The strength did not fade.
That was the first thing Lin Chen noticed.
Hours after the cultivation cycle ended, his body still carried that dense, coiled pressure. It did not circulate or dissipate like qi. It simply existed—quiet, heavy, and obedient.
Too obedient.
Lin Chen sat beside a shallow stream, washing dried blood from his skin. The water stung faintly as it ran over small cracks along his arms. His flesh looked intact, but beneath the surface, something had changed.
"You didn't mention the damage," Lin Chen said.
The voice answered after a pause.
"Damage implies something is broken."
Lin Chen frowned. "Then what do you call this?"
He pressed two fingers into his forearm. The skin depressed slightly, then rebounded with unnatural firmness.
The voice was indifferent.
"Adaptation."
Lin Chen fell silent.
He remembered the moment his meridians shattered—the sudden emptiness, the panic, the feeling of being hollowed out. This was different. His body now felt overfull, like it was holding something that did not belong.
"Can I keep cultivating like this?" he asked.
"You can," the voice said."Until your body fails to keep up."
Lin Chen's gaze sharpened. "And when will that be?"
Another pause.
"Sooner if you are careless."
So there it was.
Power, with conditions.
Lin Chen dried his hands and stood. He tested his balance, his footing, his breathing. Everything felt stable—for now.
"What happens if my body fails?" he asked.
The voice did not soften.
"You rupture from the inside.""Slowly, if you are lucky."
Lin Chen exhaled through his nose.
No exaggeration. No dramatics. Just fact.
He looked down at the stream, watching ripples distort his reflection. His face looked the same, but his eyes didn't. Something colder stared back.
"I'll need resources," he said. "Food. Shelter. Time."
"Correct."
"And enemies?"
The voice almost sounded amused.
"Inevitable."
Lin Chen turned toward the deeper forest. Beyond it lay the outer regions—rogue cultivators, beasts, abandoned villages, trading routes. Places where sect rules weakened and survival became a daily negotiation.
The kind of place a cripple was expected to die.
"Then I'll start there," Lin Chen said.
He took his first step forward—
And staggered.
A sharp, sudden pain tore through his abdomen. Lin Chen dropped to one knee, teeth clenched as something inside him twisted violently.
Cold energy surged, then faltered.
His vision blurred.
"You pushed your limit," the voice said calmly."Your flesh has not stabilized yet."
Lin Chen forced himself to breathe.
"So even walking costs something now."
"Everything costs something," the voice replied."The question is whether you can afford it."
Lin Chen slowly stood again, ignoring the pain that flared with every movement.
"I've already paid more than most," he said.
And this time, the voice did not argue.