Chapter Five: Enlightenment

Time slipped by in the blink of an eye.

By now, Meng Fan was three years old—the age of a toddler, and the golden period for a young child’s early education. Though Old Meng was busy with work, he began Meng Fan’s preschool lessons. To his delight, Meng Fan was exceptionally bright, often demonstrating the ability to draw inferences about other things from one instance. Even the other zookeepers praised Meng Fan as a clever child.

In the zoo, one could often see a small figure trailing behind Old Meng, never crying or fussing, just quietly watching him work. When Old Meng was sweating from feeding the animals, the boy would hand him a towel or a water bottle, gently wiping the sweat from his father's brow. It was truly a heartwarming scene of "filial piety and fatherly love."

Sometimes, Old Meng would encourage the more docile animals to play with Meng Fan, but the boy, unable to sit still, preferred to hang around the tiger named Dahuang. Fortunately, as the zoo's star attraction, Dahuang had been well-trained by Old Meng. While other children were crying and throwing tantrums for toys, Meng Fan was already riding on the tiger’s back, climbing up and down the tiger enclosure. It could be said that anything in the zoo—whether it flew in the sky, swam in the water, or ran on the ground—could not escape Meng Fan’s "clutches." Fierce tigers and lions became his "steeds," while adorable foxes and red pandas served as his playmates. It was, in every sense, a very unconventional childhood.

Old Meng could only watch this unfold with a helpless shrug.

There was one thing that had to be mentioned: in two years, Old Meng would be thirty. Because he had adopted Meng Fan and worked at a lackluster job, combined with his timid and submissive nature, many potential partners rejected him at first glance. Consequently, he remained single. Whenever others brought this up, Old Meng didn’t seem to mind. In truth, he was well aware of his own circumstances. As a "Beastmaster" in the world of extraordinary individuals, he was looked down upon, and he dared not hope that any female practitioner would take an interest in him. As for those outside that circle, he was an aging bachelor pushing thirty, neither handsome nor successful in his career, with a personality that lacked backbone—and on top of that, he had Meng Fan to support. Given these conditions, he figured no one would be blind enough to choose him; after all, people usually want something in return when they marry. Whenever people asked about his standards for a partner, Old Meng would always say, "I just hope to find someone who is good to Xiao Fan and will truly cherish him." Overall, Old Meng was as good to Meng Fan as one could possibly be, and Meng Fan called him "Dad" with complete sincerity.

This filled Meng Fan with a touch of guilt, as he knew his presence had influenced Old Meng’s life to some extent. One day, he asked, "Dad, what will you do if you never find a wife?"

Old Meng chuckled, "There are so many people in the world; surely some blind person will eventually take a liking to me. And if not..." He paused, his heart sinking. He looked at his well-behaved son, patted his head, and said, "Then I simply won't marry."

"Not marry? How could that be?" Meng Fan dangled his short legs and said with surprising maturity, "Dad, you must marry a wife in the future and give me some younger brothers and sisters."

Old Meng tapped Meng Fan’s forehead. "You’re only a few years old, do you even know what a wife is?"

Meng Fan spoke with an air of precocious wisdom, "I do. 'To hold one's hand and grow old together'—it means someone who can spend the rest of their life with you, Dad. I don't want you to be all alone when you get old."

"Haha, alright, I’ll do my best!"

"Not just your best—you must!"

A large hand and a small hand slapped together, sealing a promise between father and son.

***

Despite these words, Old Meng’s romantic prospects were not going well, and Meng Fan had no easy solution for that. The only thing he could influence was Old Meng’s development from a "Beastmaster" into a "Biomancer." At this point, Old Meng had not yet reached that level of refinement; the methods of a Beastmaster were difficult to learn and master, and between the demands of his job and daily life, he hadn't yet explored the path of a Biomancer—or rather, he hadn't even thought in that direction.

Thus, Meng Fan began to guide him, intentionally or otherwise. As if struck by a sudden inspiration, he asked with feigned innocence, "Dad, you can tame the huge animals in the zoo so well—can you also tame the very, very tiny ones?"

Old Meng pondered this, patted Meng Fan’s small head, and laughed, "What kind of idea do you have now? Aren't the animals in the zoo enough for you to stir up trouble with? Don't tell me you've set your sights on the insect house?"

Meng Fan replied, "I’m not causing trouble! I just meant, can you tame things like these? I read in a book that these things are so small!" He held up a picture of bacteria from a book of "One Hundred Thousand Whys" for Old Meng to see.

Upon seeing the images, a spark of inspiration flashed through Old Meng’s mind. *Bacteria? Taming bacteria to be used as I see fit?*

*Yes, why hadn't I thought of that?*

Old Meng was no illiterate; he was a university graduate, albeit with a degree in veterinary medicine. However, he suddenly linked this thought to something else, felt a chill run down his spine, and quickly covered Meng Fan’s mouth. He whispered nervously, "Hush, my little ancestor, never say that to anyone else again."

Meng Fan feigned ignorance and nodded, "Okay, I won’t say a word."

Ever since hearing Meng Fan’s seemingly innocent remark, Old Meng felt unsettled, as if he were hiding a secret. He remembered his master’s dying words—the bitterness and helplessness over the decline of the Beastmaster lineage, mixed with the relief that his skills would at least be passed down. But the most profound words his master had spoken were: "Xiao Meng, it was a waste for you to learn these Beastmaster techniques from me."

When he, a Beastmaster, looked down upon himself, how many more years could this tradition survive? Even Old Meng didn't know. He had previously thought that if Meng Fan showed talent for Qi, he would take him to his master’s friends to learn other skills, while teaching him the Beastmaster techniques as a secondary craft, just to ensure he didn't fail his master’s expectations. At least the techniques would be passed on.

But Meng Fan’s comment had been like lightning splitting the sky, a thunderous strike to Old Meng’s heart. He tried to force himself not to dwell on the idea, but he couldn't help it; it was like holding a precious treasure he couldn't stop taking out to look at.

*What if I tried it? What if it worked?*

If he succeeded, the Beastmaster lineage would flourish, no longer seen as useless by other practitioners, and his own fate would change. Old Meng thought of Meng Fan.

He gritted his teeth, stomped his foot, and decided: *I'll do it!*