Lin Feng sat in his new house, the walls sturdier than the shack he had abandoned. Yet his heart was heavy. Every step since awakening had been marked by exploitation. Cheated by the gang, forced to accept only ten spirit stones for his family's home. Exploited by the house manager, paying seven spirit stones instead of five for rent. He sighed, the sound long and weary. This is how ruthless the world is. At every step, the weak are bled dry.
Outside, distant shouts reached his ears. Rival gangs were fighting over the land he had sold. The shack, worthless to him, had become a battleground for petty power struggles. He shook his head, another sigh escaping. Even scraps of land become bloodied battlegrounds. This is the world I must rise above.
Night fell. Lin Feng sat before a small bowl of rice. Mortal rice — plain, tasteless, filling only the belly. He thought of cultivators with resources, eating grade‑one spiritual rice that nourished qi and strengthened the body. His own food was bitter in comparison. He sighed again, forcing himself to swallow. For now, this is all I have. But one day, I'll eat like the heavens themselves.
After eating, he sat cross‑legged, closing his eyes. Qi trickled through his meridians, sluggish and scattered by his five roots. Pain burned in his chest, sweat dripped down his brow, but he refused to stop. He ground his teeth, enduring. If heaven calls me trash, I'll grind against heaven itself.
Hours passed. His body trembled, his breath ragged, but he sensed a faint spark of progress. His qi circulation was steadier than before, though still weak. He opened his eyes, exhausted but resolute. Even trash can climb, if given a foothold.
Morning light spilled into the room. Lin Feng rose slowly, his body sore but his mind sharper. He knew his cultivation was too slow. At this pace, reaching Qi Gathering 3rd Stage would take years. He needed help. He remembered hearing of the loose cultivator market, where low‑grade pills were sold.
He stepped into the bustling streets. The outer market was alive with noise — merchants shouting, cultivators bargaining, the air thick with the scent of herbs and smoke. Stalls lined the road, their tables piled with bottles, powders, and crude pills.
Lin Feng walked among them, clutching his remaining spirit stones tightly. Only three remained after rent. Every coin mattered. He ignored the disdainful looks of merchants who sensed his weak cultivation. Their eyes dismissed him as trash, unworthy of their wares.
Still, he pressed on. His gaze swept the stalls until he spotted one selling low‑grade Qi Gathering Pills. The pills were dull in color, their surface uneven, clearly inferior to sect‑made versions. But even these could help him cultivate faster.
The merchant smirked as Lin Feng approached. "Looking for pills, boy? Low‑grade Qi Gathering Pills. One spirit stone each."
Lin Feng's heart tightened. The price was steep for their quality, but he had no choice. He sighed inwardly, humiliation burning again. Exploitation at every step. But if this helps me climb, I'll endure.
He reached into his pouch, fingers brushing the last of his spirit stones. His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding. He bowed his head slightly, forcing the words out. "I'll take one."
The merchant's smile widened as he handed over a pill. Lin Feng accepted it carefully, slipping it into his Inventory with a thought. The pill vanished instantly, safe from prying eyes. Relief washed over him. At least they cannot steal from me now.
He turned away, clutching the empty pouch. His steps were heavy, but his resolve burned brighter. He had food, shelter, and now a pill. It was not much, but it was enough to keep climbing.
As he walked back to his small house, the market noise faded behind him. His mind replayed the sighs of the night before — sighs at exploitation, at mortal rice, at gangs fighting over scraps. But now, his sigh carried a different weight. This world is ruthless. But I will rise. And when the shop opens, I'll overturn heaven itself.