The word "talk" hung in the cold, dusty air, heavy with unspoken menace. Chen Fan knew what a "talk" with Elder Zhu meant. Torture. Extraction of information. A slow, painful death, especially if Zhu suspected Li Chen knew about the Blood Iron or, worse, his connection to it through Li Feng's schemes. Possession alone was enough for execution.
Panic threatened to freeze him, but the sight of the guard's hand tightening on his cudgel sparked a different reaction – the furious, cornered instinct of an author whose story was being rewritten without permission. He couldn't fight. He couldn't run far, chained. He had to talk. Fast.
"Elder Zhu?" Chen Fan forced a note of confused desperation into his voice, letting his body slump further against the wall, playing up his injuries and exhaustion. "Why... why would Elder Zhu care about me? I'm just... just breaking rocks." He gestured weakly at the pitiful pile of ore. "That... that surge destroyed my pick. I barely survived..." He let his voice trail off into a cough, racking his body.
The guard, Lao Jin's replacement named Teng, sneered. "Don't play dumb, trash. This," he pulled the Blood Iron chunk back out, its crimson streaks glinting dully, "isn't 'just rocks'. This is contraband. Forbidden. Finding it is one thing. *Hiding it*..." He kicked Chen Fan's partially filled basket, spilling ore chunks. "...suggests you know exactly what it is. Trying to skim some for yourself? Planning to sell it to demonic sympathizers?"
Chen Fan widened his good eye, injecting as much bewildered fear as he could muster. "Forbidden? I... I didn't know! I just broke the rocks where the wall seemed weak! After the surge... I was scared... I just grabbed what I could!" He let his voice tremble. "Please... I'm just a mortal with a bad Spirit Root. What would I know about forbidden ore?"
Teng studied him, suspicion warring with the logic of Chen Fan's feigned ignorance. A mortal waste *wouldn't* know about Blood Iron. Its existence was a closely guarded sect secret. Yet, finding it here, especially after an energy surge that had exposed a fresh vein... it was plausible Chen Fan had just stumbled upon it.
Chen Fan pressed his advantage, gambling everything. "Look," he gasped, pointing a shaking finger further down the tunnel, past the bend where his Pathfinding line had led. "Back there... after the light... I saw... I saw a crack. Deep. Glowing faintly. Maybe... maybe more of this red stuff came from there? I didn't go near it! It felt... wrong."
He was directing Teng's attention precisely where he wanted it: towards the fissure leading to the Abyssal Chasm. He needed Teng to see it, to confirm its existence and its danger. Planting the seed.
Teng's eyes narrowed. "A glowing crack? Where?"
"There," Chen Fan pointed more emphatically. "Around that bend. Please... I don't want trouble. I just want to fill my baskets, get my food..." He let his voice break pathetically.
Teng hesitated, glancing towards the direction Chen Fan indicated, then back at the Blood Iron in his hand, then at Chen Fan's battered, cringing form. The potential reward of reporting a new, possibly rich vein of Blood Iron (even a dangerous one) warred with the risk of leaving the prisoner unsupervised. Finally, greed and duty won. "Stay here. Don't move a muscle." He shoved the Blood Iron chunk back into his pocket and drew his cudgel. "If you so much as twitch, I'll break your legs before I drag you to Elder Zhu." He gave Chen Fan a final, threatening glare and then cautiously moved down the tunnel, disappearing around the bend Chen Fan had pointed out.
The moment Teng vanished, Chen Fan moved. Not to run, but to work. He scrambled towards the spilled ore. Forget Blood Iron. He needed *Spirit* Iron. He grabbed chunks, stuffing them into the baskets with frantic speed. He needed to make his quota, or at least appear close, to buy time and reduce suspicion when Teng returned. His muscles screamed, his injuries protested, but adrenaline fueled him. *Fill the baskets. Look compliant. Look harmless.*
As he worked, his mind raced. The Pathfinding line still shimmered faintly on the floor, leading towards Teng's location. The fissure was real. It was close. But Teng was there now. How could he get past him?
He finished stuffing the third basket, piling the ore high. He started on the fourth, his hands raw and bleeding. He strained his ears. Silence from around the bend. Then, a low curse. A scraping sound. Then... nothing.
Minutes ticked by, each one an eternity. Chen Fan kept piling ore, his heart pounding against his ribs. Had Teng fallen in? Found something? Was he waiting to ambush him?
Finally, hesitant footsteps sounded. Teng reappeared around the bend. His face was pale, his expression unsettled, even fearful. He held his cudgel tightly.
"What... what *is* that place?" Teng muttered, more to himself than Chen Fan. "That crack... it goes down forever. And that feeling..." He shuddered visibly. "Like the mountain itself is hungry." He looked at Chen Fan with new eyes, less suspicion, more wary confusion. "You really just saw it after the surge?"
Chen Fan nodded vigorously, keeping his head bowed submissively. "Yes, sir. It scared me. I stayed away." He gestured to the baskets. "I... I kept working, sir. Almost four baskets."
Teng glanced at the baskets, then back towards the fissure, then at the Blood Iron chunk in his pocket. Reporting the fissure meant danger, possibly being assigned to investigate it. Reporting the Blood Iron meant potential reward, but also admitting he'd left his post. Chen Fan could see the calculation happening.
"Listen, trash," Teng said, his voice low and conspiratorial. He stepped closer. "You forget you saw that crack. You forget you saw *this*." He tapped his pocket where the Blood Iron was hidden. "You just broke your rocks, met your quota. Understand?"
Chen Fan blinked, feigning slow comprehension, then nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir! Just rocks. Met quota. Saw nothing."
"Good," Teng grunted, some color returning to his face. "Smart. For a waste." He looked at the baskets again. "Four baskets... close enough for the first day, considering the surge." He seemed eager to leave the oppressive atmosphere of Deep Vein Seven. "I'll log it. Get back to work tomorrow. Same spot." He turned to leave, then paused. "And stay away from that crack. That's not a death sentence; that's an erasure." He walked quickly back towards the tunnel entrance.
Chen Fan slumped against the wall, trembling with relief and exhaustion. He'd survived the first encounter. He'd planted the seeds – the fissure's location in Teng's mind, the promise of Blood Iron as a distraction. Teng wouldn't report him... for now. He had a reprieve. And he knew exactly where the fissure was.
He looked down at the shimmering Pathfinding line. It led straight to where Teng had gone. Survival Probability: 0.8%. He needed to improve those odds. He needed the System. He focused inward. *System. Functions. How do I increase Stability? How do I unlock my Spirit Root?*
The interface flickered weakly:
```
System Stability: 39%
Stability Recovery:
- Passive: 1% per 24 hours (Current Environment: Chaotic Qi - Passive Recovery Halted)
- Active: Absorb Stable Ambient Qi. Process Spirit Materials. Resolve Plot Points.
Unlocking Spirit Root ("Heaven's Key"):
- Requirement 1: Location - Abyssal Chasm Nexus (Depth: 3000 Zhang)
- Requirement 2: Catalyst - Shadowmoss Seedpod (Detected in User Possession)
- Requirement 3: Initiation Ritual - Survive Chaotic Qi Baptism (Mortality Rate: 99.2%)
```
The Shadowmoss Seedpod! Qing'er hadn't just given him a map; she'd given him the literal key! But the requirements... The Abyssal Chasm Nexus. 3000 Zhang down – an insane depth. And the Baptism... 99.2% mortality rate. It mirrored the Pathfinding probability. The System wasn't sugarcoating it. This was a suicide mission.
But it was the *only* mission.
He needed to get stronger *before* attempting the descent. He needed Qi. The System needed Stable Ambient Qi to recover. He looked around. The air was thick with chaotic energy, useless. But the ore... Spirit Iron *contained* Qi, albeit raw and unrefined. Mortals couldn't absorb it directly, but maybe the System could?
He picked up a small, relatively pure chunk of Spirit Iron. He focused. *System. Absorb. Process.*
Nothing happened. The interface remained unchanged. Stability: 39%.
*Come on!* He thought furiously. *You're the "Heaven's Draft" System! I drafted this world! Absorb the damn ore!*
He concentrated harder, pouring his will into the command, imagining the System as a hungry maw. He felt a faint vibration in his palm where he held the ore. A tiny, almost imperceptible warmth. The System interface flickered violently.
```
Warning! Unauthorized Qi Access Attempt!
Raw Spirit Material Detected. Processing...
Processing Inefficient. Stability Cost: 2%
```
Stability dropped to 37%. But then:
```
Raw Spirit Iron Processed. Qi Essence Extracted: +0.001 Units (Negligible)
System Stability: 37.001% (Stable Qi Absorption Detected: Passive Recovery Resumed at 0.1%/Hour)
```
A minuscule gain, at a terrible cost. But it was proof of concept. The System *could* process raw materials, converting them into trace Qi and recovering stability, albeit inefficiently. He needed better materials. Pure Spirit Stones. Elixirs. The Blood Iron... but that was radioactive poison.
He looked at the baskets of ore. Filled with potential energy... and potential doom. He needed to mine smarter. He needed leverage. He needed to start building his foundation, one agonizing, inefficient chunk of Spirit Iron at a time. He picked up another piece, smaller this time, focusing his will, directing the System to absorb.
The process was agonizingly slow, draining his mental focus, costing precious stability for minuscule returns. But as he sat there in the oppressive dark, chained, battered, and slowly siphoning power from the rocks meant to break him, a fierce determination hardened within him. He wasn't just Li Chen, the waste. He was Chen Fan, the author. And this was *his* draft.
Hours bled into the monotonous rhythm of mining and inefficient absorption. His meager Qi pool registered a pathetic 0.005 Units. Stability hovered around 36.5% after some careful, costly processing. Exhaustion weighed on him like a physical cloak. He must have dozed off, slumped against the rock face, the half-processed ore chunk still in his hand.
A sharp kick to his ribs jolted him awake, gasping in pain. Bao stood over him, a sadistic grin splitting his face. Teng lurked behind him, looking nervous.
"Wakey wakey, rock-breaker," Bao sneered. "Shift's over. Time for your beauty sleep." He glanced at the four filled baskets. "Huh. Managed not to be completely useless. Miracles do happen." His gaze then swept over Chen Fan, lingering on the raw, blistered skin of his hands and the fresh bruises visible beneath the grime. "Looks like the mountain tried to kiss you. Pity it didn't finish the job."
He grabbed the chain linking Chen Fan's manacles. "Up. Let's go. The Pit awaits."
Chen Fan stumbled to his feet, his body a symphony of pain. Bao dragged him out of Deep Vein Seven, back through the main tunnels towards the prisoner barracks – a large, foul-smelling cavern filled with ragged straw pallets. Teng followed silently, avoiding Chen Fan's eye.
As they passed a junction leading towards the higher levels of the mine complex, a group of figures emerged from the gloom. Three inner sect disciples, their robes finer, cleaner, their bearing arrogant. And leading them, a young man with sharp, handsome features twisted by a familiar sneer. **Li Feng.**
Li Feng's eyes, cold and dismissive, swept over the ragged prisoner being dragged. They passed over Chen Fan without recognition for a split second, then snapped back. Surprise flickered, then cruel amusement dawned.
"Well, well," Li Feng drawled, stepping forward, blocking their path. His voice echoed in the tunnel. "If it isn't Cousin *Waste*. I heard you'd found your true calling." He looked Chen Fan up and down, his lip curling in disgust. "Breaking rocks suits you. Finally contributing something to the clan, even if it's just sweat and blood. How does the gutter taste, cousin? Better than the scraps from our table, I hope?"
Bao immediately bowed his head subserviently. "Young Master Li Feng! An honor!"
Chen Fan met Li Feng's gaze. Not with the cowed fear of the original Li Chen, but with the cold, calculating fury of Chen Fan, who had crafted every inch of this arrogant villain's existence. He knew Li Feng's secrets, his insecurities, his hidden dealings with Elder Zhu. He knew the *real* reason Li Chen had been sent here to die.
He didn't speak. He didn't look away. He simply held Li Feng's gaze, a spark of something dangerous and utterly unexpected burning in his one good eye – not defeat, but **promise**. The promise of an author who knew the villain's entire script.
Li Feng's sneer faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by a flicker of unease. This wasn't the broken wretch he expected. "Enjoy the rocks, cousin," he spat, regaining his composure. "I doubt you'll be digging them for long." He turned sharply and strode away, his disciples following, their laughter echoing.
Bao yanked the chain hard. "Move, maggot! Stop wasting Young Master Li's time!"
As Chen Fan was dragged towards the stinking barracks, the image of Li Feng's brief disquiet burned in his mind. He had nothing now. No strength, no power. But he had knowledge. He had the System, however glitchy. He had a seedpod, a path, and a fathomless chasm waiting.
And he had just looked his fated enemy in the eye and silently vowed: *Your story ends here. Mine is just being drafted.