The surface of the Lily Pond bubbled with soft plops as ripples fanned out. Then, with the splash of a boulder flung skyward, the Steel Jaw Hippo emerged, sending a shockwave of water that drenched the nearby reeds and a startled squirrel who had, until that moment, considered itself clever for climbing a tree.
With twin jade lilies clenched carefully in his monstrous, tusk-framed jaws, the Steel Jaw Hippo lumbered forward, his every step causing tremors that disturbed fish a few miles downriver. Beside him, flopping onto the muddy shore with less flair but arguably more body horror, was the young wolf. Or rather, what was left of the lily-hunting, scheme-running, side-dealing wolf who had three eyes blinking lazily and one extra mouth chewing smugly on a single jade lily from his left shoulder.
"Mmfh… mmf… not bad," said the shoulder-mouth with a burp. "Tastes like fermented smugness."
"You're lucky I didn't decide to break the whole damn pond," the hippo rumbled, water draining from his snout like an overflowing gutter.
"Oh, don't sell yourself short. You *did* break the whole damn pond."
It was true. The lily pond, once a serene body of spiritual waters rumored to be kissed by moonlight itself, was now a crater with scattered puddles, ruined sediments, and a traumatized frog who clutched his knees and whispered about hippos being demons in disguise.
Earlier, when the Steel Jaw Hippo had threatened to bulldoze the pond entirely, the wolf had leaped in (literally) with a deal—two jade lilies in exchange for ten metal roots. Metal roots were valuable resources found deep in mineral-rich areas, and the hippo's clan had a decent stockpile.
"I'll send ten of those roots to your base by the end of the month. Or sooner if I feel generous," the hippo snorted.
"Try not to trample the messenger," the wolf muttered, shaking his wet fur off violently like a soaked mop. Several small lizards within a two-meter radius fainted from the splash.
"Bah, they'll live. Unlike that crabby fellow."
They both paused for a moment of silence, remembering the fate of the beetle beast who had tried to snatch a lily by surprise and was promptly flattened by the hippo's tail. It had been both swift and deeply educational.
The hippo turned and began to lumber off toward the mountains. He had no interest in the drama about to unfold between Bronze Kong and the scheming boars.
Speaking of whom...
Across the ruins of what was once a peaceful contest of nature, the twin boars stood side by side with wide, winning grins. They were in mid-discussion with Bronze Kong, who looked like he had aged three years in the last five minutes. The mighty gorilla's arms were bruised, his fur singed in places from battle, and his soul visibly exiting his body every time the boars opened their mouths.
"So you give us seven bottles of crooked berries—each bottle at least fermented for 13 days, not 12, not 11, but 13 days," said Big Boar, tapping the air like a lawyer.
"And one space ring," added Little Boar, casually inspecting his hoof.
"That's… That's literally all I have!" Bronze Kong roared.
They stared.
Bronze Kong groaned. "Fine… fine. Seven bottles, one ring. You're robbing me."
"It's not robbery," said Big Boar. "It's spiritual compensation."
"Yeah," added Little Boar. "You see, we helped *manage* the ecosystem. That beetle guy? He was an eyesore."
Bronze Kong clutched his head.
"Also," said Big Boar thoughtfully, "if you don't give us the stuff, we might *accidentally* leak your embarrassing poem collection to Skyrazor."
Bronze Kong froze.
"How do you even know—"
Little Boar just winked. "We know a lot."
As if summoned by sheer awkward timing, the wolf ambled over, still dripping and now sniffing at a crushed berry on the ground. "Smells like regret and childhood trauma. Is this what crooked berries are made from?"
"Heya, wolfy!" Big Boar waved, motioning him over. "You missed our closing ceremony. Kong just agreed to our humble demands."
The wolf eyed Kong, whose eye twitched.
"Only because if I don't, you'll make sure Skyrazor hears the poem about the 'Wind Beneath My Wings.'"
"Hey," said Little Boar. "That poem made me cry. I say publish it."
"I'll send someone to your… miserable excuse of a den tomorrow with the stuff," Kong grumbled. "You better not tell *anyone* about this."
"Us?" Big Boar feigned shock. "We're saints."
Behind them, a tree spontaneously caught fire from the sheer force of that lie.
At last, the third and final jade lily was handed over to Bronze Kong, though it felt more like a ransom than a reward. He accepted it with a sigh, his enormous fingers curling delicately around the glowing flower like it might dissolve in the presence of dishonesty—which, in this area, was a real threat.
With business concluded, the trio of tricksters turned toward home, their path winding through the lush wilds of the Verdant region. The mist in the air grew heavier as they walked, every breath thick with the scent of moss and mischief.
"Hey, remember when Skyrazor took a dump mid-flight and it landed on that girl from the Nail Strom Sect?" Little Boar suddenly snorted.
Big Boar burst out laughing. "Yeah! She thought it was a divine omen!"
The wolf chuckled, his extra eyes blinking in waves like a LED sign of disdain. "Skyrazor's pooping habit is the real curse of this land."
"Wonder if the fog is just hawk poop evaporating."
"Don't give it ideas," the wolf muttered. "It might weaponize it next."
They walked on, bantering, bickering, and occasionally throwing acorns at one another. As the fog thickened—thanks to the ever-present peak at the center of the Foggy Plains—the trio slipped back toward their den with lighter hearts and heavier pockets.
Even though they had claimed none jade lily between them, the day had been a success. The hippo was satisfied. The gorilla had been spiritually extorted. And most importantly, the boars now had access to fermented, questionably legal berries.
The next day~
The sun peeked over the misty ridges of the Verdant Wilds, casting pale gold streaks on the dew-drenched leaves. The air still carried a faint echo of the previous day's chaos and laughter. But as the first morning cries of distant beasts rang out, a new kind of tension settled at the base of the mossy hill.
From the east came the heavy, rhythmic steps of something huge — not quite as thunderous as Steel Jaw Hippo's, but close. It was his son, a half-grown behemoth with a jaw too big for his own snout. Strapped to his back, held in thick vines, were ten metal roots — long, twisted strands of ore-veined wood, humming faintly with spirit energy. They sparkled faintly in the mist.
Trailing behind him with a majestic air of both anger and elegance came another visitor.
Bronze Kong's wife.
She was taller than her husband, somehow more muscular, and wielded a kind of sharpness that made even trees whisper apologies when their leaves brushed her fur. Her fur was a lighter shade of bronze, her eyes narrowed, her lips pulled into a tight smile that screamed, I am here to roast someone.
"Are you the pigs?" she said, voice like a gong struck in sarcasm.
"We prefer the term 'Boar Gentlemen,'" Elder Boar replied, bowing with exaggerated grace that made his younger brother giggle-snort.
The kong-woman dropped a small pouch with a plop that rang with spatial energy. "Inside are seven bottles of crooked berries and a space ring. The berries are in the ring."
She paused. "This was my husband's only storage ring. He got it after beating a human cultivator half to death. He cried when he gave it to me this morning. Said he'd rather have been stabbed again."
The younger boar whistled. "Touching story. I'll remember it fondly. Maybe I'll etch it into the ring later — Here lies Kong's pride."
{ Storage ring's are common in richy humans, so trading one for jade lily will be like a winning trade. But for beasts, having one spirit ring was much better than a lily which came every five year}
She blinked.
Silence.
Even the insects held their breath.
Then she turned away with a huff. "Disgraceful."
Elder Boar beamed. "Thank you! We do our best."
High above them, perched on a thick tree branch, was the many-eyed, many-mouthed wolf. He lay sprawled on his stomach, tummy squished like a soggy rice bun. Drool slowly leaked from the shoulder-mouth that usually held a sweet stick. He snored with the elegance of someone who truly didn't care.
The hippo's son scratched his chin. "Is he dead?"
"Nah," the younger boar said. "He's just... digesting his dignity."
"Or dreaming of losing more bets."
With that, the visitors left. The hippo's son stomped off to deliver news of completion, while Bronze Kong's wife muttered oaths about greedy pigs and tragic husbands.
The younger boar looked up at the wolf. "Should we wake him?"
The elder boar grinned. "Of course. He has treasures to cry over."
The wolf blinked open one of his leftmost eyes when he was rudely poked by a twig — a twig held by the younger boar, who had no concept of personal space or gentle awakening.
"Up, lazy mutt! Your fortune's arrived!"
"I'm dreaming... of fog... and freedom," the wolf murmured.
"Dream later. Loot now."
With a groan, the wolf rolled off the branch and landed with a thud, dusting off his fur as all his eyes squinted at the stone platform before them.
Ah yes, the legendary stone platform. Once just a humble slab, now flattened, polished, and permanently stained with memories — of gambling, napping, heated debates, and that one time someone tried to cook tea on it.
Elder Boar proudly placed the ring and ten roots on it like presenting rare antiques. Then, with great ceremony, he poured energy into the ring. It pulsed once, and seven crooked berry bottles tumbled out.
The bottles were curved like question marks and had a wicked scent — equal parts fruity, spicy, and suspicious. They looked like they wanted to ferment trouble just by existing.
"Alright!" Elder Boar declared. "Time for division of spoils. Based on contribution, wit, and pure handsomeness, I vote I get four bottles."
"You only contributed facial hair," said the younger boar.
"Exactly!" Elder Boar patted his chest. "A burden I carry with pride."
The wolf yawned. "Split it already. I wanna sleep again."
Younger Boar scoffed. "Fine. Wolf gets one."
"Excuse you?" Wolf's middle eye twitched. "Who negotiated with Hippo and didn't get eaten?"
"You also nearly drowned."
"Details."
After a lot of snorting, shouting, headbutts, and at least one accidental fart that derailed the discussion for five minutes, the final split was declared:
Wolf: 3 bottles. 4 roots. Elder Boar: 2 bottles. 3 roots. Younger Boar: 2 bottles. 3 roots.
They nodded, proud of their democratic nonsense.
---
But peace is fleeting, especially when you live with gambling-addicted boars.
It began subtly.
"Hey Wolf, bet you can't guess how many times Skyrazor pooped in the valley this week," Elder Boar said, one evening.
"Don't care."
"If you guess wrong, you give me one root."
"No."
Another time:
"Bet I can drink three crooked berries faster than you can drink two!" said Younger Boar.
"I'm not betting. Also don't WASTE THOSE"
One time they roped him into a quiz game while he was half-asleep. He lost two bottles.
The boars would argue over which moss patch was older, race slugs, or compare rock sizes and make wagers over anything, dragging Wolf into the chaos until — somehow — most of his loot disappeared. They didn't cheat. Not exactly. But they were absurdly good at winning.
"I swear the coins are rigged," Wolf growled one night.
"Skill, not rigging," Elder Boar said, balancing a coin on his nose. "It's a talent."
By the end of several months, Wolf was left with only two metal roots. Everything else — the berries, the ring, his dignity — had been betted away.
And the boars were richer, drunker, and prouder than ever.
Still, they were family. Chaotic, greedy, unbearable family.
And in the fog-choked Verdant Wilds, surrounded by beasts, pacts, and poop-happy hawk, that meant something.
Even if that something came with empty paws and daily roastings
Lao Ping walked with a pronounced limp. Not from injury—no, that would've earned him a sliver of pity—but from the crippling weight of disappointment hanging over his body like a wet robe. Behind him trailed his three teammates, equally defeated, equally silent. No one spoke. No one had to. Their posture alone screamed: We screwed up.
Their journey from the Verdant Wilds back to the Nail Strom Sect had been long, and during every league of travel, Lao Ping had mentally rehearsed excuses. The lilies got stolen. A calamity struck. Skyrazor mistook the lilies for a toilet (again). None of them were true, but truth was a flexible thing when your Core Emergence superior had personally entrusted you with a mission.
The Nail Strom Sect stood proudly in the human half of the Foggy Lands—at the border where forests thinned and discipline thickened. It wasn't the strongest sect, but it was big enough to be known and old enough to pretend it had standards. Stretching across ten mountains, the sect had dozens of training halls, pill pavilions, libraries, cultivation towers, and of course, the Grand Tower of Elder Sun Jin, the man who had assigned them this mess of a mission.
They walked through the winding main plaza, past courtyards full of younger disciples practicing sword formations. Everywhere they went, people whispered.
"That's Lao Ping, right? Didn't he go for the lilies?"
"Back already? Where's the glow? The bounty? The smugness?"
One brave inner disciple stepped in their path. "Senior Brother Ping! How was the great Lily Hunt? Did you return triumphant, with fragrance in your sleeves and glory in your—"
"OUT OF THE WAY!" Ping snapped, voice cracking halfway like a rusty door hinge. The disciple scattered.
"Should've punched him," muttered Ping's junior, a small cultivator with a rat-like face and an ego far larger than his dantian.
The awkwardness only grew worse as they passed through Hall of Internal Affairs, then the Record-Keeper's Pavilion.
One elder raised an eyebrow. "No lilies?"
Lao Ping forced a grin. "We're saving the best for last."
Another female disciple giggled behind a fan. "I guess the lilies didn't think he was worthy."
"Or maybe they flew away with Skyrazor's poop."
Someone shouted from behind, "Careful, Ping! Don't step in your excuses!"
By the time they reached Elder Sun Jin's tower, Lao Ping looked like he had aged twenty years.
The tower loomed over the eastern ridge, ten stories tall, carved from pale obsidian with hanging wind chimes made of jade and bone. Despite the eerie beauty, the place radiated bitterness. Rumors claimed Sun Jin designed the tower himself to reflect his soul: tall, gloomy, and filled with traps for underperforming disciples.
Lao Ping knocked. Nothing.
He knocked again. Then again.
Silence.
He looked back at his teammates, sweating.
"Maybe… maybe he's not here?" suggested the rat-faced one.
"Maybe he's… out getting lunch?"
"Or finally confessing to Elder Widow Yun?"
They shuddered.
Elder Widow Yun.
Also known as Elder Yun Qilan. A Core Emergence cultivator with a black veil, tight dark robes, and a stare that could shatter jade. She'd once made a Nascent Soul rogue cultivator cry with a single question: Is that it? On a friday night
And Sun Jin—grizzled, sarcastic, sharp-tongued Sun Jin—had been hopelessly, idiotically, visibly in love with her for three decades.
Which was exactly why he had asked them, personally, to bring him three Jade Lilies. Not for research. Not for pills.
For her.
To impress her.
Lao Ping knocked again. Hard.
The door opened by itself.
Inside was darkness, broken only by a single oil lamp.
And a voice.
"Oh, what a surprise. The Three Idiots and Their Mascot have returned."
"W-we're four, Elder," said the rat-faced one.
"Exactly."
They stepped in. Elder Sun Jin was lounging in a rattan chair, sleeves rolled, sipping tea like he wasn't mentally flaying them already. His hair was bound in a lazy topknot, and his face wore a permanent sneer.
"So," he began, "tell me. How did it go? Did the lilies leap into your pockets? Did the beasts cry and offer tribute? Did your brain grow two more cells?"
Lao Ping swallowed. "Elder, we… there were complications."
"Skyrazor pooped on them," offered another teammate.
"You think that's new? The hawk shat on my courtyard last year and ruined my saber script."
"No, Elder, it's just… there are only three lilies. We couldn't get them. In the four beast pacts hippo and gorilla took them, and… one of the pacts, the crab-beetle thing, it… kinda died. Also the hawk had several injuries. We saw it all from a distance.. "
"Elder, lao ping wanted to run away when se saw the beas-" the rat faced tried to say something but was stopped midway by lao ping
Sun Jin paused. His cup stopped mid-air.
"Say that again."
"Yeah, he tried to run away. We stopped him"
"No not that. About the lilies" he said while giving lao ping his side eye
"There are only three lilies. The Steel Jaw Hippo has two, Skyrazor has none, and Bronze Kong have one. The fourth one died. Uh, crabby."
Silence.
Then, a low creak as Sun Jin set down his teacup.
"Did you say… the lilies were taken?"
"Yes, Elder."
He stared at them. Blankly. Then a single bead of sweat ran down his forehead.
Oh no.
In his mind, he saw her again. Elder Yun. Standing in her dark silks, arms crossed, voice like velvet over knives.
"You promised me three lilies, Sun Jin. Or was your mouth bigger than your ability?"
He had sworn on his core.
He had smiled when he said it.
He had even added, "Anything for you, Qilan."
Now he was dead.
"I see," he said aloud.
Then he smiled.
It was the kind of smile people wore when their house was on fire and someone asked if they liked spicy food.
"Well then," he said. "I guess we'll just go take them back, won't we?"
"E-elder?"
"You heard me. Gather the disciples. We march at dawn. We'll attack the four beast pacts, reclaim the lilies, and I'll get my date if it's the last thing I do."
"But Elder, they're beasts! Powerful ones!"
"So is heartbreak."
---
Meanwhile, Back in the Verdant Wilds...
The hot spring gurgled happily, surrounded by glowing rocks and steam-filled air. The boars and the wolf lounged like warlords in retirement.
"You ever wonder," Elder Boar said, "why Skyrazor only poops on odd days?"
"It's strategic," said Younger Boar. "His bowel movements are part of a grand martial technique."
"Don't mock," said the wolf, eyes half-lidded. "I lost a lily to that hawk's poop once."
Elder Boar leaned over. "Hey, bet you can't hold your breath under this spring longer than me."
"You mean like last time? When you farted and declared yourself victorious because I surfaced gagging?"
"A win's a win."
They all laughed.
"Hey, remember that time Wolf tried to flirt with that snake spirit?"
"She said he had too many mouths to trust."
"And too many eyes to be faithful."
Another wave of laughter.
"I swear, if I had a spirit stone for every time someone underestimated us…"
"We'd still gamble it away," said Wolf, stretching. "But we'd look good doing it."
Steam rose into the air. Somewhere distant, a hawk cried.
And in that brief moment of peace, they forgot the chaos to come.