The sky above the pit had shifted from pale blue to something embarrassingly optimistic—soft pinks bleeding into warm gold. Normally I’d appreciate the aesthetic, but right now it was less of an inspirational painting and more of a reminder that people were awake, walking around, and very capable of kicking me back down here.
My entire body ached—the kind of ache that starts in the bones and radiates outward like an insult—but the first meridian hummed under my skin, a faint thread of warmth that hadn’t been there before. It felt fragile, like a newly sprouted plant someone could easily step on.
“Up we go,” I muttered.
My voice sounded stronger than yesterday. Still halfway to “sickly orphan,” but an improvement.
The slope out of the pit wasn’t steep, but every step sent little protests through my ribs and back. Loose soil crumbled underfoot, and I had to claw at roots and rocks with fingers that were definitely not designed for climbing. My nails were chipped and brown with dirt. My palms stung. Halfway up, my legs trembled—but where yesterday I would’ve collapsed, today something inside me steadied. Not strength exactly… more like my body whispered, You can do this. Don’t be a drama queen.
“Thanks,” I whispered to myself. “Good pep talk.”
The rim of the pit came into reach. I hauled myself up with a grunt that was definitely not masculine or heroic. More like a dying goose.
But then I was out.
Out of the shadows. Out of the grave they’d tossed me in.
And the clan compound stretched before me like a completely different world.
Curved rooftops with layered tiles glistened with dew. Upturned eaves decorated with wooden beasts snarled silently at the sky. Scarlet banners swayed from tall poles. Stone training grounds—long stretches of worn flagstone—echoed faintly with early-morning shouts from disciples already practicing somewhere deeper inside.
The air smelled of smoke, dawn breeze, and something frying in a kitchen nearby. My stomach immediately reminded me I hadn’t eaten since… well, probably since the original boy was thrown into the pit.
I needed to move. If anyone spotted me climbing out of a death ditch looking like a mud golem, questions would be asked. Unpleasant ones involving whips and chores.
I tugged my torn sleeve up to hide the worst of the bruises, straightened my posture, and limped toward the servants’ quarters.
Act natural, I told myself.
And by “natural” I meant “look as forgettable as possible.”
The servants’ compound was a cluster of small wooden rooms arranged around a central yard full of laundry poles and buckets. The old memories in my head—frayed, dim, but there—guided my steps. I slipped around a corner just as a pair of senior servants walked past, discussing breakfast rations.
Breathe. Walk steady. Don’t look like a resurrected corpse.
The boy whose life I’d inherited had been good at going unnoticed. His memories were quiet things—kneeling in corners, scrubbing floors, fetching water while people talked over him as if he were furniture. I let those instincts settle into my limbs. My shoulders drooped. My eyes lowered. My steps softened.
Nobody questioned the background.
And that saved my life.
Inside the servants’ hall, I grabbed the smallest possible portion of porridge and retreated to a quiet corner. The first spoonful tasted like someone boiled despair with a hint of rice husk. Still, hunger didn’t complain.
Two women at the next table complained loudly enough for the entire hall.
“—tournament next week,” one said, fanning herself dramatically. “The elders are already making wagers.”
“The younger disciples will claw each other to pieces,” the other laughed. “Not that it matters. The winner’s already decided. One of the main branch’s prodigies, surely.”
“And the worthless branches?” A snicker. “They’ll be lucky if they survive the preliminaries.”
Worthless branch.
The phrase rang in my ears like a bell struck too hard.
Oddly, it didn’t sting as much as it might’ve yesterday. Maybe opening a meridian came with a complimentary layer of emotional insulation. Or maybe I was simply getting used to being insulted. Again.
Stolen story; please report.
Still… a tournament.
A chance.
Dangerous attention, sure. But also an opening in the story arc I knew I had to hit eventually. A path forward.
I chewed slowly, pretending not to listen, even though I was absorbing every word like a starving sponge.
After breakfast, chores began. Or rather, I began. Chores themselves never end.
Buckets. Mops. Water trips. Sweeping floors the wind would dirty again.
But beneath the routine, something new stirred.
As I stepped out into the courtyard with two heavy buckets dangling from a shoulder pole, the System flickered in the back of my mind—not a pop-up, not words, but a suggestion. A nudge. A feeling.
—Flow Cycle available.—
Weave-type skill. Basic technique. Move Qitan Flow through the opened meridian.
“Alright,” I murmured to no one. “Multitasking. My favorite.”
I inhaled.
And the world shifted.
Not visibly, but internally—awareness dropped into my dantian like a pebble sinking into a pond. The first meridian’s warmth pulsed faintly. I followed it.
Flow Cycle wasn’t complicated. The System didn’t give instructions so much as it gave… instinct. My breath slowed. My steps matched it. Inhale—draw. Exhale—guide. Inhale—pull threads of invisible warmth upward. Exhale—send them circling.
It felt like trying to push syrup through tiny straws. Way too thick. Way too slow.
Halfway across the yard, the energy hit some internal obstruction and rebounded. My vision swayed.
Okay. Dizzy. Very dizzy. Maybe not cultivate while walking.
But I forced myself to continue, inch by careful inch. The warmth trickled forward. Sluggish, but moving.
By the time I reached the well, sweat beaded at the base of my spine.
“How does anyone do this all day?” I muttered.
—Host meridian strain rising. Recommend rest.—
“Can’t. Chores.”
—Then reduce energy circulation by thirty-eight percent.—
“Thirty-eight? Really?”
—Precision is optimal.—
“Fine. Thirty-eight percent. Happy?”
The dizziness eased a little.
But the strain in my meridian remained like a tired muscle not used to exercise. I filled the buckets slowly, careful not to spill. Flow Cycle continued in the background, its rhythm syncing with my body’s movement.
Step. Breathe. Guide. Step. Breathe. Guide.
The world seemed subtly clearer each time the warmth completed a partial circuit.
Not stronger yet. But on the path.
Around noon, as I trudged up the stone path toward the training yard with a bundle of firewood on my back, something glinted near the base of a gnarled pine tree.
Just a faint shimmer. Barely noticeable.
Curiosity is a sin when you’re a servant.
So naturally, I went straight toward it.
A jade token lay half-buried in the dirt. Oval-shaped, a bit chipped at the edges. Pale green, almost milky. Carved with patterns too smooth to be random.
I crouched—carefully so the firewood didn’t spill—and brushed dirt away.
When my fingers touched it, everything went silent.
The air froze. The wind stilled. Even the System paused.
A whisper slid into my head like a feather brushing the inside of my skull.
…child…
I jerked backward, heart practically evacuating my ribcage.
The token rolled into my palm, surprisingly warm. A foreign presence hovered at the edge of my awareness—not malicious, not invasive. Just… old. Vast. Like the echo of a river that once roared but now barely trickled.
My breath hitched.
“Hello?” I whispered.
…lost… long… wait…
The voice wasn’t words exactly—more impressions. Thoughts without structure.
Then a wave of exhaustion washed over me, and the connection snapped.
The world returned. Crows cawed somewhere. Wood shifted on my back. My knees ached from crouching too long.
The token sat innocently in my palm, as if it hadn’t just whispered into my soul.
“Great,” I muttered. “As if one mysterious voice in my head wasn’t enough.”
But something deep inside me—the part that had felt utterly alone since awakening in this world—stirred with something dangerous.
Hope.
I slipped the token into my sleeve. Tight. Hidden.
Someone called from across the courtyard, “Hey! You! Wood-carrier! Move it!”
I mumbled an apology and hurried off, head down.
But my thoughts swirled around the token like a whirlpool.
Something had been sleeping inside it.
And it had noticed me.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of sweeping, scrubbing, and trying not to collapse face-first into pond water while practicing Flow Cycle.
Once, while carrying laundry, I considered using Vital Surge again just to clear the aching in my shoulders.
But the System pinged a quiet warning.
—Reserves low. Vital Surge inefficient.—
“Alright. No shortcuts. I get it.”
I kept cultivating the slow, steady way.
By evening, the first meridian throbbed with a dull ache, but the Flow moved smoother than this morning. A tiny improvement. Barely noticeable, but mine.
After dinner—another bowl of sadness-porridge—I slipped away before anyone could rope me into extra tasks.
I headed toward the pine tree.
Dusk painted the training grounds in purple-gold shadows. The air carried the smell of incense and distant torch smoke. Most disciples were inside, eating or bragging about their sparring matches.
Perfect.
I knelt beneath the twisted pine, heart hammering with anticipation.
The token warmed against my palm the moment I unwrapped it.
“Alright,” I whispered, glancing around nervously. “Let’s try this again. Slowly. Please don’t explode.”
I pressed two fingers to the jade.
Warmth pulsed. A whisper curled around my thoughts.
…return… tonight… child… find me…
Then it faded.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
A mentor spirit… or at least the first hint of one. Something from the storyline I knew was coming, but experiencing it firsthand was an entirely different thing. It made everything real in a way that buzzed under my skin.
But for now? I wasn’t ready. My body wasn’t ready. My cultivation wasn’t ready.
I tucked the token under my clothes, close to my skin.
“Tonight,” I murmured. “I’ll come back tonight.”
As I turned toward the servants’ quarters, the faint hum of Qitan Flow drifted through my opened meridian like a soft echo.
This world wanted me dead.
But that token had whispered to me.
And the System thrummed with quiet approval.
For the first time since awakening, the path ahead didn’t feel like a cliff I was inching along blindfolded.
It felt like… a beginning.
A very dangerous one.
But mine.
And I intended to climb out of every shadow thrown my way.