Chapter Thirty-One: The Burmese Python Enters the Cave

As dusk approached, the sky grew heavy, and soon, raindrops began to fall. The wind howled, growing fiercer by the minute. The jungle was pitch black—one could not see a hand in front of their face. Even with Lu Chen’s sharp eyesight, he could barely make out the outline of objects a dozen meters outside the cave entrance.

A typhoon was coming!

Above, the wind screamed through the trees, as if countless vengeful spirits wailed in agony. The usually tranquil river now surged with waves four or five feet high, crashing against the stones along the bank with a thunderous roar. The damp, salty air pierced his nostrils, making Lu Chen sneeze involuntarily.

He felt immensely grateful that he had led the three young saltwater crocodiles to dig their burrow early. Otherwise, it would have been nearly impossible to find shelter from the wind and rain now. Though the cave was far from complete, it stretched for more than ten meters and was spacious enough to comfortably house several crocodile hatchlings.

A drop in temperature during a typhoon was only natural, and in just two days, it had fallen to twenty degrees. Lu Chen had been through this once before, so he was not alarmed. Besides, the cave extended deep into the mountainside, providing excellent insulation. The temperature inside had not dropped as sharply as outside—it remained around twenty-four or twenty-five degrees, still within the comfortable range for the crocodile hatchlings.

The only regret was that the typhoon had arrived too suddenly; he hadn’t had a chance to stockpile food in the cave and was already feeling ravenous. Not just him—his three siblings were in the same state. Having followed Lu Chen, they had grown used to daily meals, and two days of hunger had left them weak and listless.

The river was only thirty meters away, but the storm outside made it impossible to hunt. Lu Chen decided to endure for now, waiting for the wind to die down before making any moves. After all, wild crocodiles could go days, even months, without food after a single meal. Two days without eating would not harm them.

As Lu Chen tried to comfort himself, a faint squeaking noise reached him through the wind and rain. At first, he thought it was his imagination, but it grew clearer, apparently coming from the great banyan tree above. There was no need to guess—some animal had been injured in the storm.

Normally, Lu Chen would never pass up a meal delivered to his doorstep. But now, with the cold, it was not worth the risk of exposure and exhaustion for a bite of food. Besides, creatures that lived in trees tended to be agile and hard to catch.

Unexpectedly, the sound moved closer, and soon, it came from just outside the cave.

Was this not courting death?

Lu Chen’s interest was piqued. Since food had come so close, he had no reason to refuse it. But before he could crawl to the entrance, a grayish-brown figure darted inside.

"Squeak, squeak..."

In the pitch-black tunnel, by the faint glimmer of light at the entrance, Lu Chen saw the creature clearly—a half-grown monkey, about thirty centimeters long, its wet fur clinging to its body, its face sharp and angular.

When digging this new burrow, Lu Chen had anticipated the risk of predators invading, so he’d made the entrance only twenty centimeters wide—narrow for a monkey. The young animal, dazed and without checking inside, squeezed desperately deeper into the cave.

The monkey was practically throwing itself to the wolves—Lu Chen nearly laughed out loud. There's a path to heaven, but you refuse to walk it; there’s no door to hell, yet you insist on entering. Seeking refuge from the storm in a crocodile’s den—was it not offering itself as food?

After much effort, the little monkey finally squeezed through the narrow passage and into the spacious area. Barely had it caught its breath when it noticed several pairs of scarlet eyes fixed intently on it, eyes brimming with greed and excitement.

"Squeak, squeak... squeak, squeak..."

The little monkey let out a miserable cry, trembling violently as it curled up in the corner, its forepaws covering its eyes.

Lu Chen looked on, speechless. By the usual script, shouldn’t it be shrieking and fleeing toward the entrance? The monkey had clearly been addled by the rain—did it really think covering its eyes would make it invisible?

He crawled forward, preparing to clamp his jaws around the prey, when suddenly a rustling came from the entrance, accompanied by a foul, pungent odor.

Something completely blocked the entrance, plunging the cave back into darkness.

A grotesque, bowl-sized head appeared, its eyes gleaming with a vicious green light, a forked tongue flicking as it exhaled a fetid breeze. Lu Chen instantly recognized the creature.

Damn it—a python, a Burmese python!

In that moment, his body shuddered uncontrollably with fear—far more than when he had faced that king rat snake before.

The Burmese python was infamous even in his past life, renowned for its enormous size. Its vertebrae could continue to grow, allowing its body to lengthen indefinitely. The Burmese python is one of the largest snakes in the world, with an average length of five to seven meters. In a wildlife park in his previous life, there had been one that reached an astonishing 8.2 meters and weighed over 183 kilograms.

If it were just a matter of size, Lu Chen would not have been so terrified. The key was that this creature was also ruthlessly predatory, feeding not only on small mammals and birds, but also capable of swallowing wild boar and goats heavier than itself, and even able to prey on smaller crocodiles. Young saltwater crocodiles were among its potential meals.

The Burmese python possessed a unique jaw structure. Its lower jaw could dislocate, opening up to 130 degrees, and could expand sideways to an incredible width, turning its mouth into a soft, boneless pouch capable of engulfing large prey with ease.

Such was the monstrous hunting and feeding capacity of the Burmese python.

There had even been a recorded case of a 3.3-meter, 14.2-kilogram Burmese python swallowing a 15.8-kilogram white-tailed deer alive, setting a record for the highest predator-to-prey mass ratio in snake history. Of course, swallowing and digesting are two different things—the python died during the process of regurgitating the deer, proving the old adage, "A greedy snake tries to swallow an elephant."

Most of the python’s body was still outside, so its full length was unclear, but judging from its massive head, it weighed at least forty kilos—easily enough to swallow Lu Chen whole.

Damn it—this python must have been following the monkey.

He pieced together the scene: the young monkey, separated from its troop in the storm, was targeted by a foraging Burmese python. In its panic, it fled headlong into the cave.

But why was a cold-blooded reptile like the Burmese python out hunting in such weather, when even the crocodiles were struggling?

That thought flashed through Lu Chen’s mind, but he quickly focused on the present.

Glancing at the shivering creature in the corner, Lu Chen felt a surge of annoyance—he wanted nothing more than to bite it to death. This jinx had brought such a formidable enemy to his doorstep.

The disparity in strength was too great; Lu Chen knew he stood no chance.

Of the thirty-six stratagems, retreat was the best option.

A strategic withdrawal was in order—preserving his own strength took precedence.

Lu Chen was once again grateful for having dug an escape tunnel beforehand. Now, with the python’s attention fixed on the monkey, he had a perfect opportunity to slip away.