Chapter Five: On the Relationship Between Humanity and Sun Wukong

Development requires time—something that Luo Zu both lacked and possessed in abundance. Compared to his previous life, he could now live untold years, yet in the vastness of the Primordial Wilds, his lifetime was but a fleeting moment. To live as long as Heaven and Earth, to become undying and indestructible—this was his pursuit.

Thus, Luo Zu had been diligently cultivating these days. As for how many “days” this encompassed, it was roughly three years. Ever since spiritual energy began seeping into his mind, marking the start of his cultivation of the spirit, he had dedicated himself tirelessly to practice, believing that diligence could make up for his shortcomings.

Unbeknownst to him, as one of the first generation of the human race, he was, in the eyes of certain powerful Daoist immortals, a being of innate Dao body—a rare and precious talent on the path of cultivation. However, such powers currently paid little heed to the human race. Though humans belonged to Nuwa, and lesser monsters might slay and devour them, for those of true power to act was to risk Nuwa’s displeasure. Should Nuwa herself not punish them, others surely would.

In truth, Luo Zu’s innate gifts were not lacking. He simply had not found a true master, nor inherited any authentic teachings. He could only grope his way forward, blazing a path for those who would come after. Yet, the innate divine abilities he possessed offered him a measure of unpredictability.

Over these three years, Luo Zu continued to infuse spiritual energy into his brain, seeking to unravel all its mysteries. At the same time, he conducted experiments within his own gourd-world. The Small Human Project 2.0 was already underway.

The intelligence of these latest miniature humans surpassed that of their predecessors. Moreover, this new generation began to exhibit an instinct for reproduction. Luo Zu found this entirely natural, even encouraging such impulses. Still, something about it seemed odd.

“Wait, isn’t this just inbreeding?” Luo Zu suddenly realized.

The cells composing these people all derived from Luo Zu himself. In essence, they were his clones, or perhaps more aptly, his blood kin. If their blood were analyzed, its match to his would almost certainly be one hundred percent.

“But this is a mythic xianxia world,” Luo Zu mused. “We were all fashioned by Lady Nuwa from clay. She used immortal arts to give us flesh and blood—transforming us from silicon-based to carbon-based life…”

His thoughts began to wander. “Sun Wukong was born of stone, and humans from earth—does that make people and monkeys truly close relatives?”

Luo Zu shook himself; he could not allow his mind to drift so far afield. Regardless of his musings, the miniature humans continued to reproduce. Observing their offspring at the most microscopic level, Luo Zu found that they did not seem to suffer from the usual risks of inbreeding.

The reason was simple: their cells were derived from Luo Zu, himself a third-generation human with an innate Dao body—free of genetic flaws. Thus, their lineage was spared such defects.

Yet Luo Zu noticed further changes at the genetic level in subsequent generations. After some reflection, he concluded: “Environmental factors.” While his gourd-world was friendly to the miniature humans, lacking the dangers and challenges faced by the human race in the wilds, even comfort could bring about changes.

Within a population sharing nearly identical environments, relationships, and comparable intelligence, changes in the first generation would naturally be similar. But with more generations, differences might become pronounced.

Whether they would persist for so many generations depended on Luo Zu’s willingness to let them flourish. Their own development would decide their fate. Should they fail to meet his expectations, the Small Human Project 3.0 was likely to begin.

From then on, Luo Zu ceased artificially propagating their cells and let them reproduce naturally.

While Luo Zu observed the progress of the miniature humans, the “Cave Dwellers” settlement faced a new challenge—rain. Torrential, unceasing rain. It had persisted for a full month.

Many members of the settlement came to Luo Zu to discuss this grave matter. Gathered around the campfire, listening to the relentless sound of rain, it was as if a giant were pouring water over the land with an enormous gourd ladle.

“Luo, what should we do?” asked a scarred, bearded man, concern etched on his face.

Luo Zu remained calm. He had to—he was the de facto leader of the settlement.

“We are weak, and our children are still growing. For now, the only thing we can do is wait,” Luo Zu replied. “But we cannot simply wait. We must find higher ground.”

Their language of communication was “Chinese.” It was only through Luo Zu’s years of patient instruction that these seemingly ignorant, yet remarkably clever “Cave Dwellers” became proficient, allowing it to play a vital role in their daily lives. Previously, their exchanges were little more than grunts and brief calls—barely more advanced than wild beasts, though perhaps with a greater capacity for imagination.

“Higher ground? Over there?” The bearded man pointed in a direction.

Everyone knew exactly where he meant—the highest peak of these mountains, which Luo Zu estimated to be ten thousand fathoms high. Though not the tallest in sight, it was still far higher than their current cave.

“But we’d have to kill all the demon eagles on that mountain first,” Luo Zu said.

The strongest creatures in the area had once been the wolf demon pack, but after their departure, the migratory demon eagles took over their niche. The “Cave Dwellers” had to be wary of them whenever hunting.

The ground was at a severe disadvantage against the sky. But now the rain was so heavy that it had already flooded the mountain base, and the valley was one with the plain below—a vast expanse of water.

Moreover, mudslides had already begun on their mountain, blocking one of their usual hunting paths.

“There’s no other way,” they agreed.

Anyone surviving in this environment could not afford to be hesitant or timid. They were bold, fierce, and always at the forefront.

Yet just as they made their decision, they were all suddenly stricken with a sense of unease—hearts pounding, chests tight, and short of breath.

What was happening?

Luo Zu instinctively gathered his spirit, sending spiritual energy fused with consciousness throughout his body, attempting to counteract the negative sensation.

But then, a tremendous roar and violent tremor erupted from deep beneath the cave.

A thunderous rumble!

It was as if a giant were shaking their mountain in his arms.

Everyone was tossed about within the cave, stumbling and crashing into each other, heads and bodies knocking against the walls, bruises blossoming and skin breaking, blood flowing freely.

Fortunately, Luo Zu’s foresight had led him, ever since settling in the cave, to urge his companions to smooth out the sharp stone walls. Had he not, their injuries would have been far worse—splintered bones, cracked skulls, or even instant death.

The shaking lasted a long while before finally ceasing, leaving everyone battered and exhausted.

Yet, despite their ordeal, they could not wait to drag their families outside the cave.

The moment they emerged, a sight awaited them—one that would forever be seared into their memories.