Whisk.
Whisk-whisk.
Push.
Grunt.
Sweat that didn't exist dripped off a body that technically wasn't real.
"Push-up one thirty-eight," Lai Ming muttered, arms trembling. "This better be doing something, because this ghost chest is about to evaporate."
He dropped flat onto the grass, flipped over, and launched into sit-ups without thinking.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Grimace.
Curse.
By now, his movements were automatic. Legs raised, abs engaged, sweat flickering like spiritual condensation on his glowing skin.
This was Day Four of the grind.
And he hadn't stopped.
Every nap locked him in for hours. Every lock left him a little stronger. Every wake-up meant more walking, more motion, more breath that didn't feel like a firecracker in his ribs.
He was beginning to move like someone who belonged in this world.
No chicken had escaped him in two days.
The fish flinched when he stepped into the water.
And Elder Munch had stopped watching him twitch and sweat in his sleep like a broken cultivation doll.
Kind of.
DING.
Training Detected
+1 Physique
Dream Lock Complete
You may now wake up
Lai Ming didn't say anything.
He just sighed.
And let the void fade.
BLINK.
The world returned.
Warm. Orange. Quiet.
The fire beside him crackled low, burning down to red coals. The sky above the jungle had turned dusky gold, bleeding toward evening.
He sat up slowly.
No limp.
No twitch.
Just the familiar pull of a healing scar and the weight of a body that no longer hated him.
He rubbed his face, let out a breath, and turned toward the fire.
There was the sheep.
Elder Munch, curled in a ball like an overcooked rice bun. Chewing something green and slightly crunchy.
Its ears twitched once, acknowledging him, then immediately went back to ignoring his existence.
Lai Ming settled into a cross-legged seat by the fire. Let the silence stretch a while.
Then he spoke.
Not loudly. Not sarcastically.
Just… tired. In a good way.
"…You know," he said, "a week ago I was a bloated sack of sugar-free soda and unpaid rent."
The sheep didn't respond.
"But now look at me. I've got abs. A spear that doesn't suck. A limp that's more dramatic flair than disability. And a sheep with attitude problems."
He plucked a stick from the dirt and poked at the embers.
"The old me would've quit by day two. Tried to tame a squirrel or something. Blamed the sky. Maybe curled up and waited for the system to hand me a sword."
He smiled faintly. Not proud. Just… surprised.
"But here I am. No sword. No qi. No secret heritage. Just naps, pain, grass food, and your ungodly f**king spit."
The sheep farted.
Lai Ming stared at the fire.
"…Thanks."
Another beat passed.
"Not just for the healing crap. For sticking around."
Elder Munch blinked. Said nothing.
Lai Ming leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out, muscles loose and buzzing.
"Day seven," he said softly. "Training arc, day four."
Then looked at the darkening sky.
"I'll keep pushing."
He glanced at Elder Munch again.
"Don't worry. I'll make sure we both make it out of this jungle."
The sheep yawned.
The fire popped.
And for once, Lai Ming didn't feel like a punchline.
He felt ready.
The next morning came quiet, golden, and warm.
Lai Ming stood easily.
No groan. No limp. Just a quiet stiffness in the scar—like a ghost tapping his thigh to remind him where he started.
He rolled his shoulders. Inhaled deep.
Then he ran.
The jungle blurred around him.
Leaves slapped his arms. Roots lunged at his feet.
But his body moved like it had been waiting to be used.
Fast. Precise. Alive.
A chicken squawked in the distance.
Bad move.
He pivoted mid-stride, launched himself forward, and tackled it clean from behind.
Feathers exploded.
Lai Ming stood over the twitching bird, chest rising calmly, stick still strapped to his back.
He glanced up at the treetops and muttered,
"Tell the others."
That afternoon, he sat beside the fire, stone in hand, spear in lap.
Each scrape of the blade edge was rhythm now—muscle memory and jungle patience fused into one.
What began as a glorified stick had become a weapon.
Hardwood shaft, fire-hardened end, stone blade lashed tight with vine. No wobble. No rot. Just intent.
Even Elder Munch raised an eyebrow. Or… the sheep version of one.
Lai Ming held it up against the sunset glow and nodded once.
Not bad for a guy who used to cry doing burpees.
The fire crackled low beside him.
Night pressed in from the treeline, thick with insects, humidity, and just a hint of menace.
Lai Ming didn't flinch.
He sat back, spear resting across his knees, eyes reflecting the flicker of flame.
He'd hunted.
He'd trained.
He'd built.
And now…
he was waiting.
Day Nine.
The jungle was quieter today.
Maybe it sensed him now.
Maybe the air had shifted.
Or maybe Elder Munch had just eaten whatever predator used to scream at midnight.
Either way, Lai Ming felt it.
Tomorrow was the day.
He'd built up speed, strength, and silence.
Now came the final push.
He sat by the fire, poked at the embers, and whispered,
"…Last nap before the hunt."
He closed his eyes.
Click.
The void greeted him like it always did—soft grass, still air, silence wrapped in silence.
But this time, a screen greeted him first.
Attributes – View Mode
Physique: 26
Willpower: 15
Nap Efficiency: 94%
Free Attribute Points: 6
– [Evasive Slumber I]
– [Savage Precision I]
Milestone Progress: 4/5 Full-Body Sets
Dignity: ☠️ Terminal
He grunted. "One more."
He dropped into his full-body routine.
Push-ups.
Crunches.
Squats.
Smooth. Efficient. Clean form. No ego.
Just motion.
Just discipline.
DING.
Full-Body Training Logged
+3 Physique Gained
+1 Free Attribute
Dream Lock: 9 Hours
Milestone Complete: 5/5 Full-Body Sets Logged
Reward Unlocked: Slumber Artifact
Lai Ming raised an eyebrow. "I get loot now?"
A glowing screen unfolded:
You have obtained:
[Heaven-Smothering Cloud] (Legendary Artifact – Personal)
Description: A simple, absurdly overbuilt pillow.
– Self-cleaning
– Cannot be destroyed
– Cannot be stained
– Cannot be lost
– Will teleport to your side upon command
– Maximum softness rating: ∞
Attack Power: 0.4
(Seriously, don't use it as a weapon.)
Usage: Viewer comfort, elite napping, aesthetic dominance
He blinked.
"…I got a pillow."
The artifact shimmered into existence beside him, floating like a feather from heaven's memory foam.
He grabbed it.
Pressed it to his face.
And let out a moan that might've made Elder Munch leave the camp if he'd heard it.
"I love you."
He flopped back onto the grass, pillow cradling his skull like a cloud with parental instincts.
The fire burned somewhere far below. The jungle held its breath.
And tomorrow—
the hunt begins.