Mo Xuan didn't hesitate for even a heartbeat. He shot straight toward the fifteen Void beasts.
Compared to them, he was an ant facing elephants.
The beasts ignored him entirely. Their target was the motionless Void transport vessel.
Mo Xuan snorted. He brought his index and middle fingers together, flew right up to them, and slashed with a blur of hand movements.
Crack—crack—crack!
Like chopping melons and slicing vegetables.
The same fifteen beasts that had endured hundreds of strikes from the vessel's eighteen whip-appendages without taking real damage were instantly carved into scattered fragments.
"That'll teach you to scare me," Mo Xuan said coldly. "Only A-grade beasts, and you dare ambush an immortal? Tired of living?"
Yes, the Void held monsters capable of devouring immortals—but those were Earth-grade Tier One and above, true terrors. These were merely A-grade Tier Three trash. With a flip of his hand, he could erase them.
The only reason he'd almost suffered a disaster was because the "little sun" had stolen all his attention. He hadn't noticed them closing in until it was nearly too late.
To him, they were almost no threat.
To the ship, they were fatal.
If the vessel was destroyed, Mo Xuan could grind these beasts into dust and still be doomed to drift until death. He carried only twenty of those "bubble stones"—they wouldn't last long.
An Immortal Garden… Mo Xuan cursed silently. If I had one, I wouldn't fear you at all. But I don't—so I got chased like a fool.
A tiger doesn't roar, and you think it's a kitten.
Then—
The beasts' shredded remains trembled.
And reassembled.
Whole again.
Only one, smaller than the rest, turned and fled back toward the asteroid belt's depths. The other fourteen spread wide and lunged at Mo Xuan, trying the same tactic they'd used on the ship—wrapping him up from all directions, sealing every gap, swallowing him alive.
Ugly as sin.
Mo Xuan frowned. So cutting doesn't work.
He'd wanted to conserve immortal essence, but that was no longer an option.
He snapped his fingers casually.
A tiny green flame danced at the tip of his index finger.
With contempt in his eyes, Mo Xuan flicked it outward.
The flame shot out of the bubble sphere.
It was strange—there was no oxygen in the Void, yet the green flame only burned brighter, growing larger as it flew. In the blink of an eye, it split into fourteen, streaking toward the fourteen beasts.
They didn't even have time to react.
The green fire landed on them—
—and it was as if fourteen sheets of ultra-thin funeral paper had caught flame.
They turned to ash instantly.
Fourteen beasts.
Wiped out.
That was an immortal's battle power.
Mo Xuan exhaled through his nose, two pale wisps escaping like steam. "Serves you right. Picking a fight with me without weighing yourselves first. Burning to ash is mercy."
Then his eyes sharpened.
"There's still one."
The fleeing beast shuddered as if it had heard its companions' death cries. It accelerated again and again, fleeing for its life.
It didn't matter.
Mo Xuan took a single step—
—and appeared behind it as if he'd teleported.
Slash. Slash. Slash.
He waved his hand lightly.
The beast fell apart into fragments, then slowly stitched itself back together.
"Oh?" Mo Xuan's interest rose. "That's… a little amusing."
He cut it again.
This time, it took longer to reassemble.
He cut it again.
After a long moment, the fragments only trembled a few times… and failed to reconnect.
Mo Xuan clicked his tongue. "Not tough enough. I was going to take you back and dissect you."
He flicked a tiny green flame over. "You gave me a good scare, so I'll grant you a Void cremation—same as the rest."
The flame consumed most of the corpse. Only a small portion remained unburned.
Mo Xuan waved it off. Fine. Energy efficiency matters.
Teacher Kong had once encountered an Earth-grade Tier One Void beast during a scavenging expedition. He killed it cleanly, but lost a quarter of his immortal essence in the fight and had to spend a long time recovering. If immortals were allowed to replenish freely inside Qingyuan, he could've recovered in half a month—yet the rules forbade it.
A lesson written in blood.
Mo Xuan had only just started working. If he wasted energy, he'd be forced into slow, stop-and-go labor. How would he ever earn enough for spirit medicines?
Even though the essence he'd spent just now was like scooping a cup of water from an Olympic pool, it still stung.
He clapped his hands. "Alright. Nuisance cleared. Back to mining."
But he couldn't relax. There might be more beasts hidden in the belt.
He turned back toward the ship—then paused and snapped his head around.
He had burned most of the last beast to ash. Only a few scraps remained.
Yet when Mo Xuan had drifted far enough away—
a palm-sized fragment twitched.
And quietly fled toward the asteroid belt's depths.
"Well, well. Not dead after all." Mo Xuan smiled. "Playing possum, are you? Clever."
The fragment trembled violently—terrified. If it could sweat, it would've drenched itself.
Mo Xuan raised a hand. The shaking scrap floated into his bubble sphere and hovered above his palm.
He blinked in surprise.
Inside the bubble sphere, the dried, ragged scrap began to… plump up.
Mo Xuan felt the sphere's moisture being s*ck*d away. The fragment swelled, bulged, and reshaped itself—
until it became a wrinkly, blue-black little octopus.
Two glossy black eyes looked up at him pitifully, begging without words:
Great Immortal, spare me. Hero, spare me.
Mo Xuan studied it with interest. He pulled out a water flask and poured a cup's worth into the bubble sphere, letting the water float as a wobbling orb.
The little beast stared at the water.
Its eyes widened with desperate longing—so intense it forgot fear completely and lunged for it.
Mo Xuan didn't stop it.
It plunged into the water orb—
—and absorbed it all at once.
Its wrinkled body quickly became rounder, fuller, almost glossy. It really did resemble a tiny octopus now, blue-black with a faint sparkle. Between its eyes, slightly above, a vertical olive-shaped light mark gleamed like a third eye.
It floated in place, bowing and nodding rapidly toward Mo Xuan, radiating a single message:
Please don't kill me. Please keep me.
Mo Xuan stroked his chin. Mostly, he thought it was… kind of cute.
So he used his mind to communicate.
"Master… is that you?" the little octopus asked in a sharp, timid voice.
Mo Xuan rolled his eyes. I never said I was adopting you.
The creature kept bowing and calling him master again and again.
"What's your name?" Mo Xuan asked mentally.
"Master… I don't have one." It shrank back, terrified that lacking a name would anger him.
"Then you'll be Xiao Ba," Mo Xuan decided casually.
"Thank you, Master! Master is so kind! Xiao Ba is the best name!" Xiao Ba immediately flattered him shamelessly.
Flattery pierces armor better than blades.
Mo Xuan found himself oddly pleased and decided to give it a chance.
"Xiao Ba, what can you do?"
Xiao Ba blinked quickly, squeezing its tiny mind dry. "Master… Xiao Ba doesn't know what Xiao Ba can do."
Mo Xuan considered it.
Its composite evaluation was only A-grade Tier Three—weak. But it had a little intelligence. While the others only charged headfirst, it fled. It played dead. It adapted.
Good enough—for now.
"Fine. Follow me," Mo Xuan said. "But listen carefully—if you betray me, hmph."
"Master, what does 'betray' mean?" Xiao Ba asked, eyes wide and innocent.
Mo Xuan rolled his eyes again and explained. Xiao Ba bowed repeatedly, swearing it would never dare.
Mo Xuan glanced at the creature's remaining scattered fragments and pointed. "Are those useful?"
"I pulled all my energy into this body," Xiao Ba replied. "Those parts are useless now."
Lucky little thing—survived the fire.
Smiling faintly, Mo Xuan brought Xiao Ba back to the vessel.
The first thing that greeted them was, of course—
the dazzling little sun.
Mo Xuan couldn't help staring at it again, though this time he kept part of his awareness on the surroundings. He wouldn't fall into the same pit twice.
Xiao Ba stared too, trembling faintly in rapture.
Mo Xuan shot it a strange look, asked a few questions—and got nothing useful. Xiao Ba knew almost nothing.
It had gained intelligence while drifting through the Void with fourteen others, wandering for food. Asteroids, metal fragments, other creatures—anything could be swallowed. Eat, sleep, wake, eat again…
Like a pig.
Mo Xuan frowned. "Then what do you do when you're hungry?"
Xiao Ba's eyes darted. "Master… I can store energy inside my body. I don't think I've ever been hungry before. Only now… now I'm very hungry." Its gaze kept sliding toward the little sun.
Mo Xuan snorted. Dream on. Even I can't bear to use it.
With a gesture, he summoned a D-grade Tier Two core—volleyball-sized, the one he'd tossed into a corner earlier.
"Here. Eat this. Waste not."
Xiao Ba looked at it and clearly disliked it. When it had ruled the asteroid belt with the others, it had always chosen the biggest rocks to swallow. This small core was beneath its taste.
It stole a glance at Mo Xuan.
Helpless, it leapt lightly, body spreading wide—wrapping the entire core inside itself. Since the core had already been stripped, it didn't need to drill through a thick shell. That at least saved effort.
Xiao Ba wriggled slowly as it digested, miserable.
Its eyes kept drifting toward the little sun, imagining that it was eating that glorious, delicious treasure instead. As it digested, its round belly gradually shrank.
Mo Xuan ignored it and piloted the vessel back toward the belt's center to continue mining.
Only nine whip-appendages remained.
Efficiency dropped sharply.
Mo Xuan couldn't help glaring at Xiao Ba.
Xiao Ba flinched, trembling, peeking nervously at its master. Only when it saw Mo Xuan wasn't truly angry did it relax—just a little.