Lin Feng sat in his small rented house, staring at the dull Qi Gathering Pill he had bought. It wasn't refined by sect alchemists, just a crude pill from the loose cultivator market. The surface was uneven, the smell faintly sour. Still, it was all he could afford.
He swallowed it in one motion. The taste was bitter, clinging to his tongue. A rush of qi surged into his body, wild and unstable. His five roots scattered it immediately, making control difficult. Sweat rolled down his forehead as he forced himself to guide the flow. His chest tightened, his meridians burned, but he kept going.
Hours passed. The pill's energy slowly faded, leaving him exhausted. He hadn't broken through, but his qi circulation felt a little steadier. It was progress, however small. He exhaled, leaning against the wall. Even a small step is still a step forward.
Later that night, he ate a bowl of plain rice. Mortal rice filled his stomach but did nothing for cultivation. He thought of others eating spiritual rice that strengthened their bodies. He sighed, pushing the thought away. For now, survival mattered more than comfort.
Outside the market, rival gang members argued. The shack Lin Feng had sold them was collapsing, and they cursed his name. Their leader swore they would drag him out of the outer market and make him pay. Lin Feng overheard whispers of their anger but stayed calm. Inside the market, they couldn't touch him.
He sat cross‑legged again, closing his eyes. His body was sore, his spirit stones few, but he had shelter and a system that worked. That was enough for now.