The Weasel Seeks an Award

Liu Jin looked at the weasel and raised an eyebrow slightly.

Before his transmigration, he had read many tales of the strange and supernatural, so he was familiar with the process of "asking for a title." If a weasel blocked his way and asked if it looked like a human, and he answered "yes," it could transform into a human and steal the lifespan of the person being asked; if he answered "no," its hundred years of cultivation would be destroyed, and it would either revert to its original form or lose its life.

So most people, when faced with a challenge to be sealed, either give vague answers and avoid the situation, or remain silent and pretend to be mute. But what he didn't expect was that the first punishment world he entered after his ascension would begin with a weasel squatting by the roadside asking him if he looked like a human. This arrangement was either a deliberate attempt by the live-streaming system to disgust him, or the world itself was inherently flawed.

"Do I look like a human?" the weasel asked again, his tone more urgent than before.

Liu Jin did not answer the question. He took two steps forward, stopped ten paces away from the weasel, and narrowed his eyes slightly, not out of wariness, but to observe. His gaze passed over the weasel's glossy fur and its neatly folded front paws, landing on the extremely faint glow surrounding its body.

The flame was pale yellow, unlike the fierce and domineering Samadhi Fire, or the eerie and chilling Will-o'-the-Wisp. Instead, it carried the scent of grass and roots. It was moist, warm, and full of life, like the steam rising from freshly turned soil after being baked by the sun in spring.

"What is this fire on your body?"

The weasel was taken aback. Its mouth opened and closed slightly, its two tufts of white whiskers trembled, and a hint of confusion flashed in its amber eyes. It clearly hadn't expected this question; who in this world would ask a weasel what kind of fire it possessed when being challenged for a title?

It was silent for a moment, then spoke, its voice more hoarse and earnest than before: "I have cultivated for three hundred years, and once in the deep mountains I swallowed a spirit-like Ganoderma lucidum. That Ganoderma lucidum transformed into a kind of fire in my stomach, not the true fire used by you cultivators, it had no name, no origin. I don't know what it is either."

"It was because of this fire that I gained intelligence, learned to speak human language, and was able to take human form. I am no longer a clueless beast in the mountains who only knew how to catch rats and eat insects. For three hundred years, I have used this fire to do many things, to save people and to harm people. Now my days are numbered, and I only want to know one thing."

It raised its head, its amber eyes fixed on Liu Jin.

"After three hundred years of cultivation, can I be considered a person?"

Liu Jin did not answer immediately. On the surface, the question asked whether it was similar to someone else's, but at its core, it was about something else entirely: after three hundred years of cultivation, what had he actually accomplished? His silence was brief, but to him it felt long, because he was thinking about another person in another world.

That person had once wondered in a conversation whether what he was doing was meaningful. What was his answer then? "The human heart is a matter that no one can resolve once and for all. Some obsessions are more real than the answers themselves."

"Give me a wisp of your fire," Liu Jin said. "I'll let you taste what it's like to be 'human.'"

The weasel hesitated for a long time. Its amber eyes flickered uncertainly in the mist, and finally it stretched out its front paw and plucked a cluster of pale yellow flames from its heart.

The moment the flame left its body, its form became noticeably more hunched, and the luster of its fur dimmed. It cradled the flame in its paws and offered it to Liu Jin.

Liu Jin stepped forward, took the flame, and swallowed it.

Then he stood there with his eyes closed for a long time. The moment the flame entered his throat, he tasted more than just fire. It was the pain of plants breaking through the soil, the moisture of roots absorbing water deep in the earth, and the long growth of Ganoderma lucidum in the mountains, enduring sunrises and sunsets, wind and rain.

It is the whiteness of every rain, every gust of wind, and every moonlight that has fallen on the pine forest over the past three hundred years; it is the trembling when it spoke for the first time after swallowing the Ganoderma lucidum; it is the disheveled state when it first transformed into human form and entered a human village, only to be chased out by the villagers with brooms.

All of these things burned quietly within that cluster of pale yellow flames. This was not a fire of destruction, nor a fire of purification, nor the Samadhi Fire in the center of his brow that consumed all things.

This is the fire of longing, the fire of obsession, the fire of "wanting to become human" that a plant, after becoming a spirit, slowly brewed over three hundred years.

Liu Jin opened his eyes.

Do you know what it's like to be "human"?

"What is it?"

"That's exactly how you are now." His tone was flat, not a compliment, but a statement. "You can squat under a tree waiting for an answer, you feel fear, you feel anticipation, and you'll cultivate for three hundred years for a single sentence. You're already more human than many others."

The weasel was stunned.

It waited a hundred years. From two hundred years old to three hundred years old, it learned all the rules of humankind: bowing, kowtowing, addressing others as "old man," and using the polite form of address. It even learned to suppress its instincts as a weasel, not to eat live prey, not to steal chickens, and not to crawl into sewers.

All of this was done so that one day someone would tell it, "You're like a human being." And today that person appeared. He didn't say "like," nor did he say "not like." He said that the very process of waiting itself was already human.

Its whiskers began to tremble, and the calm in its amber eyes shattered. It wasn't moved; it was angry. It was the anger of "Why didn't you follow the rules?", the anger of "I prepared for so long, only to receive a different answer."

Its front paws slammed down on the bluestone, cracking the stone's surface and pushing away the surrounding mist with an invisible force.

"I don't want any of that logic! I'll just ask you one question: Is it similar or not? You people are all the same, you never give a straight answer! That old scholar back then was the same. I saved his life, and he only said 'Even demons have their code,' refusing to utter that word to me! You're the same! You're all the same! All I want is one word, just one word!"

......

"Poor weasel, it keeps getting brushed off, hahaha."

"If you're so capable, go and agree to it. I'll take away your lifespan and you'll behave."

"Exactly, exactly, if I call your name, would you dare answer?"

"I certainly wouldn't dare, but wouldn't going after this person be suicide?"

"So poor weasel."

......

Its voice changed from hoarse to shrill, and its amber pupils suddenly contracted into a vertical line. It leaped from the bluestone, moving as fast as a yellow lightning bolt, and slashed out with its claws, aiming straight for Liu Jin's face.

Liu Jin did not dodge.

The claw landed on his left arm, tearing through his sleeve and ripping his flesh, then stopped. Not because Liu Jin blocked it, but because no blood flowed from the wound.

Beneath the cracked skin, there were no bright red muscle lines, no surging blood, only a slowly flowing, eerie blue flame.