The sun was well above the sky, shining down on the poor village and its people. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and woodsmoke. Among them was Lin Ming, sitting on a stump near the edge of the forest, his mind far away.
"What… where am I?" he thought, the words screaming in his head. "Am I… transmigrated?"
He was a weeb from the 21st century, a young man who had spent his days lost in the pages of xianxia and wuxia novels. Now, he was inside one. Or so he thought .This was a small, dirt-poor village that didn't look magical at all. It looked hungry.
"Daydreaming again, boy?" a rough voice cut through his thoughts.
Lin Ming looked up. Old Man Kael, the village's best hunter, stood before him, a string of scrawny hares in his hand. His face was a map of wrinkles and scars.
"The forest doesn't feed those who just sit and stare," Kael grunted, tossing one of the smaller hares into Lin Ming's lap. "Your share. Don't waste it."
Lin Ming nodded, his throat tight. "Thank you."
Kael squinted at him. "You've been different since the fever. Quieter. Your eyes… they see too much for a boy." He shook his head. "Just remember, clever thoughts don't fill a belly. Work does."
The old hunter moved on, leaving Lin Ming with the dead hare. The kindness was real, but it was a kindness that expected nothing in return. It was the kindness you show a stray dog. The reality of his life was a hard, simple thing: hunt, eat, survive. Repeat until you couldn't.
But the other part of him, the weeb, knew there was always more. There had to be.
Later, while setting snares in a quiet part of the woods, he felt it. A warmth on his skin where the sun wasn't shining. A tingling in the air. He focused, the way he'd read about in a hundred different stories, pushing his awareness outward.
And he saw it.
A shimmer. A current of light flowing through the ancient trees, pooling around the roots of a great oak. It was beautiful and real.
Qi…the thought was a reverent whisper in his mind. "It's actually Qi."
This changed everything. The fantasy was real. The path to immortality, to power, to a life beyond this grimy village, was right here, hidden in plain sight.
He sat beneath the oak, his heart pounding. He didn't know any techniques. He just breathed, and on each inhale, he imagined drawing the energy in. It was slow, frustrating work. For over an hour, nothing happened. Then, a single, warm thread slipped into his lungs and settled in his core. A spark.
The spark became a small, warm feeling in his stomach. Then, the feeling became heavy. A dull, persistent ache began to grow inside him. It was too much. He was a cup being overfilled.
At midnight, the ache sharpened into a real pain, a hard knot under his ribs. He knew he had to move it.
He focused inward, feeling the dense ball of qi. He pushed with his will.
A jolt of searing pain made him gasp. It was like trying to force a red-hot nail through his own flesh. He was making a path. He guided the energy, screaming in his mind against the pain, down from his core. The burning line extended down his side, into his leg. He was carving a channel. He knew what it was. A meridian.
Sweat soaked his ragged clothes. He pushed the qi down his thigh, through his knee, into his calf. The pain was a constant fire. Finally, it reached the sole of his foot, buzzing with power. He held it there, panting, then pulled.
The energy flowed back, retracing the new path. The pain was less this time. The way was open. The qi completed a slow, warm circle from his core, down his leg, and back again.
The heavy, painful knot was gone. In its place was a gentle, circulating energy. The gnawing hunger in his belly was silent. He felt strong. Clear.
He opened his eyes. The village was the same. But he was not.
He was Lin Ming, the orphan. But he was also the only one who could see the river of life. He had carved his first meridian. However long it took, however much it hurt, he would carve them all. This was his way out.