

Just then, the old man and his family passed by his home, and his guards quickly stopped them.

"Ma Fuquan! Where did you get that cart full of grain?"

One of the guards demanded, holding a rifle menacingly.

Ma Fuquan was the old man’s son, a simple fellow who was scared to walk any further upon seeing the guards.

"This... this is from the mountain fortress..."

Ma Pingchuan raised an eyebrow. "Nonsense! The bandits up there number in the hundreds, armed to the teeth. Do you think you can just take their grain?"

The clan leader’s authority far surpassed that of the guards, and Ma Fuquan nearly collapsed in fear, while his wife, showing more courage, spoke up. "We’re telling the truth, leader! There’s a little immortal on the mountain who has killed all the bandits!"

Ma Pingchuan laughed coldly, "You think you can just make up stories? That grain must have been stolen!"

After he spoke, seven or eight guards raised their rifles simultaneously, leaving Ma Fuquan and his family dumbfounded! The old man had lagged behind, and upon seeing this scene, he hurriedly ran over.

"Put down your guns! Put down your guns! Fuquan is just a good kid; why scare him?"

"Da Chuan! They’re not lying; there really is a little immortal!"

Ma Pingchuan turned to look at the old man, calling out, "Is that you, Uncle Cai?"

Ma Youcai, the old man, was a respected elder in the village, much older than Ma Pingchuan.