The world outside was too bright.
After days—maybe weeks—inside the glass tube, the sudden wash of sunlight stung Shuyan's eyes. He squinted, raising a hand to shield himself. The air outside was cool, crisp. It smelled of moss, stone, and distant wildflowers.
Shuyan quickly put on the black robe he had taken from the corpse of the man and stood just outside the mouth of the cave.
Or rather, the hidden facility that he now realized had been built into the side of a mountain. From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a cave entrance, narrow and partially hidden by vines and twisted trees. There were no guards. No signs of other people. Just the dead man inside, still lying on the cold floor of the place where Shuyan had been imprisoned.
Shuyan didn't look back.
His legs moved without thought, putting distance between himself and that place. The forest ahead opened into a vast, sloping valley, overgrown and wild. Tall grass brushed his knees, and ancient trees loomed like silent watchers.
He didn't know where he was.
Not exactly.
Somewhere in the Qinling Forest, he guessed. But this place felt deeper. Wilder. Untouched by humans. The kind of place where people encountered something they had never seen before and vanished into thin air never to be seen again.
His breathing was steady. His steps quiet.
As the sun began to lower, the golden light shining on the golden leaves on the ground, Shuyan moved carefully through the valley. He kept low, always near trees or rocks. He didn't want to be seen—by anyone or anything. His hands held a long piece of dry wood he had broken earlier. He had whittled one end against a jagged rock to make a crude spear.
It wasn't much, but it was something.
He regretted not searching the cave better. Maybe there had been weapons in there. Maybe something useful.
But all he had taken was the small pouch.
And his chance to live. But he would never go back in there even if there was some heavenly technique to become a godly martial artist.
The rustling came suddenly while Shuyan was lost in thoughts. It was close, uncomfortable so causing him to froze.
Leaves trembled in the bushes to his right. Low growl. A sound like bone scraping stone.
Then it leapt out. A Panther—dark-furred, lean, and covered in jagged black ridges along its spine and tail. Its eyes glowed faint yellow, and saliva dripped from its open mouth. The beast didn't give Shuyan time to process what was happening. It suddenly attacked showcasing the instincts of a predator.
Shuyan barely got the spear up before it lunged.
Its claws swiped, fast and brutal. He ducked, stumbling sideways, and jabbed the sharpened wood forward almost instinctively. The spear scratched the beast's shoulder but didn't pierce deep. The panther hissed and circled.
Shuyan backed up slowly, his breathing ragged.
His legs screamed in protest. His arms shook.
But his heart beat faster, stronger.
He could feel it. Energy rushing through his limbs. He could feel his strengthened body almost growling back at the panther.
Whatever had been done to him back there… it had changed him.
His senses had become sharper, his body stronger. He had gotten stronger but the way he had got this gift caused a faint sense of unease at the back of his mind. But he had escaped thanks to this strength.
The beast came again while Shuyan was lost in thought.
This time, he sidestepped and jammed the spear straight into its ribs. The wood cracked, but held. The panther howled, throwing its weight at him. They both crashed to the ground. Shuyan rolled over, barely avoiding the snapping jaws.
The spear was broken now.
Useless. He threw it aside while getting up and reached into the pouch with trembling hands, pulled out the only other thing he had seen when he first opened it—a small knife. Rusted, stained, but sharp.
He slashed once—his speed surprising himself and the force behind the slash was no laughing matter either. He could see the panther become vigilant. The easy prey he had found turned out to be not so easy.
He slashed again, his body getting faster—the blade cut across the beast's snout. He could see the fear in the beast's eyes.
The third time, he drove the knife into the creature's neck, right under its jaw embedding the short knife in the dense flesh of the panther. Blood spared all over his face. It felt warm and delicious.
The panther thrashed once, then stilled.
Shuyan sat there, panting, blood covering his hands and face.
He didn't move for a while.
When Shuyan finally stood, his legs were weak and trembling. Every part of his body ached, from his arms to his back to the soles of his feet. But he was still breathing. Still alive.
His gaze dropped to the panther's body. It was still warm. The blood had barely cooled, which meant the meat would be fresh. He hesitated, knife still in hand, hovering above the beast. The thought of food—real food—overpowered the churn in his stomach.
Gritting his teeth, he bent down and began to cut. He gulped as he carved through the bloody meat of the panther.
The scent of blood filled the air, thick and metallic, clinging to his skin and hair. He worked quickly, slicing off chunks of meat and wrapping them in the large leaves he had gathered earlier. The pouch barely held them all, but it would have to do.
He didn't linger.
There was no way to tell if the panther had been hunting alone. And he wasn't in any condition to fight again.
As night began to fall, painting the forest in long shadows, Shuyan moved through the underbrush until he found shelter—a small cave tucked between two boulders, half-hidden behind a curtain of vines. He pushed them aside cautiously and peered in.
It was shallow and narrow, just big enough to crawl into. He tested the inside with a flicker of light—rubbing the rusted knife against a rock until sparks caught a dried stick. In the dim glow, he saw nothing: no fur, no bones, no scent of beasts.
It wasn't a den. That was enough.
He crawled inside and sat down, back pressed against cold stone. The knife rested by his side, the pouch heavy in his lap. His body still trembled from the fight. His hands were wounded, smeared with dried blood of his own and of the panther.
But here, in the quiet, he could finally breathe.
He didn't eat. Not yet. His hunger was real, but his mind was louder.
It kept circling back—again and again—to the man he had killed, the panther he had stabbed, and the strange power that now thrummed beneath his skin. His heartbeat hadn't slowed. It pounded with strength he hadn't known he possessed.
There was guilt for killing a person but it was overpowered by the rage and confusion he felt at the situation. He was stronger and faster that he used to be but his mind was the same. Just that he craved meat and blood more than he had ever done. He hadn't felt like this when killing the one who had imprisoned but when he killed the panther, the desire to drink blood had clouded his mind for a fleeting moment.
Was this what that man had done to him? What the experiment had turned him into? A bloodthirsty beast? He didn't know but he needed to know what he had become.
As his mind wandered, his eyelids felt heavy and before he knew it, he was asleep. The action and tension of the last few days becoming too much of a burden for his mind.