By late afternoon, the village took on the shape of motion again. Not life—not yet—but the tremble before life returns.
Haoyang stood where the farmland met the cracked wooden fence. The sky above the Great Zhongyuan was wide and steel-blue, the kind of color that made every ruined home look sharper, every shadow deeper.
"Liang Shan," he called, "bring the rope we found earlier."
The boy nodded and sprinted off.
Liang Yue had gathered every pot and jar into a neat grid near the well. She boiled water carefully, sterilizing them with the precision of someone who had seen sickness take people too quickly.
Ping'er was perched on a fallen beam, kicking her feet and giving inspirational speeches to her doll.
"You can do it, Doll. Young Lord says everything is fixable!"
The System floated lazily by Haoyang's shoulder.
"Young Lord," it mimicked in a sing-song voice. "Careful, Host. You'll accumulate followers faster than you accumulate debt."
Haoyang exhaled. "They need someone to trust."
"Ah yes," the gremlin said dryly. "Big realm. Endless suffering. And you, a pajama-wearing pseudo-mortal, are now their deity figure. Very functional."
Haoyang smirked. "Says the cosmic gremlin who sealed me."
"Sealed for safety. Do not flatter yourself."
Liang Shan returned with the rope, breathless. "What's next, Young Lord?"
Haoyang crouched and tied one end of the rope around a broken fence post. He tugged gently to check its stability.
"We clear the overgrowth in sections.
Too much at once, and we'll miss snakes or holes. We'll go slow but steady."
Liang Shan nodded fiercely, eager to help.
"But Young Lord," Liang Yue said from behind them, "what about food tonight? We only have the peas…"
"We'll divide it carefully," Haoyang said. "And tomorrow we'll forage and expand the fields. I'll make sure we don't starve."
Ping'er held up her doll heroically. "We believe you!"
Haoyang wasn't used to being believed.
Not like this.
Not by eyes that looked at him as though salvation had come dressed in sleepwear.
He wasn't sure he deserved it—but he'd earn it tonight.
They started clearing the field.
Haoyang mapped the land in his head as the System projected faint structural outlines: ridges, soft patches, buried stone. He worked slowly enough not to alarm the children but quickly enough to impress them.
He pulled stubborn roots free; Liang Shan darted around gathering debris; Liang Yue arranged piles of usable wood; Ping'er supervised with dramatic flair.
At one point, Liang Shan paused. "Young Lord, you work like you're… used to this."
Haoyang laughed. "Not really. I'm improvising."
"Improvising?" Liang Yue asked, puzzled.
"It means figuring things out as we go."
"Oh." She nodded solemnly, as if he had just revealed a secret martial technique.
The System whispered, "Host, the children are mythologizing you in real-time. You are one metaphor away from becoming the Patron Saint of Pajamas."
Evening settled slowly—gold fading to rose, then to a soft violet. The air cooled. The shadows unearthed memories.
Haoyang called the children to the well.
Liang Yue poured the cleaned water into jars, whispering instructions to Ping'er about not wasting a drop. Liang Shan carried the peas to the little clay stove.
Haoyang crouched beside him.
"Let me help with the fire."
He snapped a twig—carefully—and the spark that danced across his fingertips lit the kindling instantly.
Liang Shan's eyes went round. "Young Lord… are you sure you're not an immortal?"
Haoyang sighed internally. "Positive."
"But you do things no one can do."
"I do things that need doing," he said simply.
Liang Yue, stirring the pot, looked up. "If all cultivators helped villages… would the world be better?"
The question hit harder than any physical blow.
Haoyang looked toward the horizon—toward lands ruled by sects who hoarded power, territories where mortals starved in plain sight.
"…Yes," he said finally. "It would."
"Then why don't they?" she asked.
He had no easy answer
But the System chimed invincibly and said the obvious answer to haoyang.
"Because cultivation is selfish, child. Power is not distributed here. It is consumed."
Haoyang shot it a glare. The gremlin shrugged.
"It's true," it said, unapologetic.
Ping'er tugged at Haoyang's sleeve. "Young Lord… will you stay with us?"
The question was small. Soft. Terrifying.
"Yes," he said. No hesitation. "I willl I already promise you before "
Ping'er beamed, brightness returning to a face too worn for her age.
As the peas cooked, the smell—meager but warm—filled the air. Haoyang sat beside the children as night fell. Lanterns didn't exist anymore in this broken place, so the moon became their light.
They ate together, sharing what little there was.
It wasn't enough food. It wasn't enough comfort. But it was the first meal they'd had as something like a family.
Haoyang looked at the stars overhead—far more numerous than Earth's sky—and the enormity of this realm pressed in again.
A world 1.34 million kilometers around. Sects that ruled like gods. Mortals treated like dust.
And him—Jin Haoyang—some cosmic glitch wearing a human skin.
But when Ping'er leaned sleepily against his arm…
When Liang Shan straightened, trying to mimic Haoyang's posture…
When Liang Yue set the bowls aside with careful discipline…
A strange confidence slid into place inside him.
He finally spoke, voice low. "Tomorrow, we do more. This village will live again."
Liang Shan nodded fiercely. "With Young Lord here, we can survive anything."
Haoyang shook his head. "We survive together. All of us."
Ping'er mumbled, half-asleep, "Young Lord is warm…"
Liang Yue adjusted the smallest girl's blanket. "We'll wake early."
The System floated beside Haoyang, for once quiet.
"…You're changing," it said softly.
Haoyang didn't answer immediately. He pulled a threadbare cloak over the children, tucking the edges so the night chill wouldn't bite.
"I'm learning," he said.
"Same thing," the gremlin replied.
"Will this world accept it?" Haoyang asked, eyes never leaving the little trio.
The System snorted. "Absolutely not. They'll panic. They'll fight you. They'll fear you."
Haoyang smiled faintly. "Good. Means we'll do it right."
The gremlin paused, then—reluctantly—floated closer, giving a tiny approving tap at his cheek.
"Don't get cocky, Host," it muttered. "But… fine. You're not useless."
Haoyang let out a quiet laugh.
"Highest praise so far."
Night settled over the ruins of the village.
But for the first time in a long timw, light existed inside it.