Beast Taming: Starting from Transmigration and Starting with a Cheat Code

The snake set off as planned, speeding along the way, knowing the distribution of every prey spot in its territory like the back of its hand.

First, they hunted the cunning rabbits, then moved on to the pheasant hill, catching as many as they could. The time allocation, the route, the method of transport—every step was meticulously planned down to the very tip of the snake's tail.

The results far exceeded expectations; the snake easily raided two rabbit burrows and three pheasants.

It's not that it can't catch more, it's just that it can't transport them back.

Two broods of rabbits and three chickens—achieving this within an hour is a feat worthy of boasting in its entire hunting career.

It dared to boast that there were only a handful of creatures as capable as itself in the entire forest. And that frail human was clearly not among them.

When it hung down from the tree, it looked Qin Ming up and down: thin skin and little fur, short and blunt claws, not even a decent canine tooth in its mouth, and no muscle contours on its body that were worth being wary of.

If this creature were placed in the wild food chain, it wouldn't even rank in the top fifty, unless it knew how to use tools.

In this forest, by himself? He probably couldn't even catch a rabbit.

The snake leisurely swam back.

Okay, it's too heavy, I can't swim fast.

It stacked two rabbits together in its mouth, with the fattest pheasant wrapped around its tail. The rest were inside its belly; it could just spit them out later.

The massive snake, laden with its load, left a thick trail on the withered leaves, and the rustling sound of its scales scraping the ground was several times louder than when it arrived.

Halfway through the swim, a fragrant aroma wafted over.

The snake froze completely.

The fragrance wafted from somewhere below the valley, as if carried by the evening breeze, sometimes strong, sometimes faint.

It carefully examined the vomeronasal organ for a few seconds, but couldn't tell.

This is neither the body odor of any prey on its menu nor the smell of its familiar surroundings.

But the fragrance seemed to come from another world, rich and incredibly alluring.

It pierced through the snake's nasal cavity and struck its brain and heart.

Although I don't know exactly what it is, it must be something good. If I miss it, I will regret it for the rest of my life!

The snake tried desperately to speed up, but it was too full and couldn't swim fast.

After a violent internal struggle, it vomited up a chicken.

The pheasant that had been vomited up fell onto a pile of dead leaves, wet and sticky with the snake's digestive fluids and leaf fragments.

The hunter himself felt ashamed of his actions; only a snake with a faulty brain would do such a wasteful thing!

But the scent was too strong, so it couldn't resist.

Speed ​​up! We must speed up!

On its way there, its infrared sensors also keenly detected several birds flying by.

These birds flew in the same direction as it and were quite large. One of them was a golden pheasant, a delicacy on its menu.

But it couldn't care less at this moment, after all, it had already spat out the chicken it had caught, so it had no time to pay attention to the birds flying in the sky.

It climbed faster and faster, more and more urgently, and the scent grew stronger and stronger, transforming from a faint, almost imperceptible path into a clearly discernible trail in the night mountain breeze.

The more I climbed, the more familiar I became with the path.

It recognized the old, crooked locust tree; it had sunbathed on that piece of quarry waste covered in moss just last month.

A strange feeling flashed through the snake's mind: how did this scent drift to the vicinity of its lair?

But more than anything, I felt a sense of relief. Being close meant I didn't have to take a detour; it had already expended too much energy on this trip carrying its heavy load, and taking a longer route would have made it too late.

Until it gets there.

Perhaps it had traveled too far and climbed too slowly, and it failed to catch up with the main group.

The fragrance still lingered in the air, but there was hardly anything left on the ground.

The snake poked its head out from behind the thatch, a half-withered blade of grass still hanging from its triangular head. Its vertical pupils reflected a scene it had never seen before and could not explain.

Animals were lying haphazardly on this open space.

The golden pheasant and its two wives lay sprawled in a pile of brocade-like feathers, while the weasel lay sprawled among a few pebbles, its tail draped over the belly of a similarly unconscious hare. Beside the hare lay a gray squirrel, which it usually fought with whenever they met.

Further away, there were several field mice and small birds, each in a different posture, with peaceful expressions. They had no wounds, were not struggling, and were breathing as steadily as if they were having a beautiful dream together.

The image of these animals falling one after another was clearly etched into the snake's pupils.

This scene is terrifying. To collapse so defenselessly in the wild means losing all ability to escape and resist, and there is basically no chance of ever waking up again.

Whether they are snatched away by a passing large predator or gnawed into skeletons by a group of ants, either outcome is not unusual in nature, even though they do not appear to have stopped breathing and seem to have fallen into an unusual deep sleep.

However, whether it's sleep or coma, both are dangerous states tantamount to suicide in the wild.

The snake instantly regained its senses. It swallowed hard, and its pupils rapidly contracted into tiny slits.

It has a brain; years of wilderness survival experience have taught it that this place is extremely dangerous.

The best strategy is to leave quietly before the danger is triggered.

This judgment is accurate, rational, and consistent with the choice that an old snake that has lived peacefully to this age in the wild should make.

It had even pulled its head back halfway, and its center of gravity began to tilt backward.

Although its mind was clear, it lingered, reluctant to leave.

The fragrance still lingered in the air, so close yet so far, stronger, purer, and more layered than the one I had smelled halfway through the journey.

It could even distinguish at least two or three different flavors in this aroma, each of which it had never tasted in its snake life.

There wasn't much left on the ground, but there was still some. What if it tasted a little?

After all, it seems to have a high level of poison resistance.

The Mangshan pit viper tribe lives year-round in dense forests rich in humus, and has come into contact with countless poisonous plants, fungi, and insects. The result of generations of selection is that their bodies are generally resistant to poisons.

When it was young and inexperienced, it had accidentally eaten things it shouldn't have several times. The most serious time was when it swallowed a field mouse that had eaten a poisonous mushroom. It vomited and had diarrhea for two days, but then it was fine and continued to hop around.

Perhaps it can withstand the toxicity here?

Want to try it?

The snake hesitated, and just as it hesitated, a figure that looked all too familiar entered its field of vision.

It had just seen one of these upright-walking creatures of this size.

No way?

The snake shrank its body into the grass, leaving only half of its head sticking out.

It saw the human slowly emerge from behind the rock, bend down, pick up a sleeping squirrel, weigh it in his hand, twirl it around, and place it on a neatly stacked pile of prey behind him.

Then he picked up another rabbit, weighed it in his hand, compared its size with the other rabbits piled together, and placed it in a suitable spot, as if he were setting up a fruit stall.

He even had the leisure to turn a weasel that was sleeping in a rather unseemly position over so that it could sleep more comfortably.

The snake's vertical pupils no longer held any other emotion, only a tremendous, indigestible shock.

Qin Ming rubbed his aching back; he had lost count of how many trips he had made back and forth.

If he didn't have to carry Little Fatty around every day, he really wouldn't know he could handle so much.

Let's call it a day.

Qin Ming put the last unconscious little bird into the prey pile and sorted it by species. He took two steps back and examined his "spoils of war".

After two rounds of trapping, four golden pheasants, six rabbits, one weasel, three squirrels, several field mice and birds, plus other small mammals that I couldn't name, piled up together took up quite a lot of space.

If this total amount were stacked up, it would be more than enough to bury the snake.

Even if you were to let the snake's size be displayed, no matter how much it swallows, stretches, or coils tightly, you couldn't possibly bring back that many snakes within an hour.

Qin Ming stretched and loosened his stiff neck and back from repeatedly bending over.

As the last rays of the setting sun faded, a few scattered stars lit up the sky above the quarry, and the night breeze swept through the forest, bringing a touch of coolness.

His gaze inadvertently swept across the thatch opposite, across the half-withered grass, and across the darkness behind the grass, a darkness that should have been completely obscured in the night.

Before I knew it, my eyes met those of a snake that had gotten a little fatter but had a blank expression.

Qin Ming: ...