The morning sun filtered through the cracks of Lin Feng's small rented house. He sat up slowly, his body still sore from the pill he had consumed. The faint improvement in his qi circulation was real, but it was far from enough. He reached for the bowl of rice he had prepared the night before.
Plain mortal rice. It filled his stomach but did nothing for cultivation. He chewed slowly, each bite heavy with the knowledge that others ate spiritual rice that strengthened their bodies and nourished their qi. He swallowed and muttered, "Without more resources, I'll crawl instead of climb."
After finishing his meal, Lin Feng stepped into the bustling streets of the market. Merchants shouted, cultivators bargained, and the smell of herbs and smoke filled the air. He had only a few spirit stones left, and the thought of buying another pill was impossible. If he wanted to continue cultivating, he needed a steady source of income.
His first thought was the Pill Pavilion. If he could work there, perhaps he could earn stones and gain access to pills. He approached the tall building, its walls lined with shelves of herbs and jars, the air rich with medicinal fragrance. Inside, apprentices moved quickly, carrying trays of pills and ingredients.
At the counter stood a young woman in white robes. She looked no older than twenty‑two, yet her presence was commanding. Her features were sharp, her eyes bright, and her bearing elegant. Lin Feng froze for a moment, stunned. In his years on Earth, he had never seen beauty like hers. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard before forcing himself to speak.
"Senior Sister," he said, bowing slightly, his voice careful. "I seek work here. Even menial tasks—I am willing. To serve under someone as capable and beautiful as you would be an honor."
The words were awkward, an attempt at flattery born of desperation.
She glanced at him once, her expression cool. Disdain flickered in her eyes. "No recommendation, no backing, and no cultivation worth mentioning. Scram."
Her voice was sharp, cutting through his hope like a blade. Lin Feng lowered his head, the humiliation burning in his chest. He had tried, even humbled himself, but the Pill Pavilion was closed to him. He turned and walked out, his steps steady despite the sting.
He wandered the market, thinking of alternatives. The Pill Pavilion was closed to him, but there were other powers here. Four Qi Gathering families ruled the market, their influence stretching across trade, labor, and resources. If he could not enter the Pavilion, perhaps he could find work with one of them.
Lin Feng approached one of the family compounds. The guards at the gate eyed him suspiciously, but when he asked for work, they laughed. "You want to work here? With your weak cultivation?"
"I'll take any job," Lin Feng replied calmly.
The guard smirked. "Menial work only. Sweeping floors, carrying supplies, cleaning storerooms. Pay is two spirit stones a month. Interested?"
Lin Feng nodded without hesitation. "I'll take it."
The guard shrugged and waved him inside. "Then get to it."
His first day was long and exhausting. He swept dusty halls, hauled sacks of rice, and scrubbed storerooms until his arms ached. Other workers mocked him, whispering "trash cultivator" as he passed. He ignored them, focusing on the tasks at hand. Each stroke of the broom, each lift of a sack, was another step toward survival.
At night, he returned to his small house, body aching from labor. He sat cross‑legged, closing his eyes, and began cultivating again. The qi was faint, scattered, but he forced himself to guide it. His progress was slow, but steady.
The system flickered faintly in his mind. Host Status showed slight improvement in qi circulation. Inventory remained functional, allowing him to store scraps of food or coins safely. It was a small comfort, knowing that nothing could be stolen from him now.
Days passed in this rhythm. Work during the day, cultivation at night. Two spirit stones a month was meager, barely enough to cover rent and food, but it was steady. Lin Feng accepted it without complaint.
One evening, after finishing his chores, he sat alone in the storeroom, leaning against a wall. His hands were rough from sweeping, his back sore from lifting. He counted the two stones in his pouch, slipped them into Inventory, and lay down without another word.