Morning light filtered through the small paper window, soft and golden, the kind of light that usually made Zhang Wei feel grateful to be alive. He sat up on his straw mat, rubbing his eyes. The new Herbal Knowledge from last night still hummed quietly in the back of his mind—like a book he had only flipped through once. It felt incomplete. Shallow.
A small, greedy voice whispered inside him.
What if I push it higher? Just a little. Last night it didn't hurt at all when I unlocked it. Maybe… a lot higher would make me truly powerful.
He couldn't resist.
Zhang Wei opened the system window with a thought. The Herbal Knowledge stat appeared, currently sitting at a modest base value. His finger hovered over the invisible slider, then dragged it hard—straight to 1,000,000.
The moment the number locked in, the world exploded.
It wasn't gentle like last night.
A torrent of information slammed into his skull like a thousand chanting monks screaming directly into his brain. Endless voices, formulas, diagrams, smells, tastes, warnings, combinations—millions upon millions of herbal facts, ancient recipes, rare poisons, spiritual plants, deadly nightshades, and healing elixirs all at once. The pressure was crushing, as if his head had been forced underwater in a raging river. His lungs seized. Breathing became a desperate struggle, each inhale pulling through a needle-thin hole, barely enough to keep him from drowning.
He collapsed onto the mat, body convulsing. His arms and legs jerked and twitched like a man in the middle of a violent seizure. Sweat poured down his face. His eyes rolled back. The chanting in his head never stopped—endless, droning recitations of plant names, properties, synergies, contraindications. Three full shichen (six hours) of unrelenting assault.
He was suffocating. Slowly. Painfully.
If I pass out now… I'll die, he realized with crystal clarity through the haze. The body won't breathe properly without conscious will. Just like the bathroom. Just like the cave. Not again.
So he fought.
Every shallow, needle-like breath felt like it was ripped from the jaws of death. His body thrashed on the floor, knocking over the small wooden stool beside his mat. He bit his own tongue to stay awake, tasting blood.
Mei's voice came from outside the room, cheerful at first.
"Zhang Wei? Breakfast is ready! Dad made extra porridge today because of your birthday—"
She pushed the door open and froze.
Zhang Wei was on the ground, twitching violently, face twisted in agony, gasping like a fish yanked onto dry land. His eyes were half-open but unfocused, veins bulging on his forehead.
"Zhang Wei?!" Mei screamed, terror flooding her voice. "Dad! Dad, come quick! Something's wrong with him!"
Uncle Li burst in moments later, face pale. Without a word, he scooped Zhang Wei up in his strong arms—the boy's body still jerking—and ran out of the house.
"Hang on, lad! Just hang on!"
The trip across the village felt endless. Uncle Li's heavy footsteps pounded the dirt path. Mei ran beside them, tears already streaming down her cheeks. When they reached the other side of Greenstone Village, a long line of people was already waiting outside the doctor's large, well-kept residence. Rich fabrics, worried faces, servants holding baskets of payment.
Uncle Li pushed through the crowd, voice cracking with desperation.
"Please! Let us through! The boy is dying! Help him!"
People turned to look. Some frowned in annoyance. Others simply looked away and kept their place in line. No one moved. Selfishness hung thick in the air like morning fog.
The doctor finally stepped out—a plump, middle-aged man dressed in luxurious silk robes, gold rings glinting on his fingers. He took one look at Zhang Wei's convulsing form and waved a dismissive hand.
"This one won't make it. Look at him—already halfway to the grave. Take him home and prepare for the funeral. Or bury him quickly before he stinks up the village." The doctor's voice was loud and theatrical, meant to be heard by everyone. "Besides, can you even pay? From the look of your clothes, you barely have enough for one meal. I have many patients here who can afford proper treatment. I don't waste time on beggars."
He turned and walked back inside without another word, the heavy wooden door slamming shut behind him.
Uncle Li stood there, stunned. His knees buckled. He slowly lowered himself to the ground, still cradling Zhang Wei, tears cutting clean tracks through the dust on his face.
"This… this is the cruelty of being poor," he whispered hoarsely. "Even when a child is dying right in front of them…"
He tried two more doctors in the village. Same result. Cold eyes. Empty excuses. No one wanted to treat a ragged boy who looked like he had no money.
By the time they returned home, Uncle Li was exhausted and broken. He laid Zhang Wei gently on the mat. Mei knelt beside him, sobbing openly, small hands clutching Zhang Wei's twitching arm.
"You can't die like this… you can't! We just had your birthday yesterday! You killed the boar… you were supposed to stay with us…"
Uncle Li bowed his head, shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry, lad… I'm so sorry I couldn't do more."
The convulsions slowly began to ease. The endless chanting in Zhang Wei's head finally started to fade after the full three shichen. His breathing, though still shallow, grew steadier. The crushing pressure in his skull lifted, bit by bit, leaving behind an ocean of crystal-clear knowledge—so vast it felt like his mind had expanded to hold an entire library of the natural world.
His eyes fluttered open.
The world looked different. Sharper. Every plant he could see through the window now carried layers of information: medicinal properties, optimal harvest time, potential spiritual energy, toxicity levels. It was overwhelming, but he was alive.
Zhang Wei blinked, confused, and sat up slowly. His body ached like he had been trampled by another wild boar, but the seizure was gone.
"…What happened?" he asked, voice raspy. "Why are you both crying?"
Mei stared at him for half a second, then threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around him tightly, sobbing into his chest.
"You were dying! You were shaking and couldn't breathe and the doctors wouldn't help and I thought— I thought you were going to leave us!"
Uncle Li looked up, tears still wet on his weathered face. For a moment he couldn't speak. Then he lunged forward too, pulling both kids into a rough, desperate embrace.
"Miracle… it's a miracle," he kept repeating, voice thick. "Thank the heavens… thank whatever gods are watching. You're back. You're really back."
Zhang Wei let them hold him, feeling their warmth, their fear, their relief. His own arms came up slowly, returning the hug. In that moment, looking at Uncle Li's tear-streaked face and Mei's red, puffy eyes, something deep inside him shifted.
This… this is what family feels like.
Not blood. Not obligation. Just two people who had been willing to beg, to cry, to carry him across the village even when the whole world turned its back.
He rested his chin on Mei's head, voice soft but steady.
"I'm okay now. Really. I'm not going anywhere."
Uncle Li pulled back just enough to look at him, rough hand gently patting Zhang Wei's cheek.
"You scared this old man half to death, you know that? Don't do that again."
Zhang Wei managed a weak smile. "I'll try not to."
Outside, the village continued its day—people going about their business, selfish and indifferent. Inside the small house, the three of them sat together on the floor, holding each other a little longer than necessary, the morning light now feeling warmer than before.
Zhang Wei glanced at the system window still faintly glowing in the corner of his vision.
Herbal Knowledge: 1,000,000
He had paid a brutal price for that number. But looking at Uncle Li and Mei, still clinging to him like he might disappear again, he realized something important.
Power was useless if you had no one to come back to.
He closed the window with a quiet thought and leaned into the embrace.
For now, this was enough.
This was family.