The fierce grin on Zhong Yuan's face felt foreign, a stark contrast to the fourteen years of fear and submission etched into the boy's muscles. For a moment, he was just the 40-year-old corporate warrior, a man who had found a new, infinitely more exciting project to manage: his own survival and ascension.
The adrenaline from the escape began to fade, and physical reality crashed back in. The pain in his ribs was a dull, persistent throb. A gnawing emptiness in his stomach twisted into a sharp pang of hunger. The grand plan of Body Cultivation was meaningless if he starved to death first.
"Right," he muttered, his voice a dry rasp. "First things first. Shelter. Food."
His 'home' was a hovel on the poorest edge of the village, a glorified pile of rotting wood and packed mud that barely kept the wind out. It was miserable, but it was his. He needed to get back there.
Pushing himself up with a groan, Zhong Yuan took a deliberate step, and then another. He didn't run this time. He walked with a newfound purpose, his mind hyper-aware of every movement. He focused on the placement of his feet, the slight bend in his knees, the way his body balanced itself. This wasn't just walking; this was the first action of his new life. This was an investment.
He had taken no more than twenty steps when the serene chime echoed in his mind again.
[Consistent, purposeful movement detected.]
[Analyzing intent: Survival, Evasion, Foundation.]
[Skill Created: Basic Footwork (Beginner)]
The transparent panel flickered in his vision, updating itself instantly.
[Host: Zhong Yuan]
[Condition: Malnourished, Minor Internal Bruising, Exhausted]
[Cultivation: None]
[Skills: Basic Footwork (Beginner 0/100)]
[Lifespan: 14 / 39 Years]
A jolt of pure excitement, more potent than any caffeine rush from his old life, shot through him. It was real. It worked. "System, explain the skill proficiency ranks."
[Affirmative. Skill Proficiency is the measure of your mastery over an ability. It is divided into seven primary ranks,] the system's voice intoned.
[1. Beginner: Initial grasp of the concept. Inefficient and clumsy application.]
[2. Apprentice: Competent in basic use. Can be applied consistently with conscious effort.]
[3. Adept: Proficient and natural. The skill can be used effectively under pressure.]
[4. Expert: Deep understanding of the skill's principles. Can perform minor variations.]
[5. Master: Complete intuitive command. Can innovate and teach the skill, pushing its conventional limits.]
[6. Grandmaster: The skill becomes an instinct, a part of the Host. Its application approaches an art form.]
[7. Perfection: Transcending the skill itself. The Host embodies the core concept of the ability, achieving impossible feats.]
Zhong Yuan's heart hammered in his chest. This was a clear, quantifiable ladder to power. Every step, every punch, every breath could be measured and improved. The despair that had clung to him like a shroud was being burned away by the rising sun of this new hope.
As he walked, his path took him past the village's dusty, open square. A few off-duty village guards were gathered near the well, their leather armor creaking as they rested. Their voices carried on the still air.
"…Captain Feng was incredible today," one of the younger guards said, his voice full of awe. "That wild boar was charging, and he just sidestepped and snapped its neck! His Bone Reinforcement must be nearly complete."
An older, more grizzled guard spat on the ground. "Captain Feng is a true Second-Rate Warrior, the best in Luo County. He's a world away from us Third-Raters who've only just tempered our skin and flesh. But even he is nothing compared to the masters in the Kingdom's capital. I heard they can shatter boulders with a single fist and leap over walls ten meters high."
"Masters? Hah! My grandfather used to tell stories… stories of Immortals," another guard scoffed, though his voice was low, as if afraid of being overheard. "Said they could fly on swords and live for a thousand years. Lived up in the clouds, hidden away from us mortals. Just drunken tales, of course."
The other guards laughed, dismissing the notion as a fantasy. But the words snagged in Zhong Yuan's mind.
High martial arts world.
It was just as he suspected. The terms they used—Third-Rate, Second-Rate—it was a hierarchy. The Body Cultivation realms the system had described were the key.
Skin Tempering and Flesh Forging likely make you a Third-Rate Warrior, a common village guard, he reasoned internally. Completing Bone Reinforcement elevates you to Second-Rate, like that Captain Feng. And after that? Tendon Stretching, Blood Marrow Cleansing… that must be the path to becoming a First-Rate master, one of those who can shatter boulders.
And the Immortals? The centuries-old rumors? He glanced at his own lifespan: 14/39. Perhaps those weren't just drunken tales after all. Perhaps they were the ones who had walked the path of cultivation to its very end.
He finally reached his hovel. It was even more pathetic than he remembered—a lean-to of mismatched, rotting planks and dried mud, with a ragged piece of cloth serving as a door. The inside smelled of damp earth and mildew. His only possession was a thin, lumpy straw pallet on the floor.
It was the absolute bottom.
But as Zhong Yuan looked at the squalor, he felt no despair. He pulled up his mental panel, the blue light a comforting glow in the dim interior.
[Skills: Basic Footwork (Beginner 12/100)]
The number had gone up. Just by walking with purpose from the woodshed to his hovel, he had made progress.
He was a beggar. An orphan. Malnourished and weak. But he had a secret that could topple kingdoms.
"First, food and healing," he whispered to the empty, squalid room, his voice filled with a cold, unshakeable resolve.
"Then, power."