Days in the primordial forest hardened into a harsh yet orderly cycle: meditation, hunting, vigilance. Zhuo had mastered the art of patience. He could lie motionless for half a day, merging with moss and stone, waiting for the right prey. His strength slowly recovered, and even began to grow, fueled by energy from the Earth Core and the Qi-rich meat of his kills.
Yet, this tranquility was fragile. The forest teemed with creatures whose auras made his Spirit Flame quiver with fear. One dusk, as he returned from drinking, he found his territory had been visited. Prints of large claws—far larger than his own—were stamped into the soft earth near his lair. The scent left behind made the scales on his neck stand on end: musk, raw power, and a wild intelligence. This was no ordinary beast; this was another Yao Jing, and far more powerful than him.
The next day, he heard it: a low growl that vibrated through his bones, followed by the sound of a tree snapping. Zhuo climbed the tallest tree nearby, hiding his aura as best he could. In a small clearing not far away, a creature was fighting.
It was a Three-Eyed Silver Ape, two men tall, its muscles corded and silver fur matted with mud and blood. Its opponent was a giant Venomous Jaws Serpent, as thick as a tree trunk, with jet-black scales and cold yellow eyes. The battle was terrifying. The ape relied on brutal strength, tearing the earth apart with its crushing blows, while the serpent moved with lethal speed, trying to constrict and inject deadly venom through arm-length fangs.
Zhuo froze, not just in fear, but in awe. This was a true Yao Jing-level battle. They didn't just rely on their bodies; they used techniques. Every punch from the Ape was laden with heavy earth energy, creating small craters. The Serpent's hiss wasn't just poisonous; it was a spray of corrosive black mist that ate away at everything it touched.
Suddenly, the third eye on the Ape's forehead opened. A dazzling silver beam shot out, not at the Serpent, but at its shadow on the ground. The Serpent hissed in pain, as if its own body had been struck, its movements stiffening for a split second. It was a soul attack!
It was the opening the Ape needed. It grabbed the serpent and, with a triumphant roar, tore its head off.
Its victory was short-lived. As it stood triumphantly, holding the still-twitching serpent head, its vigilant third eye swiveled and locked directly onto the hiding Zhuo. It had sensed his aura.
Their eyes met. In the Ape's eyes, Zhuo did not see hunger or blind rage. He saw contempt and greed. Zhuo wasn't a threat; he was a prize, a resource to be consumed.
With a leap that shook the earth, the Ape charged toward him.
Zhuo didn't think. His survival instinct took over. He leapt from the tree, landed lightly, and shot into the nearest thicket. He was small and agile; the Ape was large and powerful. It was his only advantage.
But the Ape could not be outsmarted so easily. Its third eye glowed, and again, Zhuo felt a strange sensation—as if his soul were being clawed. His step faltered, his mind fogged. It was only for a moment, but it was enough. A massive hand tore through the wall of brush beside him, missing his tail by inches.
Zhuo ran. He zigzagged, ducked, and weaved, using every gap in the undergrowth and every tree too small for the Ape to pass. But the creature didn't need to pass them; it destroyed them. Trees were toppled, bushes were trampled. The Ape was an unstoppable force of destruction.
Zhuo tried his Earth Qi breath. It bounced off the Ape's silver fur like a gentle breeze. He tried using his Earth Vibration technique to sense its steps, but the vibrations from the Ape's own destruction were too powerful and chaotic.
He was cornered. Ahead was a small cliff with a raging river below. Behind him, the Silver Ape closed in, its third eye narrowed with sadistic satisfaction.
There was no way out. No place to hide.
In desperation, Zhuo did the only thing left. He focused his entire consciousness, every spark of power from the Earth Core, not to attack the Ape's body, but to blast his own aura out in all directions. It was a soul scream, a raw declaration of his existence, his fear, and his will to live.
To another Yao Jing, this might have meant nothing. But the Three-Eyed Ape, which specialized in soul attacks, paused for a fraction of a second. It was like a hunter suddenly hearing its prey speak in a loud, unexpected voice. Its contempt shifted to brief curiosity, then to a deeper desire. This was no longer just food; this was prey with an unusual soul, one that might yield more unique power.
The Ape reached out its hand, slower this time, as if to capture him, not crush him.
It was a tiny opening.
Zhuo didn't wait. With his last strength, he leapt from the cliff, falling into the raging river below. Sharp rocks battered his body, the cold water seized him, and the strong current dragged him under.
He lay on the rocky riverbed, unconscious, water flowing over him. The wounds on his body opened, tainting the water with his blood and the dregs of his energy. The Core in his claw pulsed weakly, nearly extinguished.
But a strange thing happened. As his blood mingled with the water, and his scattered energy aura touched the river stones, water plants, and tiny creatures within it, a faint feedback returned to him. Not through the Core, but through his soul. He felt the flow of the water, the perseverance of the stones, the struggling life of the plants. It was a faint network of consciousness, an energy field connecting everything in the river.
Unknowingly, his desperate soul scream and the spilling of his blood had done something crucial: it had planted a seed of soul (Níng Shén) in his immediate environment. The river, which was once just a place, now recognized him. It carried him, not with compassion, but with passive acceptance, like it would carry a leaf or a twig.
The Silver Ape roared in fury on the cliff but dared not enter the raging currents that could disrupt its delicate soul senses. Eventually, it left, growling in frustration.
Zhuo lay on the riverbed for hours, half-conscious, half-dead. Energy from the water and stones, though weak, seeped into him, preventing him from dying. The Earth Core in his claw, connected to the earth element, initially resisted the water. But under the pressure of life and death, under the faint guidance of his new soul seed, a small change occurred. The Core learned to tolerate, to make peace with the foreign element, absorbing a trickle of its moisture and flowing energy.
As dawn broke, Zhuo awoke. His body was shattered, but alive. His Spirit Flame was dim, but not extinguished. Most importantly, a new understanding burned within his awareness: Strength alone was not enough. Technique alone was not enough. This world was full of creatures with strange, specific abilities. To survive, he needed more than physical power; he needed intelligence, knowledge, and a deeper understanding of how to connect with the world around him, not just take from it.
He crawled out of the river, his body weak and trembling. He looked into the forest, but this time, his gaze was different. It was no longer just a place to hunt and hide; it was a teacher, a textbook written in the language of blood, energy, and instinct. Every creature, from the smallest to the strongest, had a lesson to teach.
With a groan of pain, he began to crawl in search of a new hiding place, the Core in his claw pulsing with a slightly different rhythm, as if it had learned a new song. Today's lesson had nearly killed him. But it had also planted the seed of his own cultivation method—a path not just of taking, but of connecting, and one day, perhaps, of commanding.