If Ziqing knew how many people had never given up on her, would it give her more strength to endure?
The time needed to cultivate a Gu ranged from a hundred days at minimum to a year at most.
In this world without day or night, Ziqing had quietly kept count of the time ever since she’d woken here. Though not entirely precise, she knew—it was down to just these last two days now.
These past two days, the entire Poison Beast World seemed to be under lockdown—the four great poison beasts had each rallied every beast in their respective territories, standing at full alert, keeping close watch over every forest, every mountain range!
Only the great clumsy bear stayed with Ziqing, keeping watch over the baby in the cave.
The Poison Beast World’s vigilance had now stretched on for over a month, and still the four great beasts hadn’t encountered the Gu cultivator Ziqing had spoken of. Yet they held on with more resolve than Ziqing herself, continuing to wait, reporting to her every single day!
A full year had long since passed.
The old nanny still hadn’t appeared. Could it be that she’d discovered the mind-cultivation had failed, that the heart-devouring Gu worm hadn’t corroded her will—and so… the nanny had given up?
If that were true, did it mean the nanny would never come at all, that Ziqing would never get out?
There was no way to find an exit from the Poison Beast World on her own effort—if the nanny never came, how terrifying a thing that would be!
What about everyone else? What about Jun Beiyue?
Ziqing couldn’t help but return to this question again and again. Jun Beiyue—what did it mean? What was he doing?
And what about Haonan? Haonan had seen her fall—surely Haonan wouldn’t fail to search for her.
But so much time had passed now—so much that she’d gone from being alone to having already given birth.
And still no one had come!
This kind of silence, this complete absence of any word, was enough to drive a person to despair.
Empty days with nothing to do, no meaning to any of it—how could one possibly endure this?
If not for the child, Ziqing might have long since fallen into despair.
Fortune amid misfortune—she still had her child for company. Every time she caught sight of his innocent, carefree smile in the depths of despair, it gave her the strength to hold on, to keep waiting.
She knew—even in despair, hope had to be cultivated.
The child was already several months old now, and truthfully no easier to handle than before. Though he rarely fussed or cried, he must have inherited someone’s mischievous streak—restless from just a few months old, squirming constantly even when held.
Throughout the entire day, apart from sleeping, his little feet were always kicking, his little hands always grasping at something.
Raising this baby was truly more exhausting than anything else in the world!
And yet, for all the exhaustion, there was even more laughter.
The baby’s constitution had always been special to begin with, and in the Poison Beast World, surrounded by countless nourishing treasures, the four great poison beasts doted on him even more extravagantly than they doted on their own offspring, digging out treasures they’d hoarded for years without a second thought. Though only a few months old, his limbs were already remarkably agile, and he could already crawl on the ground.
If Ziqing wasn’t attentive enough, they’d actually get upset.
Wanting more of this, less of that, even growing jealous of each other—as a result, the cave, aside from the fur-lined area at the very back, was piled floor to ceiling with all manner of treasures, every single one of them food, leaving only a narrow path to move through; even the great clumsy bear could barely squeeze along it!
The area lined with white fur in the cave, which Ziqing loosely called a bed, was covered in a thick pile of white fur the great bear had scavenged from who-knew-where—warm and clean, lining the walls and ceiling, decorated so thoroughly it didn’t look like a cave at all, more like a themed nursery.
At this moment, on the fur bedding, the great clumsy bear lay sprawled out, lying perfectly still, when out of the dim shadows nearby, a small baby slowly crawled into view.
The phrase “carved from jade and powdered pink” seemed coined specifically for him—his features looked as though heaven itself had painstakingly sculpted them, flawlessly perfect. Those deep, dark, glossy eyes, that high-bridged nose, that small, thin mouth—an exact match for Jun Beiyue, cast from the very same mold. One glance was enough to make anyone imagine what a devastatingly handsome man this baby would grow into!
The resemblance was simply uncanny—so uncanny that to this day, whenever Ziqing looked at him, she couldn’t help but think of his father.
At this moment, Ziqing sat a short distance away, gazing blankly at the baby.
Ever since he’d been small enough to be cradled in her arms, up to now when he could be set down to crawl on the ground, she watched him almost every single day, and watching him, she would drift off, her expression turning so foolishly dazed that even the great clumsy bear worried she might be losing her mind.
The baby had apparently just woken, his eyes still a little drowsy. Young as he was, unlike most babies who cried for their mother the moment they woke, he wasn’t clingy at all—content to slowly crawl out on his own.
Looking closely, he moved one hand forward, then the matching foot on the same side—same-hand-same-foot, no matter how you looked at it, his movements clumsy and slow. Anyone seeing this for the first time would surely burst out laughing.
But Ziqing and the great clumsy bear were long since used to this same-hand-same-foot baby. After correcting him several times without success, Ziqing had simply let it be.
Though the baby was somewhat advanced for his age, he was still young after all, his physical development not too far ahead. He struggled along, crawling with great effort, when for some reason his arms suddenly gave out, and he flopped face-first onto the ground—a total faceplant! Both arms splayed flat, both legs stretched straight out, all four limbs pointing… downward!
Seeing this, Ziqing finally snapped out of her daze, unable to hold back a laugh, chuckling to herself but making no move to help him up. The great clumsy bear, however, was different—it let out a loud “Roar!” and scrambled up at once, rushing over and immediately clamping its jaws around the back of the baby’s clothes, lifting him up, terrified he might be smothered!
But the baby, who hadn’t even been crying, immediately let out an indignant “Waaah!” the moment the bear grabbed him, all four limbs flailing at once, hands clawing at the air, feet kicking wildly, clearly quite displeased!
“Wahhh… wahh-wahh…”
“Wahhh… eeeee…”
A strange assortment of sounds, crying in a tone of pure fury and indignation, forcing the great bear to carefully set him back down, not even daring to let him land face-down again, but instead face-up.
Yet he wasn’t actually crying at all—just making strange noises, not a single tear shed, lips pouting, eyes glaring, his small, soft pink face carrying an expression of seriousness that could rival his father’s.
The great bear didn’t dare get too close, but couldn’t bear to stay too far away either, edging in cautiously and grinning apologetically at him in an attempt to appease.
The baby stared fixedly at the bear, then abruptly let out a sudden “Roooar!”—a proper bear-growl!
So fierce! So ferocious!
So fierce that the great clumsy bear instantly froze, its whole body stiffening, its heart practically stopping—a creature that massive, every limb locked rigid, was quite a sight to imagine. But a giant beast cowed by a baby just a few months old? Truly beyond imagining.
The great bear stood frozen stiff, while the baby continued his protest, letting out several more “roars” in a row—anyone unaware of the situation might genuinely mistake it for an actual bear growling.
Though it was the bear itself who’d taught him that growl, the great bear genuinely had no idea what the baby was trying to say.
What exactly was he trying to do?