Chapter Fourteen: Fierce Battle with the King of Earthfish

Qian Mubai sat not far away, tending a fire and boiling a pot of water. Qin Xiaomo shot him a glance from the corner of her eye and shouted, “Qian Mubai, are you even human? I’m about to be mauled by a gang, and you have the nerve to be boiling water!”

“If you just aim properly, you’ll manage. Didn’t you slice that last one perfectly? There are only twenty or thirty of these fish,” Qian Mubai replied breezily. Qin Xiaomo felt a chill settle in her heart; hitting that last fish had been pure luck, and now there was nowhere left to run.

As the standoff between human and fish dragged on, one particularly impatient mudfish leapt up first. Qin Xiaomo gripped her Xuanli Blade in both hands and, like a ninja slicing a watermelon, brought it down, cleaving the fish in two. The dying shriek of that fish sent the whole school into a frenzy.

She realized that cutting the fish had felt as effortless as slicing tofu—almost like playing Fruit Ninja, relying entirely on her reflexes and aim. She remembered those days when the iPad first came out and, eager to show off her new toy, she’d downloaded Fruit Ninja and trained obsessively, eventually scoring over 6,000 points and ranking first in the province. Since then, she had honed a sharp eye and lightning-fast reactions.

As she recalled this, Qin Xiaomo’s nerves settled. As long as the fish came at her one by one, she was confident she could handle them. Just as she allowed herself the faintest smile of victory, it froze on her lips—these shameless creatures were hurtling toward her all at once, leaping through the air.

With no time to think, Qin Xiaomo slashed left and right. Still, a serrated jaw clamped down on her ankle, making her gasp in pain. The shock scattered her focus, and though she managed to fell six or seven fish, more and more took advantage of her waning strength.

Six mudfish now clung to her back, legs, and arms, their teeth embedded deep in her flesh. Blood couldn’t even flow out—their teeth were short, but with a twist of their jaws, a chunk of flesh could be torn away. Fortunately, these fish had no taste for rending people apart, and she dared not slash at them carelessly.

Swallowing the pain, Qin Xiaomo brandished her blade, thinking, “Am I really going to be eaten alive by these ugly fish? I haven’t lived enough yet! And that damnable Qian Mubai won’t even come to help.” Suddenly, she remembered the pills she’d bought from the mustachioed apothecary. Freeing one hand, she fished out the bottle and thrust it at the fish. The mudfish preparing to leap paused and retreated a few steps. Those already latched onto her recoiled at the scent, dropping off one by one and vomiting on the ground.

The sight was nauseating, but when Qin Xiaomo sniffed the bottle, it wasn’t so terrible—she even liked the durian-like odor. She quickly tucked her precious medicine away.

With the fish disarmed, she finished them off, one by one. Only seven or eight remained, and as they saw their companions decimated, they began a high-pitched, rhythmic wail—like a telegraph machine—then fell abruptly silent, as if awaiting something.

This silence only made Qin Xiaomo more tense. She barely felt her wounds as she scanned her surroundings, tightening her grip on the Xuanli Blade. “Don’t let me down,” she whispered, and the sword seemed to understand, its white light flickering in response. In that instant, she felt she was no longer alone—she had an ally at her side.

Just then, a chainsaw-like roar rumbled up through the sand beneath her feet. Qin Xiaomo jumped aside, and the spot she’d just stood on collapsed into a pit three meters wide. A gaping black maw stared up at her, making her shudder.

From the pit slowly crawled a massive, two-meter-long fish, its scales a dark purple-black, its eyes glowing violet. This was no ordinary mudfish—it was more like a legless crocodile, each tooth as long as a finger, its bite evoking the shudder of a paper shredder.

At the sight, Qin Xiaomo trembled. So this was the Mudfish King. She wondered whether it carried a spirit pearl.

The moment the king appeared, the smaller fish circled around like bystanders at a spectacle, keeping their distance. Qin Xiaomo watched as the king inched toward her, oddly reassured—perhaps old age had made it slow. Limping backward, she observed the legendary skull atop its head. Sure enough, there was a seam glowing faintly purple as it moved—the mustachioed apothecary hadn’t lied.

After a while, both sides hesitated, neither attacking. Qin Xiaomo wasn’t about to strike first, and the Mudfish King simply crawled forward, causing her to feel at a loss. Maybe she should try the bottle again? Perhaps the king would be so disgusted it would cough up the spirit pearl. With that, she pulled out the bottle and wafted its scent toward the Mudfish King.

This only seemed to enrage it. A sound like a revving motorcycle blared from its throat—yes, a motorcycle—loud and unsettling. Suddenly, three legs sprouted from each side of its body, each with two webbed toes, resembling but not quite matching a duck’s feet.

Now fully aware of the danger, Qin Xiaomo wanted to flee, but her injuries left her tottering and disheveled. In despair, she called out to Qian Mubai, “Qian Mubai! Help me…” But he acted as though he hadn’t heard, continuing to stir his soup, though the ladle in his hand was twisted from his grip.

The Mudfish King, as if supercharged, glided across the ground as though wearing roller skates, its massive maw opening wide, a wave of hot, fetid stench washing over her. Qin Xiaomo closed her eyes, thinking, “So this is it. If I ever make it home, Qian Mubai, I swear I’ll write you to your death in every game.”

Just then, a fierce yet childish cry echoed behind her, reminiscent of The Lion King. The Mudfish King snapped its jaws shut and began to retreat in terror. Qin Xiaomo turned to see the white furball standing atop a mound with paws on its hips. It was noticeably plumper and larger than before—a sure sign it had been eating well, though she had no idea what.

Tears nearly sprang to her eyes; at least some beast cared about her fate. But then she hesitated—the furball was rabbit-sized, hardly enough to fill the Mudfish King’s teeth. Why was it so afraid? What exactly was this creature?

As she pondered, the white furball bounced up to the Mudfish King, which trembled in fear, its legs drawn in. The little creature stretched out a tiny paw, making incomprehensible but clearly demanding noises—asking for something.

Intimidated by the furball’s fierce cuteness, the Mudfish King hesitated, then spat out a quail egg-sized, transparent orb glowing with violet light. With its followers, it retreated trembling into the black pit.

The furball happily clutched the pearl and hopped over to Qin Xiaomo, holding it up with a paw as an offering. Qin Xiaomo knelt, wincing in pain, stroked its head, and asked, “Is this the Violet Spirit Pearl?” The furball yipped in reply—whatever that meant.

At last, Qian Mubai called from not far away, “That’s the Violet Spirit Pearl. Come have some fish soup.”

Ignoring him, Qin Xiaomo tucked the pearl safely away, scooped up the furball, and limped off in the opposite direction. From the moment her plea for help had failed, she’d resolved that if she survived, she would leave him at once, no matter what his reasons.