ACIDEM 03

Chapter – 03

Drawing Qi into the Body

The mountain stream was clear, the flowing water babbling softly.

At this time of year, the mayflies born a year earlier than Fu Shaoguang were experiencing the briefest and most dazzling moment of their lives.

Batch after batch of mayflies crawled out of their mud burrows, heedless of predators, and resolutely floated to the water’s surface.

They no longer had tracheal gills but breathed through spiracles. Flapping wings that could not yet fly, they lingered in secluded spots on the water or climbed onto rocks, hiding quietly as they awaited their final transformation.

Hiding at the entrance of his mud burrow, Fu Shaoguang watched these predecessors marching to their deaths with a mix of reverence and sorrow.

Especially the next evening, when he saw predators gather for a wild feast, indulging in a gluttonous banquet dominated by the corpses of male mayflies—the suffocating sense of death closing in made him feel it as if it were his own.

The tightly sealed box of memories burst open.

Recollections surged forth like a tidal wave.

It was as if he had returned to his previous life, surrounded by the smell of disinfectant, lying in a hospital bed, struggling to breathe. Each breath burned his organs, and his throat and nasal passages felt as though they were being sliced a thousand times.

No matter how hard he tried, he could only sink step by step into despair amid the agony, succumbing to the darkness.

At that moment, Fu Shaoguang was overcome with despair, as if a voice whispered to him:

*”Just give up. Why bother struggling?*

*No matter how hard you try, you’ll only extend your life by a few days at most. You’re still just a mayfly—your life will always be as brief and insignificant as a shooting star streaking across the sky.*

*Just like in your past life, your fate is already sealed.*

*Rather than exhausting yourself only to end up with nothing, why not accept reality and live your short life to the fullest?”*

Similar words kept echoing, circling around Fu Shaoguang’s mind like a spell—soothing, comforting, tempting, and kind—making him want to let down his guard.

And making him want to believe and obey.

*”No matter how lofty your ambitions, in the end you must yield to fate. In your past life, you fought against illness until you were utterly spent, only to end in failure. Why not be more carefree in this life and make your limited time brilliant?*

*Why cling so tightly? Why scheme so anxiously?*

*Let go, enjoy yourself, indulge—accept fate’s gifts with grace. Wouldn’t that be better?”*

*”Just give up! So what if there are demons? Even that mussel demon couldn’t save its own life. And you spent two months studying breathing techniques and gained nothing. What’s meant to be yours will come; what isn’t, you can’t force.”*

Fu Shaoguang wavered.

A voice emerged in his heart.

His will to fight was slowly eroding.

Like a reef being worn down and scattered by the waves.

—

Just as the mountain in his heart was about to collapse,

Fu Shaoguang suddenly sensed something.

*Something’s wrong!*

*This is very wrong!*

Although the outcome of his past life was not good, at least he had tried, fought, and struggled to live. So even as his body gradually grew cold, filled with fear and reluctance to leave,

deep down, he had no regrets.

If he simply gave up in this life without even trying, at the moment of death he would surely be filled with remorse and regret.

Every extra day lived as an insect was a gain.

For a mayfly that lives from dawn to dusk, one extra day was an entire lifetime—and plenty of variables could arise.

Especially in a world that had demons!

If he didn’t give it his all, he would only drift further from the path of cultivation, and in the end, his regrets would only multiply.

With that thought, the crumbling mountain in Fu Shaoguang’s heart not only steadied itself but rose ever higher.

Eventually, it pierced through the sea of clouds and beheld the radiant sun.

*”When you stand at the peak, all other mountains appear small beneath you.”*

Inside the mud burrow, a mayfly’s aura shifted. A thick shell solidified around its body. A day later, after completing its thirty-third molt, its body was larger, its strength greater, and its mouthparts and six legs more developed.

It also gained a subtle, mysterious connection with heaven and earth.

That night, Fu Shaoguang tried breathing exercises again and found his mind calmer than ever before. Around him appeared many colorful specks of light, like countless fireflies dancing gracefully.

He was overjoyed.

*Could this be… spiritual energy?!*

Even though he couldn’t yet draw qi into his body, Fu Shaoguang was still elated. Every journey begins with a single step—he had already taken half a step forward. Could the other half be far behind?

—

Frost formed along the riverbanks, and maple leaves blazed red.

In the golden autumn, inside the mud burrow, a mayfly slowly crawled out of its old shell, turned around, and opened its sharp upper and lower mandibles, crunching and munching on the discarded shell like potato chips.

Still the original flavor!!!

The thirty-sixth molt!

The autumn moon reflected on the still water, white as snow.

Fu Shaoguang slowly crawled out of his burrow and, as usual, began his breathing exercises, trying to get friendly with the colorful specks of spiritual energy.

Unexpectedly, not long after he started, two specks of light eagerly surged into his body. His insect form immediately felt warm and moist, like soaking in a hot spring on a winter’s day—comfortable and pleasant.

After absorbing four specks of light, Fu Shaoguang felt stuffed, realizing he had reached his limit.

He stopped breathing and happily returned to his burrow:

*He had finally succeeded in drawing qi into his body!*

This meant he had officially stepped onto the path of cultivation.

Once his emotions settled slightly, Fu Shaoguang quickly replayed the feeling and reviewed what he had learned, lest it be a flash in the pan.

The next morning, his appetite was enormous—he could eat more than ever before.

Fortunately, autumn offered abundant food.

The eggs of his natural enemy, the dragonfly, had also hatched. One by one, the young nymphs were born—and he hunted and devoured them.

In doing so, he indirectly saved quite a few of his younger kin.

Breathing, gathering qi, foraging, eating!

Fu Shaoguang’s daily routine was simple yet fulfilling.

By late autumn and early winter, he completed his fortieth molt. His body was now the size of a pinky finger—the limit for a mayfly. After eating his old shell, Fu Shaoguang lay in his burrow, recovering his strength while silently contemplating.

He had a strong premonition that it would be a long time before his next molt—and that it would be crucial for him.

Fu Shaoguang waited patiently.

But his appetite had grown even larger. Winter brought food shortages, and driven by hunger, he took risks again.

Finding a few sharp spikes, he hid in the dark mud layer and lay in ambush. A mischievous young shrimp bounced by, but before it even entered his attack range, its mother gave it a clamp to the face, and the dazed little one wobbled back to follow the group.

A crab strode past arrogantly, its scales tough and claws sharp—clearly not to be trifled with.

As an experienced and cunning hunter, Fu Shaoguang suppressed his hunger and carefully selected his prey. After an unknown amount of time, a small fish strayed from its school and swam over slowly, mouth gulping water, nosing at this and that, carefree and naive.

The mud shifted silently. Fu Shaoguang gathered his strength. As soon as the little fish stepped into his attack range, he struck without hesitation—a sharp spike thrusting diagonally outward.

The little fish was startled and dodged nimbly, but Fu Shaoguang had already calculated its movements and escape direction. He pounced and pinned it down.

His six legs clung to the fish as if bolted on. Fu Shaoguang opened his mouth, bit into the fish’s eye, and sucked its blood. The fish’s struggles grew weaker and weaker until it was finally still.

After swallowing a fry as big as himself, Fu Shaoguang slipped into the mud and slowly made his way back to his burrow, where he hid to digest and rest.

Scenes like this played out frequently in these waters.

Sometimes it was shrimp, sometimes snails.

Sometimes he struck his target; sometimes he bit out an eye.

Of course, Fu Shaoguang also brushed past death several times. Once, he was targeted by a crucian carp. If he hadn’t risked entering a snakehead’s territory—letting the crucian carp be preyed upon by the snakehead and escaping amid the chaos—he likely would have met a grim end.

Throughout the entire winter, Fu Shaoguang did not molt once.

Not even with nightly breathing exercises.

Not even with a diet of bloody meat.

Until the following spring arrived, bringing a new turn of events.