The Rat Cultivator

Chapter 100: The Transformation of Little Green Mountain

Wu Yuan watched as his various demon beast subordinates finally regained their composure. He let out a long, weary sigh, the kind a cultivator might give after a particularly chaotic sect meeting.

These fools, he thought. Talking about becoming a Demon Emperor in the open… such things are meant for the privacy of one’s mind. If we act this carelessly, we’ll attract every predatory gaze in the Grotto-Heaven before we’re even ready.

It had taken him just over three days to systematically dismantle the power structure of Wolf Mountain and expand his borders. He turned to the assembled crowd, his voice carrying the authority of a weary but undisputed monarch.

“Clean up the battlefield,” he commanded. “Spread the Mouse Intelligence Team through this territory. Extend our reach toward the main peak. I want eyes on everything.”

He then looked at the massive, shivering Wolf King. “Your pack will remain stationed here. Business as usual. If the Golden Armor Lion comes knocking or gets suspicious, find a way to stall him. Do not, under any circumstances, act without my order.”

The Snow Plains Wolf King looked up at Wu Yuan, his crystalline eyes brimming with tears. “Great King,” he whimpered piteously, “I don’t want to be left here all by myself! This place is unfamiliar… I’m a stranger here! I don’t feel secure in my heart!”

Wu Yuan sighed again. It was a recurring theme. “Fine. You’ll come back to Little Green Mountain with me to ‘recuperate.’ Once your injuries—and your mindset—have healed, you can return. Bibo, Big Old Black, you two stay behind to manage the development of Wolf Mountain. You know the terrain; handle the logistics.”

“Yes, Great King!” Bibo and Big Old Black replied in unison.

In truth, this was exactly what Wu Yuan wanted. Leaving the Wolf King in charge of his own territory immediately after a defeat was a recipe for rebellion. The beast needed a period of ideological reform—a chance to soak in the atmosphere of Little Green Mountain and see if his “sincere surrender” held any water. Once Wu Yuan was satisfied with his loyalty, he would implement more permanent control measures.

Wu Yuan took his seat on the broad, armored back of the Pangolin. The creature’s scales, hard as tempered steel and smooth as glass, shimmered with a dull metallic luster under the sun. It moved with a rhythmic, heavy gait, carrying its sovereign home.

Flanking the Pangolin were the Snow Plains Wolf King and the Winged Tiger. They followed like two loyal Dharma Protectors, their massive forms radiating an imposing, if slightly tattered, aura. The Winged Tiger, despite his name, was still wingless—sporting only two fleshy, wing-shaped nubs that made his title feel more like a cruel joke. The Wolf King was in even worse shape, a gruesome pit still visible in his side from Wu Yuan’s earlier strike, a stark reminder of why he was currently so “loyal.”

Yet, the Wolf King seemed possessed by a head-empty happiness. He looked around at the lush landscape with puppy-like enthusiasm, sniffing the air and savoring the scents of the forest. Every time Wu Yuan glanced in his direction, the wolf would pull his lips back into a disarmingly vacant grin, panting with a white-tipped red tongue.

His tail began to wag with such violent force that the sheer wind pressure nearly sent Little Gray and Little White—who were trailing behind—tumbling into the brush. Little White, already grumpy about being left out of the actual fighting, glared at the wolf’s backside. She pulled out a sharp, spiritual carrot, her eyes narrow as she aimed for the wolf’s “withered chrysanthemum.”

Little Gray quickly grabbed her paw, sparing the Wolf King a very different kind of injury.

Wu Yuan watched the wolf’s adorkable behavior, reminded of a pet puppy he had once known. A rare, genuine smile touched his whiskers. “Do you have a name?” he asked.

The Wolf King’s tail thumped against the ground, his eyes clouded with a moment of confusion. He seemed to be thinking very hard—perhaps for the first time in years.

Before he could answer, the Winged Tiger stepped forward, chest puffed out. “My full name is Huang Xiaohu! But the Great King calls me Little Tiger!”

The Wolf King’s eyes rolled as a flash of “brilliance” struck him. He grinned widely. “Great King, you can just call me Little Dog!”

Wu Yuan went silent for a long moment. Finally, he couldn’t help himself; a short, dry laugh escaped him. “I think I’ll stick with Little Wolf.”

A flicker of genuine disappointment crossed the wolf’s face. Wu Yuan began to wonder if the creature’s ancestors really had been dog demons. The more he looked at the “Little Wolf,” the more he saw a dog that had accidentally been born in a wolf’s body. He decided not to dig any deeper. Some things were better left as mysteries of the bloodline.

The Pangolin’s powerful strides soon brought them to the borders of Little Green Mountain. As the scenery shifted, even Little Wolf gasped.

Little Green Mountain was no longer a simple wild peak. Previously, Wu Yuan’s strategy had been focused on the safety of the underground, leaving the surface relatively untouched save for a few hidden spirit fields. But since receiving news from the Azure Radiance Grotto-Heaven, he had shifted into an aggressive, high-gear development phase.

The person orchestrating this massive terraforming project was none other than the Grand Steward, Little Yellow.

The mountain was a hive of structured, Ghibli-esque activity. Thousands of rats moved in disciplined groups, their labor perfectly synchronized. Some used their specialized teeth to gnaw away stubborn weeds and shrubs, grooming the mountain floor into a park-like state. Others used their claws and powerful limbs to level the earth, filling pits and clearing boulders.

Under their tireless labor, broad, manicured roads had begun to wind across the mountain like healthy blood vessels, connecting the various outposts. These paths were designed for the heavy transport of spirit materials, a logistical dream.

The underground world was also evolving. Tunnels were being reinforced with stone and spirit-silk, expanding into a massive, hidden transit network that allowed the rat swarm to move millions of soldiers and tons of supplies without ever breaking cover.

Under the guidance of the more intelligent rat demons, flat mountain plateaus were being transformed into terraced spirit fields. They dug irrigation canals with surgical precision, ensuring the water flowed in harmony with the mountain’s natural Spiritual Qi.

Little Yellow had even begun the construction of “Demon Beast Ranches”—enclosures designed to breed lower-tier monsters to provide a steady supply of spirit-meat for Wu Yuan’s growing elite forces.

As the workday drew to a close, the rats lined up in long, orderly queues. They waited with bated breath as their commanders distributed rewards. From Wu Yuan’s perspective, it was a beautiful sight of “benevolent” management.

One rat might receive a single grain of aromatic spirit rice; another, a pebble rich in Spiritual Qi. The “benevolence” was absolute. The rats clutched their prizes with frantic joy. Some gorged themselves immediately, their faces masks of pure bliss; others held their spirit stones aloft, showing them off to their peers with pride, or carefully tucking them away to build the “wealth” needed to eventually attempt their own Awakening.

There was envy in their red eyes, but no malice. They didn’t resent the ones with more; they simply resolved to work harder tomorrow, to gnaw more weeds and dig more dirt, all for the glory of the Great King and the promise of another grain of rice.

Wu Yuan watched his subjects work themselves into a happy stupor, his heart filled with the cold, quiet satisfaction of a man who owned everything the light touched.