Chapter Fifty-Seven: Heh, the Lucky Bird

It seemed that fire ants feared water; the two upgraded creatures paced back and forth on the bank, but never dared to cross the stream. Yet they were unwilling to give up, and in the end, they sprayed a cloud of dense, milky-white mist in this direction to vent their frustration. The mist they produced was thick, almost liquid, like milk. Although it weakened by nearly thirty percent as it passed over the stream, it was still strong enough to cross it. As the mist spread, the small fire ants on this side scurried away, giving it a wide berth.

Feng Ke’er sat within her circle of rest, observing for a long time before reaching a conclusion: the mist in the forest was all released by the fire ants, and it dissipated upon contact with water. In modern times, she’d heard that to control their numbers, each tadpole secretes a toxin into the water, and when the toxin reaches a certain concentration, many tadpoles die. The mist here seemed to serve a similar purpose. That explained why there was no mist near the stream, and why the fire ants chose to nest here.

As for why they built their nests on those tall, straight trees resembling birches? Later, while chopping wood, Feng Ke’er accidentally discovered that the trunks of these trees secrete a sweet, thick sap, looking much like oak resin. Fire ants are still ants, and they love sweets. With so many fire ants here—especially these specially enhanced, man-eating variants—and no natural enemies, the entire forest had no other animals besides them. Thus, these omnivorous fire ants had to forsake meat and subsist on sweet tree sap. This was also why, upon her arrival, the fire ants in that area became so agitated—they hadn’t tasted meat for ages, their mouths had grown bland, and they were eager for a feast!

Moreover, the fire ants in the forest were divided by nests. Ants from different nests often fought fiercely over territory, but they never ate their own kind. After discovering this, Feng Ke’er had a stroke of inspiration: during her downtime from battling monsters, she strung together the discarded fire ant shells with needle and thread, wearing them across her whole body. Unexpectedly, this proved highly effective. Once she was draped in chains of fire ant shells, she could freely move among the fire ants—perhaps because the shells came from various nests and their scents were mixed, the fire ants only stared suspiciously with their bead-like eyes, standing alert but motionless.

This achievement was truly groundbreaking. The juice from fire ant flesh had a limited shelf life; after about three hours, its pungent odor dissipated and could no longer be used to spark fire, at which point the fire ants would attack again. That meant the circle of rest created with fire ant juice lasted only around three hours. But the chains of fire ant shells lasted as long as the string holding them remained intact.

With these fire ant shell chains, Feng Ke’er’s safety was maximized. She could rest anywhere, battle the fire ants without warning, and roam the forest freely. Because the forest had long lacked human activity, its plant species were abundant and aged. Relying on her compendium’s records, Feng Ke’er found many spiritual herbs and grasses over a hundred years old.

For instance, she collected no fewer than a hundred stalks of rejuvenation grass over three hundred years old. The records stated that once rejuvenation grass reached a hundred years, it began to mutate and was the best ingredient for refining rejuvenation pills. When it surpassed three hundred years, it gained the ability to restore life without needing refinement—the effect was even better than the pills themselves, for pills inevitably contained traces of toxic elements like cinnabar, but the grass was pure and green, completely uncontaminated.

Furthermore, ginseng, lingzhi, and polygonatum—all shade-loving, moisture-preferring spiritual herbs—were practically specialties of this place. Ginseng less than ten years old was barely worthy of the name, more like a radish. Scouring the forest by the stream, Feng Ke’er found ten ginseng roots over five hundred years old, and two over a thousand years. She found even more high-aged lingzhi and polygonatum.

Haha, she’d struck it rich! Feng Ke’er bundled everything together with fine vines and tossed them into her storage pouch. There was no help for it—the pouch’s space was limited, and she’d only freed up this much room by burning all the solid wood furniture inside. If she’d had the foresight, she’d have brought several large storage pouches. Looking at the spiritual herbs and medicines under five hundred years old, she could only sigh in regret.

The wild pheasant meat she’d brought was soon gone. Killing monsters every day was physically demanding; three meals a day of spirit rice porridge wasn’t enough. Feng Ke’er tried adding ginseng and lingzhi to her porridge. Worried about overdoing it, she started by picking a small, hundred-year-old ginseng root. It worked beautifully—the strong ginseng flavor perfectly masked the aroma of the spirit rice. The surrounding fire ants had no interest in the scent of ginseng, and stopped drooling as they watched. After finishing the meal, she felt flush with heat and had to charge into the fire ant swarm, swinging her sword madly for over an hour to dissipate the medicinal effect. From then on, she dared not randomly toss high-aged tonics into the pot, generally using only those under a hundred years. Yet, being young and robust, she still felt overheated after eating. Later, she found clusters of selfheal in the forest, which she brewed into tea to counteract the effects.

However, draped in chains of fire ant shells, threading through the primeval forest, she frequently snagged herself on branches and vines, severely reducing the lifespan of her shell chains.

Having explored almost all the land by the stream, Feng Ke’er turned her gaze to the opposite bank: the fire ants there were much larger—their shells should be enough to make armor. To know oneself and one’s enemy is the key to victory. Feng Ke’er didn’t rush across the water; instead, she braided a chain of fire ant shells and tossed it over the stream.

At the noise, a large fire ant darted out of the grass on the far bank. It cautiously tapped the chain with its antennae, then sprayed it with dense mist from its black vertical pupils, and finally, unabashedly, grabbed the fire ant shell with its forelegs and devoured it, crunching away like a puppy eating dog biscuits. It seemed to find it delicious—this creature loved it. After gulping it down, the big fire ant, still unsatisfied, licked its forelegs and swept its coral-red eyes over the bank. Once it confirmed there was nothing left, it reluctantly returned to the grass, glancing back repeatedly. Other large fire ants emerged, drawn by the scent, but perhaps because the shell had been sprayed with mist, they merely sniffed and retreated in disappointment.

Feng Ke’er broke out in a cold sweat, repeatedly murmuring “so close”—thank goodness she was cautious enough to test the waters first. Otherwise, wearing these chains and charging across would have made her a giant, walking, human-shaped treat.

But seeing how formidable these creatures were, she became even more hesitant to act rashly.

On the other hand, she felt a growing sense of longing and anticipation. For ten days straight, she’d slaughtered tens of thousands of small fire ants, exhausting herself, but their vitality was weak and she still hadn’t leveled up. After the initial excitement faded, she realized her efforts and rewards were completely disproportionate—a waste of time.

As sunlight never reached the forest, she couldn’t tell day from night. So how did Feng Ke’er know ten days had passed? Very simply: she timed herself using the fire ant flesh paste. When the paste lost its effect, about three hours had gone by. Eight times a day—she never got it wrong. In such a place, who could be precise about everything? Estimation and tallying sufficed.

Back to the question: how could she safely assess the strength of those big creatures across the stream? Feng Ke’er sat by the bank, scratching her head.

She didn’t dare go over, so if she could lure them one by one to her side, that would be perfect. One-on-one, she could handle it.

Thus, Feng Ke’er first thought of fishing: she found a long, thin vine and some hard wooden spikes. She bent the spikes over a fire, tied them to the end of the vine as barbs, then attached a small fire ant shell to the hook, and finally tossed the vine to the edge of the grass on the opposite bank. She herself held the other end, sitting patiently by the shore.

Both big and small fire ants were greedy. Hearing the noise, a large fire ant soon darted out of the grass. It cautiously tested the bait, confirmed it was safe food, then sprayed it with mist and grabbed the vine’s end with its forelegs, biting down hard.

Feng Ke’er held her breath, not daring to move.

Suddenly, the creature stopped, as if stuck to the vine, its body rigid but its antennae and legs struggling desperately.

It looked like she’d caught it!

Its strength was immense, causing the five-meter vine to sway violently.

The commotion drew three more large fire ants from the grass. But their red eyes quickly locked onto the shaking vine. After a bout of antennae communication, the three ignored their “comrade” and cautiously approached the vine.

She couldn’t let them hitch a ride! Feng Ke’er’s heart tightened, and she swiftly reeled in the vine.

A red blur streaked through the air. The hooked fire ant crashed heavily into the leaf litter by the shore, raising a cloud of dust.

At the same time, luck favored it—Feng Ke’er’s pull somehow freed it from the hook!

Like tossing a catfish into a bucket of sardines, the surrounding small fire ants scattered in panic, fleeing in all directions until not one remained.

The big fire ant adapted quickly, shook its head, and fixed its gaze on the only living thing by the bank—Feng Ke’er.

“Come on, big guy!” Feng Ke’er tossed aside the vine, stood up, drew her sword, and moved to a spot three meters away, beckoning provocatively.

The big fire ant didn’t disappoint. Its antennae quivered, its body crouched, and it sprayed a dense cloud of mist at her.

Feng Ke’er was prepared—the mist carried a choking scent of saltpeter. She lightly pushed off with her feet, leaping into the air to easily avoid it. At the same time, she raised her Azure Edge long sword and shouted, “Pumpkin Slash!”

She aimed for the big fire ant’s narrow waist and struck down from above—experience had taught her that fire ants, armored head to toe, had their waists as their vulnerable spot.

Pumpkin Slash was a sword move she’d recently invented, inspired by cutting a pumpkin—cleanly slicing the opponent in two.

Power, five stars; ferocity, five stars... It was her strongest original move yet. (To be continued.)

Universal Compendium 57_Chapter Fifty-Seven: Haha, struck it rich—update complete!