Bio-engineered Dinosaur in the immortal world-Chapter 111: Tomorrow breeder

The grand hall of the Autumn Dragon Sect was silent.

Some stood frozen, others lowered their heads, their thoughts tangled in the implications of what had just been said. But then—

One of the elders stepped forward.

His long white beard swayed as he moved, his deep-set eyes filled with wisdom and authority.

His robes, embroidered with the golden sigil of the sect, shimmered under the lantern light.

He raised his hand, and instantly, all whispers ceased.

"It seems many of you do not yet understand what it means to be part of this sect," the elder began, his voice firm but calm. "You see it as a battlefield. A place where only the strong survive. But let me ask you all this—do you know why the Autumn Dragon Sect was founded?"

The disciples exchanged glances. Some looked uncertain. Others merely remained silent.

The elder's gaze sharpened. "Let me tell you then," he continued, his voice carrying the weight of centuries. "A thousand years ago, when the world was steeped in chaos, when cultivators fought for dominance, and when the weak were mere stepping stones for the strong, there was a man who sought something different."

The air seemed to shift, as if even the walls were listening.

"This man was not the strongest cultivator of his era," the elder said, his voice growing more solemn. "He did not possess godlike abilities. He did not tear mountains from the earth or split the heavens with his sword. But he had something far greater—a vision."

The disciples leaned in.

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"He saw a world where strength was not the only thing that mattered," the elder continued. "Where cultivators did not destroy each other for power, but instead, grew stronger together. He saw a world where wisdom, skill, and unity held as much value as brute force."

The elder paused, letting the words settle. "And so, he gathered those who shared his ideals—cultivators who sought not just power, but purpose. Alchemists who wished to heal rather than harm. Formation masters who sought to protect rather than destroy. Warriors who fought not for personal glory, but for something greater than themselves."

His voice rose, echoing through the hall.

"And with them, the Autumn Dragon Sect was born!"

The grand hall hummed with energy.

"This sect was not built on reckless battles or empty victories," the elder said, his gaze sweeping over the gathered disciples. "It was built on balance. On a foundation where every disciple—whether strong or weak, whether a fighter or a scholar—had a place."

His voice became sharper. "And yet, what do I see before me today?" He gestured toward the crowd. "I see arrogance. I see recklessness. I see a misunderstanding of what it truly means to be part of something greater."

The disciples shifted uncomfortably.

The elder's expression softened, but his tone remained firm. "That is why we do not simply accept those who can throw a punch. That is why we test you not just in strength, but in what you can contribute to this sect. Because without contribution, without unity, without understanding—this sect would crumble like so many before it."

He folded his hands behind his back. "And so, before any of you think about challenges, about proving your strength in combat, remember this—strength without purpose is nothing."

Silence fell once more.

Then another elder spoke up. "With that said, your first task in this sect will begin tomorrow." His eyes glinted. "Chores."

Murmurs spread through the disciples.

"Chores?" someone whispered in disbelief.

"You expect us to sweep floors?" another muttered.

The elder nodded. "Yes. Sweep floors. Carry water. Tend to the herb gardens. Assist the alchemists. Serve the sect. Because only by doing these tasks will you begin to understand the true foundation of this place."

His voice turned sharp. "Consider it your first test."

A wave of unwilling groans spread through the crowd, but no one dared to argue.

"Enough for tonight," the elder concluded. "Disperse."

—

Now back in the abode, inside the sea of consciousness of Zou Fang, Wei Long was fuming.

"Ridiculous!" His voice crackled through Zou Fang's mind. "What kind of sect refuses a proper challenge? Where's the ambition? Where's the fight?"

Zou Fang winced. But he didn't say anything.

Wei Long scoffed. "I refuse! I thought this was supposed to be a cultivation sect! Not a sect of farmers and janitors!"

Zou Fang sighed. Wei Long is right, he doesn't like it either, but what choice do they have?"

Wei Long grumbled. "Fine. Fine! If they won't let you fight, then we'll just have to—"

His words halted.

Because something else had just entered his consciousness.

Something… unexpected.

A scent.

A flavor.

Something divine.

Zou Fang blinked, confused, as he sensed Wei Long suddenly pause.

"What's wrong?"

Silence.

Then—

"Zou Fang," Wei Long's voice was eerily quiet. "What… is this?"

Zou Fang followed his senses and saw it.

A small, unassuming snack. A simple, round, golden-brown pellet, given to them by the sect as part of their rations.

"Uh… It's food that was given to me earlier?" Zou Fang said hesitantly.

Wei Long snatched it and took a bite.

Crunch.

Silence.

Then—

BOOM.

A surge of flavor exploded through his being.

Wei Long froze.

His spiritual form shuddered.

"What is this?!" he gasped. "This—this—this isn't food! This is divine nectar! This is the essence of heaven itself!"

Zou Fang raised an eyebrow. "It's… just a beast ration."

Wei Long ignored him. He took another bite.

Crunch.

His entire soul trembled.

"Amazing…!" Wei Long moaned. "This taste—this depth—the layers of flavor—!" He took another bite. Crunch. Another. Crunch. Another—

But then—

He glanced to the side.

And saw Red'Ribbon sitting there.

With a single uneaten piece in her claws.

Wei Long narrowed his eyes.

Red'Ribbon stared back. Then, ever so slowly, he brought the piece to his mouth.

Wei Long's eyes widened.

"Wait—!"

Crunch.

A second of silence.

Then—

Wei Long collapsed. "Noooooo!" He clutched his head. "Gone! Wasted!"

Zou Fang pinched the bridge of his nose.

Wei Long, still lying on the ground, pointed dramatically. "Tell me," he demanded. "Tell me how they make these?

Zou Fang blinked. "I don't know? Maybe tomorrow?"

Wei Long sat up, eyes blazing. "Then we must find out."

His gaze darkened. "Tomorrow."

…

The Outer Sect's Main Hall was nothing like the solemn halls of the Inner Sect or the grand chambers of the Elders.

It was a place of constant movement, a swirling tide of cultivators, sect workers, and disciples, all weaving in and out of assignments, missions, and responsibilities.

The air buzzed with conversations. Wooden boards lined the walls, filled with various mission requests, each inscribed with elegant, golden lettering.

Some detailed requests for alchemists, others sought formation masters, and a few were simply looking for extra hands to transport supplies to distant locations.

The hall itself was massive—an architectural marvel that reflected the sect's rich history.

The roof was supported by enormous, intricately carved wooden pillars that depicted the Autumn Dragon in various forms—coiled, soaring, roaring into the sky.

The sect's insignia, a burnished metal tag, gleamed on the chests of every single cultivator present, regardless of their robe colors. It was the one thing they all had in common.

Despite the busyness, despite the rushing figures, despite the weight of important matters being carried out left and right, no one provoked Zou Fang.

They recognized him.

But unlike the classic novel Xianxia stories of arrogant young masters or entitled sect disciples, no one made a move to cause trouble.

Instead, they simply glanced at him, nodded in acknowledgment, and continued their own work. It was as if his presence was simply another part of the day—important, but not disruptive.

Zou Fang felt a strange sense of relief. He had half-expected someone to try and humiliate him, but instead…

It seemed like people here were actually focused on their own goals.

He made his way to a large counter stationed toward the center of the hall.

Behind it stood an elderly woman, her hair neatly tied into a bun, her sharp eyes scanning documents and requests as fast as disciples placed them before her.

Unlike the young, ambitious cultivators around them, she had the air of someone who had seen it all—who had dealt with thousands of disciples and their questions, and would continue doing so for years to come.

She barely glanced up as Zou Fang approached. "State your business."

Zou Fang hesitated. Then, after a deep breath, he said, "I'd like a mission."

The woman's eyes flicked up, studying him with mild interest. "And what type of mission would you prefer?"

Zou Fang straightened his back. "Something related to… food."

The air shifted.

A few cultivators standing nearby, waiting for their turn, paused.

Some turned their heads slightly, as if questioning what they had just heard. But they don't aren't really interested, they just heard him.

Even the counter lady blinked. "...Food?"

Zou Fang nodded. "Yes. The food from the sect. Specifically, the ones given to the disciples and the beast rations. I'd like to do a mission related to that."

The woman didn't say anything for a moment.

Then, she reached under the counter and pulled out a thick, leather-bound book.

Flipping through its pages with practiced ease, she scanned the available missions.

After a few moments, she said, "We are currently in need of extra hands to assist with supply transportation. It involves moving sacks of rice, spirit grains, and dried beast meat to the storage halls."

Zou Fang hesitated.

Deep inside his Spiritual Sea of Consciousness, Wei Long's voice boomed.

"Absolutely not."

Zou Fang winced internally. "Wei Long, please—"

"Are you hearing yourself?" Wei Long's voice crackled like burning embers. "We are not here to carry sacks of grain like mortal workers! We are here to seek knowledge—to uncover the secrets of that heavenly food!"

"But the sect doesn't just let random disciples cook…"

"Then make them."

Zou Fang sighed. His heart pounded as he firmly looked at the counter lady and shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in transporting supplies. I need a mission related to food preparation. Cooking. Anything like that."

The counter lady narrowed her eyes. "That is not how missions work. You cannot simply pick and choose what pleases you."

"I understand that," Zou Fang said, straightening his shoulders. "But if there is anything related to cooking, I would rather do that instead."

A long pause.

Several disciples shifted uncomfortably, unsure whether to be amused or confused.

The counter lady's gaze turned assessing. "You're persistent. But there are no such missions available at this time."

Zou Fang felt a pulse of frustration from Wei Long.

The great spirit beast's voice rumbled.

"Unacceptable. Find a way, Zou Fang."

"I—" Zou Fang swallowed. "Then… how would I gain access to food preparation?"

The counter lady sighed, rubbing her temple. "If you're so determined, then your only option is to register as a Breeder."

Zou Fang blinked. "Breeder?"

She nodded.

"Breeders are responsible for raising, caring for, and feeding the sect's spiritual beasts. They work directly in the Autumn Dragon Sect Food Hall, where specialized feeds, beast supplements, and rare nourishment pills are prepared. They also assist in the cultivation of certain spirit plants used in beast diets."

Zou Fang's heart skipped a beat.

"Wait," he said quickly. "That means—"

"Yes," she said flatly. "They also learn how to prepare beast meals."

A glow of excitement pulsed in Zou Fang's consciousness.

Wei Long's voice shook the very foundation of his mind.

"Zou Fang, this is it! This is our path!"

Zou Fang's throat was dry. "How do I register?"

The counter lady gave him a long, long look. Then, slowly, she pulled out another book—this one thinner, but filled with rows of names.

"If you truly want to do this," she said, "then you must first pass a simple examination. The Breeder division does not accept just anyone. The Food Hall is an important branch of the sect, and its workers must be capable of understanding beast needs, dietary balance, and spirit energy flow in food preparation."

She flipped to an empty page. "If you wish to register, I will need your name."

Zou Fang inhaled. His hands trembled slightly, but he clenched them into fists.

He could feel Wei Long's excitement, the sheer determination flowing through his mind like a raging river.

This was it.

This was the path forward.

He stepped closer. His voice was firm.

"Sign me up."

The counter lady raised an eyebrow. Then, with a flick of her brush, she wrote his name down.

"Your examination will be held tomorrow morning at the Food Hall. Do not be late."

Zou Fang's heart pounded.

Deep inside his spiritual sea, Wei Long's laughter rumbled like distant thunder.

"Then off we go!"