Chapter Sixty-Two: Without Courage, There Can Be No Yield

The two creatures were engaged in a tryst on the water’s surface, sometimes preening each other's feathers, sometimes uttering joyful sounds. They were completely unaware that a long, dark shadow beneath the surface was gliding slowly toward the reeds where they lingered. Throughout the entire process, there was not a sound, not even the faintest ripple to betray its approach.

Taking advantage of the dense reeds for cover, Lu Chen appeared silently beneath the swans, just downstream. The water here was crystal clear; if he moved any closer, he would be spotted at once. There was no choice but to strike swiftly.

With a sudden splash, his massive, dark form erupted from the water. His gaping maw snapped toward one swan’s neck, while his sharp claws slashed at the other. A piercing, desperate cry rang out. Feathers scattered, and the water nearby was tinged with streaks of crimson.

It was as they say: flaunt your affection, and you invite disaster.

From the initial strike to dragging his prey below, the entire attack took no more than five seconds. Shielded by the reeds, the rest of the swan flock, only dozens of meters away, did not notice the abrupt disappearance of two of their kind. They continued to swim merrily, oblivious.

Carrying his catch to deeper water, Lu Chen tore the prey apart with his claws and devoured it. “Whooper Swan, Genus Cygnus, Subfamily Anserinae, provides 51.3 energy points,” the system panel displayed, the details of his prey clear and precise.

Each swan weighed about thirty jin, which meant each jin of flesh yielded less than two energy points—utterly incomparable to the giant golden eagle from before. As for the taste, Lu Chen found swan meat no different from that of other waterfowl.

Once his hunger was sated, he did not hurry away but instead turned his gaze to the rest of the swan flock in the distance. These creatures had clearly never suffered the harsh lessons of the wild—so brazenly parading themselves on the water, they were practically offering themselves up. Even the smallest prey was still food; with nearly twenty swans, they could yield several hundred energy points.

In addition, Lu Chen had discovered a patch of muddy swamp on the shore. The trampled reeds and the pungent stench made it clear that wild boars had wallowed there, leaving behind traces of their urine and mud.

This great lake was about one hundred and fifty li from the valley where Lu Chen and the three bay crocodiles resided. A round trip would take at least half a day—far too exhausting. After surveying his surroundings, Lu Chen decided to stay here for a few days. As for the safety of the elder crocodile and the others, there was no need to worry for now.

He regularly marked the valley entrance with his own waste, a distinctive scent that would deter most wild animals from coming too close. So long as the scent lingered, his companions would remain safe. Moreover, the three young ones had grown much stronger over the past month. Ordinary predators would not threaten them; and if outmatched, they could simply climb trees or escape into the den or the lake.

Outside the valley, a troop of macaques resided. Should any large carnivore intrude, they would sound the alarm at once, ensuring there would be no repeat of the clouded leopard’s ambush.

Having made up his mind, Lu Chen immediately found a hidden spot by the lake and began to dig a burrow. It was winter, and at night the temperature in the mountains dropped to around ten degrees. Although his adaptation to the environment had improved dramatically after evolving to Tier 3, it was still rather cold. Since he could rest comfortably, why endure hardship needlessly?

Once he picked a suitable spot, he got to work. His sturdy claws scooped like excavators, tossing earth to either side. This was already the fourth burrow he had dug. Dirt flew behind him in a steady stream, quickly piling up into a small mound.

Within two hours, Lu Chen had hollowed out a tunnel over three meters long. Its structure was much the same as before—a narrow entrance, a spacious chamber within, inconspicuous from outside but roomy enough for him to turn around with ease.

As night fell, he followed the scent back to the reeds. In the dim moonlight, he soon found the cluster of snow-white forms, each with its head tucked under a wing, peacefully asleep. Not far off, two swans stood sentinel, their eyes scanning the darkness, ready to sound the alarm at the slightest disturbance.

The thick reeds offered Lu Chen excellent cover, but greatly restricted his movement. The faintest slip sent a reed stalk rustling. Not wishing to alert the sentries, he slowed his movements to a crawl.

When he was less than twenty meters away, he lunged forward with explosive speed—

***

The weather was fine that day. Feeling the warmth outside, Lu Chen finally sauntered out of his burrow. Stretching his fore and hind limbs in opposite directions, he arched his spine like a great cat, indulging in a long, luxurious stretch.

Then he set about his day’s work. Sniffing the air, Lu Chen searched for familiar scents, but detected no trace of swans. He felt a twinge of regret—after last night’s slaughter, it seemed the flock had finally realized the lake was not safe and had fled under cover of darkness.

Several hundred energy points had taken flight with them.

Wait—there was a snake’s scent nearby!

Crawling forward some distance, Lu Chen spotted new prey atop a large boulder several dozen meters away: an adult Burmese python, nearly seven meters long. Its brown-black scales were dappled with broad markings, gleaming like jade in the sunlight. He estimated its weight at around a hundred kilograms; it lay coiled atop the rock, basking.

At first sight, Lu Chen’s instinct was to skirt around it. But then he paused—what was there to fear? He was no longer the little crocodile he once was. At over two hundred jin, he was a formidable predator with no reason to be intimidated by this python. He had killed Burmese pythons before—reticulated pythons too, for that matter. By now, the snakes he’d slain were too many to count.

He would go for it! Without courage, there could be no reward.

Swaggering confidently, Lu Chen advanced toward the boulder. He made no attempt to conceal his approach, knowing it was pointless. Like most snakes, the Burmese python had poor eyesight but keen smell, easily detecting prey within dozens of meters by scent particles carried on the air. His presence must have been as obvious as a firefly in the night. Since that was the case, he might as well challenge it head-on.

Fifty meters, forty, thirty...

To Lu Chen’s surprise, even as he closed to within thirty meters, the python did not react, continuing to bask lazily in the sun. Damn, it was as if he didn’t even merit notice.

Irritated, Lu Chen slowed his pace. Once he entered the twenty-meter range, the python finally stirred. Its body, thick as a bowl, lifted upright, emitting a menacing hiss. Its dark green eyes glinted with cruelty and ferocity.

Lu Chen halted at once, his claws digging slightly into the earth, ready to withdraw at the slightest sign of trouble.

But after half a minute’s standoff, the python did not attack. Instead, it turned away and slithered down the rock toward the distant grass. Was it fleeing?

Lu Chen was momentarily stunned, then realized something was off—the snake’s movements seemed sluggish and slow.