The Rat Cultivator

Chapter 111: The Peng Bird

Watching the Spirit Gathering Formation swirl with accumulated energy, Wu Yuan offered a weary, satisfied smile.

His eyelids grew heavy, and he collapsed into his nest, instantly falling into a deep, restorative slumber.

Above him, the massive Spirit Mulberry Tree seemed to sense its master’s exhaustion. It lowered tender roots and translucent silk threads that gently pierced Wu Yuan’s flesh. It was a symbiotic transfusion—a steady stream of vital blood and Spiritual Qi flowed from the tree into the rat, sustaining and fueling the growth of his Demon Power.

Because Wu Yuan shared a consciousness with the tree, it knew the precise circulation pathways of his cultivation method. It acted as an external lung, breathing energy into him while he slept.

Wu Yuan rarely utilized this method. Without his conscious guidance, the cultivation speed was slower than active practice. In the past three months of grueling study, he should have condensed six strands of Demon Power; in reality, he had only managed four.

Still, his total had now reached twenty strands. It was a respectable milestone.

When Wu Yuan groggily emerged from his coma-like sleep, a procession of rat attendants immediately marched into the treehouse, bearing trays of freshly prepared Spirit Food.

He poured himself a cup of Golden Thread Spirit Peach Wine.

Instantly, a heavy, sweet peach scent layered with the sharp bite of alcohol filled the room. The wine was pale and delicate, but upon drinking it, Wu Yuan felt a wave of relaxation wash over his spirit. The agitation in his Demon Power smoothed out like a calm sea.

Back when Big Black managed the peach forest, Wu Yuan had ordered him to try brewing wine, simply because the forest produced an endless supply of low-grade peaches. To everyone’s surprise, the brute had a hidden talent for fermentation.

Under Wu Yuan’s direction, Big Black had refined the recipe, combining First-Grade Low-Grade Spirit Peaches with Mid-Grade Golden Thread Peaches. The result was this First-Grade Mid-Grade vintage—a luxury item that soothed the soul and stabilized cultivation.

Wu Yuan indulged himself. With the rising Spiritual Qi of Little Green Mountain, the Golden Thread Peach trees had produced a bumper harvest of over a hundred fruits. He could afford to be extravagant.

He turned his attention to the main course.

It was a feast fit for a king: rich snake meat bisque, braised mutton from a sheep demon, and charcoal-grilled beef that glistened with spiritual oil. Each dish was vibrant in color and aroma, bursting with energy. Wu Yuan devoured the meat of over a dozen beasts in a single sitting, his appetite bottomless.

He chased the savory dishes with fresh Spirit Fruits and Spirit Grasses, ending the meal with a small bowl of Moon Spirit Hundred Flower Brew.

This honey, harvested by the Queen Bee from Moon Spirit Grass and a dozen other rare flowers, was a First-Grade Mid-Grade dessert that melted on the tongue, relieving mental stress and clarifying the mind.

Wu Yuan wiped his mouth, feeling a profound sense of satisfaction and comfort. This was the life.

Just as he was leaning back to enjoy the afterglow of the meal, a faint blue light flickered in his vision.

[Blue Intelligence: A Peng Bird (Qi Condensation Mid-Stage, 10 Strands of Demon Power) intends to occupy the Geng Gold Mine Mountain and subdue the Demon Vulture flock.]

Wu Yuan’s claw paused in mid-air, the wine cup held still.

The Geng Gold Mine Mountain lay to the east of Little Green Mountain. It was inhabited by a flock of Demon Vultures. They had always kept to themselves, so Wu Yuan had followed a policy of non-aggression.

He focused on the intelligence, and a clear image formed in his mind.

On a desolate expanse of land, a pitch-black mountain rose abruptly from the earth. A streak of azure light descended from the sky, revealing a massive Peng Bird perched on the summit, looking down at the west with imperious disdain.

Suddenly, the “black surface” of the mountain rippled like water dropped into hot oil.

Thousands of black dots took flight, shrieking in unison. The mountain wasn’t black rock; it was covered in a living carpet of vultures. As they scattered, the dark golden sheen of the Geng Gold ore was revealed beneath.

Wu Yuan murmured to himself, “That bird… is it related to the Green Roc Great Demon from back then? The resemblance is uncanny.”

He downed the rest of his wine and sent out a mental summons.

When Wu Yuan stepped out of the treehouse, his inner circle was already waiting. Aside from Little Wolf, who was stationed at Wolf Mountain, everyone was present.

Wu Yuan looked them over and spoke plainly. “A Peng Bird has appeared at the Geng Gold Mine Mountain to the east. Go and deal with it.”

He paused, then added, “I won’t be going.”

After briefing them on the details, Wu Yuan didn’t wait for questions. His figure blurred, and he vanished back into the treehouse.

He needed time to digest his recent insights into Formations. He needed to settle down and cultivate.

Outside, the group of demons exchanged bewildered glances.

This was unprecedented. In the past, Wu Yuan had micromanaged every major operation. But since learning about the Azure Radiance Grotto-Heaven, his mindset had shifted. He needed more time to grow stronger.

Thus, he could no longer attend to every detail personally, wasting too much time.

Besides, he wasn’t truly absent. The Pangolin, who shared his consciousness, would act as his eyes and ears. If things went south, Wu Yuan could use Earth Walk to arrive in moments. With his current strength, he was confident he could salvage any disaster.

While the others hesitated, Winged Tiger saw an opportunity.

He stepped forward, chest puffed out, his voice booming.

“Little Gray and I have already scouted the Demon Vultures at the Geng Gold Mine Mountain.”

He paused for effect, his gaze sweeping over the group before landing heavily on Bibo and Big Black. He released his aura—restrained, but heavy with pressure.

Winged Tiger had also broken through to the mid-stage of Qi Condensation. Despite losing his wings, his foundation was solid, and his youth gave him an edge over the aging Bibo.

Little Yellow and Little White, the free spirits, had already vanished to play the moment Wu Yuan went inside. The Pangolin was happily crunching on Fire Ant eggs, oblivious to the tension. Little Gray, feeling useless in a fight, was nervously digging a hole in the dirt with his toe, looking like he wanted to bury himself.

Winged Tiger knew the score. To seize command, he had to suppress Bibo (the voice of wisdom) and Big Black (the commander of the rat swarm).

Bibo was tricky; the old beaver had seniority and prestige. So, Winged Tiger decided to lead with intelligence and strength.

“You—”

Big Black, whose personality was as subtle as a brick, bristled immediately. He stepped up to challenge the tiger, but a hand stopped him.

Bibo stroked his sparse beard, a faint, unreadable smile on his face. He ignored Winged Tiger’s posturing entirely.

“The Great King is benevolent,” Bibo said slowly, his voice smooth as silk. “But his benevolence is reserved for those with value.”

The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“If we are not united, if we fail this task and delay the King’s plans… well. The lucky ones might be allowed to live in a corner.”

Bibo pointed a claw toward a distant clearing. “But if we fail badly? There is always room for a few more bodies on the Rat Corpse Mountain.”

A chill swept through the clearing.

Every demon present shuddered. The image of the “Rat Corpse Mountain”—a gruesome monument to discipline—flashed through their minds. It grew taller every day, a pile of twisted limbs and varied, inventive deaths.

Even Big Black, usually the loudest in the room, snapped his mouth shut. He was the only rat among them, and he knew better than anyone just how horrifying that pile had become.