Shen Yue's mind stirred, a silent summons calling forth the system. A golden panel flickered into existence before his eyes, its warm, ethereal light washing over the modest room.
The glow danced across the wooden walls, casting fleeting shadows that seemed to pulse with a life of their own, transforming the space into something almost sacred.
System Interface
Name: Shen Yue
Age: 14
Physique: High-Level Iron-Copper Molting Physique
Bloodline: Mid-Level Flame Scorpion Bloodline
Cultivation: Uninitiated
Skills:
- Literacy and Knowledge (Beginner) (98%)
Spiritual Root: Low-Level Fire Spiritual Root (Mixed) (0%)
Talent: Extraction
- Mid-Level Sword Talent (0%)
- Low-Level Archery Talent (0%)
- Low-Level Spear Talent (0%)
- Mid-Level Comprehension (0%)
Unique Traits:
- Clones: 0 (Locked)
Stats:
- Strength: 10
- Dexterity: 8
- Wisdom: 2.3
- Spirit: 0.9
Shen Yue's breath hitched as his gaze locked onto the Literacy and Knowledge skill. Ninety-eight percent. It had surged from its entry level, teetering on the cusp of mastery. His Wisdom stat had inched upward too, from 2.1 to 2.3.
A spark of joy flared in his chest, sharp and fleeting, like a flame catching dry tinder.
He had devoured four books the previous night—tomes filled with ancient cultivation theories and forgotten martial techniques. He had anticipated progress, but this was a leap beyond his hopes.
His mind felt like a honed blade, each word, line, and page number etched into his memory with eerie precision. The texts flowed through his thoughts like a living stream, their concepts vivid and tangible. He could recall the exact phrasing of a passage on spiritual meridians or the intricate diagram of a spear form as if they were painted before his eyes.
A strange fire kindled within him—not mere ambition, but a ravenous hunger. Mastery was so close he could almost grasp it. What would it mean to reach that stage, to transcend the ordinary in this alien world?
The thought sent a shiver through him, equal parts thrill and fear.
With renewed determination, Shen Yue reached for the half-finished book on his bedside table. His fingers, still frail from his recovering body, turned the pages with practiced grace.
For twenty minutes, the room was silent, save for the soft rustle of paper and the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath his shifting weight.
Then, it happened.
A pulse of warmth spread through his mind, like a lock clicking open. A satisfied sigh slipped from his lips. He summoned the system panel again, its golden light bathing his pale face.
Skill: Literacy and Knowledge (Mastery) (0%)
A slow, triumphant smile curved his lips. The title had changed. He had crossed into mastery.
Relief surged through him like a tidal wave, his tense shoulders sagging against the bedding. His back hit the mattress with a muffled thud, and exhaustion—long suppressed—tugged at his consciousness.
For once, he didn't resist. Sleep enveloped him, deep and undisturbed, a rare sanctuary in a world of uncertainty.
A sharp knock shattered his slumber. Shen Yue blinked, disoriented, as morning light filtered through the narrow window, carrying the faint scent of dew and polished wood.
"Young Master?" a hesitant voice called from beyond the door. "Breakfast is here."
"Come in," he replied, his voice rough from disuse.
The door creaked open, and the servant girl stepped inside, a wooden tray balanced in her hands. Her eyes locked onto him and widened in shock.
"What happened to you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Shen Yue caught his reflection in a nearby bronze mirror. Dark shadows clung beneath his eyes, his face pale and gaunt, as if he'd clawed his way back from death itself.
He forced a faint smile. "Just a nightmare," he said, his tone flat, unconvincing even to himself.
Her brow furrowed, her gaze flicking to the corner where books teetered in precarious stacks, their spines worn from relentless use. She clearly didn't believe him.
Setting the tray on the low table, her movements were stiff, her usual grace replaced by uncertainty.
As she turned to leave, she paused, her back to him. "It's not my place to care what you do to yourself," she muttered, her tone sharp yet tinged with worry, "but I hope you don't die before adjusting. You're one of the lucky ones. One in ten thousand survives. Maybe two."
The words hung heavy in the air, a cryptic warning that sent a chill down Shen Yue's spine.
What did she mean by "adjusting"? Was it tied to his arrival in this world, his body remade by forces he didn't understand?
He pushed the thought aside, clinging to his smile. "I'll manage," he said softly.
She glanced over her shoulder, her expression unreadable, then slipped out, the door clicking shut behind her.
Shen Yue ate slowly, savoring the warm rice porridge and steamed buns. Each bite grounded him, a tether to this strange reality.
When the tray was empty, he lay back, letting his body sink into the bedding. The weight of his exhaustion pulled him under, and six more hours of sleep claimed him.
---
When he awoke, the afternoon sun spilled through the window, painting the room in hues of gold and amber. Shen Yue rose, his movements less pained than before.
He washed his face in a basin of cool water and brushed his teeth, habits carried from his past life as a calisthenics trainer on Earth.
In this world of sects and spiritual roots, these rituals were lifelines, anchoring him against the chaos.
His body was improving. The treatment—herbal concoctions and careful care—was working. The tight, burning pull in his muscles had eased, replaced by a tentative strength.
He could walk now without wincing, a small victory that felt like a promise of greater things.
That evening, Miss Xia arrived for her routine check-up. Her delicate fingers pressed against his wrist, her brow furrowing as she read his pulse.
"This is… astonishing," she said, her voice laced with disbelief. "Your recovery is far ahead of schedule. At this rate, you'll be fully healed in twenty days."
Shen Yue bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Miss Xia. I'm grateful."
She studied him, her dark eyes narrowing with curiosity. "You're pushing yourself hard, aren't you?" she asked, her tone gentle but probing. "Take care, Shen Yue. A strong will can outpace a weak body."
"I'll be careful," he replied, meeting her gaze with sincerity.
She offered a small, enigmatic smile, then gathered her satchel and left without another word.
The room fell silent again. Shen Yue's eyes drifted to the stack of books. Twenty days. That was his window.
He would push Literacy and Knowledge to the perfect stage, no matter the cost. Distractions were a luxury he couldn't afford.
Days blurred into a relentless cycle: read, eat, sleep, heal, repeat. Each morning, Shen Yue rose with the dawn, bathed, and immersed himself in texts.
By the third day, a new realization stirred. His body, though still fragile, was no longer the helpless shell it had been.
Nourished by hearty meals and rest, his muscles had begun to firm, their contours faintly visible beneath his skin.
In his past life, he had sculpted bodies through discipline and sweat. Now, in this world of cultivation and mystery, he would rebuild his foundation, one repetition at a time.
The thought sparked a flicker of nostalgia, tinged with determination. He wasn't just surviving—he was reclaiming himself.
That morning, after bathing, he stepped into the guest manor's courtyard. The air was crisp, dew clinging to the grass, and distant birdsong filled the silence. It was the perfect moment to begin.
He started slowly: joint rotations to loosen his limbs, deep stretches to awaken his muscles, and rhythmic breathing to center his mind.
Then came the exercises—push-ups, planks, squats, bridges. Each movement was deliberate, rekindling muscle memory buried deep within. The strain was familiar, the sweat a comfort, the soreness a reminder of who he had been.
Two hours later, breathless and glistening with sweat, Shen Yue summoned the system panel.
Skills:
- Literacy and Knowledge (Mastery) (23%)
- Calisthenics (Beginner) (3%)
He exhaled, a quiet satisfaction settling in his chest. The appearance of Calisthenics as a skill thrilled him. This world recognized effort, whether mystical or mundane.
It was a small step, but it felt like a promise—of strength, of control, of a future he could shape.
He changed into fresh robes, ate his breakfast, and returned to his books. That night, sleep came easily, his body and mind falling into a steady rhythm.
---
Uncle Peng Lei visited intermittently, his broad frame filling the doorway as he checked on Shen Yue's progress.
Their conversations were a lifeline to the world beyond the manor walls. Through his uncle's guarded words, Shen Yue glimpsed the intricate web of sects, the politics of the inner regions, and the unspoken rules governing the cities.
He absorbed every detail, his mind cataloging each fact like a treasure.
One afternoon, as they sat over tea, Shen Yue ventured a question. "Uncle, what does it take to join a sect?"
Peng Lei's eyes darkened, his teacup pausing midair. "Sects are a dangerous path, Yue," he said, his voice low. "They promise power, but their price is steep. Heal first. Then decide."
Shen Yue nodded, but the weight in his uncle's tone lingered, a warning of perils yet unseen.
The servant girl began to soften too. No longer the quiet, irritated figure from before, she spoke more casually, her questions tentative but genuine.
"Why do you read so much?" she asked one morning, setting down the tray with care. "Those books look heavier than you."
Shen Yue smiled faintly. "Knowledge is power," he said. "It's something no one can take away."
She huffed, her eyes lingering on the stacks. "Power won't help if you don't rest. You look half-dead already."
"I'll rest when I'm ready," he replied, his tone gentle but firm.
Her gaze held a flicker of concern before she turned away, leaving an extra steamed bun on the tray—a small, unspoken gesture.
Four days passed in this disciplined rhythm. Then, as Shen Yue closed the final page of a dense tome on spiritual meridians, a faint pulse stirred within him—a sensation like a spark igniting kindling.
He summoned the system panel, its golden light washing over him. His eyes scanned the numbers, and a wide smile bloomed across his face, bright and unguarded.
Something had shifted, something monumental. The path ahead was clearer now, and the fire in his chest burned brighter than ever.