If hell existed, Jiang Fan was pretty sure it looked exactly like Sector 7 of the Spirit Stone Mine.
Clang.
Sparks flew as the rusted pickaxe struck the black rock. A tremor of pain shot up Jiang Fan's arms, rattling his bones, but the rock didn't even crack.
"Useless," he muttered, wiping a mixture of soot and sweat from his eyes.
Around him, the air was thick with gray dust and the rhythmic, soul-crushing sound of metal hitting stone. Hundreds of disciples in tattered gray robes were swinging pickaxes like zombies. They were the bottom feeders of the Soaring Cloud Sect—the Outer Disciples.
Jiang Fan leaned against the damp cave wall, his chest heaving.
Three years.
It had been three years since he died at his desk in a high-rise office building on Earth, the victim of a heart attack caused by working ninety-hour weeks. When he opened his eyes in this new world, he thought he had been given a second chance. He thought he was the protagonist of a fantasy novel.
He was wrong.
On Earth, he was a corporate slave. Here, he was just a slave with better scenery.
"Move it, trash!"
A heavy shoulder slammed into him, nearly knocking him into a cart of jagged ores. A burly disciple with a scar across his nose glared at him. "You're blocking the path. If I don't hit my quota because of you, I'll break your legs."
Jiang Fan didn't argue. He didn't have the energy. He just shifted to the side, gripping his pickaxe until his knuckles turned white. His dantian—the energy center in his stomach—was empty. Dry as a desert.
In three years, he hadn't gathered a single wisp of Qi. He was a dud. A waste of space.
Crack!
The sound of a whip tearing through the air silenced the entire cavern.
"Listen up, you maggots!"
The mining sounds died instantly. At the entrance of the tunnel stood Deacon Wang. The man wore the silk robes of the Inner Sect, clean and spotless, contrasting sharply with the filth of the workers. He held a spirit-leather whip in one hand and a scroll in the other.
"Tomorrow is the Quarterly Assessment," Deacon Wang announced, his voice amplified by Qi so it boomed in their ears. "The Sect has too many mouths to feed. The Elders have decreed that anyone who has not reached Qi Condensation Stage 1 by sunrise tomorrow will be expelled."
A collective gasp ran through the miners. Expulsion meant death. Without the Sect's protection, the spirit beasts in the wilderness would eat them alive within days. Or worse, they would be sold as mortal servants.
Deacon Wang's eyes scanned the crowd, landing cruelly on Jiang Fan.
"Especially you, Jiang Fan."
The Deacon sneered, stepping closer. "Three years of rice wasted on you. You haven't mined a single Spirit Stone today. Don't bother showing up to the assessment tomorrow. Just pack your bags and get out of my sight."
Laughter rippled through the crowd. It was the cruel laughter of people relieved that someone else was at the bottom of the food chain.
Jiang Fan looked at the Deacon, then at the heavy pickaxe in his hand.
He dropped it.
Thud.
"Okay," Jiang Fan said softly.
The laughter stopped. People blinked. They expected him to beg, to cry, to promise to work harder.
"I said, okay," Jiang Fan repeated. He turned around and walked toward the exit, dragging his feet. "I'm done."
The Outer Sect dormitories smelled like moldy straw and unwashed feet.
Jiang Fan kicked open the door to Hut 402 and collapsed onto his wooden bunk. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest.
"Brother Jiang! You're back early!"
A round, fleshy face popped up from the bunk below. It was Wu Jin, known to everyone as 'Fatty Wu'. He was the only person in the sect who didn't treat Jiang Fan like a disease.
"Did you hear the news?" Fatty Wu scrambled up, clutching a small, wax-sealed bottle. "The assessment is tomorrow! But don't worry, Brother Jiang. Look!"
He uncorked the bottle. A faint, medicinal scent filled the room.
"I spent my life savings," Fatty Wu whispered conspiratorially. "It's a Low-Grade Spirit Gathering Pill. If you take this and cultivate all night without sleeping, you might force a breakthrough! Take it!"
He shoved the bottle into Jiang Fan's hand.
Jiang Fan looked at the pill. It was worth three months of wages. Fatty Wu was an idiot, but he was a loyal idiot.
Jiang Fan corked the bottle and tossed it back onto Wu's chest.
"Keep it, Fatty."
"What? But Brother—"
"It won't work. My meridians are clogged. Even if I ate a dragon's heart, I wouldn't level up." Jiang Fan rolled over, pulling his thin blanket up to his chin. "I'm not cultivating tonight. I'm going to sleep."
"Sleep?" Fatty Wu shrieked. "If you sleep, you're doomed! You have to fight! You have to try!"
"I tried for three years, Wu. Hard work doesn't betray you? That's a lie. Hard work just makes you tired."
Jiang Fan closed his eyes. He was done. No more mining. No more meditating until his legs went numb. If he was going to be kicked out tomorrow, he wanted to enjoy the one luxury he hadn't had since he arrived in this world.
A full, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep.
"Goodnight, Fatty."
"Brother Jiang..."
Jiang Fan ignored him. Within minutes, the exhaustion dragged him down into the dark, comforting embrace of unconsciousness.
The room went silent, save for Fatty Wu's anxious pacing.
Jiang Fan's breathing evened out. He fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
And then, in the darkness of his mind, a blue light flickered.
[ ...System Initializing... ]
[ Scanning Host Mentality... ]
[ Analysis: Host has completely abandoned the concept of Effort. ]
[ Criteria Met: The Host has rejected the Dao of Hard Work. ]
[ Binding IDLE CULTIVATION SYSTEM... ]
[ ... ]
[ ...Binding Successful. ]
[ Welcome, User. You are now cultivating. ]
[SYSTEM REPORT]
[ Time Elapsed: 10 Hours ][ State: Deep Sleep (x100 Multiplier) ]
Sunlight stabbed Jiang Fan in the eyes.
He groaned, rolling over to shield his face. For a moment, he panicked, thinking he was late for work. Then he remembered. Right. I'm fired. I don't have to get up.
He stretched his arms above his head.
Crack. Pop.
"Whoa."
He sat up. Usually, waking up felt like being hit by a truck. Today, his body felt... light. The ache in his back was gone. The blisters on his hands had healed into fresh pink skin. He felt a hum of energy buzzing under his ribs, warm and liquid.
"Did I die in my sleep?" he muttered.
Suddenly, a translucent blue window appeared in his vision, hovering in the air like a hologram.
[ CONGRATULATIONS! ]
[ You slept for 10 hours. ][ Calculation: 10 hours x 100 XP (Sleep Bonus) = 1,000 XP ]
[ LEVEL UP! ][ Qi Condensation Stage 0 ➔ Qi Condensation Stage 1 ]
[ LEVEL UP! ][ Qi Condensation Stage 1 ➔ Qi Condensation Stage 2 ]
[ LEVEL UP! ][ Qi Condensation Stage 2 ➔ Qi Condensation Stage 3 ]
Jiang Fan blinked. He rubbed his eyes. The box was still there.
"Stage... three?"
He looked at his hands. He clenched his fist, and a faint white glow—Qi—shimmered around his knuckles.
It was impossible. Geniuses took a year to reach Stage 3. He had done it in a nap.
Jiang Fan stared at the floating screen, a slow, disbelief-fueled grin spreading across his face.
"Fatty!" he shouted, kicking the mattress of the bunk below him.
"Huh? Wha—?" Fatty Wu snorted awake, looking miserable and baggy-eyed from staying up all night. "Brother Jiang? Is it time to leave?"
Jiang Fan hopped off the top bunk, landing with a grace and lightness he had never possessed before. He grabbed his pillow and tucked it under his arm.
"No," Jiang Fan said, his eyes gleaming. "It's time for the assessment. Let's go show them what 'hard work' looks like."