Word spread through the Pit of Gnash like a slow poison in the damp air. Over the next handful of days the survivors split into loose factions, their voices low and edged with distrust whenever they gathered near the glowing mushroom clusters.
Three men from the outer ring formed the first real group; they shared a single blunt spear and took turns sleeping so one always kept watch.
"He's just a boy with a knife," one of them muttered during a tense huddle, eyes flicking toward Wei Xiao's alcove.
"We wait for the right moment and rush him together."
Others stayed smaller, two or three at most, trading scraps of moss and bitter roots while shooting nervous glances at anyone who walked past. A few lone figures refused to join anyone.
They crept to the edge of Wei Xiao's claimed space at odd hours, set down whatever they had found, and slipped away without a word. A handful of dried fungi. A strip of something that might once have been hide.
They offered it the way a dog offers a bone; quick, eyes down, gone again.
Wei Xiao kept to himself. He had claimed a narrow alcove where two boulders leaned together, creating a pocket of shadow just wide enough for one person to sit without feeling crowded. The stone pressed cold against his bare back, but the chill no longer bit as deep.
Pale skin streaked with old blood and fresh dirt, his white hair matted against his forehead, he sat cross-legged for long stretches, dagger resting across his knees.
Yet the power he had taken still sat heavy in his gut.
'Eating a man shouldn't feel like this,' he thought during one long session, fingers tracing the rough hilt. The memory of warm flesh and the metallic rush of blood made his stomach tighten, but not with disgust; with something quieter, more practical.
'It gave me strength I didn't have before. If I have to swallow the world to stay free, then that's what I'll do.' The conflict sat there, sharp but manageable. He pushed it aside and breathed through his skin again.
The Qi in the pit was thick, earthy, carrying the faint rot of old bones and the sweet musk of glowing fungi. He drew it in slowly, pore by pore, letting it sink toward the fire in his belly. This time the threads came easier, almost greedy, coiling tighter than they had on the grass field above.
A subtle warmth lingered afterward, spreading through his limbs like slow honey. His bruises faded faster; the raw scrapes on his palms from the fall stopped stinging entirely. He did not name it yet, but something inside him was waking; the first quiet sign of the Immortal Eater physique stirring, digesting life and turning it into something sharper, more enduring.
When he opened his eyes the cavern looked a fraction clearer, edges sharper, as if the darkness itself had stepped back a pace. A small, private satisfaction settled in his chest; he had taken another step on his own terms.
Hunger still came in waves. One stretch of hours he spent crawling along the far wall, fingers brushing over damp moss and loose stones in search of anything edible. The air smelled of wet rock and faint sulfur.
His bare feet left prints in the soft patches of lichen. He found a cluster of pale mushrooms, tore them free, and chewed them raw; the taste was earthy and bitter, but it quieted the worst of the cramps.
Back in his alcove he cultivated again, letting the new meal feed the fire. The warmth returned stronger, threading through his meridians with less resistance.
Then she came.
Su Ling stepped out of the purple gloom carrying a small bundle wrapped in a torn strip of her own sleeve. She moved carefully, hips swaying despite the thinness hunger had carved into her frame.
Long black hair, tangled and streaked with cave dust, hung down her back and clung to the curve of her neck. Her ragged tunic clung to full breasts that rose and fell with each cautious breath, the fabric worn thin enough to show the soft outline beneath.
Narrow waist flared into rounded hips and a firm ass that shifted with each step, legs slender but still carrying the quiet strength of someone who had run far before ending up here.
Dirt smudged her cheeks, yet her dark eyes held a steady spark; fear mixed with something harder, like quiet determination.
She stopped at the edge of his boulders and held out the bundle. Inside lay three fat mushrooms and a strip of something leathery that smelled faintly of old meat.
"I found these near the water trickle," she said, voice soft but clear.
Wei Xiao studied her for a moment, weighing the offer. He did not care about the sway of her hips or the way her breasts pressed against the torn cloth; those things were distractions.
What mattered was the information she carried and the fact that she had chosen to bring it to him instead of her old group. Useful.
"Stay if you want," he told her simply. "But you bring something every time. Empty hands get nothing from me."
Relief flickered across her face, small and real; her shoulders eased, and the corners of her mouth lifted just enough to show she felt the weight lift.
She nodded once and settled a short distance away, close enough to be inside his space but far enough to give him room. For the first time in days she looked almost settled, as if she had found a fragile ledge to stand on.
The slow rhythm of the pit continued. Wei Xiao cultivated deeper while Su Ling sat nearby, practicing the same skin-breathing technique in silence. He felt the change again; the Qi no longer fought him.
It flowed in smoother, richer, the fire in his core digesting it with a quiet hunger of its own. A faint, steady heat stayed in his blood afterward, easing the ache in his legs and sharpening his senses just a little more.
He did not smile outwardly, but inside he noted; another tool for his own climb.
Then the confrontation came.
A burly man named Gao stepped out of the shadows one long stretch later, club gripped tight in one scarred hand. Three others lingered behind him, eyes hard.
Gao's shoulders were wide, his face marked by old fights, and his voice carried the rough edge of someone used to being listened to.
"You think you own this hole now?" he growled, stopping a few paces short.
"Eating people like meat. Taking what isn't yours. We're done watching!"
Wei Xiao rose slowly, dagger loose at his side but not raised. The new warmth in his veins hummed beneath his skin, subtle but there. Su Ling tensed behind him, breath catching, yet she stayed put.
Tension thickened the air between them; Gao's knuckles whitened, the club shifting in his grip.
Wei Xiao met the man's stare evenly.
"You can try to stop me," he said, his voice calm and low. "But how many of you die first? Or you bring tribute like the smart ones. Your choice. Either way, I keep what I take."
The words hung there, simple and steady. Gao's eyes flicked to the quiet confidence in Wei Xiao's stance, to the way the pale, shirtless boy stood without bluster or fear.
The club lowered a fraction. No one moved to strike. After a long, charged silence Gao spat on the moss between them.
"This isn't over," he muttered, but he backed away, his group trailing him into the gloom.
Wei Xiao sat back down against the stone. The small victory sat warm in his chest; he had turned a fight into another gain without wasting strength. Su Ling let out a shaky breath beside him, and for a moment the alcove felt just a little less empty.