The third day did not begin with movement.
It began with a smell.
A dense, bitter stench that clung to the air like a bodiless threat. It wasn’t merely the stench of decay. It was something else… acidic, sharp, saturated with intent.
Zhu Xian opened his eyes inside his cave. He had slept propped against the stone, wrapped in the dried hide of a lesser beast he had hunted the night before. His stomach growled, and his hands were still cracked and raw, but his mind was clearer.
The smell swept through again, stronger this time.
Something was out there.
Not a common beast.
He knew it because the mist had changed as well. It shifted, restless, as though the very stone were holding its breath. The creatures of the abyss always knew when to run.
Zhu Xian stepped out of his cave without haste. He walked barefoot over the dust, leaving faint footprints among broken bones and petrified remains. The air was darker than usual—not from the absence of light, but from the presence of something alive that shouldn’t be there.
And then, he saw it.
A hunched creature, the size of a lion, with long, thin, bony legs and grayish skin stretched tight over its muscles. Its wings were broken, as though it had once flown but now could only crawl with desperation and pride.
And on its head… three eyes. One in the center, larger, unmoving, violet. The other two, smaller, shifted slowly, like a crow searching for carrion.
Zhu Xian did not move. Neither did the beast.
They stood ten meters apart, separated by a jagged crack of black stone.A faint hum emanated from the third eye. Not an audible sound. More like a mental pressure scratching at the walls of the soul.
A spiritual creature. Partially intelligent.
Zhu Xian recognized it from ancient descriptions buried deep in his alchemical memory.A Three-Eyed Carrion Stalker.A beast that did not hunt for hunger… but for the thrill.
And most importantly: a beast that could sense the soul.
—Are you here for my flesh… or my fate? —he asked, as if speaking to someone he had known. The creeping edge of solitude was starting to leave its mark.
The creature crouched slightly. It did not growl. It simply stared.
Zhu Xian closed his eyes and flexed his fingers. He had no Dou Qi. No blade. Only a tempered body… and a will that did not know how to bend.
The carrion beast lunged without warning.
Its claws tore through the air like dry knives, slashing straight for his neck.
Zhu Xian pivoted on his heel. The passive technique of absorption and response within his body had begun to synchronize. His movement was fluid, natural—like the attack had been part of a choreography long rehearsed.
The counter wasn’t perfect, but it was enough.
His elbow struck the beast’s side, twisting its momentum. A sharp cry ripped from its throat.
But before it could regain its footing, the third eye flared.
Zhu Xian felt a cold pulse pierce his mind. A vision. A memory. A single, brutal fragment of his past life: the day of his death. The city consumed by flames. The sound of the explosion. His body shielding a crying child beneath a splintered wooden bench.
His breath caught. His heartbeat thundered like a broken drum.
—That memory is not yours to use, —he muttered, jaw tight.
The third eye blinked. Mocking.
Zhu Xian did not fight the vision with anger. He shut his mind, not with force, but with calm.
The divine soul technique shielded him.
His consciousness turned inward, building a sanctuary of familiar images: the temple of his childhood, the laughter of an old monk, the quiet voice of the deity… and then, a woman’s face—still nameless, still waiting somewhere in the threads of fate.
The beast shrieked. It didn’t understand why its spiritual assault had failed.
Zhu Xian surged forward. This time, not to evade, but to strike. His knee slammed into the creature’s chest. His palm crashed into its neck. With a twist of his body, he drove the beast hard against the ground.
From its belly, a hidden claw lashed out, slicing his side.
Blood.
And with it, fury.
Zhu Xian did not cry out. He did not retreat.
He dropped his weight fully onto the beast, driving a jagged rock into the base of its skull. A burst of violet light flooded the air.
The carrion beast convulsed. Its third eye dimmed. It did not die instantly. Instead, it stared at him—almost in recognition, as if it had finally met something it could not consume.
Then, its body dissolved into dust.
Breathing hard, Zhu Xian pressed a hand to his bleeding side. Warm blood ran freely, but what rose in his chest was not pain.
It was a quiet pride.
—So… my soul can kill, too, —he whispered.
And when he turned, he saw something unexpected among the remains.
A fragment of a spiritual core. Pale. Almost translucent. But undeniably pure.
He held it in his hand. The abyss’s first offering.
He was not a cultivator yet.
But that day, the abyss had accepted him as one of its own.