The violet sun was a hammer, and the azure plain was its anvil. Ji Han was the raw iron being beaten into shape, though he felt less like metal and more like drying clay—cracking, brittle, and fragile.
Three hours had passed since he discovered the seep. In that time, the sun had not moved. The shadows of the boulders remained etched in the exact same positions, sharp and black against the blue grass. The heat, however, was accumulating. The air shimmered above the ground, distorting the horizon where the terrifying, frozen shapes of the Beast Kings stood like statues in a museum of horrors.
Ji Han was currently on his knees, disgracing the only weapon he owned.
Scrape. Clink. Scrape.
The rusty iron sword dug into the rocky soil at the base of the northern boulders. It was grueling work. The ground was hard, packed tight by eons of gravity, yielding only grudgingly to the dull blade.
Every movement was a calculation. Lift the sword: calorie expense. Drive it down: calorie expense. Twist and pry: structural risk to the blade.
"Efficiency," Ji Han rasped, the word sticking to the roof of his dry mouth. "Minimum effort. Maximum displacement."
He wasn't digging a well; he didn't have the energy for that. He was digging a catchment basin. He had hollowed out a bowl-sized depression in the mud, lining the sides with flat stones he had scavenged from the perimeter.
He stopped, his chest heaving. He stared into the hole.
At the bottom, a tiny pool of brown, murky liquid had gathered. It was perhaps three tablespoons of water.
It was hideous. It was life.
Ji Han resisted the urge to lap it up like a dog. He needed to let the sediment settle. If he drank the mud, he'd get sick. If he got sick, he died. Diarrhea in this environment was a faster killer than the wolves outside.
He sat back against the cool surface of the boulder, wiping sweat from his forehead with a dirty sleeve. He looked across the clearing to where Lin Qinghe lay. She hadn't moved, but her chest was rising and falling in a slightly more rhythmic pattern. The water had bought her time.
"Your turn to wait," he muttered.
He reached for the Basic Breathing Technique. The threadbound book felt heavy in his hands. This was the variable. If the water was the baseline for survival, this book was the multiplier.
He opened the first page. The text was written in traditional characters, vertical and sharp.
"The Dao is in the emptiness. The body is a vessel, leaking and flawed. To fill the vessel, one must first seal the cracks. Breathe not with the lungs, but with the pores. Draw the Qi of Heaven and Earth into the Dantian, refine the impurity, and forge the Foundation."
Ji Han stared at the words. They were poetic. They were beautiful. They were also completely useless instructions for a starving man.
"Breathe with the pores," he read aloud, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Right. I'll just tell my skin to inhale."
He skipped the philosophical intro and looked for the technical manual.
"Step 1: The Lotus Seat. Spine straight as a spear. Tongue pressed to the roof of the mouth to connect the Magpie Bridge. Clear the mind of all mortal dust."
Ji Han shifted his legs into a cross-legged position. His hamstrings protested. The rusty sword dug into his hip. He adjusted, straightened his back, and pressed his tongue to his palate.
"Step 2: Visualize the Qi. It exists in all things. In the Azure Vastness, the Wood Qi is abundant. Feel the green vitality. Pull it."
He closed his eyes.
He saw darkness. He heard the blood rushing in his ears. He felt the gnawing emptiness of his stomach and the burning thirst in his throat.
"Green vitality," he thought. "Come here."
Nothing happened.
He sat there for ten minutes. Then twenty. His legs went numb. A fly landed on his nose. The heat pressed against his eyelids.
"This is impossible," he snapped, opening his eyes and breaking the pose.
Panic flared again. In the stories, the protagonist was always a genius. They sat down, had an epiphany, and leveled up. Ji Han was just a guy with a logistics degree and a rusty sword. He didn't feel any "Qi." He just felt hot and stupid.
He looked at the bread. The three loaves sat on a flat rock, mocking him.
If he couldn't cultivate, he would have to eat. If he ate, the food would run out. If the food ran out, he died.
"Focus," he slapped his own cheek. The sting grounded him. "You don't need to be a genius. You just need to be stubborn."
He looked at the manual again. "Clear the mind of all mortal dust."
That was the problem. His mind was a storm of math. How much water? How many days? Why is the sun so hot? Is that wolf moving?
He couldn't clear his mind. He was too afraid.
"Change the tactic," Ji Han whispered. "Don't clear the mind. Focus it."
He closed his eyes again. He didn't try to empty his thoughts. Instead, he visualized the inventory list.
Item 1: Sword.Item 2: Bread.Item 3: Water.
He visualized the murky puddle in the hole he had dug. He visualized the water molecules. He imagined them as tiny, glowing motes of light.
Inhale.
He imagined the motes entering his nose.
Exhale.
He imagined the waste leaving.
He sat there for an hour, the sun beating down on his unmoving form. He didn't feel magic. He didn't feel power. But he did feel his heart rate slow down. The panic, which had been a jagged noise in his brain, smoothed out into a low hum.
His breathing deepened. The frantic need to check the horizon faded.
[System Notification: Proficiency Gained.][Basic Breathing Technique: 1/100 (Beginner)]
The text box popped up behind his eyelids. Ji Han's eyes snapped open.
He hadn't absorbed Qi. He hadn't leveled up. He had simply gained "proficiency." It was a tiny step. A microscopic step.
But it was progress.
He let out a long, shuddering breath. He wasn't dead yet.
A sound from the center of the clearing broke his concentration. A rustle of fabric. A gasp.
Ji Han grabbed his sword and scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pins and needles in his numb legs.
Lin Qinghe was awake.
She had pushed herself up onto one elbow. Her other hand was clutching her chest, her knuckles white. Her eyes were open—dark, sharp, and utterly confused. She scanned the horizon, the violet sun, the golden barrier.
Then her gaze landed on Ji Han.
There was no gratitude in that look. There was assessment. Cold, predatory assessment. Even dying, even crippled, she looked at him not as a savior, but as a potential threat.
"Where..." Her voice was a ruin, a shard of glass scraping against stone. "Where is this?"
Ji Han didn't step closer. He stayed near the rocks, near his water.
"The Azure Vastness," Ji Han said calmly. "A novice territory."
She frowned, looking at the golden barrier. She seemed to recognize the energy signature. "Novice... protection." She looked at the sun. Her eyes narrowed. "The sun... it is stagnant."
She was sharp. She noticed the physics immediately.
"Time dilation," Ji Han said. "One day outside is one year inside."
Lin Qinghe froze. She looked at him, her eyes widening slightly. She looked at the barren grass. She looked at his rusty sword.
She did the math too.
She slumped back into the dirt, her strength failing her. A bitter, dry laugh escaped her lips.
"So," she whispered, closing her eyes. "You summoned me... to a tomb."
"I summoned a partner," Ji Han corrected, his voice hard. "Whether it's a tomb or a fortress depends on us."
"Us?" She opened one eye. "I have no meridians. I have no Qi. I am a cripple."
"And I am a mortal with three loaves of bread," Ji Han countered. "But I have water."
He gestured to the muddy hole.
Lin Qinghe's gaze followed his hand. She saw the pathetic puddle. She looked back at him. For a moment, the air between them was heavy with the weight of their impossible reality.
"Water," she repeated. The word was a plea, though her tone remained proud.
Ji Han walked over to the hole. The sediment had settled slightly. It was still brown, but drinkable. He dipped the cap of the waterskin into it, filling the tiny cup.
He walked over to her, stopping two paces away.
"This is the last free drink," Ji Han said, holding the cap out. "After this, you tell me what you can do. If the answer is 'nothing,' then you don't drink tomorrow."
Lin Qinghe stared at the water. Then she looked up at Ji Han. Her eyes burned with a sudden, fierce intensity—the embers of the Empress she used to be.
"I can read," she rasped. "I can read the manual you are failing to understand."
Ji Han paused. He looked at the book in his other hand.
"Deal," he said.
He handed her the water.