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The setting sun's afterglow shone on the water's surface, painting it a fiery gold, while the shadows of the lotus leaves and the sway of their stems created an illusion of a secluded forest.
Qing lay completely limp at the bottom of the pond, with several tears in the skin and flesh around the base of her left hind leg and tail, caused by an otter, and her blood had attracted a frenzy among the pond's fish and shrimp. Fortunately, the bleeding had stopped, and now the wounds were beginning to turn white.
The otter lying beside her was utterly dead, its neck torn open by Qing with a piece of flesh the size of a palm missing from its throat.
This time, it was Qing's sneak attack that had clinched the fate of the otter, preventing its agile body from being of any use and then making use of her superior ability to hold her breath to drown the creature.
It was fortunate, and it demonstrated strength, but what about next time?
The Wolf King could bring one otter or ten, and Qing knew she wouldn't stand a chance against even two of them.
Turtles were never a species known for fighting. A turtle's strength lay in its patience and its skill in tucking into its shell to avoid danger.
But a shell was no defense against an otter, which knew how to attack a turtle's limbs; a retracted turtle was just a walnut to them, easily cracked open to reveal a tasty morsel inside.
The pond was too small; introduce four or five otters, and there would be no place left to flee.
It was time to plan an escape route.
Without foresight, a turtle was doomed to immediate worries. She either had to kill the Wolf King and drive off his pack or find a way to an invincible retreat.
She was still too weak!
Too young, for Qing had only been reborn for less than two years, growing to the size of a basin solely by the grace of the dice. The other little turtles born at the same time who had luckily survived were only the size of a palm.
Just give her two more years to grow to the size of a manhole cover, and she could act with impunity. Even a crocodile's bite would merely break against her then.
Dig a hole!
Dig a hole and cover the entrance with a stone slab; just snatch a few more fish from the Big Salamander and then hide in the hole to grow slowly.
If luck was on her side and she snatched a Red Carp, a roll of five or six on the dice might allow her to grow to the size of a manhole cover soon enough.
Qing scouted the pond bed for an ideal spot to dig, hidden among the lotus flowers, surrounded by plant roots that firmly held the earth together, capable of excavating a substantial hole that wouldn't collapse under the pressure of the water. Once inside, she planned to cut through the soil above, causing large stones to fall and seal the entrance.
Not only would this prevent otters from entering, but even Qing herself would have to dig through the silt from behind to create a new exit.
In the water, otters closed their nostrils and couldn't sniff out their prey, making it impossible for them to locate her. And if they made too much noise, Qing would be awoken by it since a turtle's hearing is exceedingly sharp.
Having planned her strategy, Qing dived to the bottom of the pond and began to dig through the mud with her claws.
As evening fell, darkness first claimed the depths of the water. Howls of wolves echoed incessantly, their eyes glowing green in the dark, adding an especially unnerving atmosphere to their already agitated state.
Qing was out of sight, absorbed in her digging at the bottom of the pond.
Fifty li away, on an inconspicuous little island atop Tinghai Lake, a Sword Light descended, transforming into an elderly Taoist and a young boy with hair tied in a topknot.
The boy held a Bronze Mirror in his hands, looking at the flickering spots of light on its surface, and said with a hint of disappointment, "Ancestor, there are eighteen Demonic Fruits growing in Tinghai Lake, all of them colorless."
Packing away the mirror, he gazed longingly, "Ancestor, when will we see Green Demonic Fruits grow on Qingyuan Mountain?"
Just the day before, following his elder, he had met with Daoist Qing He from Xuanqing Temple—within their territory, a Green Fruit had emerged, devoured by a Tibetan mastiff the sect had been raising for over a decade. Those two little Taoist boys had flaunted it in front of him as if it was their achievement.
As though they themselves had eaten the fruit.
The boy's eyes glittered, "Ancestor, is it possible that a Red Fruit emerged in the Qingyuan Territory and we missed it?"
What about the legendary Red Fruit, if this treasure mirror could only detect colorless and green Demonic Fruits?
The scruffy old Taoist bit into a chicken leg, glistening with oil, "Wishful thinking, kiddo! Once every sixty years, a Starfall occurs, and Demonic Fruits fall from heaven to earth. It takes sixty years to grow a common fruit and three thousand six hundred years for a green one. Red Fruits have never been seen; they're hypothesized to come about possibly after tens or hundreds of thousands of years of cultivation. Even if such fruit did exist, could our Qingyuan Sect guard it?"
This area, spanning thousands of li around, belonged to Qingyuan Sect. The pond where Qing resided and the entirety of Tinghai Lake within a hundred-li radius were no exceptions.
The old Taoist gave the boy a knock on the head, "Why bother worrying about what could be or not? Better to think about how to make roast chicken tastier. If you get it right, your Ancestor will reward you with a few melons and dates, enough to let you show off for half your lifetime!"
"Go! Look around, see if that Little Turtle Kid has shown up yet. The old Taoist has come as promised on the seventh day of the seventh month."
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Last year, the old Taoist got brutally drunk and started talking nonsense. On this little island, he lectured a bunch of fish and turtles for three days straight. After waking up from his drunken stupor three days later, he actually found a turtle that had been listening attentively.
Teasing it a little, the turtle, brimming with spirit wisdom as if enlightened, sincerely thanked him.
The Taoist was over the moon but didn't bear to disrupt its chance to transform into a demon, for once every sixty years Starfall approached, offering every beast a chance for transformation. If he took it away, he would have squandered this opportunity for it.
There's a rule in the Cultivation World that humans must not interfere in the struggle over the Demonic Fruit.
So the Taoist made an agreement to come back to see it on the seventh day of the seventh month when the lotuses were in bloom. If the turtle was fortunate enough to have swallowed a Demonic Fruit, he would take it back to the sect for careful teaching. If it remained a beast, he would keep it as a pet.
Today was already the seventh day of the seventh month.
The boy looked out into the distance from a high vantage point. The lake shimmered, teeming with schools of fish. Small turtles glided through the water, as effortless as if flying, while water birds soared, truly at ease. Only the old master's beloved little turtle was nowhere to be seen.
Even after a thorough search, there was no sign. The turtle had broken the appointment.
The old master was probably a fool, for even if that turtle was spirited, how could it understand the appointment without the intelligence granted by the Demonic Fruit?
He ran down from a small mound, shouting as he went, "Ancestral Master, Ancestral Master, have you gone silly? When you made an appointment with the turtle for the seventh day of the seventh month when the lotuses bloom, how would it know when the seventh day of the seventh month was? This year, Uncle Su's magical battle caused the arrival of spring and summer to be delayed around Qingyuan Mountain, and the lotuses haven't even bloomed yet!"
The scruffy old Taoist suddenly stopped, a chicken's rear end in his mouth, his face in shock.
Could I, the wise old Taoist, have overlooked something?
He let out a long sigh, "Then it's a matter of fate!"
He had specifically set aside time to come today, for he had to preside over the opening of the Three Rivers Wasteland at midnight, making it impossible to wait until the lotuses bloomed.
Wouldn't the lotuses take at least a month to bloom?
The old Taoist picked two lotus leaves and carefully wrapped up the half-eaten roast chicken, tucking it into his robe, then stood up and conjured his Immortal Sword.
The boy blinked, "Are you going back on your word, Ancestral Master? Aren't you going to look for that little turtle?"
With the old Taoist's divine skills, a mere glance should suffice to locate it, right?
"Pah!" The old Taoist snorted haughtily, tilting his head, "Should I be the one to search for it? How would that look?"
Who was the seeker of Tao, and who was the teacher? Shouldn't that little turtle overcome all manner of hardship, crawling before the old Taoist, offering its sincere reverence?
The Ancestral Master truly had his airs!
The boy's eyes whirled around, "But what if… what if that little turtle against all odds ate a Green Demonic Fruit?"
A Green Fruit could give rise to a demon species genius with unparalleled talent.
The old Taoist scoffed derisively, "So what?" To have cultivated to his level, wasn't everyone a genius already?
"What if it ate a Red Fruit?"
The old Taoist flicked the boy's forehead. What was this little head imagining every day? A Red Fruit—so what? An item only of legends, would he care about that?
Would he have to kneel and impart his teachings to it? At most, he'd battle with other sects in a bloody strife, seizing the opportunity to take on a Closed-door Disciple for the old man.
Luck powerful enough to eat a Red Fruit was something even the old Taoist would hesitate to admit, and certainly not fear; after all, the old man's bones had turned to dust upon his death.
The old Taoist stamped gently on the ground and, with a leap, soared into the sky on his Immortal Sword, taking the boy with him.
As the wind blew past, the rock the old Taoist had stamped shattered to pieces, revealing a carefully carved turtle stone statue. The turtle with its limbs outstretched and neck elongated, its eyes slightly closed towards the bright moon, practicing its breathing technique.
The old Taoist's craftsmanship was such that with one stomp, he'd carved a turtle embodying an entire Breathing Technique.
The breeze wandered through the stone turtle's nostrils, imitating breaths long and short, hurried and slow...
At this moment, fifty miles away in a small pond, Su He was digging holes.