Chapter 14: I'll Take This Job

**Chapter 13: The Rations Problem**

The girl dragon had noticed the faint, silvery scars still clinging to Little Croc’s dark hide—tell-tale signs of a recent shedding, a molting that marked true transformation. As a Dragon Herder, she knew instantly: this little black scaly thing had just taken its first real step toward becoming a true dragon.

“Honestly,” Zhù Mínglǎng said with a sheepish grin, “I didn’t mean for it to get swept into the waterfall vortex.”

“Train it well,” the dragon woman replied, her voice cool and sharp as a blade. “It’s showing signs of finding the Dragon Gate Path. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ve got my cultivation to attend to.”

“Thank you, Senior Sister,” Zhù Mínglǎng bowed properly before leading his little crocodile back toward the shore.

The pool was vast, the current fierce—but Little Croc was no longer the clumsy, struggling hatchling from before. It now carried Zhù Mínglǎng effortlessly through the churning water, a lifeline in the storm. For someone already drained from the ordeal, it was a godsend.

Finally, they reached dry land. Zhù Mínglǎng looked down at the small creature circling his legs like a loyal shadow.

After everything they’d been through, the little black croc seemed… closer. A slow smile spread across Zhù Mínglǎng’s face. “If you run into those bullying wolflings from the Storage Palace again, you could probably leave them *unrecognizable*.”

Little Croc didn’t respond. Instead, it stared up at the towering waterfall—a colossal silver curtain crashing down from the sky, thundering like a thousand drums.

And then—there, in the heart of the torrent—came a slender, emerald-green figure.
A dragon.
It wasn’t just swimming *up* the falls—it was *climbing* them, defying gravity, muscles coiling like steel cables beneath its sleek scales.

Then, at the very top, it leapt—launching itself into the air, suspended mid-fall, water spraying around it like liquid diamonds. For one breathtaking moment, it soared, untamed and wild, a living storm given form.

The power of the dragon—raw, ancient, undeniable—was on full display.

Zhù Mínglǎng exhaled slowly. “You’re not aiming to beat a few bratty wolflings, are you? No… one day, you’ll stand toe-to-toe with *that* dragon.” He patted the croc’s head. “One day.”

Of course, that day felt impossibly far off. They couldn’t even survive the whirlpools in the waterfall.

But something sparked in Zhù Mínglǎng’s mind.
*Training.*
What if he used the river’s fury as a teacher? Let Little Croc wrestle with the currents, dive through the rapids, fight the eddies? Not only would it build strength—muscle, bone, stamina—but it would forge willpower too. Toughness forged in fire.

…

Back at the dormitory, chaos erupted in the courtyard.

Zhù Mínglǎng stepped in just as a two-meter-long wolfling lunged forward, jaws clamped around the neck of a cowling. Blood oozed between its fangs—gory, brutal, almost cartoonish in its violence.

“I surrender! I surrender!” Li Shaoying cried, tears in his voice, scrambling forward.

The wolfling snarled at him—low, guttural—and Li collapsed backward, trembling.

Laughter erupted from the surrounding boys.

“Next time you’re assigned chores,” the rider sneered, “don’t whine so much.”

Zhù Mínglǎng frowned.

He didn’t like trouble. So he turned and walked away.

Most of the residents here were young men and boys—full of pride, ambition, and zero self-control. None of them had ever seen a real dragon, yet they fought each other like warriors over nothing.
Young spirits battling young spirits.
To Zhù Mínglǎng, it was waste. Pure, pointless waste.

Back in his tiny room, he changed into dry clothes. His stomach growled—not from hunger, but from worry.

Little Croc had been grumbling all the way back. If it were still eating just meat worms, Zhù Mínglǎng could sneak a few from the Storage Palace—no one else wanted them. But now it was *much* bigger. Its appetite had exploded. Where would he find enough big meat worms?

No matter how young or old, dragons couldn’t go hungry. Food wasn’t just fuel—it shaped growth, influenced traits, determined potential.
Exercise mattered. But *eating* mattered more.

And a proper Dragon Herder? You didn’t feed every dragon the same. You tailored meals based on bloodline, elemental affinity, stage of development. One size never fit all.

“Can’t grow a farm overnight,” Zhù Mínglǎng muttered. “Better check the village market tomorrow. If that fails… maybe the city district. But first—money. Damn it, I need money.”

For years, he’d lived simply—poor, yes, but free. Now, with a growing dragon on his hands, he was suddenly thinking about rent, food, survival.

“Big meat worms…” He snapped his fingers. “Wait—*Xiao Bai!* If it hatches, it’ll need *plenty* of flower nectar!”

He smacked his forehead.
He’d forgotten. Xiao Bai loved nectar. And when it emerged from the cocoon, it’d be starving. That first meal? Could make or break its latent abilities.

But good news: Xiao Bai was still deep in its pupa. Sleeping.
That gave him time.

Nectar.
Enough.
*Must have enough.*

Newborn dragons needed constant feeding—like newborns. Every two hours. Just like human infants. Miss a feeding, and brain development could stall. Growth could falter. Some didn’t survive at all.

And Xiao Bai? From a tiny ice worm to a full-fledged dragon? That was a leap beyond imagination. Its energy needs were astronomical. His meager stash of mulberry leaves? Useless.

If only he hadn’t gotten mugged that one time… At least then he’d have some coins. Now? Nothing. Not a single copper.

“Woo-ooohhh~!!”
Little Croc’s head popped out of the water tank, eyes wide, pleading.
It was starving.

Zhù Mínglǎng had spent years eating alone, caring for no one, treating money like dirt. Now? Even feeding a little croc was a crisis.

This wouldn’t do.
Not anymore.

He looked at Little Croc—then at the silent, dreaming cocoon of Xiao Bai in the spirit realm.
A spark flared in his chest. The old fire of the veteran herder, long buried, flickered back to life.

“Alright, Little Tooth,” he said, voice firm. “Eat a few rock bass for now. I know it’s terrible. But don’t worry—tomorrow morning, you’ll have a whole basket of big meat worms. You’ll eat until you can’t move.”

Little Croc obeyed, dragging the bamboo basket into its pond. It gnawed at the fish with obvious reluctance.

Now an actual dragon, it needed more than fish. These weren’t nourishing—just empty calories. Like a man eating bark. Worse, they’d upset its stomach.

Underfed and weak, it could barely move. Sleep became its only option—conserving energy, waiting for food.
No training. No progress. No future.

Still, it lay in the pond, belly swelling with quiet rumbling sounds.

Zhù Mínglǎng sighed, watching it. Then, without another word, he grabbed his coat, tidied himself quickly, and slipped out into the night—heading straight for the Storage Palace.