Lin Hao's emotions surged to the extreme. He, who had always dreamed of even a flicker of hope, finally saw one appear before his very eyes.
Overwhelmed, he couldn't stop a few tears from falling. His face grew wet as the salty droplets slid down his cheeks.
"My dream can continue."
Lin Hao no longer wanted to be a loser. Before, he accepted that fate only because he had no hope. Now that he had found some, he would return to fighting for his dignity.
With determination filling his face, he wiped his tears and looked seriously at the letters, which shrank their writing until only three sentences remained:
[Hopeful]
[Today's script still in progress]
[Next change: 00:00]
"I can rewrite my script twice a day? And it seems only the consequences can be rewritten?"
With a hand on his chin, Lin Hao thought. From what he understood so far, he couldn't change what had happened, nor the place where he had been thrown. He could only reverse the side effects.
"If I replaced 'bruises' or 'wounds' with 'healing,' would I be healed?"
He was certain he would. His earlier choice had only been a test. Now that he knew it was real, he would think carefully before acting on impulse.
With a resolute gaze, Lin Hao continued toward home.
Today was a free day for him. As a servant, the first day of every month—after receiving his monthly resources—he could take a day to cultivate. It was supposed to be something pleasant, but for many like him, it was a disaster due to the beatings they suffered.
"What an unpleasant memory."
Lin Hao shook his head, recalling his experiences with disgust.
Leaving it behind, he continued walking through the wide stretch of greenery. As he walked, the darkness became even more evident.
The sky above was ink-black, the only lights being the stars and the full moon, which bathed the entire plain in bluish tones.
Nightfall was a pleasant moment for Lin Hao, who observed everything calmly. Breathing the fresh air, he felt at peace, enjoying the moment for himself. Unbothered, with his hair flowing in the night breeze, he resumed walking.
Crossing several trees and heading northwest, Lin Hao reached Bamboo Peak, named for being covered entirely in bamboo. This was the area designated for servants. The houses here were all built of bamboo, simple in appearance.
Lin Hao needed another ten minutes before finally arriving at his dwelling.
Entering the humble one-room house, he saw a wooden plank bed with a worn-out mattress in the bottom right corner. Farther ahead, there was a wooden table with various objects.
In the upper left corner stood a wardrobe, and in the bottom left, a cylindrical water basin. In front of the door, near the end of the room, was a stove, and beside it several types of provisions arranged in a small cupboard.
"I'll bathe, prepare food, and train."
Lin Hao had something important to do later, but first he needed to take care of his chores.
Removing his clothes—which were pristine after their restoration—he walked naked to the basin filled with water. As he stepped in, his injured back touched the liquid. His expression recoiled, but he forced himself to continue the bath.
By the time he finished, the once-clear water had turned crimson. Leaving the basin with a somber expression, he grabbed the container with both hands, flipped it over, and poured all the water down the hole beneath it.
Putting the cylinder back in place, Lin Hao went to the stove and lit it with an incense stick. With the fireplace burning, he went to the cupboard and grabbed some vegetables and meat. Because there was no proper container for storage, the meat had a foul smell.
Wrinkling his nose, he continued preparing it. As a poor youth, he didn't have many choices. Every bit of food was a luxury he couldn't waste. Placing the meat in the boiling pot over the fire, he tossed in several vegetables to mask the odor.
Once the meal was ready, he took a large spoon in his left hand and scooped the soup into a bowl he held with his right.
He served himself and ate.
The taste wasn't good, but it wasn't terrible either. Nearly inedible meat, accompanied by several vegetables that toned down its acidity.
"I hope one day I can taste a decent meal."
It was a simple goal—and Lin Hao would surely achieve it if he became a martial artist.
Thinking of that, a smile bloomed on his lips. In a good mood, he washed the dishes after devouring the soup.
"Time to train."
The main event of the night began. His idea was to push his muscles to the limit and later reverse his condition. It was a crazy plan, but he was confident he could accomplish it with the Script of Heaven—the name he gave the floating letters.
Without wasting time, he entered a horse stance, placed his palms together, and thrust them forward.
When his right fist advanced, his left retreated. Alternating, he repeated the strikes.
These basic movements served only to improve his physical conditioning. To go further, he needed a Qi Pill, used to enhance the body through the spiritual qi it contained. Cultivators used it to open their meridians and officially step onto the cultivation path.
Lin Hao, who was always robbed, had none of that.
Before, this was discouraging for someone who worked so hard. But now, it had become fuel to keep moving forward.
"I won't give up on the Martial Dao. As long as there's hope, I'll continue. Even if my bones break, I won't stop."
With madness glinting in his eyes, Lin Hao punched the air nonstop. Each strike exploded in small gusts of wind and muffled booms.
After an unknown amount of time, his momentum faded.
Lin Hao was panting heavily, tongue out, his body drenched in sweat. The veins bulging beneath his skin seemed to retreat inward.
"Continue."
After ten seconds of stillness, he resumed punching. Due to his lack of strength, they were weaker than a child's. Even so, each one hit his exhausted body like a hammer. Every strike demanded so much that it hindered his breathing, suffocating him as he persisted.
At that critical point, on the verge of collapse, with the moonlight fading, midnight arrived.
Unaware of the time, Lin Hao noticed it was midnight the moment the letters turned silver-blue.
[A hopeful young man]
Script after noon: After returning from the desert, he gained the drive to change his pathetic life. Since then, like a madman who doesn't care for his own safety, he trained as if there were no tomorrow.
[End]
[Rewrite? A single word in the last sentence may be erased and rewritten]
"Script of Heaven, erase 'worn-down' and rewrite it as 'blessed.'"