Chapter 16: Nán Língshā

The dry, crisp chill of autumn made every ray of sunlight feel precious—warm, golden, and rare.

On the shimmering surface of the lake, a wooden boardwalk stretched out into the water. Zhu Minglang stood at its edge, his expression grim, watching the swift blue-spotted fish spirits darting beneath the waves. A quick glance at the little crocodile dragon lying sprawled beside him, utterly exhausted, nearly rolled over from sheer fatigue.

*Tappity-tap-tap-tap—*

A school of stone-blotched fish spirits flicked their tails in rapid succession, splashing water right next to the croc. Their movements were laced with mockery—sharp, mocking, unrelenting.

Damn those blue-spotted fish spirits…

They moved faster than any wild stone-blotched fish ever seen along riverbanks, agile beyond belief. So many of them, so close—yet every time the little crocodile lunged, they’d scatter in perfect unison, slipping away like smoke. No matter how hard it tried, the croc came up empty-handed.

An entire afternoon spent chasing shadows. Not one fish caught. No wonder no one wanted this job. The challenge was way harder than it looked!

“Don’t give up,” Zhu Minglang said, patting the croc’s head. “We just need a better strategy. I’ll study these fish spirits tonight. Tomorrow, we try again!”

The little crocodile drooped its head, ears flat. It hadn’t expected to be so useless—so thoroughly laughed at by creatures that barely seemed to notice it.

When would it ever stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the waterfall dragon?

…

By nightfall, Zhu Minglang locked the door behind him and made his way to the Dragon Storage Hall.

Inside, the small creatures weren’t quite like ordinary beasts. They carried subtle, otherworldly traits—faint glimmers of potential. Most had only recently hatched or were still young, making them ideal candidates for taming and training. For anyone dreaming of becoming a dragon herder, this was the perfect starting point.

Still, even after careful selection, the odds of them transforming into true dragons remained slim.

As some of the younger ones grew too large—or too aggressive—and no one claimed them, they were usually released back into the wild.

That night, Zhu Minglang helped Old Mr. He release several such creatures—too big, too violent, too much trouble to keep around. They couldn’t just stay here eating free meals and sleeping on the floor forever.

Working through the first half of the night, he quickly realized: releasing these beasts wasn’t easy. Most of them were aggressive by nature—some had already injured or even killed others in the hall.

“You can go back once dawn breaks,” Old Mr. He said, handing him a small resonance bell. “Only ring it if there’s a mass breakout of young spirits. The old man needs his sleep. One interruption like that, and he might not rest properly for a month. The meat silkworms you asked for are in the back. Take as many as you want. Honestly, none of the young ones eat them. Who even brings these low-grade worms to feed the lot?”

“Got it, sir. You go rest now,” Zhu Minglang replied.

“I leave with a certain number. I return with the same number. Not one missing.”

“Don’t worry,” Zhu Minglang said. “If anything goes missing, it won’t be because of me.”

…

Following the old man’s orders, Zhu Minglang patrolled every hour to prevent sneaky predators—like foxes or weasels—from stealing young spirit eggs. To avoid risks, he checked more often than necessary.

While scanning the halls, he stumbled upon a pond tucked away in a corner—home to a group of blue-spotted fish spirits.

The academy really cut corners, didn’t they? Just scoop up a few fish from the lake and call it a day?

These young fish were different. Their patterns shone brighter, and even at this early stage, they already had long, delicate whiskers.

*Ah… now I get it.*

When they swam together, they used those whiskers to send signals—tremors through the water, warning each other of danger. That’s why they always knew when the crocodile lunged. They could anticipate it before it even happened.

But speed-wise? These fish were lightning-fast. Little Blackfang needed serious training—specifically in the torrential whirlpools of the waterfall. It would teach it to fight resistance, adapt to currents, and build real speed.

…

No time wasted. The next afternoon, Zhu Minglang didn’t rush straight to the lake. Instead, he brought the crocodile to the very waterfall vortex where they’d been swept in before.

After two days of feeding, the crocodile had grown to about 1.2 meters—stronger, bulkier, clearly maturing fast.

The waterfall’s powerful pull and swirling currents were perfect for forging a tough body. A brutal but effective workout.

“Today’s goal: don’t get sucked under.”

For safety, Zhu Minglang tied a long rope around the crocodile’s torso. If it lost strength, the rope could save it.

And the little crocodile rose to the challenge. All afternoon, it hovered near the waterfall’s mouth, refusing to be dragged down. The constant struggle hardened its black crocodile hide—already new, now tougher than ever.

On the third day, Zhu Minglang still didn’t take it to hunt the fish spirits.

The crocodile had eaten an entire basket full of meat silkworms—its body visibly larger. Today’s training pushed it further: not only must it resist the current, but now it had to swim *upstream*, breaking free from the hidden undercurrents as fast as possible.

“Good work,” Zhu Minglang said. “You’ve earned your freedom from the rope. Tomorrow morning, eat well. We’re going to attack in the full force of the waterfall’s fury.”

Another full night passed. Zhu Minglang collected two baskets of meat silkworms.

But the crocodile had grown to 1.5 meters already. It wouldn’t be long before it reached adult size. And its appetite? From one basket to two.

Zhu Minglang started sweating.

This side gig might not be enough to feed the thing. He’d have to find another job—fast.

…

By the seventh day, the crocodile finally mastered hunting in the raging current.

Back on the lakeside boardwalk, Zhu Minglang and his little companion stood tall—ready, confident, triumphant.

The lake was clear. The stone-blotched fish spirits were everywhere—so thick they sometimes broke the surface, flicking their tails and long whiskers like flags in the wind.

“Attack!” Zhu Minglang roared, sweeping his arm forward like a general leading an army.

The crocodile plunged into the water—three times faster than before—and snapped at a plump blue-spotted fish spirit.

The fish panicked, dodging at the last second.

Instantly, the others reacted. Without waiting, they scattered like ripples across the water’s skin.

The crocodile was stronger now—far stronger—but the fish still slipped away like ghosts. Every time it closed in, they vanished.

“Blackfang! Break their formation! Then chase the one left behind!” Zhu Minglang shouted.

The crocodile obeyed. No longer trying to bite directly, it charged into the swirling group, disrupting their synchronized wave pattern. Chaos erupted. Some fish lost direction, disoriented.

One young fish—caught off guard—was thrown out of the group. Without the signal from its companions’ whiskers, it floundered blindly.

“**ROOOOAR!**”

The jaws snapped shut—clean, sharp, decisive.

Black teeth clamped onto the terrified fish. The crocodile leapt from the water, tossing its prey high into the air, then landed with a splash, proudly displaying its catch to Zhu Minglang on the dock.

“Ha! We did it!” Zhu Minglang grinned from ear to ear.

He’d slain ancient demons before. Crushed giants. But somehow, catching this tiny blue-spotted fish spirit filled him with a joy deeper than any victory.

Maybe that was change.

In a world so long gray and dull, even the smallest light could spark hope.

And when a person begins to believe—when even the tiniest shift feels meaningful—the heart can’t help but race.