Chapter 13: The Rations Problem

**Chapter 12: The Dragon in Bloom**

It was exactly this kind of baseless, wild speculation—completely unfounded, utterly ridiculous—that caused the deepest wounds. Not facts. Not truth. Just gossip.

And Zhù Mínglǎng? He was the one at the center of it all.

He knew better than anyone what it was like down in the dungeon. No guards. No locks. Just some invisible force sealing the place shut—only certain people could enter. And he’d been the first one thrown in.

Not because he was special. But because his body was tougher than those ragged beggars who’d been poisoned by the toxic gruel. He woke up first. That’s all.

But there was another truth—one far more unsettling—that only he truly understood.

He had taken the First, Second, Third… and who knows how many times after that… from the Valkyrie.

Of course, the story had spiraled out of control. Now it wasn’t just about *how* many times—it was about *what* they did. How wild. How filthy. How scandalous.

People didn’t care about the truth. They only cared if it was juicy enough to spit out with a smirk.

Sigh.

Maybe soon, I’ll be able to carry this burden. Not that I want to. But being called a beggar, a vagrant every day? It makes Li Yúnzī look like she’s lost her dignity. And honestly? It makes me feel like crap too.

But I can’t rush it. Not yet. I have to wait for Xiao Bai to complete his transformation into a dragon.

Leaving the courtyard behind, Zhù Mínglǎng walked toward the lake, heading toward the Fengdi side of Líchuān Island. There, nestled between the water and the hills, stood a grove of flame maples.

Autumn had painted the trees in rich layers of orange and crimson, their leaves fanned out like a tapestry above the ground. Below, the forest floor was carpeted in fallen *Líhuǒ* red leaves—burnt scarlet, glowing under the sun.

Ahead, the green lake shimmered, calm on the surface—but then, suddenly, it plunged over the dam in a thundering cascade. Mist danced in the air, catching sunlight and scattering it into fleeting rainbows.

Maple trees. Emerald lake. Waterfall. Misty auroras. Nature had drawn this scene with effortless grace—romance written in motion.

Zhù Mínglǎng was close enough to the falls to feel the spray on his face. The view was breathtaking.

“Don’t go too far out,” he warned the tiny crocodile perched on his shoulder. “That’s the waterfall. One wrong move, and you’re gone.”

“Wu-oh-oh~” The little croc opened its mouth wide, gave a clumsy, cheerful cry—more of a grunt than a word—and nodded.

They reached the riverbank, where thousands of smooth pebbles lay scattered like ancient teeth. Zhù Mínglǎng set the little creature down.

Instantly, it shot forward after the darting stone bass, moving so fast Zhù Mínglǎng could barely see it—just a blur of black flitting through the shallows.

“Not bad!” he said, surprised. The little beast was a natural hunter. Within minutes, it returned with three or four fat stone bass—plump, silvery, perfect for roasting.

But then Zhù Mínglǎng noticed something odd.

The croc didn’t eat them.

It just kept chasing them—like a game. A training session.

Stone bass were tough prey. Not slow like carp. They could zip along slick river stones, twist mid-swim, vanish into crevices in an instant.

Most young croc spirits would go for baby deer or weak lambs—hide in the mud, sneak up, snap.

But this little guy? It was hunting *stone bass*. That was rare. Really rare.

After a while, the croc seemed bored. It swam farther out.

Zhù Mínglǎng blinked—and realized it was already deep in the current.

“Come back! Now!”

The area near the falls was deadly. The surface looked peaceful. But beneath? A hidden whirlpool—violent, hungry, ready to swallow anything whole and hurl it over the edge.

The croc had no idea. It thought it was just using the strong current to build strength. It stayed away from the falls… but didn’t know the danger wasn’t just *at* the edge. It was *around* it.

And now, the current had caught it.

At first, it paddled steadily—tail flicking, body twisting against the flow.

But slowly, painfully, it began to drift backward. No matter how hard it kicked, it couldn’t fight the pull.

Zhù Mínglǎng saw it. His heart dropped.

Without hesitation, he stripped off his clothes and dove in.

“Hold on!” he shouted.

The river resisted him instantly. Something tugged at his waist—like vines wrapped around his legs, dragging him downstream.

Stay calm. Don’t panic. Conserve energy.

He slowed down, moved carefully, inch by inch, closing the gap.

Finally, he reached the little croc.

“Climb on me!” he urged.

Terrified, the croc scrambled up—clawing at his shoulders, then scrambling onto his head, kicking wildly like a drowning fawn.

“Rumble… rumble… RUMBLE…”

Behind them, the roar of the waterfall grew louder. Zhù Mínglǎng realized—he was caught in the vortex too. Even a hundred meters away, escape was impossible.

He tried to swim level with the current, matching its rhythm. But the pull was relentless. His strength was fading.

Then—*splash!*—a wave crashed into his face. He gasped for air… and choked instead.

His body went limp, tumbling backward into the dark.

He surfaced again, coughing, eyes scanning the distance.

The falls were less than forty meters away now.

No way out.

“Next time,” he muttered, gripping the croc on his head, “don’t be so reckless.”

With one powerful kick, he launched the little croc clear of the whirlpool—sending it flying toward safety.

“Gurgle… gurgle… GURGLE!”

The river surged like a monster’s maw, swallowing him whole—and hurling him straight toward the thundering cliff.

…

On the bank, a small black crocodile spun in the shallow water, trying again and again to dive in. But each time, a gentle ripple pushed it back.

“Wu-oh-oh…”
“Wu-oh-oh-oh…”

Its cries echoed through the trees—desperate, mournful, like a child lost without its parents.

Only wind rustling through maple leaves answered.

No one passed by.

No help came.

Finally, it lunged into the river once more.

As its black skin touched the water, cracks spread across its hide. Something beneath the surface pushed outward—slowly, painfully—growing from its forehead.

Blood seeped into the stream. Scales peeled away. Black hide sloughed off like old bark.

And as it swam toward the falls, its form stretched—lengthened. Its limbs thickened. Its tail grew stronger. Speed increased.

It was changing.

Fast.

…

Beneath the Fengdi, a vast pool waited.

Zhù Mínglǎng felt dizzy. Then darkness. Wetness. Like being swallowed whole.

When he came to, he found himself lying at the edge of the pool—right beside the jaws of a creature.

A *dragon*.

A waterfall dragon.

Blue scales. Long, flowing whiskers. No horns. But a body so long it looked like a thousand-year-old serpent.

Yet majestic. Powerful. Even in the fury of the cascading torrent, its presence commanded awe.

Thankfully, the dragon showed no malice. Instead, it gently placed him on a large rock.

Lying on his back, Zhù Mínglǎng stared up at the waterfall. At the towering, upright form of the dragon—its body unshaken by the crashing water, standing firm like a living tower.

This was no ordinary river spirit. This was a true *Chuanlong*—a river dragon of legend.

“Your body and flesh are gifts from your parents,” a soft, melodic voice spoke. “How could you think of ending it?”

Zhù Mínglǎng blinked.

*Ending it?* In the woods, find a rope. Not jump into a waterfall like some tragic hero!

He turned.

Perched atop the dragon’s head stood a woman.

Long hair dancing in the mist. Eyebrows finely arched. Beauty like a painting come to life—ethereal, otherworldly. A goddess from myth. A dragon maiden.

She floated down, landing beside him, soaked and shivering.

The dragon followed her movement—neck bending, head turning—then suddenly snapped upward.

With perfect precision, it bit down on something falling from above.

A black creature. One meter long. Unrecognizable.

The dragon dropped it onto the same stone.

The woman glanced at it.

“Is this your spirit companion?” she asked.

Zhù Mínglǎng looked.

It was a crocodile—now over a meter long. And on its forehead… a horn.

He shook his head—then froze.

A faint soul resonance trembled in his chest.

*No way.*

That was… *Xiao Heiyá*?

Just hours ago, it was a clumsy little croc. Now? It was transformed.

Its soft black skin had hardened. Legs thickened. Front paws sharpened into claws. And on its broad forehead—a single, spiraling horn.

Exactly where he’d once touched it.

His guess had been right.

Crocodiles don’t have horns.

But *this* creature?

It was a dragon—still in bloom.

**“Xiao Heiyá! You’ve evolved!”**

Zhù Mínglǎng couldn’t believe it.

“Wu-oh-oh-oh-oh!” The newly formed little dragon leapt at him, tongue lashing his face, nearly knocking him back into the water with pure joy.

It hadn’t even realized what it had become. All it knew was that its master was in danger. So it jumped in after him—without thinking.

“Easy, easy,” Zhù Mínglǎng said, cradling the creature’s big, goofy head. “I’m fine. I’m fine. But even if you’re stronger now—you can’t just follow me into a waterfall. You’d break every bone in your body.”

“You say that like you wouldn’t do the same,” the dragon woman said, smiling. “You jumped in to save your own spirit companion, didn’t you?”