Chapter 2 — Mushroom Soup and Heavy Thoughts
The Predator's Trail
Snow crunched loudly under Long Tan's boots as he walked back toward the village. The bundle of mushrooms swung heavily against his hip, a reassuring weight.
The forest was silent. Too silent.
Halfway down the slope, near the edge of the safe zone, he stopped.
Something on the ground caught his eye.
The snow here was disturbed.
He leaned closer. His eyes narrowed.
Fresh paw prints.
They were stamped deep into the white snow. They were not the small prints of a fox or a wolf.
They were large. Wide. Heavy.
Long Tan crouched down. He took off his glove and placed his bare hand next to the print.
The animal's paw was twice the size of his hand.
He touched the edge of the snow.
It was still loose.
Recent.
"A beast passed here…" he whispered, his breath visible in the air. "Less than an hour ago."
A chill that had nothing to do with the winter wind ran down his spine.
This was dangerously close to the village. The winter was driving deep-forest predators out of their territories to find food.
If a beast this size wandered near the wooden houses… who could stop it?
The village guards were lazy and underpaid.
And him?
He looked at his thin arms. He looked at his shaking hands.
Not me. Not with my current strength. I would be dead in one second.
He stood up quickly, scanning the trees with fear. He exhaled slowly, watching the white steam fade into the cold air. He needed to get home.
The Weight of a Legacy
He walked faster, but his mind drifted to memories he usually tried to bury deep inside.
He thought of his father.
His father had been a patient man with calm, brown eyes and steady hands that never shook. He was a hunter respected by everyone in Meng Village.
It was from him that Long Tan learned everything he knew—
How to track footprints in mud and snow.
How to breathe silently so the deer wouldn't hear you.
How to shoot a bow between heartbeats.
How to stay alive when winter tried to kill you.
But nature does not respect skill. Even the strongest man could not defeat sickness.
Two years ago, a harsh winter fever struck his father down.
He died coughing blood into straw blankets, leaving behind a teenage Long Tan, a young wife Su Lan, and a crying baby.
Before passing, his father had grabbed Long Tan's hand. With his dying breath, he pointed to a hidden brick in the wall.
He had spent nearly all the family's life savings to buy one thing.
A Third-Grade Martial Artist Manual.
Long Tan touched his chest. He could feel the outline of the worn leather pouch hidden under his coat, against his skin.
The manual was titled "Iron Skin Breathing Technique."
It was not a rare treasure. It was a common manual sold in the city.
But for a hunter's family, it cost a fortune.
It was his father's greatest wish… and now, it was Long Tan's greatest shame.
Many poor families owned a third-grade manual.
Almost none succeeded in training it.
Long Tan analyzed the facts bitterly as he walked. To become a martial artist, determination was not enough. You needed resources:
* Good Talent: To feel the Qi.
* Daily Meat: To build muscle and blood.
* Rare Herbs: To heal the body after training.
* Warm Housing: To keep the energy flowing.
* Time: Hours of practice instead of working in the fields.
Poor people had none of those.
Long Tan had none of those.
"That's why I remain weak," he thought, his jaw tightening. "That's why I can't even reach Third Grade… even though Father believed I would. I am failing him."
The thought pierced his heart sharper than the cold wind.
The Transmigrator's Reality
He was not just Long Tan. He was a soul from another world—Earth.
When he first woke up in this body, realizing he had transmigrated, he was excited.
He had read novels. He knew the tropes.
He expected a Cheat.
A Golden Finger.
A System that went Ding! and gave him points.
He got nothing.
He waited for days. He whispered "System" into the air.
Silence.
Instead, he got a weak, malnourished body.
A starving, pregnant wife.
A child crying from hunger.
And a terrifying Winter Tax of ten silver coins looming over his head.
"I thought transmigration meant Heaven's blessing…" he whispered bitterly to the empty trees.
"I thought I was the protagonist. But I can't even hit a rabbit."
He laughed once. It was a dry, tired sound.
Reality was not a novel. Reality was cold and hungry.
The Power Scale of Qin
He knew the world he lived in. This was the Qin Kingdom.
The spiritual Qi here was thin.
True Immortal Cultivation—flying on swords, casting spells—was nearly impossible for commoners. It was a myth.
Here, people relied on Martial Strength. Pure physical power.
* Third-Grade Martial Artist: Strength of 1,000 jin. Could lift a horse. Skin as tough as old wood.
* Second-Grade Martial Artist: Strength of 5,000 jin. Could punch through stone walls.
* First-Grade Martial Artist: Strength of 10,000 jin. A one-man army.
* Innate Martial Artist: Strength of 30,000 jin. Lifespan increased to 200 years.
Innate Masters ruled entire regions like kings. They were untouchable.
And beyond Innate?
Rumors. Legends.
He had once overheard rich travelers whispering in the town tavern:
"Immortal Masters exist in the capital… the Spirit Sects… but commoners like us will never see one."
Long Tan shook his head to clear the thoughts.
Immortals, flying swords, long lifespans—those belonged to people blessed by Heaven.
They did not belong to a starving hunter dragging a bag of mushrooms through the snow.
The Warmth of Poverty
The village roofs appeared in the distance, dusted with white frost.
Smoke curled from chimneys. The wind howled between the wooden houses, rattling the shutters.
Long Tan walked to the end of the village, to the smallest, most run-down hut.
He pushed open the door.
Creeeak.
The rusty hinges shrieked in protest.
Inside, the room was dim. A small fire burned in the center, giving off weak heat.
Su Lan sat on the edge of the bed. Her belly was swollen like a full moon under her thin winter clothes. Her face was pale, shadows circling her eyes.
But when she saw him, her eyes lit up.
"You're back…" she exhaled.
Long Tan forced a smile onto his frozen face. He walked to the table and placed the bundle down with a heavy thud.
"I didn't get a rabbit," he said, the apology clear in his voice. "But I found these. Forest Chicken Mushrooms. A whole bundle. They are very nourishing."
Su Lan stood up slowly, holding her back. She walked to the table and touched the mushrooms. Relief softened the hard lines of her face.
"These… are wonderful, Tan," she breathed. "This will help us for days."
He looked at her thin arms. He looked at her pale cheeks.
Guilt stabbed deep into him.
A pregnant woman needed meat. She needed fat. Mushrooms were good, but they were not enough.
"How is the baby?" he asked quietly, taking her cold hands in his.
"Restless." She smiled weakly. "Maybe hungry like us."
His hands clenched involuntarily.
I am useless, he thought. I cannot even feed my unborn child.
Dinner
He didn't let the dark thoughts show. Action was better than worry.
He washed the mushrooms in a bucket of icy water. His hands shook from the cold, turning red, but he didn't stop.
Little San crawled out from under the blankets, rubbing his sleepy eyes. His hair was messy.
"Father… food?"
"Yes, Little San. Sit near the fire. Warm yourself."
Soon, the smell of cooking filled the small house. It was an earthy, savory smell.
Long Tan boiled the mushrooms with water, a pinch of precious salt, and some dried wild herbs.
He served three bowls.
He gave the largest bowl, full of mushrooms, to Su Lan.
He gave a medium bowl to Little San.
He took the smallest bowl, mostly broth, for himself.
Su Lan took a sip and sighed. Steam rose from the bowl, warming her face.
"It tastes… very good."
Little San grinned, his cheeks puffed out as he chewed.
"Like real chicken! Yummy!"
Long Tan watched them eat. He laughed softly.
"Eat slowly. Chew well. There is more in the pot."
For a brief moment, the warmth of the soup pushed away the cold reality of their lives.
The Blade in the Night
Dinner was over. The night had fully set in.
The wind outside screamed like a dying animal.
The house grew quiet. Su Lan and Little San were resting in the bed.
Long Tan sat by the small oil lamp on a wooden stool. In his hand was his hunting knife.
It was old and chipped.
Scrape… scrape… scrape…
He ran the whetstone over the blade. The rhythmic sound filled the room.
His mind began to calculate again. The numbers were his enemy.
Ten silver coins for the winter tax.
I only have two silver coins saved.
I have twenty days left.
If he didn't pay, the officials would drag him out. They would beat him in front of the whole village. They might take his house.
Su Lan was weak… the baby could come early…
Worry tightened around his chest like iron chains, squeezing his lungs.
Suddenly, a small weight pressed against his knee.
Little San had climbed out of bed. He looked up at his father with big, dark eyes.
"Father… will we be okay?"
Long Tan paused. The knife hovered over the stone.
He looked at his son. So small. So trusting.
He placed a trembling hand on the boy's head.
"Yes."
His voice was steady.
But his heart was pounding.
"I will protect you. Go back to sleep."
Even though he had no idea how he would do it.
A Vow in the Dark
Late in the night, the fire had burned down to embers.
Su Lan suddenly gasped in her sleep. Her hand clutched her belly tightly.
Long Tan shot up from his stool instantly.
"Lan? What's wrong?"
She opened her eyes, grimacing.
"Just… pressure," she whispered with a strained smile. "The baby is heavy tonight. He is kicking."
"Should I call the midwife? Is it time?" Panic flared in his eyes.
She shook her head gently.
"Not yet. You should rest… tomorrow will be tiring for you. You need strength to hunt."
But he didn't rest.
He couldn't.
He sat beside the bed, watching the rise and fall of her breathing. He guarded them against the cold and the dark.
He clenched his fist until his fingernails dug into his palm.
He whispered to himself, a sound so low only the shadows heard it.
"If Heaven won't give me a System…
If Heaven won't give me luck…
Then I will carve my own path."
He looked at the 'Iron Skin Manual' sitting on the table.
"I will train. I will hunt. I will kill that beast if I have to.
Even if I am just a weak hunter… I will not let my family starve."
Outside, the winter blizzard raged on.
Inside, a tiny spark of determination began to burn. It was small, but it was fierce.