At the outset, the Ling-Infant cells attempted to stealthily replace the host's neurons by mimicking their structure—but the subterfuge was swiftly unmasked. For the host's neural network possessed its own uniquely encoded signal transmissions, something the invaders could not emulate.
Frustrated, the Ling-Infant released a strain of mutated rabies virus, seeking to cripple the central nervous system. Yet this stratagem proved futile—eighteen years prior, Li Zhui had endured the crucible of internal combustion and had forged an uncanny rapport even with rabies itself. Such a ploy was powerless against him.
In a final act of desperation, the Ling-Infant sheath unleashed an uncontrollable proliferation of macrophages, turning them loose upon the host's neurons in a campaign of systemic devouring.
Following the fusion of the spirit embryo and the salamander sheath, their genomes had achieved complementarity, their capabilities magnified exponentially. The Ling-Embryo had once lacked an immune system—but the salamander sheath possessed one in abundance.
Thus, the marrow of the hybrid sheath now churned out devourer cells in endless waves, initiating a ruthless contest of consumption between host and parasite, neuron against neuron, until only one intelligence might prevail.
The host's immune system launched a full-scale mobilization. Bone marrow responded with remarkable swiftness, churning out a legion of mononuclear phagocytes, and a new, even more ferocious assault began.
In terms of sheer combat strength, the host's cells held a clear upper hand. Yet the sheath's formidable advantage lay in its astonishing reproductive speed. The invading cells multiplied rapidly, far outpacing the host's own production of phagocytes.
Genetics dictates all; human cells are simply no match for salamander cells in terms of proliferation. Li Zhui was no exception. Within moments, his immune system was utterly overwhelmed.
To She Yaoyao, Li Zhui now appeared wholly deranged. His body twisted and thrashed in ceaseless convulsions, bones cracking like dried twigs in a storm. Shattered bones, propelled by the spasming musculature, began rejoining of their own accord.
He clawed desperately at his own flesh, as if intent on tearing the sheath from his very body. Yet each time his fingers dug deep, a mysterious force pried his hands away.
Despair gripped him. After all his torment, after eighteen long years as a living experiment, just as he had finally broken free—he was to be devoured from within?
By now, the cavern was fully submerged. Li Zhui, flailing with all his strength, propelled himself along the dry corridor, finally emerging into a second chamber where he could breach the water's surface.
The moment he reached shore, he hurled himself against a cluster of stone formations. She Yaoyao tried to restrain him, but he broke free again and again. He rolled across the jagged rocks, slamming and twisting, tearing the sheath to shreds.
He had snapped. If he couldn't rip it off—he would crush it, shatter it, stab it to death.
The Ling-Infant sheath, battered into a mangled pulp, was forced to abandon its attempted possession. But the host did not relent. Driven by willpower alone, his neurons surged along the neural lattice, counterattacking the intruding cells.
Before the attempted takeover, such a reversal would have been impossible. Cell identity is determined by genetic code: human cells do not attack unprovoked. They respond to invasion or mutation, but never act like viruses, proactively devouring others for replication.
Earlier, while the host was gravely injured, the Ling-Infant sheath had infiltrated through mesenchymal cells, establishing a neural intermediary network that linked the two systems. It launched its coup suddenly—yet this bold stroke was doomed from the start. For the sheath had no brain.
Its core was the spirit embryo, but its genetic structure was incomplete, riddled with broken sequences. Even after fusing with the salamander's DNA, it could only regenerate rudimentary organs—gills, lungs, a liver—but no brain.
And without a brain, how could it achieve sentience? Moreover, the battle was profoundly one-sided. The host could pummel it at will—and now had deployed a final, devastating tactic: starvation.
No sustenance meant no proliferation. As the Ling-Infant's forces breached the final defenses, reinforcements failed to arrive.
Yet the sheath would not surrender. It was driven by a primal urge—to evolve, to become whole. If nutrients would not come from outside, it would cannibalize them from within.
Suddenly, its heart contracted violently, then expanded to twice its size—before freezing utterly, locking all blood within.
It sought to digest that blood as nourishment.
Li Zhui's own blood was ripped from him, leaving him reeling with vertigo. His heart convulsed instinctively—first shrinking, then swelling—but shockingly, it could not reclaim what was lost.
Deprived of oxygen, his thoughts faltered. Darkness engulfed his mind, and all life around him seemed to be swallowed in the same suffocating void.
"D*mn you, beast!" he roared in silent fury. "If you want my body—then die with me!"
He seized a jagged stone and drove it into the sheath's heart.
Instantly, the organ spasmed, releasing the imprisoned blood.
Thus began a battle within his body that raged without pause, day and night. For seventy hours, he neither ate nor slept. Like a meditating monk, he sat motionless, eyes half-shut, mind focused solely on using his will to guide his neurons—devouring the sheath's one cell at a time.
On the seventy-first hour, his neurons breached the Ling-Infant's cerebellum. The sheath convulsed violently, its neural network disintegrating. The cells reverted to their mesenchymal state, diffusing harmlessly throughout the fused body.
The war was over. With its nervous system gone, the Ling-Infant's last trace of awareness vanished.
But its cells did not perish—they evolved.
By fusing with the host's DNA, the Ling-Infant's cells generated entirely new membranes. This was not mere camouflage—it was rebirth through transformation. Not a change of armor, but the shedding of skin.
All of the Ling-Infant's tireless efforts, in the end, amounted to nothing more than a bridal dowry for another.
Li Zhui knew the battle had concluded, yet he dared not relax for even a moment. His mind continued to command his nervous system, meticulously scouring every inch of his body. He refrained from eating, allowing himself only a bottle of purified water.
For another two hours, he persisted. Eventually, overwhelmed by exhaustion, he slipped quietly into sleep.
Seeing his condition, She Yaoyao knew he needed sustenance. She softened some compressed biscuits in water and began feeding him bit by bit. Yet after swallowing a few morsels, Li Zhui refused to eat further.
She rummaged through the backpack, sampling each provision until she discovered a box of chocolate—rich in flavor and quick to melt. She dissolved it in water and coaxed it into his mouth.
This time, he accepted it willingly, and even licked his lips when it was gone.
Li Zhui slumbered deeply, his body swiftly mending itself. Time was now his ally—but for Ma Yongxian, it had become a death sentence. He had been suffering from high fever and hemoptysis for days; he was teetering on the edge of life.
Thanks to prior experience, She Yaoyao didn't need Li Zhui's instruction. As soon as the water level rose again, she moved both men back to the stone ledge of the water chamber.
The flowing water acted like natural air conditioning, keeping the ledge at a steady ten degrees—ideal for Li Zhui's self-repair, and nothing short of life-saving for Yongzi, who would have succumbed to the fever otherwise.
On the morning of July 2nd, Li Zhui remained unconscious, while Ma Yongxian had slipped into a coma so deep that his remaining life could now be counted in hours.
Suddenly, the humanoid salamanders grew frantic, scurrying into corners and crevices.
She Yaoyao pressed her ear to the stone ledge and caught the faint sound of hammering from afar, echoing along the waterway. She gripped Li Zhui's shoulder and shook him hard, gesturing toward the source.
Li Zhui rolled up in a flash, instantly aware of how much lighter and nimbler his body had become. He pointed toward Yongzi, slung two backpacks over his shoulders, and led the way into the dry tunnel. She Yaoyao hoisted Yongzi onto her back and slithered in close behind, using the elasticity of her body to maneuver through.
After settling Yongzi into a hollow in the rock, Li Zhui realized he was stark naked. He quickly unzipped his pack, found his clothing—a loose-fitting set of undergarments designed not to absorb water—and dressed himself.
Next, he cinched a leather tool belt around his waist, and donned a captured tactical vest.
He then loaded the revolver-style grenade launcher, and, using hand gestures, began teaching Yaoyao how to operate it. He wasn't a weapons expert—he had only learned from a captive a few days ago.
"Yaoyao, you and Yongzi stay here. I'll go check the water. And remember—don't strike first unless you absolutely have to."
She Yaoyao nodded in understanding. Li Zhui returned to the water chamber, followed closely by the remaining humanoid salamanders. Of the original nineteen that had escaped the ruins of the institute, only thirteen now remained.
The hammering had grown louder—he recognized the sound of pitons being driven into rock. It was a human team. That brought a measure of relief.
Humans no longer posed a serious threat to him. His real concern was the octopus monster. If it happened to be taking this same route, things could become far more complicated.
He tore open a few packets of beef jerky, tossing one to each salamander as a kind of pre-battle offering. Then, pointing toward the pool, he made a diving gesture. The creatures understood immediately and slipped beneath the surface without hesitation.
Li Zhui, however, remained above water. He ripped open a package of compressed biscuits and devoured them ravenously. Whoever was coming—he would face them head-on.
The hammering ceased. Moments later, a beam of flashlight pierced the tunnel's mouth.
Li Zhui tossed aside the wrapper and gave his limbs a slow, measured stretch. As food settled in his stomach, a gentle warmth began to spread throughout his body.
The first diver emerged cautiously from the waterway. The beam of his flashlight landed squarely on Li Zhui—and the man shrieked as if confronted by a ghost. In his panic, he dropped his waterproof torch, flipped over, and dove straight back into the depths.
Li Zhui leaned forward, pressing a palm against the edge of the stone ledge, and slipped silently into the water, gliding eastward with barely a ripple. If those approaching were from the Eastern Pacific Guard, then what awaited him in the next moment would surely be a barrage of ruthless firepower.
The instant he entered the water, a frigid chill seeped through his skin into his very marrow, and a profound sense of tranquility washed over him. Only the icy depths could soothe his restless soul.
Another figure emerged from the mouth of the waterway, yet made no move to attack. He swept his waterproof torch back and forth, finding no trace of anyone nearby. Then he spoke, announcing himself with practiced courtesy.
"I am Xie Donghao, here with a group of friends on an expedition. If you're a resident of these caves, rest assured—we mean no offense. If possible, we'd be honored to make your acquaintance."
Xie Donghao's words were measured and polite—stating his intentions, extending goodwill. But Li Zhui remained silent. He was in no mood for new friendships.
Xie Donghao raised his voice and repeated his greeting. Still, there was no response. He made a signal, then climbed up onto the stone ledge. His companions emerged behind him in single file—seven in total, one of them a woman.
"Crab Bro, there's another tunnel over here. I think the monster fled inside," said the man who had first fled in fear.
"David, you sure your eyes weren't playing tricks on you?" someone asked.
"Niu Li, what's that supposed to mean? You think I panicked over nothing? I saw it clear as day! That thing looked like it was stitched together out of rotting flesh!" David snapped back, bristling with indignation.
Monster? The word irked Li Zhui. He wasn't some fanged demon, nor did he possess three heads and six arms—how had he become a 'monster' in their eyes?
Using the stray reflections of their flashlights, Li Zhui studied himself from behind the shelter of the rocks. To his chagrin, David wasn't entirely wrong—his body bore a grotesque array of wounds, some jagged and unnatural, now crusted over but still resembling a patchwork of decaying flesh.
"All right, enough arguing. I trust David's judgment," Xie Donghao said after a pause. "Brothers, I suggest we call off this expedition here and now."
"Crab Bro, you've seen all kinds of strange things, nothing surprises you anymore—but I'm curious to see what it is!" said the woman. "Huzi, what do you say?"
"I'm going in with you," Huzi replied.
Li Zhui let out a quiet sigh. He could no longer remain hidden. It was time to reveal himself.