Chapter 12: The Cultivation Bottleneck

Ye Qin did not feel pleased with himself for strangling a natural enemy several times his size; in his mind he kept replaying the scene of the recent battle.

Frankly, without cultivation, it would be impossible in nature to strangle such prey.

He is not originally a serpent kind; having once been human gives Ye Qin an advantage, and it is also the foundation for his future standing.

Otherwise he would not have taken the path of cultivation.

Because animals have spirit but no wisdom, now that both are accessible, strange changes can occur naturally.

After lying on the ground to rest for a while, Ye Qin finally recovered his strength.

Looking at the eagle falcon's corpse, he was at a loss.

Having eaten a squirrel earlier, he was not hungry, let alone unable to eat something this large.

Moreover, the eagle falcon has too many feathers, making its texture unpleasant to eat, just as some people dislike fish because of too many bones.

For Ye Qin as well, the same reasoning applies to this eagle falcon before him, so he did not bother with it, waiting for other carnivorous animals to dispose of it.

Ye Qin did not know that, shortly after he left, no other predatory animals came here.

A tall figure approached from not far away; he slowly picked up the feathers fallen on the ground, then saw the eagle falcon's corpse not far off.

"Huh, I was just watching it fly this way—how did it suddenly die?"

The man puzzled over it, lifting the eagle falcon's corpse and examining it closely, only to discover that the bird's bones were soft and limp, as if something powerful had strangled them.

The surrounding grass was also somewhat disordered, with feathers scattered everywhere and some traces.

Judging by the scene, not long ago this eagle falcon had a major battle with another creature.

Although the eagle falcon's size is not comparable to lions or tigers, in the sky it is the absolute ruler; plus its ability to fly gives it absolute speed and sprinting capability.

Aside from gigantic animals, most terrestrial creatures are no match for it.

The man's pupils contracted as if he had seen something; between the green grass blades, several black scales glittered in the sunlight.

He picked it up and looked, unable to help exclaiming, "These are serpent scales!"

"Could it have been a snake that fought the eagle falcon just now?"

The man found it hard to believe; the eagle falcon is a natural enemy of snakes, its sharp talons and beak inflict great damage on serpent kind.

Once caught by them, there is hardly any chance of survival.

Upon seeing an eagle falcon, a snake cannot outrun it—how could it possibly take the initiative to fight?

Yet in this battle, the snake emerged victorious.

This utterly defies natural law; across the whole ecosystem, such a thing is impossible.

Yet the scene before his eyes leaves him no choice but to believe it.

Serpent kind kills by constriction, causing prey to suffocate and bones to break; the marks on the eagle falcon's corpse match this trait.

Plus he found serpent scales, and aside from that, there are no traces of any other animal.

All the signs indicate that the creature that killed this eagle falcon was a snake!

Previously only eagle falcons hunted snakes; now the reverse has occurred—such things do happen, but they are not common.

Although the animal kingdom has examples of role reversal, there is a precondition: their strength and size do not differ extraordinarily.

The man looked at the serpent scales in his hand; he could not immediately tell what kind of snake they were, but the scales are relatively small, suggesting the body itself is not large.

As everyone knows, a creature's strength is proportional to its size.

A 5.5‑meter‑long python exerts a constriction pressure of up to 1 kilogram per square centimeter on its prey.

With such scales, the constriction force would at most kill two sparrows or a large field mouse—already the limit.

To constrict this eagle falcon to death would be pure fantasy, impossible, because a small snake simply lacks that kind of strength.

Moreover, according to what he knows, this large mountain hosts only medium‑small snakes; there is no way a python would be present.

Even if one considered large or highly venomous snakes capable of role reversal, a small snake is still non‑venomous—how could it hope to turn the tables on an eagle?

It is simply inconceivable.

Even a biologist would have to cluck in amazement.

Everything before him surpasses common sense, leaving people bewildered.

The man found it strange, but did not dwell on it: "The world is vast, after all—nothing is too strange."

Meanwhile, Ye Qin had returned to the cave; this full meal should keep him from needing to forage for several days, allowing him to focus on cultivation inside the cave.

Not far from White Bone there is a pit several meters deep; from a human perspective, that is not an exaggeration.

But if the digger were a snake, that would be remarkable.

As everyone knows, snakes do not dig their own burrows; they lack that habit, usually occupying other animals' holes or finding a wild cave and making do as a den.

Let alone digging a hole this large—it outright defies biological common sense.

Ye Qin had cleared all the dirt to the side; the newly dug pit was taking shape, and with a little more time he estimated it could be finished.

After finishing all that, Ye Qin resumed his cultivation.

"Boom—rumble—"

Muffled thunder rumbled outside the cave, growing nearer, heralding an imminent round of rain.

Outside the cave the rain pattered like large and small beads falling on a jade plate, occasionally a bright frog croak rang out, as if playing a lofty symphony, yet none of it disturbed Ye Qin.

He could now enter a contemplative state quickly, but saying so is somewhat regrettable.

The first time he entered the meditative state of cultivation, it has never appeared again.

After this period of contemplation, he surmised that such a state would not occur often, not every time, representing a kind of extraordinary epiphany.

If he could enter that state, his body might undergo mysterious changes, and his cultivation would become even more refined.

However, these are merely Ye Qin's guesses; after all, last time he entered in a daze and never got a chance to figure out what was happening.

Later, when he tried to attempt it again, he could not grasp the key—he did not know whether the timing or the method was wrong.

Perhaps only when he enters that epiphany a second time will he understand the meaning.

When Ye Qin opened his eyes again, the rain outside had already stopped.

Without the annoying rain sound, his mood became unsettled instead, like a small stone thrown into the lake of his heart, raising tiny ripples.

"Ah, these days of cultivation always feel somewhat off."

Ye Qin himself couldn't put it into words, couldn't explain it; it was as if he had clearly reached the threshold, yet only a final layer of paper window separated him, and no matter how he tried he could not pierce it.

It felt like seeing flowers through a mist—clearly only a little bit away, yet because he lacked the proper method, he could only keep wandering.

Ye Qin couldn't help muttering to himself, "This is probably what they call a bottleneck period, and moreover, regarding my future cultivation path, I am inherently confused, with no plan, purely taking one step at a time."

(End of chapter)