Pain.
It was the only thing Han Feng had known for six years. It was a cold, sharp companion that lived in the marrow of his bones and the scars on his back.
But today, the pain was different. It didn't feel like the dull ache of the mining pick or the stinging lash of the whip. It felt like fire.
Han Feng gasped, his eyes snapping open. Darkness pressed against him from all sides. The smell of stale air, rotting timber, and metallic ore filled his nose. The mine collapse, he remembered. The tunnel had caved in three days ago—or was it three hours? He had been trapped in the deepest vein of the Black-Iron Mines, left to die like a rat in a hole.
"Am I dead?" he rasped, his voice sounding like grinding stones.
He tried to move his hand. His fingers brushed against something warm. It wasn't rock. It was his own left wrist.
In the pitch blackness, a faint, ghostly silver light pulsed from his skin. A strange, vine-like pattern had wrapped itself around his forearm, its tendrils burrowing deep into his flesh, disappearing into his palm.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
It wasn't his heartbeat. It was coming from the mark.
Suddenly, a flood of information assaulted his mind. It wasn't a voice, but a sensation—ancient, hungry, and infinitely arrogant.
[ connection established... ] [ Host Vitality: Critical. ] [ Source: Akashic Mycelium fused. ] [ Status: Starving. ]
"Starving?" Han Feng muttered, clutching his chest.
For the first time in six years, the hollow emptiness in his lower abdomen—the Dantian that his uncle had shattered to extract his Spirit Root—didn't feel empty. It felt like a bottomless pit waiting to be filled.
Clang! Clang!
The sound of metal striking rock echoed from the tunnel entrance above. Light spilled in as rocks were hauled away.
"Hey! Check the rubble!" A rough voice barked. "If the little cripple is dead, toss him in the corpse pit. If he's alive, get him back to work. Quota is double today!"
Han Feng's eyes narrowed. He knew that voice. Overseer Liu. The man who had taken pleasure in breaking Han Feng's ribs two months ago because his tea was cold.
Han Feng struggled to his feet. His body, usually frail and malnourished, felt strangely light. The silver vine on his wrist dimmed, hiding itself under his grime-covered skin.
A heavy boot kicked aside a pile of slate. Overseer Liu stood there, holding a torch in one hand and a spiked whip in the other. He squinted at Han Feng.
"Hah! You really are a cockroach," Liu sneered, his yellow teeth flashing in the torchlight. "Survived a collapse? Good. That means you owe me three days of ore."
Crackle.
Liu uncoiled the whip. "Get moving, trash. Or do you want me to break the other leg?"
In the past, Han Feng would have lowered his head. He would have apologized, limped to his pickaxe, and accepted his fate. He was a cripple, after all. A former genius turned slave.
But today, the hunger in his gut roared.
Han Feng looked up. His eyes, usually dull and defeated, shone with a flint-like coldness.
"What are you looking at?" Liu scowled, stepping forward. He raised the whip.
Han Feng didn't flinch. He didn't cower.
He lunged.
It was a movement born of desperation and instinct. Han Feng closed the distance in a heartbeat, his left hand snapping out to grab Liu's wrist—the one holding the whip.
"You dare—!" Liu roared, circulating his Qi. He was a cultivator at the 3rd Level of Body Refining. His skin was as tough as leather; a starving boy shouldn't have been able to budget him.
But as soon as Han Feng's left palm touched Liu's skin, the silver mark flared unseen.
[ Target Detected: Low-Grade Biological Energy. ] [ Initiate Devour? ]
Yes, Han Feng's mind screamed. Devour him.
A terrifying suction force erupted from Han Feng's palm.
"What... what is this?!" Liu's eyes bulged. He tried to pull away, but his arm felt like it was stuck in a vice. He felt his strength—his very life essence—rushing out of his body like water through a broken dam.
The heat flowed up Han Feng's arm, warm and intoxicating. It rushed into his shattered Dantian, swirling around the new Root that had taken residence there.
Crack.
The bones in Liu's arm withered. His skin sagged. The scream died in his throat as he turned into a dried husk in a matter of seconds.
Han Feng let go.
The Overseer's body crumpled to the floor, looking like a mummy that had been buried for a century.
Han Feng stood over him, breathing heavily. He looked at his hands. They were trembling, not from fear, but from power. The chronic pain in his back was gone. His muscles felt tighter, denser.
[ Energy Absorbed. ] [ Cultivation Elevated: Body Refining - Level 1. ] [ Cultivation Elevated: Body Refining - Level 2. ]
Two levels. In ten seconds.
Han Feng clenched his fist, feeling the strength of a bull coursing through his veins. He looked at the dried corpse of the man who had tormented him for years, and a cold, grim smile touched his lips.
"High-Cloud Han Clan," he whispered to the darkness, his voice low and dangerous. "Uncle... you stole my future. So I will eat yours."
He bent down, picked up Liu's dropped torch, and stepped over the body.
The tiger had left the cage.