Sleep provided no escape from the heat. Ji Han woke with a gasp, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth like a dry leaf.
He sat up, shielding his eyes. The violet sun was exactly where he had left it—a blinding, stationary tyrant in the eastern sky. According to his biological clock, he had slept for six or seven hours. According to the sun, not even a minute had passed.
The heat, however, had intensified. The ground was radiating warmth like a skillet left on a burner.
"Status check," Ji Han croaked.
He looked at Lin Qinghe. She was still unconscious, but her condition had worsened. Her skin was flushed a dangerous, feverish red. Her lips were cracked and bleeding. The direct exposure to the ultraviolet radiation of this alien star was cooking her alive.
If she died, he lost his teacher. If he lost his teacher, he lost the method. If he lost the method, he starved.
"Shade," Ji Han muttered, forcing his stiff limbs to move. "Priority Alpha: Shade."
He looked at the northern boulders. They cast a shadow, but because the sun was slowly climbing toward its zenith—a "High Noon" that would last for months—the shadow was shrinking, not growing. By the time the sun reached its peak, there would be nowhere to hide.
He needed a roof.
He checked his inventory.
Rusty Sword.
Rocks.
Azure Grass.
"Engineering," Ji Han whispered, channeling his old life. "Tensile strength of grass fibers. Structural support of stone."
He dragged himself to the edge of the grass line. The azure stalks were thick, almost like bamboo near the roots, tapering to sharp blades at the top.
He raised the sword. Chop.
It took three swings to sever a single stalk. The iron sword was dull, and his arms were weak.
"Inefficient," he grunted.
He closed his eyes. Step 1: Connect the Magpie Bridge. Step 2: Feel the heat.
He didn't have the luxury of sitting in a lotus position. He had to cultivate while he worked. He focused on the burning sensation on his back. Instead of hating it, he accepted it. He visualized the heat flowing into his shoulders, down his arms, and into the sword.
Swing.
The blade bit through the grass with slightly more force.
[System Notification: Proficiency Gained.][Basic Breathing Technique: 4/100]
He worked in a trance. Cut. Gather. Stack. Cut. Gather. Stack.
The sun beat down relentlessly. His sweat evaporated before it could drip. He was dehydrating rapidly, but he couldn't stop.
After what felt like hours, he had a pile of azure grass bundles.
He returned to the boulders. He found two large rocks spaced about two meters apart. He used the longest, thickest stalks as crossbeams, jamming them into the cracks of the boulders.
Then, he began to weave.
He wasn't a weaver. The result was ugly—a messy, chaotic mat of blue vegetation. But he layered it thick. One layer. Two layers. Three.
He packed mud from the seep—sparingly, as the moisture was precious—around the base of the stalks to anchor them.
By the time he finished, his hands were raw and bleeding from the sharp grass edges. But leaning against the boulder was a crude, shaggy lean-to.
It blocked the sun.
Ji Han crawled underneath. The temperature difference was immediate. It was still hot—suffocatingly so—but the direct radiation was gone. It was ten degrees cooler in the shade.
He scrambled back out and grabbed Lin Qinghe by the shoulders. She was dead weight. He dragged her across the dirt, wincing as her heels scraped the ground, and pulled her into the shelter.
He collapsed beside her, panting.
His vision swam. Black spots danced in his eyes. Dehydration.
He crawled to the catchment basin.
The hole had refilled. Another half-cup of brown water.
He drank a mouthful. It was warm and tasted of soil, but it was glorious.
He took a second mouthful and held it in his cheeks. He turned to Lin Qinghe. He couldn't pour it in; she was too deep in the fever.
He pinched her nose. Her mouth fell open slightly. He let the water trickle in.
She choked, coughed, and swallowed.
"Wake up," Ji Han whispered, leaning his head back against the cool rock. "I built us a house. It's ugly, but it works."
Lin Qinghe didn't wake up, but her breathing eased. The shade was saving her.
Ji Han looked out from the entrance of the lean-to. The view was a sliver of the golden barrier and the terrifying, frozen world beyond.
He looked at the sun again.
It had moved.
It was a tiny, almost imperceptible shift, but because he had used the boulders as a reference point, he saw it. It was higher.
"It's rising," Ji Han realized, a knot forming in his stomach.
Currently, it was "Mid-Morning." The angle was oblique. But in a few months (Internal Time), it would be directly overhead.
"High Noon."
When the sun was at its zenith, there would be no shadows from the boulders. The heat would maximize. The ground would become hot enough to fry an egg.
"We have to go deeper," Ji Han murmured, staring at the dirt floor of their shelter. "Before noon comes, we have to go underground."
He looked at his hands. They were blistered. He looked at the sword. The edge was duller than ever.
He reached for a stalk of the azure grass he had saved. He peeled the outer bark and chewed on the bitter, fibrous core.
It was disgusting. It was fuel.
He closed his eyes, assumed the lotus position in the cramped shade, and began to breathe.
Inhale heat. Exhale impurity.
He had to get stronger. He had to reach Level 1—Qi Condensation—before the sun reached the top of the sky. If he didn't, the "Noon" of this Eternal Domain would cook them in their own juices.
[System Notification: Proficiency Gained.][Basic Breathing Technique: 5/100]