The second day did not come with a dawn.
In the Gate of Life and Death, time does not move forward. It drags.
Hours do not fall like rain. They drip like blood from a wound that never heals.
Zhu Xian opened his eyes without having truly slept. More than rest, his meditation had only served to calm the turmoil of his newly formed body. His neck was stiff, his back damp, and the soles of his feet raw.
But he did not complain.
He had woken up in worse situations.
In his previous life, he was an orphan child who slept on stone planks under the eaves of a temple. Later, a soldier, accustomed to the cold, the mud, and the screams. Now… he was simply a man in a nameless hell.
And still, he had an advantage none of his enemies could steal: his soul.
Zhu Xian stood, stretching his arms as if to greet the world. But there was no world to answer. Only rust-colored caverns, a perpetual mist, and that constant vibration in the air… as if the place breathed slowly, waiting for him to die.
He had no intention of pleasing it.
He began to walk, steadier than the day before. The cuts on his feet bled less. His skin had already begun to heal with an abnormal speed. The passive body technique granted by the deity had begun to manifest. It required no cultivation, no conscious activation. Only time. Only pain.
Pain strengthened him.
Blood tempered him.
That day, he did not seek shelter. He sought a boundary.
By what he guessed was midday, he arrived at an open cliff. The air there was denser, hotter. From its depths, a reddish mist rose, heavy with the smell of iron and death. On the walls, claw marks scarred the stone, as though some beast had tried to climb… and failed.
Zhu Xian sat at the edge of the abyss. Not to rest, but to listen.
The silence there was not pure. It was a silence that contained things.
Distant wingbeats. A strangled cry. Sometimes, a muffled roar rising from the bowels of the earth.
There, among the shadows of the abyss, Zhu Xian closed his eyes and focused.
Not on his Dou Qi —completely sealed.
Not on his strength —still limited.
But on his soul.
The divine soul technique he had been granted required no cultivation, no stance. Only presence. And he… was present.
His thoughts slowed. His breathing softened. Spiritual particles brushed against his skin as if recognizing his lineage. A beast approached, slowly. A feline silhouette, with coarse fur and a single bright eye glowing in the middle of its skull.
Zhu Xian did not open his eyes.
—You have no intention of killing me, —he murmured. —But you don’t know what to do with me.
The creature stopped a few meters away. It panted—not with hunger, but with unease. Like an animal before something unknown. Then, with a low growl, it turned and vanished into the mist.
Zhu Xian smiled.
He was no tamer. No predator.
He was something new to them.
A presence that did not fit into the cycle of hunt and death.
He stood. The ground cracked faintly. The rock seemed to breathe beneath his feet.
He walked again. This time in wide circles, mapping the terrain, searching for water sources, thermal fissures, stable caverns.
The second day was one of physical adaptation.
He learned to climb without tools. To run barefoot across bones. To move his weight without a sound.
When a pack of beasts passed nearby, he hid among ancient corpses, covering himself in dried blood.
Blood on his skin. Silence in his lungs. Soul sealed. Presence erased.
That was how he survived.
And by what he guessed was the end of the day, he found a small cavern beside a glowing fissure. There, he stacked a few rocks, formed a crude circle of protection, and sat.
From the ground, he picked up one of the dark stones. Porous, but vibrating faintly. With the tip of his finger, he carved a single character: 耐 — Endure.
Then another, beside it: 行 — Advance.
And lastly, one more: 缘 — Destiny.
Three words that defined him. This was his cultivation now: to endure without Dou Qi, to advance without a path, and to trust in a destiny greater than power itself.
Before closing his eyes to meditate, he whispered to the abyss:
—How many have died here, forgotten? I… will not be one of them.
The mist stirred, as if the place had heard him.
Or as if it was warning him that silence is not always a friend.
And so, the second night fell without stars.
And Zhu Xian slept with his eyes open, like all who understand that in hell… dreams do not protect you.