Morning sunlight spilled over Golden Reed City, soft and warm, but Li Fan felt none of its comfort. He sat beside a crumbling wall near the marketplace, holding a cracked bowl in one hand and a sandal that had long since lost its strap in the other.
The city was already alive. Vendors shouted about spirit herbs and talismans; children ran barefoot through the dust; cultivators passed by in their silken robes, radiating calm arrogance. Li Fan looked at them the way a starving dog looked at a banquet.
His stomach growled. The memory of hunger had never left him since the system's first test. But now, beneath that ache, there was something else—something faint but alive—a slow, pulsing warmth that throbbed within his chest. His Qi of Poverty. His absurd, gray, pitiful energy.
He still didn't fully understand it. All he knew was that every time he lost something, that warmth stirred.
He looked at the cracked bowl again. The thing had followed him for days, once used to catch rainwater. Now a fissure ran across its base, and it leaked no matter how he tried to patch it. He turned it in his hands thoughtfully.
"Let's see what happens," he muttered.
He lifted his arm and threw it onto the cobblestone street. It shattered with a dull sound, pieces scattering like small bones.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then the voice came, cold and precise in his mind.
[You have lost: Broken bowl. +2 Poverty Points.]
A faint warmth bloomed inside him, deeper and clearer than before. His breath hitched as the gray aura rippled faintly beneath his skin. It was weak but undeniable—like the echo of distant thunder.
He stared down at his hands, half in disbelief. "It really worked."
The system responded with mechanical indifference. [Observation: Resonance confirmed. The act of relinquishing possessions strengthens the Dao of Lack.]
Li Fan exhaled slowly, then looked at his sandal. The sole was worn thin; one strap was barely holding together with a piece of twine. He smirked to himself.
"Well, can't have one foot clinging to luxury."
He took it off and tossed it into the same street where the bowl had shattered.
[You have lost: Broken sandal. +1 Poverty Point.]
He wiggled his bare toes against the stone, feeling the rough texture scrape against his skin. The energy pulsed again, stronger this time, running up his leg like a trickle of fire and ash.
A soft laugh escaped him. "So this is it, huh? Power by losing everything."
People passing by began to glance at him. A few slowed down, whispering. To them, he looked like any other beggar—barefoot, dirty, talking to himself, laughing in the sunlight like a lunatic. A merchant muttered, "Poor fool's gone mad," and moved along.
Li Fan ignored them. He was busy watching the faint tendrils of gray Qi curl around his fingers before fading again. The warmth inside him was growing steadier, shaping itself into something tangible. Not strength yet—but potential.
He wondered how far this strange cultivation could go. If losing a bowl and a sandal could awaken his Qi, what would happen if he lost something bigger?
[Warning: Reckless loss may endanger host survival.]
He chuckled. "Oh, so you do care if I die."
[Correction: Host death would terminate all data acquisition. System preference is continued observation.]
"Touching," he said dryly. "You make a wonderful companion."
He stood up and brushed dust from his tattered robes. The morning breeze felt strangely pleasant against his bare foot. For the first time in days, he felt light—empty, yes, but light in a way that almost felt free.
The city's main marketplace stretched before him like a river of chaos. Carts lined the streets, filled with fruits, fabrics, and trinkets glowing faintly with spiritual energy. He walked among them, unnoticed except for the occasional disgusted glance. He passed a group of young cultivators laughing near a tea stall, their laughter sharp and cruel.
"Look at him," one said. "A beggar who thinks he's enlightened."
Li Fan met their gaze, then smiled faintly. "Maybe I am."
The young cultivator blinked, caught off guard by the calm in Li Fan's tone. But he scoffed and turned away. To him, a poor servant wasn't worth the breath of argument.
Li Fan moved on, letting their mockery roll off him. He'd lost enough dignity already; what was one more handful?
[You have lost: social respect. +3 Poverty Points.]
He laughed quietly. "Of course."
By noon, the streets had grown crowded. The smell of cooked food tortured him again. His stomach complained, but he resisted. Hunger now meant strength. He had learned that much.
He sat near a stall selling old robes and shoes, pretending to rest while feeling the steady thrum of gray Qi inside his body. He could sense something forming—a flow, subtle and incomplete, threading through his limbs. His control was clumsy, like trying to cup water in broken hands, but it was there.
He lifted his palm. The faintest shimmer of gray mist appeared, swirling weakly before fading. He grinned. "Almost."
That was when he felt the shove.
A large man reeking of wine stood over him, sneering. His clothes were rough, his eyes small and mean. "Hey, beggar," the man said. "You laughing at me?"
Li Fan blinked. "No. I was laughing at myself."
The drunk's sneer deepened. "Think you're clever?"
He grabbed Li Fan by the collar and hauled him up. The boy's feet barely touched the ground. The man's breath smelled like old rice liquor. "People like you shouldn't smile," he said. "You ruin the mood of decent folk."
Around them, a few onlookers gathered, drawn by the scent of violence. No one intervened. Beating a beggar wasn't worth the trouble.
Li Fan's body trembled—not from fear, but from exhaustion. He could barely move. Still, he managed a weak smile. "If you're trying to rob me, good luck. I already robbed myself."
The man frowned, confused. "What?"
Before he could react, the drunk slammed him against the wall. Pain exploded through Li Fan's ribs. He gasped, coughing. The man drew back a fist.
[Warning: Physical threat detected.]
"Yeah, no kidding," Li Fan muttered under his breath.
The punch came. He couldn't dodge. The blow sent him sprawling into a stack of crates, splinters flying. People laughed. Someone shouted for the guards, but no one actually moved.
Li Fan coughed blood and tried to stand. The man advanced again, grinning.
[Host vitality: critical.]
Li Fan closed his eyes. "Then do something."
For a moment, there was only the sound of footsteps on stone.
Then the world shifted.
A pulse surged from within him—cold, heavy, overwhelming. The gray Qi that had been coiled in his body erupted outward like a wave of smoke and shadow. The air turned dense, the ground humming faintly as the aura spread.
The man froze mid-step. His face twisted in confusion. "What—what is this?"
The gray light flared around Li Fan's body, not bright but deep, like the color of a stormcloud before lightning. It swirled around him, cold and hungry, drinking the heat from the air.
Li Fan opened his eyes. They reflected faint silver-gray light.
The man stumbled backward, his bravado melting into fear. He tried to speak, but the aura pressed down on him like the weight of an ocean. Then, without warning, it struck. The gray energy lashed out—not a beam, not a blast, but a wave of pressure that rippled through the air.
The man was thrown off his feet. He hit the ground hard, sliding several paces across the cobblestones before slamming into a barrel. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed, unconscious.
The marketplace went silent.
Everyone who had been laughing now stared at Li Fan. The boy stood amid the wreckage, chest heaving, the faint traces of smoke-like Qi curling from his skin. He looked like a ghost wearing human shape.
A whisper ran through the crowd. "Did he just… do that?"
"He's a cultivator?"
"No—look at that aura. That's not normal Qi…"
Li Fan didn't hear them. His vision blurred again. The sudden surge of power left him weak, dizzy, trembling. He took a step forward and nearly fell.
The system's voice cut through the haze.
[Loss detected: Blood, composure, physical integrity. Strength increased.]
He managed a faint, breathless laugh. "You're serious."
[Host status: evolving. Qi of Poverty expanding. Physical strength improved by minor grade.]
He looked down at his hands. The faint gray shimmer had faded, but he could still feel the echo of its weight, humming deep within his bones. It wasn't just energy—it was resilience, like steel being forged from failure.
The onlookers began to disperse, muttering about curses and demons. The unconscious man lay sprawled nearby, still breathing but pale as ash.
Li Fan staggered to the side of the street and sank down onto a broken crate. His breathing was ragged, each inhale sharp with pain, but his lips curled into a slow smile.
He whispered, almost to himself, "I just got stronger… because I lost a fight."
[Affirmative.]
The absurdity of it sank in, and he started laughing quietly. The sound wasn't bitter this time. It was soft, almost peaceful. Around him, the marketplace resumed its noise, cautious but curious. People still avoided him, but their eyes no longer saw just a beggar. They saw something else—something dangerous.
Li Fan tilted his head toward the sky, watching the sunlight shift behind drifting clouds. The warmth brushed his face, but he could still feel that pulse of cold power deep inside. His Qi of Poverty. His curse. His weapon.
He thought of the cultivators who had mocked him, of the rich who believed Heaven favored them. Maybe this was Heaven's joke, but it was a joke he could use.
He clenched his fist. The faint gray shimmer returned for a heartbeat before fading again.
"Then let's keep losing," he said softly. "If every loss brings power… I'll turn emptiness into strength."
The wind picked up, scattering dust and whispers through the air. The broken bowl fragments glittered faintly in the sunlight near his feet, as if the world itself was listening.
Li Fan stood, body aching but alive, and walked into the crowd—barefoot, hungry, and smiling faintly like a man who had just discovered the secret to defying fate.