The jungle after rain was not the same jungle he had known before.
The air was heavier, saturated with the smell of earth and wet leaves. Every breath Luo Feng took carried the scent of life and decay, thick enough to taste. Beneath his coils, the ground felt soft and uneven, blanketed with layers of half-rotted leaves that squelched faintly under the faintest movement.
He paused often, tongue flicking in and out, reading the air. Each flick brought whispers of the forest to him, traces of musk, soil, and faint coppery notes that hinted at blood.
This place was different. He could feel it.
The old area, near the stream and sparse thickets, had been quieter, simpler. The prey there had been easy to track, the predators distant and few. But here, here the forest breathed in layers. Things moved above, below, and around him all at once. The rhythm of life here was denser, quicker, and more dangerous.
Even the air felt restless.
Luo Feng moved forward slowly, his body pressing close to the damp earth. His scales glistened faintly under the filtered light that broke through the canopy. Every motion was deliberate, every shift measured. He had learned not to rush.
A faint rustle broke the stillness nearby, the sound of something brushing past wet grass. Luo Feng froze immediately. His eyes slid in the direction of the sound, unblinking. Through a patch of fern, he spotted a creature.
It was small, about the size of his head, covered in mottled brown fur. A hare. Its ears flicked constantly, scanning the air for danger as it nibbled on a clump of tender shoots.
Luo Feng's body lowered further, melting into the background.
He waited.
The hare's whiskers twitched, its head lifting slightly as though it sensed something. Luo Feng's heart slowed. He had learned how to breathe quietly, how to steady even the smallest tremor.
His gaze never left the creature.
Step by step, he inched forward. The soft soil shifted under his weight, and he froze again. There were more fallen branches here, thicker, wetter, and noisier. The forest floor was alive with dead twigs and soaked debris. Every surface had something that could betray his movement.
This new territory was not made for silence.
Even his smallest motion stirred faint noises. The brush of scales against wet bark. The quiet sigh of displaced leaves. The faintest pop of a water droplet crushed under his belly.
He realized that even stealth here demanded adaptation. Every environment had its rhythm and this one's rhythm was sharper, trickier.
He adjusted, pressing flatter against the ground, sliding slowly with long, smooth motions instead of lifting his body. The hare turned its head briefly, but after a moment resumed feeding.
Five meters.
Luo Feng's body tensed, preparing to strike.
Then it happened.
A faint, brittle crack broke the air.
It was quiet, just a small twig beneath his tail, but in the stillness of the forest, it might as well have been thunder.
The hare jerked upright, eyes wide.
In a blur, it vanished into the thick brush, its powerful legs propelling it far out of reach.
Luo Feng lunged instinctively, muscles coiling and releasing, but his jaws closed only on the empty air. Wet leaves scattered. Mud splashed. The faint rustle of retreating prey faded into silence.
He stayed frozen for several seconds, every muscle rigid, before exhaling sharply. His tongue flicked, tasting only the fading scent of what had almost been his meal.
"Too hasty," he muttered inwardly.
The mistake had been small, but the forest punished every small mistake.
He slithered back beneath a thick patch of roots, his body pressed to the ground. The rain had stopped long ago, but the canopy still dripped, each drop falling with a sound that echoed faintly through the undergrowth.
He began to listen, really listen.
Every drop, every buzz, every flutter meant something. The jungle spoke a constant language, one he was only starting to understand.
A bird's sudden cry in the canopy above. A faint tremor beneath the soil where something small scurried past. The distant rumble of something much heavier, large enough to make even the ground seem tense.
This was not the quiet, sparse forest he had come from.
Here, danger was closer. The trees were thicker, the air more humid, and even the insects seemed bolder. He caught glimpses of creatures he had never seen before, bright insects crawling over tree bark, their shells glowing faintly. Ants as long as his finger carrying the corpses of smaller bugs.
Predators were here too.
The faint scent of musk drifted past, sharp and feral. He turned his head slightly. In the distance, a dark shadow prowled through the brush, the sleek, familiar silhouette of the wildcat.
It wasn't the same one from before, or perhaps it was, he couldn't tell. But the sight alone made his body instinctively stiffen.
He stayed motionless, scales pressed flat, until the cat moved away, vanishing into the trees.
Only then did he breathe again.
The air seemed to loosen around him. The forest's noise returned in ripples, the call of frogs, the faint hum of beetles, the splash of dripping water.
He flicked his tongue, catching a dozen scents at once, frogs, rodents, birds, even snakes. The area was abundant with prey, far more than his old territory. But abundance came with risk. The more there was to eat, the more there was to be eaten by.
He thought briefly of the hollowed tree he had slept in. It was small, damp, and dark, but it had felt safe. Out here, every patch of ground seemed uncertain.
He began to move again, slower this time.
His path wound between thick ferns and moss-covered roots. The soil sucked faintly at his belly as he slid. Once, he brushed against something smooth and cold, a pale mushroom that pulsed faintly with light. It startled him for a moment before he moved on.
A cluster of small lizards darted across the ground ahead, chasing after winged insects. He watched them briefly, their movements sharp and precise, their coordination almost practiced. Even the lesser creatures here seemed alert, honed by the harshness of the environment.
He passed over a bed of old leaves, trying to imitate their stillness, and waited.
The smell of something alive drifted through the air again, faint, wet, and musky. He stilled. His senses sharpened. Somewhere nearby, something was hiding.
Minutes passed. A shape appeared between the reeds, a plump rat, its gray fur soaked from the morning damp. It sniffed cautiously at the air, then began digging near a root.
Luo Feng watched silently, tension gathering in his body once more.
But this time, he didn't move right away.
He observed.
The rat's movements were sharp, alert, quick to react at the slightest noise. It took a step, then paused, its nose twitching constantly. It was small, yes, but it had survived in this jungle, it was experienced too, in its own way.
He waited longer than before, testing the rhythm of its pattern. Step, pause, dig. Step, pause, sniff.
When the rat moved behind a clump of leaves, he began to slide forward. Slowly. Carefully.
A faint drizzle began again overhead. Raindrops hit leaves and soil, their rhythm masking his movements. The wet ground muffled the slide of his belly.
He inched closer, every second stretched into eternity. His head lifted, fangs glinting faintly.
The rat turned suddenly, nose twitching.
For an instant, its eyes met his.
Luo Feng struck.
But the rat darted backward, vanishing into a small hole between two roots before his fangs could reach it.
His jaws closed on empty air once again.
He stayed frozen, listening to the faint rustle fade into silence.
A long moment passed. Then he let out a low hiss, sharp and frustrated.
The rain began to fall harder, droplets pattering against his scales. He tilted his head upward, letting them wash the dirt and frustration away.
Failure again. But this time, he didn't turn back immediately.
He was learning.
He realized that this forest demanded not only stealth but timing, awareness of how every sound, every scent, every drop of water changed the balance between hunter and hunted.
A place like this did not forgive mistakes.
He slid back under the thick cover of a fern, resting in the shadow. His stomach growled softly, but his mind was calm.
His eyes half-closed, golden slits watching the trembling world through the veil of rain.
This was no longer the same forest he had once survived. It was a new, harsher world, alive, crowded, merciless.
And if he wanted to live, he would have to become just as sharp, just as relentless.
For a long time, he stayed still, blending perfectly into the green and shadow around him.
Listening. Thinking.
The next hunt would be different.