The rat's green eyes glimmered with hunger and malice as it crept closer to Zhou. He lay sprawled on the ground, ribs aching, breath shallow, his body too weak to even coil defensively. His fall from the structure had left him trembling, his muscles refusing to obey.
The rat halted beside him, whiskers twitching, its claws flexing in anticipation. Zhou closed his eyes, his mind numb with exhaustion, ready to surrender to the inevitable.
The claws arced downward—
—and then a sudden radiance burst from the blossom etched into Zhou's scales. A wave of light surged outward, hurling the rat back with a squeal.
The glow was not gentle. It seared through Zhou's veins like molten fire, forcing his lungs to expand, his heart to pound harder. His vision sharpened, his muscles tightened, and though pain still lingered, he could move again. His wounds closed partially, his Qi reserves surged to half, and his strength returned to nearly half of what it once was. But the blossom withered on his skin, its petals blackening, its sacrifice final.
Zhou coiled into a defensive posture, his eyes burning with grim determination. Across from him, the rat staggered upright, its body twitching with fury.
It screeched, saliva dripping from its fangs, and lunged. Zhou waited, calm in the storm. At the last instant, he unleashed Qi Burst. Sparks of energy crackled across his scales, the air itself snapping with static. The rat convulsed mid-leap, stunned.
Zhou struck. His jaws clamped down on the rat's body, fangs piercing deep. Blood filled his mouth, hot and metallic. Victory seemed close—until the rat retaliated with its own Qi Burst.
Agony tore through Zhou's body, his muscles spasming violently. But he had endured worse. He forced his Qi outward again, clashing against the rat's energy. The air between them shimmered with raw force, each pulse draining his reserves. His Qi plummeted to a quarter, but he managed to blunt the rat's burst.
The rat writhed, bleeding heavily, its squeals turning frantic. Then Zhou felt it—an ominous surge. The rat's body trembled as waves of Qi rolled off it, its core fracturing. It was going to explode.
Instinct screamed at him. In one desperate motion, Zhou swallowed the rat whole.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then—BOOM!
The explosion ripped through his insides. Zhou convulsed, blood spilling from his jaws, his vision blurring. His core, however, drank greedily of the rat's Qi, siphoning much of the destructive force. The damage was severe—internal bleeding, torn flesh—but not fatal.
And then the glow returned. Blue light enveloped him, his body stretching, bones cracking, scales splitting and reforming. He writhed in agony as his frame doubled in size, growing from three inches to six. His body thickened, his fangs lengthened, and his core swelled to the size of a lemon, pulsing with power.
When the light faded, Zhou lay trembling, battered but alive. He tested his coils, heavier now, stronger. He had survived the rat's greed, the explosion, and his own despair and even advanced to the 3rd Layer of the Mortal Beast realm.
But survival and advancement came at a cost. The blossom was gone. And deep within his core, faint traces of the rat's Qi still lingered—wild, unstable, waiting.
Zhou's tongue flicked out, tasting the air. His heart sank. His breakthrough had not been clean. The blossom's light, the rat's exploding core, and his own unstable Qi had combined into a chaotic flare — far louder than a normal Mortal Beast's advancement. In a swamp so close to the city, such disturbances were always noticed. Cultivators monitored beast populations carefully; too many breakthroughs left unchecked could lead to a beast tide, and that was something no city could afford.
And now, Zhou felt it: a suffocating aura pressing down on him from above. Refined, heavy, overwhelming. A human cultivator — Foundation Establishment realm, the equivalent of the Spiritual Awareness realm for beasts.
Zhou froze, every coil trembling as the man's spiritual sense swept across the swamp. It brushed against him, probing, and Zhou's battered core quivered under the pressure.
The cultivator's gaze lingered briefly on his hiding place. Zhou's heart pounded. Then, just as suddenly, the pressure eased.
Too weak. That was the judgment. His fractured aura, his unstable core, his injuries — they made him seem like nothing more than a half-dead Stage 3 beast. Not worth a second thought.
The presence moved on, fading into the distance.
Only then did Zhou dare to move again, slithering deeper into the reeds. He had survived the rat. He had survived the explosion. But now he understood something far more terrifying:
The world was vast. And in it walked beings so powerful that his very existence could be dismissed with a glance.
If he wanted to live, if he wanted to grow, he could never allow himself to be that helpless again.