Bio-engineered Dinosaur in the immortal world

The old man stood tall, his hands clasped behind his back, exuding an air of quiet amusement as he observed the gathered disciples. Internally, however, he was laughing—laughing so hard he could barely contain himself.

These fools… he mused, his gaze sweeping across the eager faces of the young disciples. They truly think they have a chance?

He had done this same test for years—and every time, it ended the same way. Failure.

Not a single disciple, no matter how talented, no matter how keen their observation skills were, had ever been able to select the correct food on their first try.

The idea that one of these inexperienced brats could succeed where even seasoned breeders had failed was hilarious to him.

His eyes flickered over to the trays of leaves, resting on ornate wooden stands beside Angola.

There were many choices, from thick, waxy leaves with a strong herbal scent to delicate, feathery fronds that looked as if they could crumble at a touch.

Among them all, however, one stood out—a particularly ugly, shriveled, blackened piece of foliage that reeked of decay.

The poisonous grass.

The very sight of it would make most turn away in disgust. It looked inedible. It smelled worse than a rotting corpse.

Impossible, the old man thought to himself, his smirk growing ever so slightly. No one would pick that one.

Meanwhile, inside the spiritual sea of consciousness, Wei Long was watching with an entirely different kind of amusement.

"Why not just feed that poisonous thing to him?" Wei Long drawled, stretching lazily. "He's all fat anyway—maybe he needs it to clear out his system."

Zou Fang stiffened slightly.

"What…?"

"You heard me," Wei Long continued, his voice dripping with jealousy. "Look at that guy. All he does is sit there, gets fed every day, and somehow, he's a 'sect hero'?!"

Wei Long snorted.

"Tch. What kind of life is that?"

Zou Fang didn't answer, but Wei Long wasn't done.

"Hey, Zou Fang."

"What?"

"What if I just ate him?"

A beat of silence.

"...Excuse me?"

Wei Long's eyes glowed faintly, a dangerous glint passing through them.

"Think about it. If being a lazy, overfed beast is enough to get a position in this sect, then what if I devour him and take his place? It's not like they can complain—I'll just start emitting pheromones too. I'll figure it out."

Zou Fang felt a cold sweat forming on his back.

"Wei Long, you can't just eat a sect hero—"

"Why not? I have the ability to do it. Besides, I've already been thinking about using 'Territorial Empower' soon anyway. This might be a good test."

Zou Fang internally screamed.

"NO. If you do that, the sect will collapse!"

Wei Long frowned.

"Yeah, I thought about that too. That old man, Fu, is here somewhere. If I start a fight with him, I'll end up adapting to his strength, getting stronger than ten times, alerting the patriarch and then—"

Zou Fang immediately cut him off.

"And then the sect gets destroyed, and your ability disappears."

Wei Long sighed dramatically.

"Ugh. Fine, fine. I won't eat the lizard. For now."

Hearing this, Zou Fang would feel relieved. Although he didn't fully believe Wei Long about this 'territorial power', Zou Fang knew how scary and unpredictable Wei Long's personality was.

Back in the real world, the old man clapped his hands together, drawing attention back to himself.

"Alright," he announced, his voice carrying authority. "It seems we have our first participant."

A murmur ran through the gathered disciples.

A young man stepped forward, his expression one of sheer determination.

He was not particularly tall, nor did he have an air of overwhelming talent, but his eyes burned with resolve.

The old man gave a small nod.

"Very well. Step forward and choose."

The atmosphere grew tense.

The disciple approached the trays, his breathing steady but shallow. His eyes roamed over the countless varieties of leaves, hesitating for a moment before hovering over one in particular—a bright green leaf, thin and slightly curved, with a faintly sweet aroma.

The crowd leaned in.

"This one…" the disciple murmured.

His fingers tightened around the leaf as he picked it up.

Every eye in the room followed his movements as he turned toward Angola.

The beast, still towering in place, stared down at him with an almost bored expression.

The disciple stepped forward, lifting the leaf carefully toward the lizard's massive maw.

Angola sniffed.

The disciple held his breath.

And then—

The lizard's mouth opened.

The crowd collectively inhaled.

The disciple's hands trembled as Angola's jaws slowly closed around the leaf.

A moment of silence.

Then—

CRUNCH.

The leaf disappeared into the beast's mouth.

The disciple gripped his robes tightly, waiting for some sort of reaction.

A second passed.

Then another.

Then—

PTOO!

The half-chewed leaf was spat out violently, tumbling to the ground.

The disciple froze.

For a split second, everything was still.

Then—

ROOOOOOOAAAAARRRR!!!

A thunderous roar erupted from Angola, the sheer force of the sound rattling the walls.

The disciple stumbled backward in pure terror.

The beast lunged forward, its chains rattling violently, its eyes now filled with rage.

The gathered disciples shouted in alarm, some even jumping back in fear.

The old man, however, did not flinch.

Instead, he let out a deep sigh.

Then, in a cold, measured tone, he said:

"Do you know what you just did?"

The old man's voice boomed like a war drum, echoing across the hall.

"If you fail, this beast will remember you!"

The disciples flinched. Some even took a step back, sweat forming on their brows.

The old man's eyes swept over the crowd, piercing through them like daggers.

"This is no ordinary creature!" he continued, voice crackling with authority. "You think failure means simply walking away in shame?"

He laughed sharply—a sound void of humor.

"Failure means you have insulted Angola! And when you insult a beast of this caliber, it will never forget your face!"

The tension in the air thickened, pressing down on the disciples like a suffocating force.

"Perhaps you do not understand," the elder sneered. "Allow me to tell you a story!"

He took a step forward, and all eyes remained locked on him.

"There was once a disciple who stood where you stand now," he began, his voice lowering into something grim. "He was arrogant. He believed he knew better than Angola. When he failed, he thought it was a simple mistake—one that he could ignore, as if it meant nothing."

The old man's eyes darkened.

"But Angola did not forget."

The disciples held their breath.

"Years later," the old man continued, "this disciple suffered a terrible injury—a devastating wound that left him crippled on the battlefield. But he was lucky. He was not alone."

He leaned forward slightly.

"Angola was there."

A few of the disciples exchanged nervous glances.

"Had Angola released his calming pheromones, the disciple's fear would have faded. His body would have relaxed. His injuries could have been stabilized, and he would have survived long enough for a healer to reach him."

The elder's voice dropped to a chilling whisper.

"But Angola did not release them."

Silence.

"Because he remembered."

The crowd shivered.

"That disciple—a promising one, with years of training ahead of him—died in agony. All because he failed this very test and did not earn Angola's favor."

The old man's lips curled into something between a sneer and a smirk.

"So," he said, his voice returning to its booming intensity, "I ask you again! Who among you is willing to try?"

The hesitation was palpable.

No one wanted to be remembered as an enemy of Angola.

But the opportunity was too great.

One by one, disciples stepped forward.

One Attempt After Another—A Chain of Failures

The first disciple walked forward, determination burning in his eyes.

He studied the leaves intensely, sweat rolling down his temple as he weighed his options.

Finally, he chose a large, deep green leaf with a slightly glossy surface. It smelled fresh, almost medicinal.

The crowd leaned in.

He approached Angola cautiously, his hands steady, his posture respectful.

He offered the leaf.

Angola sniffed it.

A pause.

Then—

CRUNCH.

Angola bit down.

The disciple gritted his teeth, waiting, hoping.

Then—

PTOO!

The leaf was spat violently onto the ground.

And then—

ROOOOOOOOOAAAAAAARRRRRR!!!

The disciple stumbled back, eyes wide with horror.

Angola's rage was palpable.

"You fool," the old man snapped. "That was a medicinal leaf meant to boost blood flow, not calm the body!"

The disciple's face paled.

"NEXT!"

Another disciple stepped forward.

Another choice.

Another failure.

"NEXT!"

Another.

And another.

And another.

Each time, the disciple chose wrong.

Each time, Angola spat out the food in disgust.

Each time, Angola's rage built.

It became painfully clear that they were running out of chances.

The crowd grew tense.

Some of the failed disciples looked sick—knowing that Angola would remember them forever.

Then—

Zou Fang's Turn

A deep chill ran down Zou Fang's spine as all eyes turned to him.

Wei Long's voice echoed in his mind.

"Your turn, kid."

Zou Fang's throat dried up.

"Wait, wait—why me?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not a reason!"

"Tch. Just feed it the poisonous one."

Zou Fang's eyes bulged.

"Are you insane?! That thing is poisonous!"

"And?" Wei Long yawned, stretching lazily in Zou Fang's consciousness. "It's the only one that hasn't been picked yet."

"Because it'll kill him!"

"Will it?" Wei Long's tone shifted—a low, knowing amusement lacing his words. "What if it's exactly what he needs?"

Zou Fang froze.

"...You're guessing."

"I'm a genius."

"You're a glutton!"

"Same thing."

Zou Fang groaned internally, panic bubbling in his chest.

"If I feed him the poisonous one and it actually poisons him, I'll be executed on the spot!"

"And?"

"AND?! What do you mean 'AND'?! I'LL DIE, YOU OVERGROWN LIZARD!"

Wei Long's tail flicked lazily in Zou Fang's spiritual sea.

"Tch. What a coward."

"I AM NOT A COWARD—I AM SANE!"

"Sane? Really? You're talking to a dinosaur in your head."

"THAT'S NOT THE POINT!"

"Look," Wei Long sighed. "You can either take the risk, or you can keep standing there like an idiot while everyone stares at you. Your choice."

Zou Fang felt cold sweat drip down his back.

He could feel the eyes of the elder locked onto him.

He could hear the murmurs of the crowd.

He was trapped.

He had to decide.

But no matter how he looked at it…

He was helpless.