Chapter 156: Scariest Scout

The bushes rustled.

Everyone froze. Han Shān’s ice crackled. Zhāo Yàn’s tails fanned out. Even Mo Xiao’s claws extended, ready to gut whatever came through the ferns.

The gold eyes emerged from the shadows.

And then—

Scrabble. Scratch. Tumble.

A very small, very round creature rolled out of the undergrowth, hit a mossy root, and flipped onto its back.

Its tiny legs kicked in the air.

Squeak.

The sound was not threatening.

The sound was, in fact, extremely undignified.

Zhēn blinked. “What is that?”

The creature was smaller than her forearm. Its body was covered in overlapping golden-brown scales that caught the dim jungle light like polished river stones. Its belly, currently exposed to the world, was soft and pale. Its head was small and pointy, with a long snout and two bright, beady eyes that blinked up at the circle of deadly Alphas with complete, utter terror.

It was a pangolin.

A very small, very lost, very terrified pangolin.

“Did they just…fall out of a bush?” Yòu Lín asked, dropping from his branch to get a closer look. Glimmer landed beside him, her green scales tilting in curiosity.

“Don’t touch it,” Mo Xiao warned. “Could be venomous.”

“It’s a pangolin,” Yàn Shū said, squinting through his cracked glasses. He took a hesitant step forward, his scholar’s brain overriding his survival instincts. “They’re harmless. Insectivores. No venom. No teeth. They just… roll into a ball when scared.”

As if on cue, the pangolin stopped kicking. It curled itself into a perfect, scaly sphere, tucking its tiny face beneath its tail.

Squeak.

A muffled squeak.

Zhāo Yàn stared at the ball of scales. “This is what emerged from the bushes? This is what made us think we were being ambushed?”

“It was very dramatic,” Yòu Lín said, nodding seriously. “The eyes were very gold. Very intimidating.”

“The eyes were not intimidating,” Mo Xiao growled. “The eyes were small and beady and attached to a creature the size of my foot.”

“Still,” Yòu Lín insisted. “Good entrance. Solid four out of five.”

Bai Yue let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The tension in her shoulders eased, just slightly. Not fully, Ruì Xuě was still missing, but enough.

She crouched down in front of the scaly ball.

“Hello there,” she said softly. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

The pangolin did not uncurl.

“Very threatening,” Zhāo Yàn muttered.

“Shut up,” Bai Yue said.

She reached out slowly, giving the creature time to sense her approach. Her fingers brushed against its scales. They were smooth, warm, surprisingly soft along the edges.

The pangolin trembled.

Then, very slowly, it uncurled.

Its tiny snout emerged first, twitching. Its beady gold eyes blinked up at Bai Yue. Its long, thin tongue flicked out once, tasting the air, and then—

It scrambled up her arm.

“Ah—!”

The pangolin moved fast, surprisingly fast, its little claws gripping her sleeve as it scrambled onto her shoulder. It perched there, its scales pressed against her neck, its tiny tail wrapping around her collar for balance.

It let out a soft, contented chirp.

Everyone stared.

“Did it just… adopt you?” Yòu Lín asked.

“I think it did,” Bai Yue said, bemused.

The pangolin nuzzled against her ear. Its scales were warm. It smelled like damp earth and sweet sap and something else, something familiar that she couldn’t quite place.

“From what I know,” Yàn Shū said slowly, adjusting his glasses, “pangolins are solitary, nocturnal, and highly skittish. They don’t approach large predators. They certainly don’t climb them.”

“This one did,” Zhāo Yàn observed.

“Yes.” Yàn Shū’s brow furrowed. “That’s….. concerning.”

Bai Yue reached up and gently stroked the pangolin’s back. Its scales clicked softly under her fingers. It chirped again, louder this time, and pointed its tiny snout toward the eastern path.

“Does anyone else feel like it’s trying to tell us something?” Zhēn asked.

“The tiny scale-ball wants us to go east,” Hóng Yè said flatly. “Wonderful. Excellent navigation skills. Very reliable.”

“Don’t be mean,” Zhēn scolded. “He’s just a baby. He’s trying his best.”

“He’s not a baby. He’s a wild animal.”

“He’s a friend,” Zhēn declared. “I’ve decided.”

“You can’t just decide that.”

“I just did.”

The pangolin chirped again. It shifted on Bai Yue’s shoulder, its tiny claws gripping her tunic, and pointed its snout more emphatically toward the east.

Chirp. Chirp-chirp.

Han Shān stepped forward. His icy blue eyes narrowed at the creature. “It wants us to follow it.”

“That’s what I said,” Zhēn said.

“That’s what I said,” Yòu Lín echoed.

“That’s what we all said,” Mo Xiao muttered.

“The question,” Han Shān continued, ignoring them, “is why. And whether we trust it.”

Bai Yue looked at the pangolin. It looked back at her with its bright gold eyes.

“I say we follow it,” Bai Yue said.

“Absolutely not,” Han Shān said.

“Your son is nowhere to be found, and we are wasting time,” Bai Yue reminded him. “Do you have a better idea?”

Han Shān’s jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists. Ice crystallized around his knuckles, then melted, then crystallized again.

“No, I do not,” he admitted.

“Then we follow the scale-ball.”

“My name is not Scale-Ball,” Yòu Lín said.

“I was talking about the pangolin.”

“Oh.” Yòu Lín paused. “Can we still call him Scale-Ball? I like Scale-Ball.”

“Fine. Scale-Ball it is.”

The pangolin chirped. It did not seem to object to its new name. It scrambled down Bai Yue’s arm, dropped to the ground, and waddled a few feet toward the eastern path. It looked back at them, its tiny tail flicking.

Chirp.

“Definitely wants us to follow,” Yòu Lín said.

“Definitely,” Glimmer agreed.

The pangolin waddled further. Then stopped. Looked back. Chirped again.

“I think,” Bai Yue said slowly, “it’s trying to show us a shortcut.”

“A shortcut to where?” Han Shān demanded.

The pangolin chirped. It pointed its snout east, then north, then east again. A pattern. A direction.

Yàn Shū’s eyes widened behind his cracked glasses. “That’s… that’s the old spirit path. The one the ancient tribes used before the jungle grew over it. According to my studies, it should be impassable. But if it’s still there…”

“It would cut our travel time in half,” Mo Xiao finished.

Han Shān was already moving.

He strode past the pangolin, past the eastern path, his boots leaving frozen prints in the mud. “Then we go. Now.”

The pangolin scrambled ahead of him, its tiny legs moving surprisingly fast. It led them through a gap in the ferns that Bai Yue hadn’t noticed before, a narrow tunnel of green that opened into something else.

The trees here were massive, their trunks wider than huts, their roots forming natural archways over the path. The ground was soft with centuries of fallen leaves. And the air…

The air hummed.

The pangolin stopped at the edge of a massive root system. It turned to face them, its gold eyes bright.

And then it spoke.

“Your son is ahead. Two hours. You must hurry.”

The voice was small. High-pitched. But unmistakably words.

Everyone froze.

“The pangolin just talked,” Yòu Lín whispered

“The pangolin just talked,” Glimmer confirmed.

The pangolin tilted its head. Its gold eyes blinked slowly, almost lazily, as if it found their shock amusing.

“Of course I can talk.”

Before anyone could respond, the creature began to shift.

The scales folded inward, one layer at a time, like flower petals closing for the night. The tiny body stretched, lengthened, reformed. Where a pangolin had stood, a girl now sat cross-legged on the moss.

She was young, maybe fourteen, maybe fifteen. Her skin was the same warm golden-brown as her scales had been, smooth and unblemished. Her hair fell in long, dark waves past her shoulders. She wore a simple dress woven from vines and leaves, and her bare feet were tucked beneath her.

No dramatic naked reveal this time.

Thank Goodness.

“Much better,” the girl said, stretching her arms above her head. Her joints popped. She sighed contentedly. “I hate the small form. Everything smells like dirt and my own feet.”

Everyone stared.

Zhēn was the first to recover. “You’re a GIRL?”

The girl looked down at herself. “Last I checked.”

“But you were a boy before!”

“I was a pangolin before. Pangolins don’t have genders the way you do.” She shrugged. “I picked this form because it’s easier to talk. Also because you kept calling me ’Scale-Ball’ and I refuse to answer to that.”

“Scale-Ball is a great name,” Yòu Lín protested.

“It is a terrible name. I have existed for a very long time. I deserve better.”

“Then what SHOULD we call you?” Zhēn demanded, planting her hands on her hips.

The girl tilted her head. A small smile played at the corners of her lips.

“Líng,” she said.

“Líng,” Bai Yue repeated. “Just Líng?”

“Just Líng.”

Han Shān stepped forward, his blue eyes narrowed. “You said my son is two hours ahead. How do you know? And why should we trust you?”

Líng looked up at him. She didn’t flinch under his icy gaze. If anything, she seemed mildly bored.

“I know because I have been watching these paths for a very long time. The bears are not subtle. They left a trail a blind turtle could follow.” She pointed east. “The hollow log is half a mile that way. They are resting there. Eating. Complaining about the humidity.” Her nose wrinkled. “Sun Bears are very dramatic.”

“And why should we trust you?” Han Shān repeated.

Líng stood up. She was short, barely taller than Zhēn, and she had to crane her neck to meet the Snow Leopard’s eyes.

“You shouldn’t,” she said simply. “Trust is earned. I haven’t earned it yet. But I know these jungles better than anyone in your group. I know the shortcuts. I know where the predators hide. I know the difference between a safe path and a trap.” She crossed her arms. “You can follow me and have a chance of catching the bears before they reach the temple. Or you can wander around on your own and find your son’s frozen corpse in three days. Your choice.”

The clearing went very quiet.

Han Shān’s hand shot out. His fingers closed around Líng’s throat.

“I do not appreciate threats,” he said softly.

Líng didn’t struggle.

“That wasn’t a threat,” she said, her voice steady despite the hand at her neck. “That was a prediction. There’s a difference.”

“Han Shān,” Bai Yue said. “Let her go.”

He didn’t move.

“Han Shān.”

Slowly, reluctantly, he released her.

Líng rubbed her throat, but she didn’t step back. Her gold eyes held his.

“You have fire,” she said. “Good. You’ll need it.”

She turned and walked toward the eastern path, not waiting to see if they followed.

“The bears are resting. They have guards. Two of them, posted at the northern and southern approaches. The northern guard is lazy. Falls asleep after he eats. The southern guard is alert but near-sighted.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “I can get you past them. But you have to trust me. At least for the next hour.”

Bai Yue looked at Han Shān. At Mo Xiao. At Zhāo Yàn, who was watching Líng with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

“Move,” Bai Yue said. “We follow her.”

“And if she betrays us?” Zhāo Yàn asked.

Bai Yue looked at Líng’s retreating back.

“Then I’ll feed her to the next hydra we find.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep