The seasons turned. The Acid Drizzles came and went, leaving a thin layer of rust on the rocks and eroding the Earth Qi crystal flakes in Zhuo's crevice bit by bit. Every raindrop was a test of endurance, forcing him to find deeper crevices or the broad leaves of the Blood Iron trees for shelter. He learned. Not with thought, but with his body. The scales on his back grew slightly harder, more resistant to the corrosive rainwater. It was a slow and painful adaptation, driven by the minor wounds he received if exposed for too long.
The rock crevice and its small pool became the center of his increasingly narrow world. He no longer roamed far just to hunt. Now, there was a greater purpose: to understand the "flavor" of the glittering stones.
His experiments continued. He discovered that not all crystals felt the same. Some provided a deep, stable warmth, making him feel strong and grounded. Others gave a sharp, cold sensation that made his mind—still a collection of sensations and impulses—feel clearer for a moment. He began to sort them. He would spend his basking days near the "warm" crystals, and approach the "cold" ones when restless or after escaping a predator.
One morning, after a heavy rain, he found something new. A drop of sap, thick and honey-yellow, dripped from a Blood Iron tree root hanging above the crevice, landing directly on a medium-sized Earth Qi crystal. The sap and the crystal reacted. The crystal vibrated faintly, emitting energy that was stronger and... different. It smelled sweet and grassy, yet had a palpable "weight."
Zhuo, suspicious yet intrigued, approached. His tongue flicked. An explosion of taste! It was a mix of the familiar Earth Qi taste with something else, something alive and full of vitality. Qi of Growth. The energy flooded his mouth, not stinging like direct contact with the crystal, but more like a deluge of nutrients instantly absorbed by his body. He felt fresher, more alert, the minor wounds on his scales seeming to improve slightly.
A new lesson: two different "flavors" could be combined to create a third, stronger "flavor." This was a concept of primordial alchemy, and Zhuo stored it not as an idea, but as muscle memory, as a behavioral pattern to be repeated. He began searching for other sources of Blood Iron tree sap.
His life became a complex ritual. Basking in specific spots at specific times. Licking specific crystals based on his feeling. Seeking sap and mixing it with crystals. Each ritual gave him a little energy, slightly filling that "emptiness."
But the energy was unstable. It flowed, then faded, absorbed by his still-ordinary body. He felt better, faster, stronger for a short while, then returned to being a slow lizard. Frustration was too complex an emotion, but he felt its primitive version: a restlessness, a craving for the state of "more" that never lasted.
He needed to store this "flavor." To hold onto it longer.
He tried licking more crystals, but it only made his tongue numb and sometimes made him vomit. He tried chewing the sap alone, but it gave him little energy.
One day, as he rubbed his snout against a particularly "warm" crystal, trying to get more of its warmth, something happened. A small, sharp crystal flake broke off and embedded itself in his gum. He jerked back, trying to rub it off with his claw. A taste of metal and earth flooded his mouth. But along with the pain came a wave of pure, concentrated Earth Qi, absorbed directly into his bloodstream through the wound.
The wave of energy was far stronger than merely inhaling or licking. Zhuo felt dizzy, his body growing hot. He ran to the pool and lapped at the water to cool his burning mouth. But the lesson was imprinted: "Flavor" entered through the blood.
This was a revolutionary discovery, a gateway to true cultivation. But it was also profoundly dangerous.
Zhuo began experimenting with intentionally injuring himself near the crystals. At first, the results were inconsistent and often perilous. Too much energy at once would leave him weak, dizzy, and once nearly killed him—he lay listless for three days, his body trembling uncontrollably, able only to stare at the crevice ceiling.
But he learned. He learned that small wounds on his legs or tail were safer than in his mouth or head. He learned he had to immediately lick the crystal after injuring himself, letting the energy flow through the open wound. He learned that after such a "infusion," he had to bask for a long time, letting his sun-warmed body "cook" and absorb the energy.
Changes began to occur. Not dramatic, but real. His scales were not just hard, but began to have a faint metallic sheen. Their color shifted from dull brown to a greenish bronze. His eyes, once like buttons, now held a faint gleam of intelligence, a consciousness beginning to focus. He could remember more complex hiding places, the movement patterns of his prey, and even the precise time to approach specific crystals based on the moon's position.
One afternoon, a Grey Cliff Snake, a predator that usually shadowed him, tried to ambush him. Normally, Zhuo relied solely on speed and camouflage. But this time, as he darted away, something else happened. An impulse, a memory of the "cold" energy that cleared his mind. Without thought, he changed direction abruptly, not towards his usual crevice, but towards a narrow fissure he knew was inhabited by a colony of Iron Sting Wasps. The snake, larger, was forced to halt. Zhuo, with his smaller body, slipped inside. He hadn't just fled; he had manipulated his environment, using knowledge he had gathered.
The snake eventually left, frustrated. Zhuo emerged from his hiding place, his heart pounding. But there was a new feeling tickling the "emptiness" that was now almost full. Not just relief. But something akin to... satisfaction. A vague understanding that he was not merely a victim of the jungle's law. He could, bit by bit, learn these laws and use them.
That night, as he lay in his crevice, watching the Moonlight Moss, an almost-formed "thought" emerged. Not in words, but in a sequence of sensations and memories: the taste of warm crystal, the taste of sweet sap, the taste of fear from the snake, the taste of satisfaction from outsmarting it.
This sequence formed a pattern, a primitive question: "What comes next?"
He looked at the crystal wall. He had taken all it could give him in his current way. Its "flavor" was no longer as strong as before. His body thirsted for something more.
His brightening mind—his forming soul—turned to the small pool. All this time, he had only drunk from it. But the water came from somewhere. From within the earth. From a place deeper down.
With claws strengthened by Qi, he began to scratch at the earth at the pool's bottom, searching for the water's source, searching for a new "flavor" that might be deeper, stronger. The work was slow, exhausting, taking days. But for the first time, Zhuo had a project. A purpose beyond eating and sleeping.
He dug, driven by a thirst for evolution that now burned in his blood. Each scratch was a primitive prayer, a plea to the Primordial Dao to show the path to true power. The path from a lizard to something more.