ACIDEM 05

Chapter – 05

Imago

Sunrise burns off the mist and dew; green pines gleam as if oiled.

Early the next morning, Fu Shaoguang crawled out of his burrow, wrapped himself in layer upon layer of mud to cover his snow-white insect body, then fed on algae and hunted for bloodied prey—a balanced diet of plants and meat.

Full and satisfied, he lay at the entrance of his hole.

As he rested, his mind churned.

Though he had become a demon insect, he felt that only his strength, speed, perception, and qi-gathering efficiency had increased.

No trace of the legendary *dharma power* had manifested within him.

That struck him as odd.

The fact that he had become a demon meant his path was correct—yet without dharma power, either his level was insufficient, or some other trigger condition was still missing.

Fu Shaoguang was self-taught, with no formal guidance. He could only grope forward slowly, continuing his cultivation, biding his patience. Perhaps when enough accumulation had been achieved, just like with his previous molts, he would sense it coming and unlock the answers himself.

Once he had rested enough, he began exploring his surroundings—determining which places were good for hiding, which concealed hidden dangers, where poisonous weeds grew thick, and where food was abundant.

After familiarizing himself with the environment, Fu Shaoguang returned to his burrow, set all six legs to work, dug tunnels, and built his nest.

Gathering qi, foraging, digging, resting—

His life was busy and full.

The dung-layering trick had worked wonderfully last time, so Fu Shaoguang doubled down. Not only did he line his burrow inside and out with spikes and pile up feces, he also constructed several layers of dung, making it impossible for any creature to guard against the stench.

Time waits for no one—six months passed in a flash.

After becoming a demon, Fu Shaoguang began molting again, once a month. By now, he had molted forty-seven times.

His body was larger, though he still had no dharma power.

But he could now kill small frogs.

Lately, however, Fu Shaoguang had been feeling down. A day earlier, his peers—hatched in the same batch—had emerged as winged adults, putting on a spectacular drama of life’s desperate struggle and reproduction, only to wither and depart in sorrow soon after.

He was both glad that he had not yet become an adult, and pained to witness once again how fleeting the lives of mayflies could be.

Fortunately, Fu Shaoguang was not a pessimistic insect. He quickly adjusted his emotions and mindset, cherishing his own life all the more.

His conviction to seek longevity grew ever firmer:

*He must strive to live longer—no matter what!*

—

Perhaps the accumulated power of his dung layers was simply too terrifying; Fu Shaoguang never again encountered that mysterious monster that had made his blood run cold. Days passed as usual.

Time flowed like the seasons—another year slipped by in a snap.

The nights of late summer and early autumn had a uniquely quiet beauty: the bright moon reflected clearly on the water, and the chirping of insects made the mountains feel all the more serene.

Fu Shaoguang rose to the water’s surface alongside mayflies born a year after him. Compared to his peers, he—having molted fifty-eight times—was now a veritable giant.

A tall tree catches the wind. He made sure to coat himself in mud, so that from the outside he looked like nothing more than a large clump of dirt.

Drifting up to the surface, Fu Shaoguang quickly scanned his surroundings. The water glittered; tall trees lined both banks, wild grasses flourished, and rocks were piled everywhere. He swiftly moved in one direction.

Hiding in the crevice of a concealed bluish stone, Fu Shaoguang remained on high alert. Above water was far more dangerous than below—the number and variety of natural predators multiplied dramatically.

When he molted into a sub-imago, completing his fifty-ninth molt, Fu Shaoguang had reached two and a half inches in length. Wings had grown on his back, though their color remained unchanged—still snow-white.

This stage was quite perilous. He could not afford to be careless, lest he lose his life. Finding another gap, he wrapped himself in mud again. While hiding, he took advantage of the fact that his mouthparts had not yet fully degenerated, continuing to nibble on nearby waterweed to build up his reserves.

Adult mayflies lose their mandibles; they have mouths but cannot eat. Their internal organs completely disappear, and their digestive systems vanish entirely. They survive solely on the energy accumulated in earlier stages.

This is one reason their lives are so short.

Though he had transformed into a demon insect, Fu Shaoguang could not be certain whether he could overcome this evolutionary imperative encoded in his genes. All he could do was prepare for the worst.

After a night of waiting, as dawn’s first light broke, the sub-imagoes began their final molt into adulthood.

Only Fu Shaoguang held back, still not molting. This filled him with both surprise and joy—the longer the sub-imago stage lasted, the longer his life would be after the final molt.

Noon, dusk, night—

He witnessed life’s bloom and withering once more, and also beheld the cruelty and terror of predators.

Fu Shaoguang hid even deeper.

Time passed like falling stars. He waited a full ten days before finally ushering in his sixtieth molt.

In the morning light, inside the crevice of a bluish stone, a mayfly sub-imago shed its heavy outer shell. Old gave way to new, ushering in the most important evolution of its life.

An adult imago was born—three inches long, with four wings. Its compound eyes were well-developed, with three simple eyes dotting its head like starry speckles. Its body was slender, light, and ethereal; its body wall smooth and translucent; its three tail filaments gracefully curved.

Fu Shaoguang instinctively climbed onto the bluish stone and spread his wings in the sunlight. Both pairs of wings were transparent, thin as cicada wings. The forewings were large and butterfly-like, exquisite in form; the hindwings were smaller, like rounded fans, perfectly complementing the whole.

—

Before Fu Shaoguang could even admire his own reflection on the water and take in his new appearance, a sudden chill ran through his body. His keen sense of danger triggered an instinctive leap—he rode the wind and took flight in an instant.

*Whoosh!*

A tearing sound cut through the air. A five-inch bird shot toward him like an arrow loosed from a bow, its jet-black beak sharp as a blade. Missing its mark, it rapidly flapped its wings, turned, and dove at its prey.

Its gaze was cold, its expression greedy, its movements experienced—clearly a seasoned hunter.

This bird was entirely emerald-green, with a small net of pale blue feathers under its jaw. Its forehead and crown were purplish-pink; its cheeks, lower jaw, and throat were scarlet; the underwing area was light yellow.

It was a red-bearded bee-eater.

Fast, good at ambush and diving.

During the mass mayfly emergence ten days earlier, Fu Shaoguang had witnessed the savagery of these birds firsthand.

Hunting mayflies was as easy as eating and drinking for them.

Fu Shaoguang’s instinctive terror—the very pulse of his life—made him flee for dear life the moment this bird appeared.

The red-bearded bee-eater gave chase without letup.

Wings vibrating, creating convection with the air, Fu Shaoguang did his best to fly into the dense forest. There, unlike the open water, the terrain was complex; sunlight only filtered through the leaves in scattered patches, the light was dimmer, and countless cold-blooded killers lay in ambush.

Poisonous snakes and fierce beasts—too many to count.

Dangerous for him.

But equally dangerous for the red-bearded bee-eater.

Moreover, his flight speed was no match for his predator’s. Only by entering the forest, where high-speed flight was impossible, could he hope to turn the tables.

Dodging left and right, swerving up and down, charging forward and doubling back—

Relying on his keen perception, Fu Shaoguang continuously evaded and made micro-adjustments to his direction, narrowly escaping the bee-eater’s attacks time and again.

Enraged by its repeated failures, the red-bearded bee-eater let out a long screech and struck with ever-increasing speed. Fu Shaoguang’s dodges grew more and more desperate.

Fortunately, the forest was not far from the mountain stream.

He finally made it inside. Using his smaller body, he wove nimbly through the leaves, his direction shooting up and down, left and right, occasionally throwing in a sharp U-turn. The bee-eater, by contrast, was forced to slow down—after all, it was larger.

Five inches versus three inches—its movements were indeed more restricted. Coupled with the fact that it could never predict its prey’s next move, the bird grew utterly frustrated.

Thanks to his well-developed compound eyes and the exceptional light-sensing ability of his three simple eyes, Fu Shaoguang could see in all directions. While staying alert to other dangers, he deliberately flew toward darker areas, his mind racing for a countermeasure.