1-4 Kicking The Bucket Talent Shop(A Cultivation world LITRPG With An Infinite Lore-Onion of Story)
Chapter 1; Life Zero and One: Futility
The fluorescent lights buzzed above me, reflecting off the plastic-wrapped junk food lining the shelves. I tossed a pack of instant ramen and a bag of chips onto the counter, the cashier barely glancing up from her phone as she scanned them.
Stuffing the change and my meager dinner into my backpack, I pushed open the glass door and stepped out into the night. The cool air hit my face as a welcome change from the stale warmth of the store. As I exited the store, I closed my eyes to blink and–
Opening my eyes, I found myself staring up at a bright blue sky, unmarred by light pollution- or even the fact that it was supposed to be night time. My gaze swept across the unfamiliar landscape – rolling hills, a dense forest in the distance, and not a single skyscraper in sight. Instead, multiple small and quaint villages dotted the landscape, their rooftops tiled in jade green and crimson red, curling upwards at the eaves in that distinct ancient Chinese style.
I stood up, my heart pounding against my ribs. Panic clawed its way up my throat as I resisted the urge to scream. Where was I?! My eyes darted around, searching for anything familiar, a landmark, a street sign, anything.
Nothing.
Just endless green and the red of the nearby village homes.
Why couldn't they just merge the villages, they clearly had enough buildings to-
My panicked thoughts were interrupted as I stumbled forward, the uneven ground making it difficult to keep my balance. My stomach growled as a reminder of the food I hadn't eaten yet- which was just a meager meal of chips and boiled noodles. I'd planned for dinner, not a survival situation in isekai-land! I reached into my backpack, hoping the chips and ramen had somehow survived the trip to- wherever I was.
I picked up the bag I had dropped and reached inside.
My fingers brushed against something cold and scaled. I froze, slowly pulling my hand back. A snake, emerald green and thick as my wrist, was coiled inside my bag, its tongue flicking in and out. Its eyes, black and emotionless, locked onto mine.
A sharp pain lanced through my hand. I cried out, yanking my arm back as the snake struck again, fangs sinking into my flesh. I stumbled backward, tripping over a rock and falling hard onto the ground.
My vision blurred, the pain spread through my body like wildfire as I watched green veins of glowing gunk spread from where I was bitten. The snake slithered away, leaving me alone under the vast, indifferent sky. My eyelids grew heavy –
[You have survived 37 seconds in the Heaven Spark Continent of the
Red Dragon Plane]
[you gain 0 talent points.]
[Insufficient points to redirect to a different continent. Randomizing rebirth location…]
A disembodied voice echoed in my head, the words strange yet somehow understandable. Before I could ponder its meaning, a piercing wail filled my ears.
My eyes fluttered open, the world a blurry, blotchy mess of light and shadow. I tried to speak, but only a gurgle escaped my lips. I was lying on my back, wrapped in a rough cloth. A woman's face swam into view, her features etched with concern.
"There, there, little one," she cooed, her voice gentle. "Don't cry, you are going to be the most talented cultivator of the Havenrun clan."
What!? Those words don't even make sense! What language is that? I tried to raise my hand to ward off this insane giant woman, but it was small and chubby, barely able to grasp the air. Panic surged through me again, a terrifying realization dawning.
I was a baby.
I fainted.
This was the definition of "life sucks."
Being reborn as a baby was like being trapped in a fleshy prison.
My mind, still that of a jaded college student from a world where the best I could do after graduating was to live paycheck to paycheck, screamed in frustration at the limitations of my infant body and the fact that medieval societies didn't even have that!
Every action, from grabbing a toy- which if I didn't play with was considered terrifying to everyone around me- was a task like pushing a boulder up a wall.
I was a baby version of Sisyphus.
Great.
The endless cycle of feeding, sleeping, and soiling myself while trying to get control of the weak sack of meat that was my new body was a mind-numbingly dull task.
The other servants, with their cooing voices and patronizing smiles, grated on my nerves.
My mother seemed oblivious to my internal turmoil, treating me as if I had to be the best thing ever.
Surprisingly after a few months I realized I was slower than the other brats who learned how to read everything like lightning and moved like the impossible gods of toddlerhood.
The language, with its ridiculously complex characters, was the only thing that kept me somewhat engaged.
I absorbed it through sheer force of will, listening to conversations and mimicking the sounds I heard.
By the end of the year, I could definitely understand what was being said around me, but reading was still a struggle- and concepts like 'face' and other societal nonsense made my head hurt in a way so profound that I literally couldn't comprehend them.
This was humiliating.
I was Surrounded by super-babies who were practically sprinting by the age of three months.
I felt like I was a snail trying to compete in a horse race.
My eight-month-old self had just mastered crawling and had begun trying to stand.
Which was a feat that elicited concerned looks and hushed whispers from the other servants because this world was insane.
"Is the boy- slow?" I overheard one whisper to another, their voices laced with false worry.
Slow? In my previous life, I would have been considered well above average.
Now, I was practically considered a disabled child in this Chi-fueled world where babies developed at an alarming rate.
The frustration gnawed at me as I watched one of the clan children, even younger than me practicing calligraphy while running in place. a ridiculous display of balance and cardio that reminded me of my apparent inadequacy.
The ever-present Qi was a subtle energy that permeated the air and flowed through all living things in this world.
It seemed to accelerate growth and development in everyone but me.
While other children were reciting poetry and practicing calligraphy and jogging, I was struggling to string together basic sentences.
My jaws and mouth refused to cooperate, I knew what to say but my mouth refused to make the proper shape and when the air left my mouth to make a voice, garbage came out despite my efforts.
This body was 8 months old, damn it!
My mother remained optimistic, continuing to demand the maids who left the servant quarters with her to stop calling me worthless or a waste.
But I knew there was something wrong with this body, especially looking at all the other children who were already balancing pots on their heads while reading books.
By the end of my first year, I had finally achieved the milestones of walking and reading, albeit months behind my peers. The sense of shame and frustration was a heavy burden, but it also fueled a stubborn determination to prove myself.
What was the point of a second life if I couldn't excel in a damn medieval world that looked like ancient china?
My second year brought a newfound freedom of movement, I was finally allowed outside of the clans set of nursery buildings.
But that new freedom and my lack of understanding of the world also led to a disastrous encounter that would change the course of my early childhood and introduced me to the incredibly stupid, petty, and evil nature of people born into clans.
Also the concept of 'face.'
One of the the worst things in the world.
Exploring the clan compound, I stumbled upon a secluded garden, its serenity broken only by the chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves. An old man with a flowing white beard sat on a stone bench, his eyes closed in meditation.
The air around him crackled with energy, and I instinctively knew he was a powerful cultivator, someone of high standing within the clan. Curiosity, mixed with a touch of defiance, got the better of me.
"Hey, gramps," I called out, not knowing how much of a mistake I was about to make. "Do you know where the library is?"
The old man's eyes snapped open, his gaze sharp and piercing.
His face contorted in a mixture of rage and disgust.
Without a word, he flicked his wrist, and a wave of invisible force sent me flying backward, slamming me against a nearby tree. Pain exploded in my back, stealing the air from my lungs.
I was two years old! How could this guy think this was okay?!
I was also sure he just used enough force to kill me a hundred times over and yet I was still alive.
Before I could even cry out, two guards appeared, their faces grim and impassive.
They lifted me up by my underarms and carried me away, ignoring my protests and pleas for explanation.
I was confined to a small, windowless room, its bare walls offering no comfort or distraction. Days turned into nights, and nights back into days.
No one came to explain my transgression or offer any hope of release.
The isolation was agonizing, amplifying the feelings of shame and inadequacy that had plagued me since birth. I was alone, ostracized, and utterly powerless.
The isolation lasted for what felt like an eternity marked only by meals I was sure was someone else's leftovers.
When I was finally released, I was a changed individual.
Changed in the sense that I would pay more attention to what face was and use it to my own ends- somehow.
The defiant spark I had would outwardly seem to have been extinguished, replaced by a forced obedience and a deep-seated fear of old assholes.
But internally I would find a way to smash that bastard in the face.
I had to spend a lot of time in there, so after going over the few books I could remember reading in my mind I came to the conclusion that the societal norms of this world were at fault.
So I went over them in my head with an actual example in my head and realized that asking for the library from someone above my station like that was somehow spitting on him.
I didn't really get how that worked but I would figure it out.
I returned to my lessons and training with a newfound hatred diligence, determined to prove myself worthy and avoid any further punishment from irrational old men.
I became a model student, always respectful, always compliant while cursing these people internally.
Beneath the mask of obedience, a simmering resentment burned.
I hated the elders for their arrogance and their arbitrary use of power.
I hated the clan children, who mocked the servant children and were praised for their effortless talent and their condescending pity.
Pity that was a manufactured lie that they only pretended to feel to look like they had a ridiculous approximation of benevolence.
They called it 'face' and it was utter nonsense.
Most of all, I hated myself for my weakness, for being unable to stand up to those who had wronged me.
The Talent Awakening Ceremony was approaching, and I knew that it was my only chance to escape the life of a lowly servant or, worse, exile from the clan.
I poured all my energy into my training, pushing myself to the limits of my endurance.
I had to succeed, not just for myself, but to prove them all wrong.
The impending Talent Awakening Ceremony cast a long shadow over everything I did, fueled both by my anxiety and determination.
My days were filled with a grueling schedule of physical training, language lessons, and meditation exercises. The clan instructors, impressed by my newfound diligence, pushed me harder than ever before.
I ran until my lungs burned, practiced sword forms until my arms ached, and meditated until my mind went still. While I still lagged behind my peers in terms of raw talent, my perseverance and discipline began to earn me a grudging respect.
But beneath the surface of obedience, my hate for the elders grew.
I spent hours in the basic servant section of the clan library, devouring every scrap of information I could find on the history of the world.
Which, to be honest, was almost nothing!
As the son of a servant, my access to the clan library was severely limited. The grand halls filled with ancient scrolls and precious texts remained out of reach, a tantalizing glimpse of a world I could only dream of exploring.
Instead, I was relegated to a small, dusty corner of the library annex, a repository for discarded books and damaged scrolls deemed unworthy of the main collection. It was a humbling experience, sifting through piles of moldy paper and faded ink, searching for anything of value.
One evening, while exploring a secluded section of the library, I stumbled upon a hidden alcove. Tucked away behind a row of dusty scrolls was a small, leather-bound book.
Its cover was worn, the title faded beyond recognition.
Curiosity overcoming caution, I opened the book.
The pages were filled with handwritten text and intricate diagrams, detailing a series of breathing exercises and visualization techniques.
The language was archaic, but I managed to decipher the key concepts.
This, I realized with a jolt of excitement, was a cultivation manual.
It wasn't a formal technique passed down through generations, but a personal record of someone's experiments and insights.
I spent the following weeks studying the manual in secret, practicing the breathing exercises and visualizations whenever I had a moment to myself.
The Talent Awakening Ceremony was only a few months away, and I knew that I had a fighting chance.
The weeks leading up to the Talent Awakening Ceremony were a blur of anticipation and apprehension.
I continued my physical training, going through the motions with a sense of duty to myself rather than the clan.
The exercises felt increasingly pointless, a charade meant to maintain the illusion of progress that I forced myself to see.
As my true focus remained on the mysterious cultivation manual, I noted that nothing worked.
I spent every spare moment studying its pages, memorizing the intricate diagrams and deciphering the archaic language.
The text described a series of breathing exercises and visualizations designed to awaken and circulate Qi within the body.
However, despite my best efforts, the manual remained opaque.
I followed the instructions meticulously, contorting my body into awkward positions and focusing my mind with unwavering concentration.
But nothing happened. No surge of energy, no tingling sensation, no sign of Qi whatsoever.
Frustration gnawed at me, threatening to consume my fragile hopes.
Was the manual simply a fraud, a collection of nonsensical ramblings?
Or was I the one at fault, lacking the innate talent or understanding to unlock its secrets?
The doubts burned at my insides, whispering insidious suggestions of failure and inadequacy.
I tried to push them aside, to maintain a façade of optimism, but the fear of the impending ceremony loomed ever larger.
As the days dwindle down to a precious few, I found myself drawn back to the library annex, seeking solace amongst the discarded books and forgotten scrolls. It was a place I stood in out of quiet desperation.
I wandered aimlessly through the stacks, my fingers trailing across worn spines and brittle pages. A sense of futility washed over me.
What was the point of all this knowledge, all this effort, if I was destined to fail?
"Spiritward, No surname! No martial talent, No Cultivation talent. Red Grade scholar talent. Exile."
Chapter 2; Life One: Despair of a Street Rat
The elder's voice boomed through the hall, the single word echoing the emptiness that began to fill me. It hung in the air as a final judgment on my worth in the eyes of these people.
My potential was nonexistent and my very existence was worthless.
It felt like a brand seared onto my soul, marking me as a failure, an outcast, unworthy of even bearing the clan's name.
Exile.
A final word proclaiming our lack of worth that no argument could convince otherwise.
Not to them.
I stood alongside four other children, all bearing the same mark of shame, the hole in our servant robes where the clan emblem had been torn. We were the ones with the blank stares. We were those deemed unworthy of the clan's resources, the castoffs, the failures. We were a motley crew with different hair colors and heights. Each of us carried the weight of shattered dreams and unfulfilled expectations.
Without ceremony, we were herded onto a rickety wagon, its wooden frame groaning under our combined weight. The journey began, taking us through the bustling streets of the Havenrun clan compound in Green Area City, the heart of the second ring bordering the inside of the first ring.
I observed the vibrant life around us from the wagon flap. The laughter of children who were lucky enough to be born outside of clan and the calls of merchants along with the rhythmic clang of blacksmiths' hammers served as a painful contrast to the despair that gnawed at our hearts.
Hours bled into one another as the wagon rumbled through the city, the sun climbing higher in the sky, casting long shadows that seemed to mock our dwindling hopes.
We passed through the gates separating the second ring from the third, leaving behind the opulent homes and manicured gardens of the wealthy, entering a realm of modest dwellings and bustling marketplaces.
The air grew thick with the smell of cooking food and sweat, the sounds of commerce and industry replacing the genteel murmur of the inner ring.
The sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, as we finally reached the outer edges of the third ring.
The buildings grew sparser of apparent wealth and the streets shifted into a narrower and dirtier road.
Poverty and desperation clung to the air like a miasma. But if this was inside a city, it was a clear reminder of the harsh realities that awaited us beyond the city's protective walls.
I hope they would at least not shove us outside the walls to die.
As twilight descended, casting long shadows that stretched across the ramshackle buildings and garbage-strewn streets, we reached the fourth ring, the slums of Green Area City. The air hung heavy with the stench of decay and human waste. The sounds of laughter of the clanless children were replaced by the cries of children and the rasping coughs of the sick and dying.
The wagon finally lurched to a stop before a dilapidated building, its boarded-up windows and sagging roof a testament to years of neglect. This, we knew with a sinking feeling, was our destination. The final stop on our journey..
The rusty hinges groaned in protest as the gate swung shut, sealing us within the decaying embrace of the abandoned orphanage, a forgotten relic amidst the slums of Green Area City.
The oppressive silence was broken only by the sound of our ragged breaths and the pounding of our hearts, each beat a drumbeat of despair echoing the emptiness within us.
"This will be your new home," one of the guards announced with a sneer while the clan's caravaneer guard, the man who drove us here , laughed. "Consider yourselves fortunate the clan has even provided this much."
Who were they fooling? This was an abandoned hole, anyone who actually stayed the night here would definitely die of illness or worse!
They shoved us through the creaking gate and left us to our fate.
Dust mites danced in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the grimy windows, illuminating the desolation within.
Cobwebs draped the corners like disgusting tapestries, and the floorboards creaked under our hesitant steps.
They were clearly mocking us, there wasn't anyone here, and the roof looked ready to collapse.
The air hung heavy with the horrid smell of mildew and decay, evidence of years of neglect, a microcosm of the state of things that existed within this entire ring of the city.
We stood there, five small figures huddled together in oppressive silence, united by our shared misfortune.
No tears were shed, no words were spoken.
Our eyes met, reflecting a mixture of fear, anger, and a desperate yearning for escape, a yearning that mirrored the desire of everyone trapped in this ring to reach the inner rings and a better life.
Without a word, we scattered. Knowing instinctively that staying in one place was death in this place. Each child fleeing in a different direction, propelled by instinct and the primal urge to survive.
Contrary to my previous life's logic, sticking together, especially when coming from a clan, just put a huge target on your back, the books in the library I had snuck out were clear.
I had no choice.
I bolted through a broken window that lacked glass but stupidly bumped my foot on the edge of the stones outside.
This was minor pain compared to the sting of rejection and the aching uncertainty of the future.
I found myself lost in the labyrinthine alleys of the Green Area City slums. Despite its name, the city was ancient, its foundations laid over two millennia ago.
It was a sprawling metropolis, encompassing four distinct rings, each representing a different stratum of society, and a fifth, burgeoning ring of shantytowns threatening to solidify its place within the city's structure.
The buildings, though constructed from sturdy wood and stone, bore the marks of time and neglect, especially within this fourth ring.
Their paint peeled, roofs sagged, and walls were marred by graffiti and the grime of countless years. The streets were unpaved, a muddy mess of potholes and refuse.
This was clear and obvious evidence of the city official's disregard for its poorest residents.
Yet, even in its dilapidated state, the fourth ring of Green Area City pulsed with a chaotic energy.
Merchants hawked their wares from rickety stalls, their voices competing with the cacophony of street vendors and the cries of children playing amidst the filth.
Cultivators, though a rare sight in this part of the city, occasionally passed through, their robes billowing in the wind and their presence a stark reminder of the power and privilege that was gained by cultivating.
And then there were the beggars, a legion of the destitute and forgotten, their faces etched with hardship and their bodies ravaged by hunger and disease. I was one of them now, a castoff, a failure, with nothing to my name but the ragged clothes on my back and the gnawing emptiness in my stomach.
Shame burned in my throat as I forced myself to beg, extending a trembling hand towards passersby.
I never thought as a modern man from a first world country that I would be turned into a child beggar.
Most ignored me, their gazes sliding past as if I were invisible, a common occurrence within the slums where hardship was commonplace and compassion a luxury few could afford. A few tossed me scraps of food or a few copper coins, their charity tinged with disgust, perhaps a reflection of their own fear of falling to such depths.
Each day was a struggle for survival. Every single day I scrounged for food in garbage heaps and slept in doorways and abandoned buildings. I constantly dodged the city guards who viewed street urchins like myself with suspicion and contempt.
The harsh reality of my exile had shattered any lingering illusions of hope.
I was alone, unwanted, and utterly insignificant in the grand scheme of this vast and unforgiving city, a tiny speck of misery within the sprawling mass of Green Area City.
One evening, a group of older boys approached me from behind while I was digging my hands through a wallet I had snagged from a merchant who wasn't paying attention. He was only at the first level of cultivation, so it was still possible.
I was started when one of the boys scoffed aloud. The first thing I noticed were the eyes filled with malice, staring straight into mine.
"Give it here, little shit." The tall one clearly the leader, demanded, pointing at my earnings.
"Fuck you." I rasped with my barely used voice.
They beat me mercilessly, leaving me bruised and broken on the hard, cold ground.
I curled up in a doorway, tears of pain and frustration mixing with the grime on my face.
Sleep offered a temporary escape, but my nightmares were filled with the sneering faces of the clan elders and the echoing pronouncements of my worthlessness.
The next day, while hunger gnawed at my stomach with renewed intensity, I made a decision.
Begging was no longer an option. I had to survive, and that meant taking what I needed.
I became a thief, my nimble fingers pilfering food, coins, and anything else of value. It was an extreme risk and the constant threat of discovery challenged me greatly. But it was also the only way I could survive, if I didn't steal I would die or my growing body would wither into nothing.
Two years passed in a blur of petty thefts and near misses.
I learned to blend in with the crowds, to anticipate the movements of my targets, and to disappear into the labyrinthine alleys before anyone could raise an alarm.
I also discovered a hidden talent- the ability to control my body as I want with no mistakes. This would certainly be good for martial arts, if I could even do the slightest movement with chi, that is.
My body remained stubbornly resistant to Qi cultivation, but my reflexes were sharp and my movements agile.
I learned to fight by observing street brawls and imitating the techniques of experienced fighters.
My newfound skills proved invaluable in the brutal underworld of Green Area City.
They allowed me to defend myself against rival thieves and to establish a reputation as a better than average street urchin who may or may not get his ass kicked.
Five years after my exile from the Havenrun clan, I was no longer a scared child, but a seasoned street rat who had clawed his way up from the bottom of the food chain.
So, basically no progress at all.
I scoffed, "What a useless life. What am I even doing?"
One rainy afternoon a few years later, while searching for my next target, I spotted a merchant unloading barrels from his cart.
One of the barrels had a loose lid, and curiosity got the better of me. I crept closer, peering inside.
A flash of green caught my eye. Before I could react, a snake, its scales the color of jade and its eyes filled with malice, lunged at me, sinking its fangs into my hand.
Pain exploded through my arm, followed by a wave of dizziness and nausea. I stumbled backward, collapsing onto the wet cobblestones. The poison coursed through my veins, its icy grip stealing the strength from my limbs and the breath from my lungs.
My vision blurred, the world around me fading into darkness. As my life ebbed away, I felt a strange sense of peace, a release from the pain and suffering that had defined my existence.
The last thing I saw was the same god-damned snake that killed me in my first life.
I didn't even have time to laugh in self-mockery as my heart stilled.
And then, nothing.
I awoke in a misty void, my body feeling strangely weightless. Before me, a message hung in the air, its words formed from shimmering light:
[For surviving 10 years in the Heaven Spark Continent of the Red Dragon Plane, you gain...]
[Open talent purchasing menu?]
Chapter 3; Life One Rewards: Life Two Begins (3rd Edition Edits)
[For surviving 10 years in the Heaven Spark Continent of the Red Dragon Plane, you gain 500 Talent points.]
[For surviving 10 years WITHOUT ANY TALENT IN CULTIVATION in the Heaven Spark Continent of the Red Dragon Plane, you gain an additional 500 Talent points.]
[For surviving without talent in non-cultivation skills for 10 years in the Heaven Spark Continent of the Red Dragon Plane, you gain an extra 300 points.]
[For gaining the Innate Talent: [Basic stealth( Mid Red Grade.)] (Hid from danger successfully for over 5000 hours.) you gain an extra 200 points.]
[For gaining the Innate Talent: [Basic Innate Body Control (Low Orange Grade)] (Practiced martial arts without martial art talent for 10000 hours): you gain an extra 400 points.]
[For gaining the innate Talent: [Natural swiftness(Mid Black Grade)](ran for your life without movement techniques for over 1000 hours) you gain an extra 100 points.]
[For gaining the Innate Talent: [Dexterous hands(High Black Grade)] (Practiced sleight of hand for over 5000 hours) you gain an extra 100 points.]
[For dying to the most common pest spirit beast in the Heaven Spark Continent twice in a row you gain an extra 100 points]
[Your life total is 2200 talent points.]
[Open talent purchasing menu?]
I was calm, too calm. In fact, I felt like I couldn't get angry or sad if I wanted to.
Luckily I had long ago come to terms with dying on the streets as a nobody. This was clearly some kind of opportunity, but I needed to know more.
Even if the calmness felt unnatural, I should focus on what's going on in front of me.
"Can you explain what's going on?" I asked.
[Welcome to The Mists. As an outsider soul, you are given a random ability. Lucky for you, yours is The Mists. The mists are an autonomous soul sorting plane for outsiders who have gained access to it. Those with access to the mists will never permanently die. When killed, users will be given talent points based on their life to buy innate talents which boost their talent in certain things. Most talents have synergy with one another.]
I nodded, that explanation was quite comprehensive.
"Alright, open it."
[Opening talent purchasing menu.]
[Innate Spiritual Constitutions](Expand?)
[Innate Physiques](Expand?)
[Basic Innate Talents](Expand?)
[Innate Dantian Enhancements](Expand?)
[Innate Meridian Enhancements](Expand?)
[Innate Soul Enhancements](Expand?)
[Locked Option]
[Locked Option]
[Locked Option]
I navigated the talent purchasing menu, my brow furrowed in concentration as I weighed the options. The 'Innate Physiques' and 'Innate Spiritual Constitutions' sections were quickly dismissed. The limitations attached to each affordable option felt more like a burden than a benefit. Who needs "Iron Bones" if they turn you into a rigid statue?
Scrolling through the 'Innate Talents' list, I scoffed at entries like 'Basic Musical Prodigiousness' and 'Calligraphy learning bonus.' I was sure those would be useless skills for a street rat turned aspiring cultivator. Finally, my eyes landed on 'Qi Sensing' and 'Qi Absorption.' Wait, why don't these come built in? These seem like a basic requirement to even cultivate at all!
500 points each. That's a serious sum of my points, but it's manageable.
I selected both, a grin forming on my spectral face.
Finally, I'd be able to sense and absorb chi.
1200 points remaining. It didn't seem like much, but it was surely enough for one last upgrade.
Then the memory of the old, leather-bound manual resurfaced, its pages filled with intricate diagrams and cryptic text. The emphasis on meridian and dantian quality was clearly the foundation for efficient Qi cultivation.
'Enhance Meridians to Selected Grade' and 'Enhance Dantian to Selected Grade'
Orange grade was definitely the bottom-tier options in their respective categories, but I could easily buy them with the last of my points.
600 points each to reach High Orange Grade.
Still far from ideal, but a ridiculously significant improvement over my starting point.
With a click, I allocated the remaining points, a sense of finality settling over me as the menu interface dissolved.
No dramatic pronouncements, no fanfare, just a quiet confirmation of my choices.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath.
High Orange Grade Meridians and High Orange Grade Dantian paired with the Basic Qi Sensingand Basic absorption Talents would definitely form to build upon.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
I knew deep in my bones that even in the unforgiving world of cultivation, this Mists thing would make it so a start was all I needed.
[Inserting into random stillborn at pre-birth, Entering Dragon Fist Continent of the Red Dragon Plane. City selected, Low grade city(6 rings): Forge-great City. 3rd Ring selected(Upper middle class). Servant of the Lesser House of a major blacksmithing clan. Good luck, Spiritward Grandsmith.]
My eyes opened as a woman held me in her arms. I cried involuntarily.
Then I got mad.
I could speak the language, sure, but my baby mouth just let out gurgles and 'waa's'
I cursed as best I could but it just came out as incoherent baby noises.
How dare those damn snakes kill me twice! I'd eliminate every last damned emerald scale snake! Gah!
I ignored my new mother and father cooing at me in delight, and raged.
I quickly exhausted myself.
"Isn't he the cutest?!" were the last words I heard before sleep overtook me.
Month 3
Walking came easily, my steps swift and silent. This was clearly the work of the talent gained during my years as a street urchin in my previous life. The Dragon Fist Continent dialect of the common tongue was a bit different, but I learned quickly.
"Little Spiritward is quite the observant one," Sister Mei remarked one day, her voice laced with a hint of curiosity and what was clearly false admiration.
I offered her a fleeting smile, careful not to reveal the suspicion that festered within me. Kindness, I had learned on the streets and in my previous clan, often masks ulterior motives.
Especially with Events like this.
What maid goes complimenting prominent babies of a lesser house who can barely understand the concept that deception exists at all with a clearly stupid reason like 'being observant.'
Clearly she wanted something from my father and wanted to go through the gullible toddler who can understand and speak language at the rate of one of the more talented individuals.
Except I was cheating at progression and while it may look as if I was at a higher grade of talent, I was still only at the top of orange grade.
But that Didn't mean I was stupid.
Calligraphy lessons were a tedious exercise, each stroke of the brush a reminder of the expectations that burdened me and that I knew would remain unfulfilled.
I mimicked the forms with precision, masking my disinterest with a facade of diligence. There was no way this was useful, I was sure, but pleasing the clan meant I got better food and more time in the library.
Even if the spiritual essence infused goods would never be given to me due to the fact that I was going to be exiled at five, I still needed to show them I could tow the line in order to use the library.
I couldn't use all of the memorized books from my first life here because they were irrelevant to this new continent.
The 'face' society and social conventions were scarily identical, but almost everything else seemed different.
The food and medicine that was available in the area along with other common goods were all completely different.
So I needed the library to update my knowledge and learn more about cultivation.
I couldn't break through to the first level of body tempering yet, but storing Qi in my muscles without using it seemed like a good idea.
The faint hum of Qi within my meridians was a secret solace, a hidden source of power I guarded fiercely. It was a reminder that I was not entirely powerless, that I possessed a spark of potential that could one day ignite into something more.
Only morons would cultivate into a breakthrough before the age of 5 and that's if they even had the knowledge to cultivate at all.
Even if somehow a child did know how to break through, they would just destroy themselves with a backlash.
Month 5
My small legs pumped furiously, propelling me through the winding paths of the Grandsmith compound, my senses alert for any sign of danger or scrutiny.
Plum, my fellow junior brother, struggled to keep pace.
His laughter, that once would have been a source of amusement, now grated on my nerves.
He was naive, trusting, oblivious to the harsh realities of this world.
He was just a child, I knew.
He would learn about this world just like i was forced to.
But that just made me feel sick.
How dare he be happy when everyone around us were horrible scheming bastards.
"Slow down, Spiritward!" he panted, his face flushed with exertion.
He was a good kid and I wish I could help him.
But I ignored him, pushing myself harder, seeking refuge in the physical exertion. Trust was a luxury I could not afford.
Month 9
Calligraphy lessons became a good distraction, a way to conceal my rage at the injustice of this world.
The elegant characters I formed on the paper were a deception, hiding the turmoil that raged within me.
The elders, with their pronouncements of talent and potential, were just throwing away human lives.
I remembered one of my friends from my last life, one of the only street rats who I could get along with.
'All clans are the same,' Timekeeper told me, 'They want talented disciples and throw away the trash like us. Then they pretend we never existed in the first place. 5 years is all we get and then we die our first death.'
That was the last time I saw him alive. He was hung upon the gates of the Melodybright clan for kicking a guard of that clan in the nuts.
18 years of trying to learn how to survive and he wasted it trying to fight his old clan.
I handed my paper in, and the elder nodded at me disinterestedly.
I'll show them.
Month 12
I could break through to the first level of the body tempering realm and I would if I wanted to destroy my body.
I really don't, so I guess I'm stuck for now with martial arts training and weapon katas.
Seriously, weapon katas and martial arts at one year old?
I was benefiting but they were absolutely insane!
Month 18
The world was a stage, and I was a reluctant actor. Martial arts training had begun, each movement a carefully choreographed dance of aggression and defense. My body, upgraded by the talent gained by years of survival in my previous life and further enhanced by my purchased talents, moved with a fluidity that surprised even myself.
"Junior disciple brother Spiritward shows promise," Master Swordsteel, the clan's martial arts instructor, commented one day, his stern gaze lingering on me. "His form is precise, his movements efficient. He may yet become a capable warrior."
I accepted his praise with a stoic nod, careful not to reveal the bitterness that churned within me.
Martial prowess was merely another tool, another weapon to wield in the fight for survival.
The main tool that would make what he said actually true was missing from my arsenal.
Trust, as always, was reserved for no one but myself.
Plum, my ever-optimistic companion, reveled in the training showing his enthusiasm that was bordering on excessive. He saw martial arts as a path to glory, a way to prove his worth and earn the respect of the clan. I saw it as a necessary evil, a means to an end.
His age was a good excuse, but something about his happiness just hurt me in an agonizing way.
It made me ache deep inside with anger.
"We could be the best fighters in the clan, Spiritward!" he exclaimed one afternoon, his eyes shining with excitement. "Imagine the adventures we could have, the challenges we could overcome!"
I offered him a sardonic smile, my gaze drifting towards the imposing walls of the Grandsmith compound. "Adventures? Challenges? We're trapped here, Plum. Can't you see? This is just another cage, another gilded prison. One we'll be kicked out of in short order when we don't measure up."
He frowned, his youthful optimism momentarily dimmed. "But we have each other, Spiritward. We can face anything together."
I turned away, unable to meet his trusting gaze.
I hate this.
Friendship was an illusion, a fleeting comfort of make-believe in a world defined by betrayal and self-preservation.
I had learned that lesson the hard way in my last life, and I would not forget it.
Team up to grab food from a stall?
Get left behind on purpose as a distraction and be forced to run like hell.
Make a real friend? On the off chance this happens they'll just die.
Make a shallow friend? They'll just stab you in the back when they want your silver.
I didn't listen to Plum prattling on about how amazing we'd be as guards, meting out 'justice' where any dastardly bandits come and go.
"I need to use the toilet." I said.
I'm at least glad to have plumbing via beast cores.
Year 2
The wooden sword felt good in my hand. The katas we practiced were repetitive, although their movements quickly became ingrained into my muscle memory through countless repetitions and additionally thanks to my new talents.
I learned this very quickly at least.
I'm pretty happy with the talents I got from The Mists space.
This body control ability is extremely useful.
I sighed, I guess I'll stop angsting about my death and inevitable second exile.
I was helpless after all.
Chapter 4; Life Two: Another Exile and a Sworn Brother(3rd Edition)
Year 5
The morning light shoved its way through the window as a sickly yellow brightness.
It showed through the grime-coated paper windows of the servant quarters that I had started sleeping in a year ago in preparation for the inevitable.
The cheerful laughs of the excited servant children did little to dispel the gloom that mirrored my own mood.
Today was the farce they called the Talent Measuring Ceremony, a spectacle for the elders designed to weed out the 'unworthy' and toss them onto the trash heap of society.
The unworthy like me.
The unworthy like the large number of other clan children who were excitedly moving towards the examination.
Exile.
The word was a rusty nail driven into my soul, a constant reminder of my previous life's worthlessness.
This time wouldn't be any different, but at least I wouldn't be completely helpless.
I drew a deep breath, feeling the thrum of Qi I'd hoarded within my muscles, accumulated over five years of preparation.
It was time to put the pilfered Havenrun technique to the test.
Following the cryptic instructions of the manual, I coaxed the Qi along the pathways etched within my being, guiding it into the reservoir of my dantian.
My muscles hummed, tingling with newfound strength as I broke through the barrier, the Qi flooding my meridians like a torrent breaking a dam.
Level One Body Tempering.
A pathetic achievement in the grand scheme of things, but in this dog-eat-dog world, every scrap of power mattered.
It was a shield, albeit a flimsy one, against the inevitable.
Pushing down the urge to scoff at the irony, I rose and prepared for the charade.
At least I wouldn't be thrown out like a mewling kitten with no milk this time.
The Talent Measuring Hall reeked of hypocrisy.
Grandiose carvings and portraits of smug, self-important ancestors adorned the walls, mocking us with their legacy of supposed greatness.
The air crackled with a false sense of hope, a pathetic delusion clinging to the other children as they lined up before the glowing crystal orb~the arbiter of their fates.
Plum, bless his naive heart, practically vibrated with excitement. "I can't wait! What if I'm a genius?" he chirped, oblivious to the disappointment etched on the faces of the elders, their eyes calculating like vultures eyes looking for pretty and finding none.
My lips twitched in a scowl.
He was a lamb to the slaughter.
Plum was too kind and didn't deserve to have his dreams crushed like this.His hand touched the orb, and it pulsed with a weak green light.
Mid Green for Martial Arts and Cultivation.
Which to these clan bastards was a death sentence for him.
In this world of power-hungry sharks, hope meant nothing to bastards like them.
"Exile," the Head Elder croaked in a voice that sounded like sandpaper and a lack of care.
Plum's face blanched, his joy evaporating like morning mist.
He was dragged away, his pleas ignored, another victim of this rigged game.
My turn. The orb pulsed with a slightly brighter hue – but it was orange so it was even worse.
High Orange. Still garbage in their eyes.
"Exile," the Head Elder repeated, a bored monotone. No surprise there.
I joined Plum in the rickety carriage, the other rejects filling the seats around us, a chorus of sniffles and quiet sobs filling the air.
Being tossed out to rot in the slums was what I expected, but when I looked at Plum I just felt sad.
The journey was going to be a procession of despair, the stench of the lower rings assaulting our nostrils as we were unceremoniously dumped at the edge of the second ring from the last, a festering wound on the city's underbelly.
Plum's eyes were red-rimmed, his face streaked with tears and grime. "It's not fair," he choked out, his voice raw with despair.
I offered a hollow comfort, my hand heavy on his shoulder. "Life's a bitch, Plum," I muttered, my own voice thick with bitterness. "But we're still breathing. That's more than most can say in this shithole."
My statement was punctuated by a singular "High-purple talent! Welcome to the clan, young man-"
I tuned them out.
I sighed, but then a spark of defiance flickered within me.
This wasn't the end.
It was just another round in this twisted game of survival.
I noticed the carriage started to move but I continued to think.
This time, I'd claw my way out of the muck, even if it meant scraping by, one miserable day at a time.
I'd try for the middle class ring of the city this time. A pipe dream, perhaps, but I'd be damned if I didn't try.
The carriage lurched to a halt, its rusted wheels groaning in protest as the guards shoved us out like unwanted refuse.
I landed with a thud as the big shit behind me in the shitty armor pushed me out before I even stood up.
I landed on the ground and twisted my body to land on my feet.
It's not like I was going to stay in a carriage going nowhere.
He was clearly feeling like being an ass made them better than everyone else.
The stench of rotting garbage and human waste assaulted my nostrils.
This was the fifth ring.
Really there's nothing good about a 'greater' slum if it's still a slum.
The only two worse places in this city were the sixth ring, also known as the lesser slum, and the shanty town that circles the city.
Although all three were festering pits of despair where hope goes to die.
Plum stumbled beside me, his thin frame swallowed by oversized robes, his once vibrant green eyes filled with despair.
The other twenty kids I didn't know, either sat down and cried or stormed off.
The latter had a higher likelihood of survival, but not by much.
I grabbed Plum and started moving towards somewhere secluded.
His brown hair, usually kept in a neat braid, was matted with dirt from working the gardens before this, and his chubby face was covered with tears.
He looked every bit the broken child, discarded and forgotten.
I fared no better.
My white hair, a stark contrast to my tanned skin, was plastered to my forehead with sweat, and my purple eyes, usually burning with defiance, were clouded with exhaustion.
My wiry build, honed from 3 and a half years of martial training, offered little protection against the harsh realities of slum life.
I'd have to rebuild my resistance for the next 5 years.
Hopefully I will survive longer this time.
"What do we do now?" Plum's voice was barely a whisper, his gaze lost in the maze of ramshackle buildings and refuse-strewn alleys.
"Survive," I muttered, my words a bit cynical but entirely realistic.
Then with a hint of determination, I said, no, demanded. "And then, we climb the rings."
Surprised curiosity sparked in Plum's eyes. "Climb? But how? We have nothing, no talent, no-" his voice trailed off, his gaze falling to his worn sandals, his despair at our situation returning.
"We have each other, like you said three years ago. right?" I stated, surprising even myself with the conviction in my voice. "And we have options."
I pulled out a worn, leather-bound book from beneath my shirt, its pages filled with intricate diagrams and archaic script. "A little parting gift from the Grandsmith library," I explained with a smirk. "A cultivation manual, albeit a basic one."
Plum's eyes widened, a glimmer of hope replacing the despair. "But- you stole it? For me?"
"Consider it an investment," I replied, my lips curving into a sardonic smile. "We'll need every advantage we can get if we want to escape this shithole."
With trembling hands, Plum took the book, his eyes scanning the pages with a newfound fervor. He dropped to his knees, bowing his head in the traditional gesture of respect and fealty. "I, Plum, once of the Grandsmith clan, now a nothing, swear my allegiance to you, Spiritward. Your will is my command, your path my own. I will follow you to the ends and four corners of the Red Dragon Plane. You are my sworn brother!"
I raised both of my eyebrows in surprise
But my surprised reaction to his sudden declaration didn't last more than a moment.
"Get up, you- don't draw attention!," I grumbled, I knew we couldn't grab attention like that even if plum didn't.
"Let's just focus on getting out of this slum first. Then we'll see about oaths and destinies."
But as I looked into Plum's eyes, now burning with determination, a flicker of something unfamiliar stirred within me.
Perhaps, in this discarded boy, I had found a good helper.
One who might actually be a real friend in time.
7 days later.
The stench of stale sweat and cheap liquor permeated the air as we weaved through the throngs of people in the fourth ring's marketplace.
The cacophony of hawkers, beggars, and drunken brawls provided the perfect cover for our new endeavor picking pockets.
I had been teaching Plum how to do it in the 5th ring, and somehow we had enough for a temporary pass in the fourth ring.
"Remember, Plum," I muttered, my voice barely audible above the din, "light fingers, quick movements, and eyes everywhere. Don't make it obvious that you're looking around for watchers. Don't bump into a cultivator above your level. Only bump the rich mortals who are definitely carrying something and make sure to grab something only if it's out of sight. Pouches only if it's a cultivator and make sure they don't see you do it. Don't try to grab anything without the leverage to hide it quickly."
Our next target, or rather Plum's when I wasn't paying enough attention to him, was a portly merchant with a gold necklace glinting beneath his greasy beard,
It seemed like easy prey to Plum but I knew better.
I went to open my mouth and tell him to follow me further into the fourth district, but Plum, emboldened by his success, approached him with a practiced nonchalance.
For some reason he hadn't seen everyone looking at him and were watching his hand reaching out with what he thought was practiced ease.
But as his fingers brushed the necklace's clasp, the merchant's hand shot up, grabbing Plum's wrist in a vice-like grip.
I slammed my hand upon my face in bafflement.
Why did he choose that one?!
The necklace was also the worst thing to grab on him too!
I bolted in their direction after shaking myself out of my stupor.
He didn't even look around to see that the guards had already noticed him and were just waiting for him to do it.
"Thief!" the merchant bellowed, his face contorted in rage.
Panic surged through me as the crowd turned, their eyes hungry for a spectacle.
We were surrounded by guards, thankfully, none of them were above the second level of body tempering.
"Run!" I yelled, shoving Plum towards a narrow alleyway and dislodging the fat fingers of the merchant from his hand.
We sprinted through the labyrinthine streets, the shouts of the pursuing mob of guards echoing behind us.
Plum, despite his fear, kept pace, his newfound agility from adding chi to his body with the manual proving invaluable.
None of the second level guards were fast enough to catch up to a person using a low green cultivation technique that specifically focused on speed.
Even if Plum hadn't actually broken through, the wind based chi was making it easier for Plum to move.
My body control and swiftness talents would pick up the slack here too if I hadn't already moved on to the first level of body tempering.
We ducked into an alley, our chests heaving, the adrenaline coursing through our veins.
The shouts grew closer, their angry voices bouncing off the grimy walls.
"We're trapped," Plum whimpered, his eyes wide with terror as we noticed we hit a dead end.
Thinking fast, I hoisted him onto a rickety metal ladder and shoved it towards the roofing.
The rusty bars groaned under our weight and were getting ready to break.
"Climb!" I urged, pushing him upwards.
We scrambled onto the rooftop, the rickety tiles shifting precariously beneath our feet just in time for the first few rungs and last rung of the ladder fell off and snapped in the middle respectively.
The four level two body tempering guards surged into the alley below. "Where are those brats?!"
I'm glad they didn't look up.
Leaping across rooftops with only minor struggle, we navigated back to the gate to the greater slums, the market of the fourth ring was way too hot now.
Darkness descended as we exited the fourth district.
We still had more money than we paid to traverse with and our starting capital combined. But I looked at Plum. I was ready to tell him what he did wrong with extra 'are you stupid or what' in my tone- when I really looked at him.
He was already admonishing himself.
I'd have to be a bit gentler.
Plum, his face pale and streaked with sweat, looked at me with a mix of gratitude and shame. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. "I messed up."
I offered a wry smile, my own heart still pounding from the chase. "We all make mistakes, Plum," I said, my voice admonishing but not too harshly. "The important thing is we're still alive, and we learned a valuable lesson. Never underestimate your mark, and always have an escape route. The most obvious loot is usually the worst, because everyone sees it. Especially if you can't remove it without them noticing."
He nodded, a determined glint returning to his eyes. "We'll get better," he said, his voice firming with resolve. "And we'll get out of this place."
I looked out at the sprawling Medieval oriental style cityscape, the lights of the inner rings twinkling like distant stars, a constant reminder of the life we were denied. "We will," I affirmed, my own resolve hardening. "One way or another."
I opened my mouth and began to explain more reasons as to why his target was wrong.
Thirty minutes later, we caught a rat and cooked the rat to eat it.
We went to bed, knowing our next meal would be no better.