Almost the instant they landed, a swarm of pitch-black creatures poured out of the large cave at terrifying speed, quickly covering the ground where they had just been standing. More and more continued surging out.
Wang Cang Hai realized the cave they were hiding in was extremely narrow. It seemed to extend deep inside, but with two grown men squeezed together at the entrance, it was unbearably cramped. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, breath mingling. Wang Cang Hai’s lips were practically brushing against the tip of Qilin’s ear as he whispered, “What are those things?”
Qilin whispered back, “Flying rats. They eat everything. Absolutely nasty.”
Wang Cang Hai asked, “Flying rats? Do they actually fly?”
Qilin ignored the question and said instead, “Move in a little.”
Wang Cang Hai thought he had accidentally pressed against Qilin. His face reddened slightly, and he quickly curled his body inward to shift away.
Qilin scolded in a hurry, “Slow down! Don’t make any noise!”
As soon as Wang Cang Hai stopped, he heard Qilin say, “Give me the luminous pearl.”
Qilin tucked the luminous pearl into his sleeve, instantly plunging their small cave into complete darkness—so black that he couldn’t even see his own hand.
Wang Cang Hai couldn’t see Qilin, nor could he feel him nearby. A sudden panic rose in his chest—what if Qilin abandoned him and left alone?
Then, he heard a faint rustling sound, as if Qilin was moving toward the cave entrance.
“Qilin,” Wang Cang Hai whispered.
“Hm?”
The response was so close that Wang Cang Hai instantly felt relieved.
“Why are you calling me?” Qilin asked.
“What are you doing?” Wang Cang Hai said.
Qilin replied in a lighthearted tone, “Showing you how the flying rats fly.”
Wang Cang Hai thought, He must be smiling again. It was truly fascinating—no matter how dangerous the situation, Qilin never seemed to feel despair. He was always open-minded, energetic, and full of life.
Very soon, Wang Cang Hai saw what Qilin was doing.
The black-gold blade was embedded diagonally below the cave entrance, its flat side facing outward. Qilin then took out the luminous pearl again and placed it in front of the blade. The knife’s polished surface reflected the pearl’s dim glow, casting a bright, milky-white light onto the slanted ceiling of a cave opposite them.
It was a clever trick. Due to the difference in height and the cave’s opening blocking direct visibility, it was nearly impossible to see the actual luminous pearl from outside. But the illusion of the pearl—its glowing reflection—was clearly visible on the opposite cave’s surface.
Wang Cang Hai watched as countless black-furred rats darted rapidly, gathering beneath the projected light spot in the opposite cave. Layer upon layer, they piled up, yet still couldn’t reach it.
Then, the black-furred rats started jumping.
The first one leaped with all its might, stretching out its limbs and clinging to the wall with its tiny, sharp claws. The second rat jumped right after, but instead of stopping at the same spot, it stepped forcefully on the first rat’s head and propelled itself even higher. The first rat was crushed and fell, but the second managed to stick to the wall, now twice as high.
Then the third rat jumped, gripping the wall at the first rat’s previous position. The fourth rat climbed onto the third and the second, launching itself three times as high.
These so-called “flying rats” continued this relay-like process, each one stepping on the last to climb higher and higher—relentlessly chasing after that illusory pearl reflection, like moths drawn to a flame.
But then—one of the rats was stomped on too hard. It lost its grip, tumbled downward, and smashed onto the ground headfirst, its skull splitting open.
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