The training yard smelled of damp earth and old sweat.
Lu Chen stood barefoot on the packed dirt, hands pressed to his lower abdomen, eyes closed. He breathed in—slow, steady—trying to pull the world's energy into himself. Qi. The life force that flowed through rivers, trees, stones… and, for most people, through their own bodies.
But not his.
After ten minutes, he opened his eyes. Grey mist curled from his fingertips—thin, shaky, like smoke from a dying candle. It dissipated before it reached his dantian, the center where cultivators stored their power.
Stage 2. Again.
Around him, the other youths of Greenpine City moved with ease. A girl from the Zhao family floated a foot off the ground, her robes fluttering. A boy from the Iron Fist Clan shattered a sandstone block with a single punch. Even his own elder brother, Lu Yan, stood nearby, arms crossed, sweat glistening on his brow—but his Qi glowed a steady crimson, strong and deep.
Lu Yan was already at Foundation Establishment, Stage 3. At nineteen, he was considered a solid talent—nothing legendary, but enough to earn respect. Enough to carry the family name.
Lu Chen? At fifteen, still stuck in Qi Gathering, Stage 2.
They called him Lu the Snail behind his back. Some said it to his face, grinning. He never reacted. What was the point? Anger burned energy. And he had none to spare.
He bowed slightly to Elder Mo, who oversaw the morning session, and walked quietly to the edge of the yard.
"Another waste of incense," muttered a boy from the Pill Hall's outer branch. "The Lu family's luck ran out with the father."
Lu Chen didn't answer. He just wiped his hands on his simple linen tunic and headed home.
The Lu family compound sat on the western edge of Greenpine City—not grand, but tidy. A two-story wooden house, a herb-drying yard, a small stable, and behind it, three neat rows of Spirit Ginseng beds, their leaves shimmering faintly in the morning light.
His mother, Madam Su, was sorting bitterroot at the courtyard table. Her hands were rough, fingers cracked from years of handling sharp herbs and cold water. She looked up when he entered.
"Chen-er," she said, voice warm but tired. "How was training?"
"Fine, Mother," he said, forcing a smile.
She studied his face—the too-pale cheeks, the shadows under his eyes. She didn't ask if he'd broken through. She already knew.
Instead, she pushed a bowl toward him. Steamed rice, pickled greens, and—an egg.
"Eat. You're too thin."
He stared at it. Eggs were expensive. Usually saved for Yan, the "hope" of the family, or Xiao, the youngest, who'd been coughing all winter.
"I'm not hungry," he said.
"Eat," she repeated, softer this time. "A man can't gather Qi on an empty stomach."
He sat. Ate slowly. The yolk was rich, golden. He made himself savor it—not for himself, but so she wouldn't worry.
Inside the house, a cough echoed. Sharp. Wet.
His father.
Lu Zhong had been the head of the city's Merchant Guard once—strong, respected. But three years ago, during a bandit raid, he'd taken a poisoned blade to the side. The wound healed, but the poison had seeped into his Qi channels. Now, every damp morning, he coughed blood into a cloth and hid it in his sleeve.
Chen had seen it. Once.
He'd said nothing. Just trained harder.
That night, after dinner, Chen slipped into the family's medicine storeroom.
Shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of dried roots, powdered shells, and spirit herbs—most low-grade, for common illnesses. In the back, behind a locked box, sat their one treasure: three Low-Grade Qi Nourishing Pills.
Each pill cost two months of Chen's herb-weeding wages.
One was for emergencies. One, their father hoped, would help Yan reach Core Formation someday.
The third… had been Chen's. His reward for six months of dawn-to-dusk work in the ginseng fields.
He took it.
Not for himself.
He walked to the small room at the end of the hall. Knocked softly.
"Xiao? You awake?"
A weak voice: "Yeah…"
He pushed the door open.
His little sister, twelve years old, sat propped up on pillows, wrapped in a thick quilt despite the warm night. Her face was pale, her breath shallow. A book lay open on her lap—Legends of the Azure Peaks.
"Still reading?" he asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.
She nodded. "The hero gave his sword to the orphan boy… and the next day, a phoenix landed on his shoulder."
Chen smiled. "Stories are kinder than real life."
"Maybe," she whispered. Then coughed—a long, rattling sound that made her shoulders shake.
His chest tightened.
He pulled the small jade vial from his pocket.
"Here."
She frowned. "What's that?"
"A pill. Qi Nourishing. Low grade, but… it might help."
Her eyes widened. "But—that's yours! Your reward!"
"Don't tell Mom," he said, uncorking it. A soft, honey-colored light glowed inside. "Just swallow it. Consider it… an investment."
She hesitated. "What if it doesn't work?"
"Then we're no worse off," he said gently. "But if it does… maybe you'll finally beat me at Cloudchase."
That made her smile—small, but real.
She took the pill. Swallowed.
For a moment, nothing.
Then—her breath hitched.
A faint blue light flickered under her skin, like moonlight on ice. Frost bloomed across the edge of her quilt—not cold, just… there. Delicate. Beautiful.
And her eyes—when she looked up at him—shone brighter. Clearer.
"Chen-ge…" she whispered. "I… I can feel it. Like… like rivers inside me."
He blinked. Heart pounding.
It worked.
Not much. Not a miracle. But… something.
He reached out, brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. "Rest now."
She nodded, already drifting, a small smile on her lips.
Chen stood, turned to leave—
—and froze.
In the center of his vision, a soft light bloomed.
Not in the room. Inside his mind.
A translucent scroll, pale jade in color, unrolled silently before his eyes.
Elegant script formed, line by line, glowing like starlight on water:
[SYSTEM INITIATED]
Host: Lu Chen
Age: 15 years, 4 months, 7 days
Location: Greenpine City, Azure Soar Continent
Core Protocol: Ten Thousandfold Return
"The hand that gives shall overflow."
Activation Trigger: Sincere gift, given without expectation of return.
Gift Recorded:
— Item: 1 × Qi Nourishing Pill (Low)
— Recipient: Lu Xiao (Blood Relation: Sister)
— Intent: Pure. Protective.
Return Ready.
Please select mode:
🔸 [QUANTITY] — 10,000 × Low-Grade Qi Nourishing Pills
🔸 [QUALITY] — 1 × Transcendent Item (Effect: ×10,000 refinement)
Choose wisely. The path begins now.
Chen stared.
No voice. No booming announcement. Just… this. Calm. Certain.
His pulse roared in his ears.
What… is this?
A trick? A hallucination from exhaustion?
He glanced back at Xiao. She was asleep now, breathing easy. No more cough. Frost still shimmered on her blanket.
Real.
He swallowed.
And thought: Quality.
Instantly, the scroll shimmered.
The [QUANTITY] option faded. [QUALITY] glowed gold.
A soft click—like a lotus blooming at dawn—echoed in his mind.
In his palm, something appeared.
Small. Light.
A pill—no bigger than a pea—but swirling with colors: dawn gold, deep sky blue, and a core of pure white light. It hummed, faintly, like a lullaby sung by the wind.
[ITEM]: Stellar Meridian Awakening Pill
Effect: Purifies all meridian blockages. Awakens latent elemental affinity (Ice: 100% potential). Grants flawless breakthrough to Qi Gathering Stage 5. No side effects. No backlash.
Note: Crafted from the intent of protection. Rare beyond measure.
Chen's breath caught.
Stage 5.
In one night.
Xiao could catch up to her peers. Maybe surpass them.
He looked at his sister again. At her peaceful face. At the frost—now forming tiny, perfect snowflakes on her pillow.
A warmth spread in his chest. Not Qi. Something deeper. Something true.
Then, a new line appeared on the scroll—smaller, almost amused:
P.S. Daily Sign-In available. Streaks matter.
Also… good choice. She's going to be trouble. (The fun kind.)
Chen almost laughed.
He closed his fingers around the pill—not for her. Not yet. This one was his. His first return.
He slipped it into his pocket. Quietly left the room.
Outside, the night was calm. Stars dusted the sky. The ginseng leaves glowed faintly in the moonlight.
For the first time in years, Lu Chen didn't feel tired.
He felt… possible.
He looked east, where the first hint of dawn tinged the horizon.
And whispered, so softly no one could hear:
"Okay. Let's begin."