The next few days passed quickly.Citizens were still out in force, combing forests and hillsides for TorrentCap Mushrooms. The government and military coordinated their own large-scale collection efforts, while research divisions worked around the clock—not only on the mushrooms but on something far more valuable.
The Awakening Potion.
Of the two vials sent to the capital, one had already been used in a controlled demonstration. The subject—a carefully vetted volunteer—drank the entire dose, and after a delay, awakened with modest, verifiable abilities. The second vial was immediately sealed away in a high-security lab, its contents divided into microliter samples for testing.
Every stage of the experiment was documented in excruciating detail: ingredient isolation attempts, chemical fingerprinting, magical residue scans, even trace element mapping to detect if its origins could be reverse-engineered.
But in the age of desperation, secrecy was an illusion.
Word spread.At first, it was whispers—scientists speaking too freely to spouses, aides overhearing classified reports, a few intercepted messages leaking from the military's own courier network. Then the rumors grew teeth:
A potion that can grant abilities.Proven. Recorded. Real.
By the fourth day, half the major factions in the country had heard of it.Some dismissed it as a hoax—until the "controlled demonstration" footage found its way into the right hands.
The footage didn't show anything earth-shattering—just a man awakening with low-tier abilities—but the implication was enough.
Government-aligned corporate boards quietly shifted resources toward chemical and alchemical R&D.Underground syndicates started offering bounties for even a single drop of the potion.Survivor clans along the borders sent envoys, each hoping to be the first to "form an alliance" with whoever held the formula.And in the shadows, warlords and exiled military officers began drafting plans to seize it by force.
For some, it was hope.For others, it was an arms race waiting to ignite.
Meanwhile, in a soundproof chamber in the capital, the demonstration video played for the twelfth time. A dozen men and women in government uniforms and military dress sat in tense silence, save for the occasional rustle of papers.
High-ranking officials, influential retirees, and power brokers from both political and corporate sectors had gathered. The report and the footage were passed from hand to hand.
Some faces lit with ambition.Others tightened with suspicion.A few masked their emotions entirely, already calculating the cost of ownership.
One man finally broke the silence."We need to know where this came from."
Another's answer was low but certain."We will."
At the head of the table, the president leaned back, fingers steepled. His gaze swept the room, as if measuring who would be the first to make a move.
The seed has taken root, he thought, watching them fight to hide their hunger.
Part 2
Far from the corridors of power and whispered deals, nature was stirring with a force that no greed or ambition could tame.
The latest meteorology report flashed urgently on every screen in the city's weather centers.
For the past week, the rain had been nothing more than a light drizzle—persistent, steady, but manageable. Thick, gloomy clouds hung low, casting a dark veil over the landscape. But now, the prelude was over.
An urgent nationwide announcement blared through every broadcast channel:
"Attention all citizens: The Torrent Rainstorm will intensify significantly beginning tonight. Expect heavy rainfall accompanied by strong winds. Hailstones will intermittently fall at random intervals throughout the coming days. Residents are advised to secure outdoor belongings and prepare for hazardous conditions. Tornadoes are forecast to occur approximately every three days in vulnerable regions. Please remain indoors when possible and heed all emergency instructions."
Torrential downpours were set to drench the city and countryside alike. The gentle drizzle would give way to a relentless storm—the true beginning of nature's fury.
The announcement echoed through every device—smartwatches buzzed, radios crackled, and mobile screens flashed the urgent alert. Panic spread swiftly across the city and countryside.
Some citizens dropped their baskets of freshly gathered TorrentCap Mushrooms and rushed home, hearts pounding against the rising storm. Others, gritting their teeth, pressed on with their mushroom hunts as if their very survival depended on it—every last patch could mean food, medicine, or trade.
Many scrambled to reinforce their homes. Roofs were patched hastily with tarps and planks, windows were boarded up, and sandbags piled near doorways. The cracked, long-abandoned buildings of the deserted city creaked ominously, shadows dancing in the flickering light as their fragile structures braced against the impending deluge.
Elsewhere, anxious residents fled back to the safety of fortified bases. The base personnel were already on high alert. Guards and soldiers doubled their patrols, inspecting every wall, every gate, every barricade. Engineers and laborers worked tirelessly, reinforcing structures and fortifying defenses against the expected floods.
The massive flood barrier wall—the last line of defense—was scrutinized repeatedly. Reservoirs, swollen by weeks of steady rain, were rising fast. Within days, the water level would breach normal limits, threatening to spill over into vulnerable zones.
Inside the base command center, screens showed live weather patterns, rising reservoir data, and storm trajectories. Officers coordinated emergency response teams and logistics, preparing evacuation routes and stockpiling supplies.
"Tonight, the rain will escalate," an officer warned grimly. "This is only the beginning. Continuous downpours will last for a month. Flooding is inevitable."
Hailstorms would strike unpredictably, battering rooftops and fields, while tornadoes—rare but deadly—loomed as a constant threat every three days.
Outside, the wind howled like a wild beast, rattling windows and sending loose debris skittering across empty streets.
The storm was coming. Nature's fury was awakening, and no fortress or plan could hold it back forever.
Part 3
At Hidden Dragon Peak Base, orders had been firmly given. All personnel were instructed to finish up reinforcements immediately and to stop collecting TorrentCap Mushrooms. For days, they'd diligently gathered the mushrooms and harvested rainwater, but now, with meteorologists warning that the storm would intensify tonight—bringing hail and tornadoes—they refused to risk anyone's safety for mushrooms deep in the mountains.
After a busy day of work, Long Yi and his trusted confidants called it quits and returned to their homes and quarters.
At home, Long Yi lounged on the couch with Han Yue by his side. Grandpa Long was there too, and the three relaxed in the quiet evening, chatting about other matters.
Grandpa Long stroked his beard and chuckled, "So, what's the situation with that stinky boy from the Lu family?"
Long Yi, lazily leaning on Han Yue's shoulder, replied casually, "Oh, don't worry. He's no longer in critical condition and is recovering fine… still in a coma though."
Han Yue tilted her head. "Hmm, is it because of the bump on his head?"
Long Yi nodded, snuggling closer into her neck. "Yeah, he has a concussion. Doctor said he'll be okay in a few days, so no worries."
Grandpa Long laughed, shaking his head. "Let me call that old bastard Lu…" He paused, thinking. "Wait, didn't you contact his father? Why is that stinky thing still in our house?"
Long Yi smiled with a hint of gloating. "Well, I asked Secretary Xu to contact Uncle Long and report it to his father, but…" Before he could finish, Uncle Long walked in, clearly having overheard the conversation.
"I already told Uncle Lu about his son's condition," Uncle Long said, settling into a chair and taking a sip of warm tea. "He said to keep him with us for now. He wants to investigate who was behind the incident."
Grandpa Long laughed heartily. "Oh, there are plenty of snakes at his side. Such a troublesome nest. This is why a public base full of snakes isn't a good thing! But," he added with a sly grin, "there's always more melons to eat in a place like that."
Han Yue nodded, smiling. "You're right, Grandpa. It's more exciting getting plotted against 24/7. You never know when you'll die… but it's thrilling to think about!"
Long Yi and Uncle Long exchanged a tired sigh. Both thought the same thing: thankfully, they had built their own base, filled only with their own people.