The knowledge passed down from the statue is extrely complete, as if he personally participated in it—from the very beginning of raw material processing, to the preparation of dicinal ingredients, all kinds of experiences, and that unquantifiable feel for things—the touch, and how to tell when it’s just right.
Then finally, how to use it, how to eat it, how to neutralize toxicity, and how to determine, based on different situations, different raw materials, and different preparation thods, the ultimate, crucial dosage.
All this is honestly pretty troubleso, because if you screw up, it can backfire.
This point Wen Yan actually understands—a lot of things, in small amounts they’re life-saving dicine, in large amounts, they’re poison.
To put it more simply, trace amounts of indole are a key component of jasmine fragrance, but if the concentration is too high, it becos sharply pungent and nasty.
He’d seen an old doctor before, who wouldn’t prescribe anything without seeing the patient; only after a face-to-face would he say sothing—either send you to a big hospital or write you the exact prescription you needed.
Wen Yan could feel new things erging from within him, bubbling up bit by bit. It still felt weird in his heart.
Later, he’d better find soone to help quantify everything a bit—at least get so rough comparative numbers.
Still, the most valuable part of this inheritance should be all that experience, and those thods and skills for handling materials—the most important ingredient was already long gone.
Where is he supposed to find a Xuan now? That thing’s probably been extinct for ages.
But then he had a thought. Wen Yan glanced at the already dismantled shelves, and began having so other ideas.
Now, only two possibilities.
Either, this Xuan stone carving, through the shelves, points to the Xuan Beast’s habitat.
He could check out what’s over there—maybe he’d actually find the ingredient.
Or, it points to the place where this very Xuan Beast stone carving was made.
Maybe there he could find other stone carvings.
Of course, there’s another possibility—the Xuan Beast stone carving was made right in the Xuan Beast’s habitat.
Last ti, connecting through the shelves opened a window—he could vaguely sense it, but there didn’t seem to be anything special on the other side.
Instead, the Everbright Lamp gave him a way more dangerous vibe.
He’d co back to that later anyway—now that he knew what the stone carving was, he could look around the Scorching Sun Departnt’s warehouse if he got a chance.
Holding the weathered Xuan Beast stone carving, he honestly felt the thing was more than just that.
He’d picked it after layers and layers of screening, after all. Its value was really high; the complete knowledge and experience inheritance, that alone could bump up the price.
But at the ti he was picking, he’d used what matched himself as a criterion, too.
The thing’s aura isn’t weak at all—it shouldn’t just be a "book."
Wen Yan looked it over from every angle, and in the end still put it away. He was sure it could be used as a treasure too.
The Scorching Sun Departnt used this thing as their gag treasure before, so there had to be other uses.
Put it away for now, worry about it later. This wasn’t urgent anyway. All sorts of experience and skills were still slowly surfacing in his mind.
The nice thing about this surfacing process was that it made him digest it extra fully—he could really master it, bit by bit.
Glancing to the side, Wen Yan eyed the big Sparrow Cat statue. He was starting to wonder if these so-called fossils were actually petrified corpses or not.
Anyway, these two statues were so similar—they really might be made with the sa thod.
Either, the big Sparrow Cat’s statue isn’t a body turned to stone, or, the Xuan Beast’s statue really is the Xuan Beast itself petrified.
He put both statues away, grabbed the Sparrow Cat, and started examining it from all angles.
No matter if it was the feel, the weight, the fur or feathers—no difference from before.
"So, what did you actually get? I don’t see any changes."
"Honestly, I don’t feel anything. Feels fake..." The Sparrow Cat drooped its ears, a little sulky.
"You don’t feel anything? Nothing new in your head? Like, knowledge or sothing?"
"Nope. Not a thing."
"Co on, really focus. Close your eyes, clear your mind, feel again."
The Sparrow Cat obediently did as told. After a mont, it opened its eyes—a new glint inside.
Wen Yan’s heart leaped in delight.
"So? What did you sense?"
"Hungry."
"..."
Wen Yan almost choked on his breath.
He was just about to say sothing when, off to the side, the Little Zombie, quietly watching the drama with its cheek in its palm, caught the key word and instantly wrapped itself around Wen Yan’s arm, wailing pitifully.
The Sparrow Cat stood up, rubbing its tummy with its wing.
"She says she hasn’t eaten or slept well for days, always worried about you, and hasn’t eaten at all recently.
I’m the sa. Haven’t eaten or slept well for ages—this place just isn’t as good as ho.
Back ho, at least there’s that delivery guy who can totally pretend I don’t exist—he can keep his eyes averted the whole ti.
And every ti I tip him, he’ll thank and smile—really genuinely, too.
Can we go ho yet?
The beds here aren’t nearly as comfy as my little cushion."
The Sparrow Cat lifted its head, its cat face full of hope.
The Little Zombie nodded furiously beside it.
"You two are seriously sothing—don’t know what’s good for you. The beds here cost at least ten grand, but they’re not as good as your six-hundred-yuan mattress, huh?"
"Honestly, not even close. No idea why Wu Fulao wasted all that cash."
Wen Yan was a bit speechless—he reached out, poked the Little Zombie’s forehead, and blessed it with a bit of Yang Energy.
Then he went out and opened the big fridge here—it was packed to the brim, all kinds of fruit, even the tomatoes were tiny, thumb-sized cherry tomatoes.
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