The days passed in an exhausting cycle: awakening to a shattered body, gnawing hunger, and the fear of the Silver Ape's lingering shadow. Zhuo lay among the massive roots of a riverside tree, hidden by a thick curtain of vines. Every breath felt like a knife, reminding him of his cracked ribs and torn muscles. But worse was the thirst for energy. His Spirit Flame was dim, nearly extinguished, like an ember in the rain.
His claw, where the Stone-Heart Pulse—the name his clarifying mind had given the Earth Core—was embedded, felt cold and nearly mute. His connection to the earth had been severed by the corroding river water, and his desperate attempts to draw energy yielded only a thin, inadequate trickle.
In his despair, his primordial instinct spoke. If he couldn't draw energy, he must drink it. Painfully, he dragged himself to the river's edge, licking the wet stones and the moss covering them. It didn't taste like the rich, stable Earth Qi he knew. It was cold, flowing, and elusive. But it was there. Like dew on parched leaves, it gave him just enough strength not to die.
He began to observe. He noticed how certain types of moss held more of this "cold flavor." He saw how certain stones in the river emitted stronger energy vibrations, usually the smooth ones coated in silvery-green algae. Gradually, unconsciously, he began to map the river's energy flow, much as he had mapped the earth's pulse in his old cave.
One night, under the light of a full moon filtering through the canopy, a change occurred. Dewdrops began to form on rare Moon-Mirror Moss growing on large boulders in the river's center. These were no ordinary dewdrops; they emitted a faint silvery glow and radiated an energy that made Zhuo's Spirit Flame quiver in anticipation. This was Moon-Wash Dew, condensed from Moon Qi and the energy of living water.
Carefully, Zhuo crept out, his body still aching, and licked the droplets.
It was like cold lightning. Its energy didn't warm; it cleansed. It flowed through his wounded meridians, clearing some of the deep bruising, and most importantly, it touched the Stone-Heart Pulse in his claw. The stressed crystal vibrated, as if taking a fresh breath for the first time, and absorbed the cold lunar energy. For a moment, its connection to Zhuo felt clearer, less pained, more like an acknowledgment.
A new lesson: energy wasn't just heat and earth. It was also cold and moon. And they could complement each other.
His healing after that was still slow, but now it had direction. He would bask during the day, absorbing tiny amounts of warm Sun Qi to warm his body and bones. When the moon rose, he would lick the Moon-Wash Dew, using its cleansing properties to heal internal wounds and balance the Stone-Heart Pulse. It was the most primitive form of bodily alchemy, and it worked.
In the process, he discovered something else. As he lay on a large boulder in the river's center, his whole body in contact with the mossy stone, he felt something familiar: an extremely faint vibration. It was far weaker than in the cave, but undeniable. It was the deep earth's pulse, transmitted through the river's bedrock.
The Stone-Heart Pulse in his claw throbbed with joyful response.
With full concentration, Zhuo tried something he hadn't attempted since fleeing the cave: Lying on the Pulse. He flattened his body on the rock, closed his eyes, and opened himself not just to the water and moon energy, but to the earth's vibration below.
It was like hearing a whisper from a great distance. But it was there. And through the Stone-Heart Pulse, the whisper was amplified. A slow, steady trickle of energy began to seep from the stone, through his body, and into the crystal. In return, the crystal radiated a deep, stable warmth that finally began to properly heal his cracked bones.
Water and earth. Moon and sun. They were not enemies; they were parts of a whole. And the Stone-Heart Pulse was his bridge.
By the next full moon, Zhuo was nearly recovered. More than that, his body had adapted. His copper scales now had a faint silvery sheen, especially on his back, where they were most exposed to the moon. His horn buds had grown slightly, now the length of his smallest finger, and felt hard as stone. His sight could easily pierce the darkness, and he could sense vibrations in the earth and water with stunning clarity.
His hunger returned, but now it was driven by a need for high-quality energy, not just meat. He knew he had to hunt again. But the lesson from the Silver Ape was deeply ingrained: brute strength meant death. He needed skill.
His prey was an Iron-Quilled Stone Boar, a creature larger and more aggressive than any he'd hunted before. This boar not only had stone-like hide but also sharp, iron-hard quills along its back that it could fire in emergencies.
Zhuo observed it for two full days. He learned its route, where it drank, where it rubbed itself against trees to sharpen its quills. He saw its weakness: poor eyesight and a reliance on hearing and smell.
His plan involved no direct assault. As the boar approached the river to drink on the third night, Zhuo was ready. He had selected a large boulder half-submerged just upstream from the boar's drinking spot. With his claws, he carefully carved small grooves into the stone, following the natural patterns he felt in its vibrations. It wasn't a magical array, but it altered how the water flowed over it, creating a barely audible, low-frequency humming sound.
The boar lifted its head, its ears twitching. The sound was irritating, making it nervous. It sniffed the air, trying to locate the source.
It was then that Zhuo struck. Not from the front, but from below.
He had dug a shallow tunnel in the sandy bank underwater, right next to the large boulder. As the boar's attention was diverted, he burst from the water, his sickle-like claw aimed not at its hard hide, but at the soft area behind its knee.
He was fast, one precise strike, then immediately retreated back into the water.
The boar squealed in pain and rage, turning with a snort to attack, but Zhuo was already gone beneath the dark surface. Iron quills shot out, hitting rocks and trees, but finding no target.
Zhuo swam to the far bank, emerged silently, and repeated his tactic. A slash on its other side. Then a nip at its ear. He was a phantom, a shadow using his new mastery of water and vibration to create distractions and attack from unexpected angles.
The boar grew more frustrated and bloodied. Its movements became sluggish, its breath labored. Finally, with an angry grunt, it tried to flee.
But Zhuo had anticipated this. From his hiding place, he focused energy through the Stone-Heart Pulse and his feet, sending a vibration through the ground. It wasn't an attack, but an illusion—the feeling of a small landslide ahead of the fleeing boar.
The boar, already panicked, turned sharply—right into a snare Zhuo had made from strong tree roots and sharpened stones, hidden in the bushes.
The snare tightened, lifting the boar off the ground. Its struggles only deepened its wounds.
Zhuo approached, his eyes calm. No rage, no greed, just the application of a plan, the fulfillment of a need. With one final, swift movement, he ended the boar's suffering.
He stood there, under the moonlight, warm blood wetting his claws. He did not immediately feast. Instead, he felt the vibrations in the earth, the energy in the air, and the steady pulse of the Stone-Heart Pulse in his limb.
He had won. Not with raw power, but with understanding. He had used water, earth, illusion, and patience as his weapons. The Iron Teacher of the Forest had given him a cruel lesson, but he had learned.
He looked up at the sky, where the moon shone like a silver coin. For the first time, a truly coherent thought formed in his mind, assembled from feelings and images into a word-like structure:
"I hear. I learn. I adapt. I am no longer prey. I am the hunter. I am... Zhuo."
He had earned his name. And with it, his new identity as a true Yao Jing began to solidify. The journey to fully understand the power he carried and his place in this cruel world had only just begun.