The Silver Moon hung high above Clear Creek Village, casting a pale, ghostly light over the tiled roofs. The night was silent, save for the rhythmic, metallic drone of Iron-Winged Cicadas burrowing into the spirit trees and the thunderous snoring of Sun Dashu three houses away.
Chu Feng sat cross-legged on his hard wooden bed. The room was illuminated only by a single oil lamp burning low, smelling faintly of cheap tallow.
He closed his eyes and looked inside.
There was a Thing in his Dantian.
He didn't know what it was. A curse? A demonic parasite? A birth defect? It had been there as long as he could remember—a cold, heavy sphere of absolute darkness sitting at the center of his Dantian, where something was supposed to form one day.
Every night, he fed it.
He inhaled the ambient spiritual energy of heaven and earth, guiding the thin streams of light through his withered meridians. The Qi traveled smoothly until it hit the Dantian.
Slurp.
The Thing ate it.
Usually, this process left him feeling cold and empty, like he had skipped a meal. But tonight, something was different.
As the Qi touched the black sphere, the Thing didn't just swallow it. It shuddered.
A faint, rhythmic pulse echoed through his body. It wasn't loud—just a soft thrum, like an ancient war drum beating miles away.
'Full?' Chu Feng wondered, opening one eye. 'Are you finally full?'
He waited for pain. He waited for the "Qi Deviation" Elder Qiao always warned about in the scriptures.
Nothing happened.
Instead, a tiny wisp of warmth escaped the sphere. It drifted into his meridians, settling there like silt in a calm riverbed.
"Huh," Chu Feng whispered, rubbing his stomach. "Maybe the leak is clogging up."
He didn't feel powerful. He just felt... less hollow.
He blew out the oil lamp, pulled his rough hemp blanket up, and fell asleep instantly.
The next morning, the world looked exactly the same, but felt slightly sharper.
Chu Feng walked to the village well to wash his face. As he lowered the wooden bucket, he paused.
The water in the deep stone shaft rippled.
Usually, his reflection was blurry in the dim light. Today, the reflection was clearer. Sharper. He could hear the specific rustle of a Spirit Rat skittering across a roof three courtyards away.
He checked his Dantian out of habit.
The Thing was still there, dark and hungry. But the "mist" of Qi around it wasn't gone. It was lingering.
'Mid Stage,' Chu Feng realized with a jolt.
He stood frozen, the heavy bucket hanging from his hand as if it weighed nothing.
For three years, he had been stuck at the Low Stage. He had assumed he would die there, buried in a nameless grave. And now, overnight, while sleeping?
"No fanfare?" he muttered, splashing cold water on his face. "No golden lotus descending from the sky? No thunder tribulation?"
He felt disappointed. The ancient scrolls always said breakthroughs came with enlightenment and celestial phenomena. He just felt like he'd finally fixed a drafty window.
He walked to the village market. He needed seeds for the spring planting.
The market was bustling with morning activity. The smell of steamed buns and medicinal herbs filled the air.
"Spirit Grass! Gathered from the edge of the Blackwood Forest! Cures baldness and expels bad luck!"
Sun Dashu of the Sun Family was waving a bundle of dried blue grass in the face of a hesitant old farmer.
Chu Feng stopped.
He looked at the grass.
A strange thought surfaced in his mind. It wasn't a voice—it was just a packet of information that felt like a memory he had forgotten he owned.
'Blue-Veined Snake Grass. Grows in Yin-heavy soil. Toxic if eaten raw. Causes meridian paralysis. Needs to be boiled with Fire-Ginger to neutralize.'
Chu Feng frowned. 'How do I know that?'
He was a farmer. The only book he owned was an almanac.
"Brother Sun," Chu Feng said, stepping closer. "That's Snake Grass. You shouldn't sell that to Old Liu. His heart meridians are weak."
Sun Dashu froze. The crowd turned.
Usually, Sun would shout him down. He would call him a cripple and a liar.
But Sun Dashu hesitated—the kind of hesitation that came from realizing the rules had shifted.
He looked at Chu Feng. He felt the subtle shift in the air. It wasn't pressure—it was just... presence. The boy standing there wasn't "empty" anymore. He had the distinct, stable hum of Mid Qi Condensation.
"You..." Sun Dashu narrowed his eyes. "You broke through?"
"Last night," Chu Feng admitted, scratching his head. "I think the leak plugged itself."
A murmur went through the crowd.
Mid Qi Condensation wasn't high—it was the standard for a common adult. But for the "Village Invalid," it was a miracle.
"Mid Stage?" A voice sneered from the side.
Han Bo of the Han Family leaned against a wooden post, chewing on a piece of straw. He looked Chu Feng up and down, his eyes lingering on Chu Feng's hands.
"Took you three years to reach the starting line," Han Bo scoffed. "Don't get cocky, Leaking Bucket. A clogged bucket is still a bucket."
"I know," Chu Feng said sincerely. "I'm still weak. I just wanted to warn Old Liu about the grass."
Han Bo didn't laugh this time. He frowned.
When Chu Feng was "Low Stage," he was beneath notice. He was a pet. A mascot.
But "Mid Stage"? Mid Stage meant he was a cultivator. It meant he was competition for resources. It meant he had stepped out of the "Invalid" category and into the "Bottom Feeder" category.
And Bottom Feeders got eaten.
[The Shadows]
The Tang Family agent sat on the roof of the teahouse, hidden by the shadows of the eaves. He peeled a Spirit Orange slowly.
"Update," he whispered into his transmission jade. "Target has stabilized. Mid Qi Condensation confirmed."
"Sudden?" the voice crackled in his ear.
"Overnight. No external resources used. Suspicious."
"The Chu Family in the city is hiding something," the voice hissed. "A 'Leaking Body' doesn't heal itself. Test him."
"Test him how?"
"Provoke him. I want to see his combat instincts. If he fights like a farmer, we ignore him. If he moves like a Li... we kill him."
[The Market]
Chu Feng bought his seeds. He turned to leave, feeling the weight of the gazes on his back. The village felt different today. The air was stickier. The smiles were tighter.
He had moved up a rung on the ladder, and suddenly, everyone else looked like they wanted to kick him off.
"Oi."
A heavy hand clamped onto his shoulder.
Chu Feng stopped.
He didn't need to turn around. He recognized the smell of cheap musk oil and roasted garlic.
Sun Dashu.
But it wasn't the merchant. It was his nephew, Sun Hao—a hulking youth with a thick neck and a reputation for breaking ribs during sparring.
"My uncle is losing business because of your mouth," Sun Hao grunted, tightening his grip. "You think because you hit Mid Stage, you can lecture us on Alchemy materials?"
Chu Feng sighed.
"I wasn't lecturing," he said, trying to shrug the hand off. "I was just—"
"Shut up."
Sun Hao shoved him.
It was a hard shove, reinforced with Qi. It was meant to send Chu Feng sprawling into the mud for the crowd's amusement.
Chu Feng stumbled back a step.
He didn't fall.
His feet adjusted automatically. His center of gravity shifted. His breathing didn't hitch. It was an instinctive, fluid correction—something that belonged to a veteran warrior, not a farmer.
Chu Feng didn't notice it. He just thought he got lucky.
But Sun Hao noticed.
"Oh?" Sun Hao cracked his knuckles, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "You want to stand your ground? Good."
He stepped into the road, blocking Chu Feng's path home.
"Let's see if your bones are as hard as your mouth, Leaking Bucket."
Chu Feng looked at the fist. Then he looked at the crowd. No one was stepping in.
'Ah,' Chu Feng thought, his stomach sinking. 'I liked it better when I was invisible.'