Chapter Three: The Refining of Insects

Three months later, dawn had barely broken. Sitting cross-legged on the large bluestone at the entrance of the ruined temple, Li Yang faced east, his eyes half-closed, half-open. After three months of recuperation, his injuries had long since healed. The rags of a beggar were replaced by coarse linen, and his cheeks now carried a healthy flush.

As the sun rose, bathing his face in crimson light, two white mists, like silkworms, drifted rhythmically beneath his nose. Only after half an hour did he finally open his eyes, his complexion ruddy and vibrant.

“Brother Li, the fish soup is ready!” came Xiaoliuzi’s voice from within the ruined temple. Grinning with delight, he stepped out holding two steaming chipped bowls. Handing one to Li Yang, he sat down and eagerly drank from his own.

For these three months, Li Yang had survived by fishing in the small river beside the temple. Begging was something he could never bring himself to do, nor did he see it as a lasting means of survival. In this era, fish and shrimp were plentiful, but without many spices, their taste was foul and fishy—few could stomach it, and most people avoided eating them unless they were truly desperate.

Li Yang, however, did not mind. Drinking the pungent fish soup, unpleasant as it was, he knew it was still meat—far more nourishing than the leftovers won from begging.

“Xiaoliuzi, I’m done eating. If you have nothing to do this afternoon, it’s best not to wander too far. I heard a band of warlords has come to town recently—it’s not safe.” With a word of caution, Li Yang did not wait for a reply. He walked straight to a large tree near the ruined temple, took up the lead of an old, lame black mule, and set off.

This mule had cost him all the savings of his previous self, purchased by Xiaoliuzi just a few days ago in Nuqing County. If not for the fact that the previous owner saw how aged and crippled the mule was, and that it could no longer do heavy work, Li Yang’s meager savings would not have been enough to buy even a leg.

In these chaotic times, one could not survive without some means of self-protection. With his current cultivation, supernatural abilities were out of reach, and even ordinary spells required time and effort—no quick fix for urgent troubles. If he wanted results, he’d have to rely on unorthodox methods, which was precisely why he had bought the black mule.

Leading the mule and fingering the dagger at his waist, Li Yang headed toward the nearby forest. Western Hunan had always been mountainous, with dense forests full of venomous insects and fierce beasts. Before long, the forest’s gloom enveloped him, and he had to take several steps before his eyes adjusted to this primeval darkness—a world wholly different from outside.

Those who hadn’t experienced it could never imagine how, in just a few dozen meters, everything could change so completely. Perhaps this was the very mystery that lured adventurers to the wild, again and again.

But Li Yang was no such enthusiast. Listening to the chorus of insects, he advanced with utmost caution. In these times, one could never be too careful. As the saying went, “In the high mountains, spirits lurk; in deep forests, monsters dwell.”

Suddenly, a tree snake sprang overhead. Li Yang’s heart stirred as he chanted a shamanic incantation: “Capture.” With a swipe of his five fingers, he seized the yellow-black snake, about three feet long, but a flash of disappointment crossed his eyes. Though large for its kind, it was an ordinary snake, nothing special, with no value for cultivation.

He quickly let it go—if wondrous creatures were so easily found, the shamanic arts would never have fallen to the lowest ranks. Half an hour later, as the forest grew denser and harder to traverse, Li Yang mounted the black mule, chanting as he took the reins, guiding their way.

With an incantation in the wild tongue, the old mule seemed to lose what little spirit it had left. Unheeding of the branches scraping its hide, it limped and stumbled deeper into the thicket—surprisingly quick despite its lameness. Yet such relentless urging wore the mule’s patience thin, and even under the spell’s influence, it grew more agitated and harder to control. Before it could throw him, Li Yang gripped the reins with all his strength, struggling to keep direction.

With a heavy snort, the mule’s nostrils flared, and it shook itself, nearly unseating Li Yang. Drenched in sweat, he had no choice but to dismount, gasping for breath. The journey had been exhausting—maintaining direction, warding off venomous beasts, and focusing on his incantations had left him spent, body and soul. If not for recent progress sharpening his senses, allowing him to avoid danger, he would have met with disaster already.

Catching his breath at last, deep in the forest’s heart, Li Yang dared not tarry. In the dim light, he surveyed his surroundings, quickly choosing a tree as thick as a man’s leg. He tied the black mule to it and, pulling a dagger from his coat, gritted his teeth and plunged it into the mule’s neck.

The blade struck the artery. With a shrill cry, the mule thrashed, nearly breaking free, galloping and leaping around the tree, spraying blood everywhere. The air thickened with the stench of gore.

Expressionless, Li Yang retreated several steps. When the mule’s struggles finally weakened, he produced a packet of powder and sprinkled it over the animal’s body. This secret shamanic concoction had taken him months to prepare—not rare in ingredients, but difficult in making. This small amount was the fruit of luck as much as skill.

When the powder met the blood, the scent grew strange, a sickly-sweet odor spreading far through the forest. The mule was not yet dead, but too weak to struggle, and its cries grew more pitiful as the scent wafted through the air.

Soon, faint rustlings echoed from the shadows, growing closer and more frequent. At the sound, Li Yang’s expression changed. He quickly concealed himself in the dense branches of a low tree, chanting to mask his own presence, his eyes fixed on the dying mule.

In the dim light, a half-meter-long mutant lizard, its head bristling with spiny crests, leapt from the treetops and bit deep into the mule’s neck, ending its suffering. As the lizard prepared to feast, a bright green serpent with a blood-red cockscomb on its head shot from the underbrush. Its mouth gaped wide, clamping down on the lizard.

The lizard, in agony, snapped back with its many sharp teeth, but the serpent coiled around it, and the two became a writhing knot. As they fought, a palm-length centipede emerged from the rotten leaves, crawling onto the mule to gorge itself.

So the black mule became bait, drawing forth wave after wave of venomous insects, snakes, and rats from the depths of the forest. The battle grew ever fiercer, the victors feasting on the mule’s flesh and blood, regaining their strength, and awaiting new contenders.

As the sun rose higher and time flowed on, the mule’s remains dwindled to bare, bloodless bones. Even the insect corpses were devoured by the survivors. When only a single fresh heart was left, only two creatures remained after countless rounds of savage combat: a yellow-spotted toad, scarcely larger than a man’s palm, and the cockscomb-headed green serpent.

They stared at each other, motionless.

A mutant bamboo viper and a toad—the sight left Li Yang, watching from above, full of amazement.

It was well known that snakes were promiscuous, often mating with different species in heat, though rarely producing offspring. The surviving mutant bamboo viper was a rare exception: a hybrid bearing the blood of a cockscomb snake. Normally, hybrids inherited their mother or father’s traits, sometimes neither, and were often inferior. But exceptions always existed, and this snake was clearly one such.

As for the toad, Li Yang could see no difference, no matter how he looked—just an ordinary toad, except for some unusual spots shaped like ancient coins.

He flexed his stiff joints, eyes locked on the two creatures, making his final preparations. In his heart, he favored the snake, whose rare spirit and mutant bloodline would be nearly impossible to encounter in a lifetime, even after traversing all the mountains and rivers of the previous world.

The sun climbed toward its zenith. Suddenly, the toad let out a “croak,” inhaled mightily, and swelled like a great round watermelon.

With a snap, its long, sticky tongue shot toward the snake, a tiny meat hook at the tip. It snagged the bamboo viper and flung it into the air. In mid-flight, the snake opened its jaws, spitting twin jets of venom like water-arrows onto the toad, then bit down hard on the tongue.

But it was useless. The toad, unfazed, swallowed the half-meter snake as easily as slurping a noodle, then squatted motionless, its belly bulging as if about to burst.

Whenever it strained to hold, its body shrinking, it inhaled again, maintaining its size—otherwise, the snake’s mere body would tear it apart from within. At that moment, the bamboo viper within suddenly thrashed, stretching the toad into a bow shape. For a moment, the toad looked like a seesaw, wobbling side to side, its bulging eyes rolling madly.

But still, the toad did not burst. It sucked in air, striving to keep balance, as the snake twisted and writhed, distorting its shape—sometimes short, sometimes long, sometimes the outline of a cockscomb showing through its back.

Perhaps the snake had not expected the toad’s hide to be so resilient. No matter how it struggled, it was to no avail.

After more than ten minutes, the snake’s strength faded. Its struggles weakened, and soon it was digested, reduced to a mass of rotten flesh. Li Yang, watching from above, could not help but feel regret.

With the uproar in its belly finally quieted, the toad did not shrink back. Instead, it inhaled further, swelling to its utmost size, and hopped to the black mule’s skeleton, swallowing the last crimson heart in a single gulp.

Seeing the moment had come, Li Yang leapt from the tree without hesitation, chanting in a hissing, slithering tongue, then shouted, “Seize!” A crimson arrow of blood shot from his mouth.

For a toad to triumph over countless poisonous creatures, it must surely possess extraordinary spirit. The instant Li Yang jumped, it sensed danger, and as the blood arrow shot forth, it sprang away, fleeing with all its might.

That the toad could resist even his spell left Li Yang frantic with urgency.

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