Chapter Sixty-Five: Naming

In the boundless realm of life sciences, probability has never truly been a problem. For any species, whenever the likelihood of producing stronger offspring increases by more than ten percent, that race stands a greater chance of shining ever more brilliantly upon the stage of the future.

Nature selects through competition; only the fittest survive. Strictly speaking, this is in fact a conscious selection of genes—discarding the inferior and preserving the stronger. Imagine, if the descendants of the dual royal bloodlines were to reach a certain number, then the entire lineage of the race would likely be purified and elevated. Ordinary blood would be diluted, while the blood of the royal beasts would spread like the venom of a deadly serpent, ultimately becoming the mainstream bloodline of the species.

This process is bound to be lengthy, requiring ample and stable time and environment to unfold, but its eventual realization is highly probable. And once it comes to pass, at that moment, this spore race that feeds on ancient ape flesh will truly shed its former skin and become a genuine royal lineage. All within the tribe will bear the blood of kings.

Such a phenomenon is terrifying. If that day truly arrives, the future of the ancient ape clan will be fraught with peril. Though, under Fang Zhuowei’s deliberate guidance, they have grasped the Dao, the ancient apes are still only at the threshold of developing and creating their path. They have mastered only the most basic and rudimentary use of the Dao, still far from the feats described in novels—plucking stars, moving mountains, and filling the seas with a gesture.

At such a level, they are barely a match even for these ordinary spore creatures, let alone the twice-evolved royal breed. Yet, to insist now that the ancient apes' future is doomed would not be entirely accurate. After all, as previously mentioned, the ancient apes’ greatest trump card—the Eight Great Sacred Grounds—has yet to act; they are still lying dormant.

As the organizations with the deepest understanding of the Tao Te Ching, their power is beyond comparison with the ten thousand cultivators currently stationed before Zhongli’s capital. Most crucially, the Eight Sacred Grounds possess knowledge of advanced realms and methods unknown to ordinary practitioners.

In particular, the master of one sacred ground is currently in closed-door seclusion, forcefully pushing the boundaries to attain an even higher state.

There, deep within an unlit cave, a bald figure sits, naked to the waist, his body radiating a surging, violent power—clearly, he has already made some progress.

Fang Zhuowei’s gaze, profound and penetrating, swept through layers of space. He recognized this bald figure well; possessed of terrifying talent, this individual had already cultivated the indestructible Vajra body capable of manifesting visions when the ancient ape civilization first entered the martial era. After encountering the Dao, his progress soared, arguably making him the foremost among the ancient apes.

Withdrawing his gaze, Fang Zhuowei turned once more to the twice-evolved, deathly pale spore beings before him.

“These spores, inheriting the cells of that unknown creature, are somewhat akin to tigers or insects in nature. As their species evolves, the females are gradually growing larger in size.”

“Of course, this does not mean the females’ combat power has surpassed that of the males—for individual strength cannot be measured by physique alone.”

“The increasing size of the female spores is mainly for reproduction. It is foreseeable that, before long, this species will enter a frenzied breeding phase.”

Especially for these twice-evolved female spores—every aspect of their bodies has improved dramatically, but most significantly, their reproductive capabilities have reached unprecedented heights. This, above all, is a fatal temptation that no male can resist.

Taking up his notebook, Fang Zhuowei made a succinct record of all he witnessed. Keeping meticulous records not only helps clarify tangled thoughts but also allows for an accurate grasp of the direction in which his created species is developing.

“Given your appearance, I’ll call you Sphinxes,” he decided, naming these spores after the mythical Greek monster for convenience. The Sphinx, a creature with a human head, lion’s body, eagle’s wings, and a serpent’s tail, appeared in both Greek and Egyptian mythology.

In essence, it was the famous monster fond of blocking travelers with riddles: “What creature walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening?” This is the Sphinx’s renowned riddle, and those who failed to answer were devoured.

In Greek legend, Oedipus solved the riddle, and the Sphinx, shamed, killed itself on the spot. But Fang Zhuowei found this hard to believe. In Greek, “Sphinx” means “to tighten”—a monster that strangles its victims. Having come this far, how could it simply kill itself out of embarrassment?

Thus, he named these royal spores Sphinxes, and all other ordinary types collectively as “Khes”—“Sphin” for king, “Khes” for beast.

“However, the right to reproduce offspring is not so easily won.”

Raising an eyebrow, his gaze sharpened.

At present, only a single female spore in this race had reached the second stage of evolution—a paltry number compared to the seven or eight twice-evolved males surrounding her. Too many monks, too little gruel.

All life is inherently selfish. For the right to mate with the sole female, these seven or eight male spores would have to engage in fierce struggle.

And, as he expected, after a brief adjustment to their new bodies, the males were instantly locked in violent combat. Eyes bloodshot, they showed no mercy, unleashing their claws and physical advantages to the utmost. Each seemed almost driven mad, attacking the others with wild abandon.

Roars echoed through the arena. Blood spattered, flesh flew, erupting like a geyser and littering the ground.

These male spores had grown up in a brutal, bloody environment, accustomed to blood and killing from a young age. Thus, their first attacks targeted each other’s vital points.

This was the natural response of evolving life, an instinctual reaction.

All these twice-evolved males wished to claim the sole twice-evolved female, to win the supreme right to mate.

And within their genetic code, only one male could hold that right. Only after a process of elimination could the strongest male possess the lone twice-evolved female, claim the queen, and sire the royal offspring.

Meanwhile, the only twice-evolved female stood coldly aside, watching the chaos unfold. As the sole female of the royal line, her expectations for a mate were exceedingly high—supreme combat prowess was but the most basic requirement.