The stolen blue energy hummed within Zhao Mingrui like a trapped hornet. It wasn't the comforting warmth of the damselfish eggs anymore; it was a volatile, buzzing current threatening to short-circuit his tiny fish nervous system. Huddled deep in his rock fissure, the crushing serenity of the ancient turtle cultivator overhead only amplified his internal chaos.
*Okay, okay, focus,* he commanded his panicking fish-brain. *You absorbed raw spiritual energy. Textbook cultivation Step One: Gather Qi. Now comes Step Two: Refine it. But how? Do I… meditate? Chant sutras? Do fish even have chakras?*
His human knowledge felt frustratingly inadequate. Cultivation novels spoke of complex meridian networks and dantians – energy centers humans supposedly possessed. Did fish have a dantian? Was it near his swim bladder? His gills? The buzzing intensified, making his scales vibrate uncomfortably. He felt bloated, jittery, like he'd swallowed a live electric eel.
*Refine… refine…* He remembered the concept from chemistry labs – purifying a substance. This energy felt wild, unfocused. He needed to calm it, condense it, make it *his*. He closed his fish eyes (a disconcerting sensation of darkness without eyelids) and focused inward, trying to *will* the buzzing energy into a coherent stream.
He imagined it flowing, not along human meridians, but along the pathways his body instinctively knew: the core of his being, down the central axis of his spine (or whatever passed for it), branching out along the bony rays of his fins, circulating through the intricate folds of his gills where water met blood. He pictured the chaotic energy being filtered, smoothed, like turbulent water flowing through layers of fine sand.
It was agonizingly slow. The energy resisted, sparking and fizzing. He felt a sharp cramp near his tail fin, a spasm that sent him bumping against the fissure wall. *Qi cramp? Is that a thing?* He persisted, driven by the very real fear that if he didn't gain control, he might literally burst.
Gradually, painstakingly, the buzzing began to subside. The chaotic sparks coalesced into a steady, pulsing flow. It wasn't calm, not yet, but it was *directed*. He focused the stream back towards his core, compressing it. The bloated feeling lessened, replaced by a growing sense of density, of *solidity* within him. The energy wasn't diminishing; it was concentrating, becoming potent.
As the internal storm calmed, his external senses sharpened dramatically. He could hear the minute *click-click* of a tiny shrimp cleaning parasites off a distant anemone. He could feel the subtle variations in water temperature as currents shifted. He could *taste* the faint, lingering bitterness of the Coral-Guardian's rage in the water, a sour note that hadn't been there before. And most strikingly, the faint shimmer he'd glimpsed on his scales earlier? It was now undeniable. A soft, silvery luminescence clung to him, barely visible in the gloom of the fissure, but definitely there. His own nascent aura. Stage Zero-Point-Five was looking optimistic. Maybe even Point-Six.
He cautiously wriggled out of the fissure. The vastness of the ocean, the lurking shadows, were still terrifying, but he felt… less insignificant. More anchored. His wide eyes scanned the environment with newfound acuity. The bitter taste of the Guardian's anger was strongest back towards the blue eggs, a clear warning sign. *Territory marked. Avoid.*
Needing a new direction, he focused on the subtle temperature gradients he could now sense. One current felt distinctly warmer than the others, flowing from deeper within the kelp forest, near the base of the rocky shelf his fissure was part of. Warmth often meant energy. Energy often meant… opportunity.
He followed the warmth, navigating the dense kelp with more confidence, his silver aura helping him blend slightly better with the dappled light filtering down. The water grew perceptibly warmer, carrying a faint, sulfurous tang. The kelp thinned, replaced by rocky outcrops covered in strange, fuzzy growths and clusters of tube worms that pulsed gently.
Then he saw the source: a fissure in the rocky shelf, wider than his hiding spot, venting shimmering, superheated water. Bubbles streamed upwards, distorting the light. Around its base, the rock glowed with an eerie, volcanic light. **A hydrothermal vent.**
*Jackpot!* Zhao Mingrui's nerdy heart (figuratively) leapt. These vents were oases of life and energy on the deep sea floor, fueled by chemosynthesis. And in a cultivation world? That heat, those minerals… they had to be saturated with potent, raw earth and fire Qi. Maybe even pure Yang energy!
He darted closer, feeling the intense warmth radiating from the vent. The energy here was thick, heavy, and chaotic – far more intense than the blue egg essence. It prickled against his scales and gills. He took a cautious "breath," filtering the vent water. It was like inhaling liquid fire and ground glass. Raw, abrasive energy flooded him, instantly threatening to overwhelm his carefully cultivated internal flow. He choked, spitting out the water, feeling his nascent aura flicker erratically.
*Too much! Way too raw!* He backed off, stunned. The vent was a powerhouse, but it was like trying to drink from a firehose. He needed a buffer, a way to absorb the energy safely. His eyes scanned the vent's periphery. Crabs scuttled over the glowing rocks, armored in thick, heat-resistant shells. Strange, eyeless fish hovered in the thermal currents, their skins shimmering with heat-dissipating patterns. And nestled in a crevice slightly above the main vent flow, partially obscured by a curtain of slow-growing, luminous bacteria, was a cluster of eggs.
These weren't blue. They were a deep, molten *orange*, pulsing with an inner light that mirrored the vent's glow. They radiated intense heat and a dense, heavy energy that felt… stable. Refined. As if the parent had already processed the vent's raw fury into something assimilable. Guarding them wasn't a fish, but a creature that looked like it had been forged in the vent itself.
A hermit crab. But unlike any hermit crab Zhao Mingrui had ever seen. Its shell wasn't a scavenged snail shell; it was a rough, natural formation of what looked like solidified lava rock, covered in glowing mineral deposits. The crab itself was massive for its kind – easily the size of Zhao Mingrui – with thick, blackened pincers that gleamed like obsidian. It moved slowly, deliberately, around the orange clutch, its stalked eyes scanning the surroundings with a weary intelligence. An aura radiated from it – not the chilling pressure of the Coral-Guardian or the vast serenity of the turtle, but a deep, earthy *solidity*, like bedrock. Stage One, definitely, but grounded, not agile. **A Molten Hermit.**
Zhao Mingrui's mind raced. *Orange eggs. Processed vent energy. Pure cultivation fuel.* But how to steal from *this*? The crab was slow, but its shell was impervious, its pincers looked like they could crush rock. Distraction? With what? Fire? He was a fish. Charging was suicide.
He needed information. He needed to observe. He settled behind a cluster of tube worms, watching the Molten Hermit. It moved with a rhythmic patience, occasionally using a smaller pincer to gently adjust a glowing mineral near the eggs, seemingly fine-tuning the energy field around them. It seemed… thoughtful. Less instinctively territorial, more deliberately protective.
Zhao Mingrui took a gamble. A small one. He focused, drawing on his refined silver energy, and pushed a tiny, controlled pulse of his aura outwards – not a challenge, but a hesitant *ping*, like a sonar click infused with curiosity and a deliberate lack of threat.
The Molten Hermit froze. Its stalked eyes swiveled slowly, precisely, locking onto Zhao Mingrui's hiding spot behind the tube worms. There was no immediate aggression, just intense scrutiny. The crab's earthy aura shifted, thickening slightly, a silent question hanging in the warm water.
Zhao Mingrui held his position, radiating harmless intent (he hoped). After a long, tense moment, a voice echoed in his mind. Not sound, but pure, gravelly *meaning*, like stones grinding together.
**
Zhao Mingrui nearly jumped out of his scales. *Telepathy?* He focused back, trying to project his thoughts, picturing simple concepts: *Observe. Learn. Not Threat.*
The grinding voice returned, laced with dry amusement. *
*Foolish Silverfins?* Zhao Mingrui looked at his own shimmering scales. Was that his species? He pushed an image of the Coral-Guardian, the taste of its bitterness. *Danger. Hunter.*
The Molten Hermit's aura rumbled. *
*
A low, grinding chuckle vibrated through the mental link. *
*Old Lava-Shell?* Zhao Mingrui focused on the crab's rocky carapace. *
*
Zhao Mingrui felt a pang of something unexpected – guilt? The eggs weren't just resources; they were this slow, thoughtful creature's offspring. His scavenger instinct warred with a newly forming conscience. Stealing from a territorial damselfish was one thing; stealing from a parent protecting its future was… different.
He projected an image of the raw vent energy, the feeling of it burning him. *
The Molten Hermit seemed to consider. *
Zhao Mingrui froze. Could it sense his human soul? *
The crab's mental voice turned contemplative. *
It wasn't an invitation. It was barely tolerance. But it was a chance. Crumbs of refined vent energy. Safer than raw exposure. A path forward that didn't involve immediate theft… or immediate death by crab claw.
Zhao Mingrui looked from the fiercely guarded orange eggs to the periphery of the vent flow, where the intense heat and light gradually faded into warmer, mineral-rich water. *Crumbs.* For a Scavenger Sage, crumbs were a start. A slow, safe cultivation method, under the watchful (and slightly condescending) eye of a Stage One Molten Hermit who thought he was a "Strange Shiny."
He pulsed a thread of sincere gratitude towards the crab. *
The crab gave a slow, grinding nod, its stalked eyes already drifting back to its precious eggs. *
The warning was clear. The Coral-Guardian wasn't just angry; it was hunting intelligently. Zhao Mingrui's respite by the vent was temporary. He needed these crumbs. He needed to grow. Fast.
He darted towards the vent's periphery, towards the fading spill-light, ready to hoover up whatever refined energy "crumbs" he could find. His journey had just gotten more complex. He had a reluctant, rocky benefactor, a smarter, angrier enemy, and the first flicker of something besides survival instinct: a desire to grow strong enough to protect more than just himself.
Stage Zero-Point-Five suddenly felt very, very small.