The darkness wasn't empty; it was thick, heavy, and loud. The damp, mineral-laden air clung to Chen Fan's skin like a cold sweat. The rhythmic *clang-clang-clang* of picks on stone echoed from countless unseen tunnels, merging into a constant, oppressive drone. Shouts – orders, curses, pained cries – bounced off the rough rock walls, distorted and directionless. The flickering sconces cast long, dancing shadows that seemed to writhe like living things.
Bao, limping but no less vicious, dragged him deeper down a wide, sloping tunnel. Hu followed unsteadily, one hand clutching his bleeding head. Other figures materialized from side passages – haggard men and women, faces gaunt and smeared with grime, eyes hollow. They wore thick, stained leather aprons and carried heavy-looking picks or shovels. Prisoners. Slave labor. Their gazes flickered over Chen Fan, registering the fresh bruises and chains with weary indifference or grim satisfaction. Another lamb to the slaughter.
"Move it, waste!" Bao snarled, yanking the chain, sending fresh jolts of pain up Chen Fan's arms. They passed larger caverns where teams of prisoners toiled under the watchful eyes of more guards. Massive veins of ore glinted dully in the torchlight – Spirit Iron, the lifeblood of Verdant Peak Sect's low-level artifacts. Chen Fan knew the lore: the ore was unstable, occasionally releasing bursts of wild, chaotic energy that could cripple or kill unprotected mortals. The air grew thicker, dustier, harder to breathe.
Finally, they reached a smaller, less trafficked tunnel entrance. A bored-looking guard sat on a stool nearby, idly whittling a piece of wood. "New meat, Lao Jin," Bao announced, shoving Chen Fan forward. "Li Chen. Mortal-grade dregs. Assign him to Deep Vein Seven."
Lao Jin looked up, his eyes sharp and calculating despite his lazy posture. He scanned Chen Fan critically, lingering on the bruises. "Deep Vein Seven? That's Zhu's special project. High yield, high... turnover." He smirked. "You piss off someone important, kid?"
Chen Fan remained silent, clenching his teeth. Lao Jin chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Doesn't matter. Down here, you're just ore fodder. Rules are simple: You work. You meet your daily quota – five full baskets of raw Spirit Iron chunks, no smaller than your fist. You don't, you don't eat. You cause trouble," he patted the cudgel at his belt, "you get acquainted with Old Faithful here. Or worse, the mine itself decides it doesn't like you." He gestured into the dark tunnel. "Guard inside will give you a pick and show you your spot. Good luck. You'll need it." He laughed again, turning back to his whittling.
Bao roughly unhooked the chain from his own belt, leaving Chen Fan manacled. "Enjoy your stay, Li *Waste*. Hope the mountain swallows you quick." He spat on the ground near Chen Fan's feet, then turned and limped away with Hu.
Chen Fan stood alone, chained, at the entrance to Deep Vein Seven. The darkness within seemed absolute, swallowing the light from the main tunnel after only a few yards. The air flowing out was colder, carrying a faint, metallic ozone scent that prickled his skin. Unstable energy. This was it. The place designed to kill Li Chen.
He took a shaky breath. *I know this place.* He'd described it in chilling detail: narrow tunnels prone to collapses, pockets of toxic gas, unstable spirit energy surges, and, most crucially, a hidden fissure that led down, down, down to the Abyssal Chasm. His salvation. His death sentence, if he wasn't careful.
He stepped into the tunnel. The temperature dropped noticeably. The sounds from the main caverns faded, replaced by the dripping of water and the unsettling creak of settling rock. After twenty paces, another guard emerged from the gloom, holding a rusted, heavy pickaxe. He was thinner than Bao, with a perpetually sour expression. He didn't speak, just thrust the pickaxe at Chen Fan and jerked his head deeper into the tunnel.
They walked in silence for several minutes, the tunnel narrowing, the ceiling lowering. Chen Fan's heart pounded against his ribs. He scanned the walls and floor, searching for landmarks he'd written: the section where the rock turned a peculiar shade of blue-grey, the offshoot tunnel choked with rubble, the faint sound of running water far below.
The guard stopped abruptly at a section of the wall where the Spirit Iron vein was particularly thick and jagged. A pile of empty baskets sat nearby. "Here," the guard grunted, his voice echoing dully. "Quota: five baskets. Full. Fist-sized or bigger. No slacking. I check every three hours. Miss quota, miss food. Try to run," he tapped the cudgel at his hip, "and you'll wish the mountain got you first." He turned and walked back down the tunnel, leaving Chen Fan alone in the near-darkness, the only light coming from a single, guttering oil lamp hung further down the passage.
Silence descended, thick and heavy. The weight of the pickaxe felt alien and impossibly heavy in his weak hands. The manacles chafed his raw wrists. The air tasted of dust and danger. This was rock bottom. Literally.
He looked at the vein of ore. Glinting fragments embedded in hard rock. Five baskets. It seemed an impossible task for his battered, untrained body. Despair threatened again. He leaned his forehead against the cool, rough stone wall, the chill a small relief against his bruised skin.
*Think, Chen Fan! You wrote this!* He closed his eyes, focusing inward. *System. Heaven's Draft System. Show me.*
The transparent interface flickered into existence:
```
User: Li Chen
Status: Injured (Moderate - Qing'er's Salve Active: +5% Pain Reduction, Minor Tissue Regeneration). Malnourished. Fatigued.
Qi: 0/0 (Mortal Veins Unawakened)
Cultivation: None
Spirit Root: Mortal Low-Rank (Dormant Potential: 100% Locked - Requires "Heaven's Key")
Known Plot Points: 97.8%
System Stability: 43%
Available Functions:
- Plot Point Recall (Active)
- Minor Environmental Scan (Cost: 1 Stability Point/Minute)
- Basic Pathfinding (Cost: 5 Stability Points/Use - Unstable)
```
*Environmental Scan.* He focused on the command. The interface flickered, and suddenly, the rock wall before him shimmered slightly. Faint lines appeared, highlighting the natural fault lines and stress points within the rock face. It wasn't X-ray vision, but it showed him where the stone was weakest, where a well-placed strike might yield more ore with less effort. *Exploit the weakness.*
He hefted the pickaxe, ignoring the scream of his muscles. He targeted a point the scan highlighted, a junction of three faint fault lines. He swung, putting his whole body into it. The impact jarred his arms painfully, but a satisfying *crack* echoed. A large chunk of rock, studded with several decent-sized Spirit Iron nuggets, broke free and clattered to the ground.
*It works!* Hope, fragile but real, bloomed. He scanned again, found another weak point, swung. Another chunk broke off. He wasn't strong, but he was efficient. He worked steadily, fueled by the system's guidance, piling the ore chunks into a basket. The work was brutal, each swing sending tremors through his injured body, but the progress was tangible. One basket filled. Then half of another.
He paused, panting, wiping sweat and grime from his face. The lamp down the tunnel flickered wildly. The air grew colder. A low hum, felt more than heard, vibrated through the rock beneath his feet. *Energy surge.* He remembered. Deep Vein Seven was notorious for them. Unpredictable. Deadly.
He looked around frantically. The Scan function flickered, stability dropping to 42%. He activated it anyway, sweeping the immediate area. The scan highlighted a section of the tunnel wall about ten paces back – thicker rock, a slight overhang. A marginally safer spot. He scrambled towards it, dragging his half-filled basket.
A blinding flash of violet light erupted further down the tunnel, accompanied by a deafening *crack* like thunder trapped in stone. The ground heaved. Dust and small rocks rained from the ceiling. The force of the energy pulse threw Chen Fan against the wall he'd been heading towards. Pain exploded through his back, but the thicker rock held.
As the light faded and the rumbling subsided, leaving only ringing ears and swirling dust, Chen Fan pushed himself up, coughing. Where he had been working moments before, the tunnel wall was scorched black, and the floor was littered with fresh rubble. His pickaxe lay bent and half-melted near the epicenter. If he hadn't moved...
He looked at the System notification blinking urgently:
```
Warning: Chaotic Spirit Energy Surge Detected.
System Stability: 40% (Critical Threshold Approaching)
Recommendation: Seek Stable Qi Environment.
```
40% stability. He was burning through it fast. He needed to find the fissure, and soon. He focused on Pathfinding. *Path to the Abyssal Chasm fissure.*
The system flickered violently, lines of code scrambling briefly.
```
Pathfinding Activated. Cost: 5 Stability Points.
Calculating... Calculating...
Path Found. Probability of Survival: 0.8% (Based on Current User Status)
Displaying Route...
```
A faint, shimmering golden line appeared on the grimy tunnel floor, visible only to him. It snaked away from his position, deeper into the gloom of Deep Vein Seven, disappearing around a bend.
0.8% survival chance. It was almost laughably bad. But it was a chance. His only chance. He had Qing'er's seedpod clutched tight in his fist inside his tunic pocket. He had the path.
He took a step towards the golden line, dragging his basket. He needed to finish his quota, or at least appear to be working, before attempting the descent. He couldn't draw suspicion.
He turned back to the rockface, searching for a new weak spot with the Scan. As he did, a shadow fell across him. He looked up.
The sour-faced guard stood there, his expression unreadable in the gloom. He hadn't been caught by the surge. He looked from the melted pickaxe to the scorched wall, then down at Chen Fan's meager pile of ore – barely two baskets worth.
"Energy surge," Chen Fan rasped, trying to sound shaken. "Destroyed my pick... slowed me down..."
The guard didn't respond immediately. He knelt, picked up a chunk of ore from Chen Fan's basket, weighed it in his hand. Then his eyes narrowed. He picked up another piece, then another. He examined them closely, turning them over in the dim light.
Chen Fan's blood ran cold. He knew what the guard was seeing. Some of the ore chunks he'd broken free, guided by the Scan, weren't just Spirit Iron. Embedded within them were faint, almost imperceptible streaks of deep crimson. **Blood Iron.** A rare, unstable variant he'd created for the story. Highly valuable for forbidden demonic cultivation artifacts... and explosively volatile when exposed to sudden Qi fluctuations. Possessing it was a death sentence in Verdant Peak Sect. He'd forgotten it occurred in Deep Vein Seven!
The guard stood slowly, his sour expression hardening into something cold and dangerous. He pocketed one of the Blood Iron chunks. His hand rested meaningfully on his cudgel. He didn't look at Chen Fan's face; his gaze was fixed on the man's chained wrists, then flickered towards the direction of the guard post.
"Seems you found something special, rock-breaker," the guard murmured, his voice devoid of emotion. "Elder Zhu is going to want to have a *very* long talk with you"