2. The Trouble of Spiritual Core

As if on cue, time resumed its natural flow. Zhao Guang, the oversized human embodiment of rage, puffed out an angry breath like a bull ready to charge.

With a dramatic heave, he kicked the wooden stool across the room, snapping one of its legs clean off. "Heh! You don't even deserve a doghouse, let alone a spot on Yongtian Peak! Stop dreaming before you embarrass yourself, you worthless trash!"

He stomped out of the room, not forgetting to spit on the floor near Mo Yichen like some kind of territorial little beast.

The door slammed behind him, leaving the room to an eerie silence. A single beam of simmering moonlight filtered through the cracked doorframe, highlighting the pathetic state of the place.

Mo Yichen let out a long sigh, staring at the jade bottle in his hand. "What a drama queen," he muttered under his breath. Without wasting another moment, he uncorked the bottle and swallowed one of the pills inside.

As the medicine coursed through his body, a wave of relief washed over him. "Finally.." he sighed, feeling the tension in his battered limbs melt away.

The pill was clearly no ordinary concoction—it was top-shelf, high-quality stuff.. well at least in this world.

Within minutes, new, healthy skin began to regenerate over his old and fresh wounds, the bloody mess of his leg transforming back into something resembling human anatomy.

Cross-legged on the damp concrete, Mo Yichen began meditating, directing the pill's energy flow to heal faster. "Much better," he murmured, flexing his fingers experimentally.

"Now, let's see what we're dealing with here."

With his body feeling marginally less like a meat sack and more like something functional, Mo Yichen let his mind wander back to the jumbled memories he'd absorbed from the original owner of this body.

According to those fragmented images, Mo Yichen was a 16-year-old boy adopted into the Zhao family at the age of five. The family patriarch, a benevolent old man everyone called Elder, had taken him in.

At first, life had been tolerable, even decent, with Elder favoring him. But as Elder grew weaker with age and illness, the household dynamics shifted dramatically.

Envy turned to cruelty, and the servants, once respectful, now joined Zhao Guang in bullying him relentlessly. And the reason for today's delightful encounter?

Apparently, Zhao Guang's rabid dog had bitten Mo Yichen's leg, leaving it mangled. When Mo Yichen dared to complain to Elder, Zhao Guang lost his shit and came storming in like a raging rhinoceros.

Mo Yichen groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"So that's what all the fuss was about. Hell.. I can't catch a break."

For the next hour or so, Mo Yichen poked around the shabby room, looking for anything remotely useful. The broken stool? Nope. A moldy cloth? Definitely not.

After rummaging around and finding nothing but disappointment, he finally settled back onto the cold, hard concrete, sighing like a man who had just realized his life was a comical joke.

"All right, let's see if I can still access my spiritual core," he muttered, closing his eyes. He tried to sense the familiar hum of energy within him—the kind of raw, untamed power that had made him a prodigy back on Eryndor.

He concentrated, sweat beading on his forehead as he focused harder than he ever had in his life.

Nothing. Not even a spark.

His eyes snapped open. "What the fuck?!"

He tried again, this time straining so hard his face turned red. Still nothing. "No… this doesn't make sense!"

Desperation crept into his voice as he kept trying, his breathing growing ragged.

"Why the hell can't I feel my spiritual energy? System! System, you useless piece of junk, where are you?!"

Silence.

The realization hit him like a boulder to the chest. The system wasn't going to respond. Not until he completed the first mission. "You've got to be kidding me," he groaned, slapping his forehead.

"How the hell am I supposed to complete a mission if I can't even access my spiritual energy?! This is some next-level bullshit!"

Gritting his teeth, he sat back down and began meditating again. Thirty agonizing minutes later, he felt it—a faint, almost imperceptible thread of energy.

But it wasn't his.

"This…" His eyes widened as he focused on the thread. It belonged to the original Mo Yichen.

The real Mo Yichen.

The energy was so weak, so fragile, that it was a miracle he'd even noticed it. If Li Wei hadn't been a prodigy back on Eryndor, he would've missed it entirely.

His mind raced as he pieced the puzzle together. The original Mo Yichen hadn't awakened his core yet, which explained why he was mocked and labeled as good-for-nothing by everyone around him.

Mo Yichen groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

"So not only am I stuck in a broken body, but I also have to deal with a spiritual core that hasn't even woken up yet? Fantastic. Just my luck."

He flopped back onto the ground, staring at the cracked ceiling.

"It doesn't make sense... I clearly remember reading in the information before transmigrating that Mo Yichen's core was supposed to be firm, unshakable! It even said he was one of those once-in-a-thousand-years geniuses."

He paused, rubbing his chin in thought, his mind racing. "There's no way the system would provide false information. The problem has to be with this body… but what? What could be wrong?"

His train of thought came to an abrupt halt as a loud, grumbling noise escaped from his stomach, echoing in the silent room. He paused, staring down at his own impatient belly with irritation.

Grumbling under his breath, Mo Yichen stood up, dusting off the lingering bits of dead, dried flesh from his leg. His face scrunched in mild disgust.

'Ugh, gross. This place needs a serious cleaning… or maybe a fire?'

'Well.. to start fresh.. haha'

He shuffled over to a rickety, half-collapsed cupboard in the corner of the room. Pulling it open, rummaging through its contents. What greeted him were piles of worn-out, threadbare clothes that looked like they belonged in a museum of poverty.

He pulled out a particularly ragged shirt and held it up with two fingers as if it might bite him. "Mo Yichen, Mo Yichen, how on earth were you living with these? Duh.. no sense of fashion"

He sighed dramatically, tossing the shirt aside before continuing his search.

After what felt like an eternity of rummaging, he finally found something usable—a simple black robe that, while old, was still intact. Holding it up to inspect it, he let out a breath of relief.

'I guess I'll have to make do with it for now..."

...

Walking down the eerily silent streets, Mo Yichen let out another frustrated groan. He had completely forgotten how late it was, and naturally, everything was closed.

Even if there was a shop still open, the bigger problem was his empty pockets. He didn't have a single copper to his name.

"Scam! This is clearly a scam! If this is what being a genius looks like, I want a refund!!" he cries internally, kicking a loose pebble on the damp cobblestone street.

The night was cold, the wind biting at his face. The wet sheen on the ground glistened under the dim light of the lanterns, remnants of a rainstorm that had passed earlier.

He hugged his robe tighter against the chill, trying to focus on the distant glow of the few open shops when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

His steps slowed as he noticed a hunched figure sitting against the wall, barely illuminated by the dim streetlights. Curious, Mo Yichen adjusted his pace and squinted through the haze. It was an elderly woman, seated on the ground with a large wooden basket beside her. The basket was filled with what looked like vegetable buns, though from a distance, he couldn't be sure.

The woman trembled visibly in the cold, her frail body leaning on a wooden bamboo stick for support. Her pale lips quivered, and she appeared so weak that Mo Yichen wondered how she had even made it to this day. His stomach growled audibly, reminding him that he was just as desperate as she looked.

Mo Yichen sighed, half turning away. "Well… I should take care of myself first," he muttered under his breath. But as he prepared to walk away, a sudden, sharp thud behind him made him freeze.

Whipping around, his eyes widened as he saw the old woman collapsed on the damp street, her basket tipped over, buns spilling onto the ground.

Without thinking, Mo Yichen sprinted toward her, his exhaustion and hunger forgotten.

He crouched down beside her, his hand gently shaking her shoulder. "Lady? Hey, can you hear me?" he called out, his voice slightly panicked.

There was no response.

Her face was pale, almost ghostly, and her frail hands lay motionless on the ground. "Oh, crap, crap, crap," he muttered, glancing around the empty street.

No one was in sight.

Mo Yichen looked down at her trembling figure again, a knot tightening in his chest.

With a sigh, he adjusted the woman's position, feeling her faint pulse. "Alright.. let's get out of here first" he muttered, lifting her basket and steadying her with his arm. "You owe me a bun for this," he added as he pulled her on his back, in a piggyback position before picking up the wooden basket.

Panting slightly, Mo Yichen arrived at what looked like the finest pharmacy in town, its polished wooden sign gleaming faintly under the flickering lanterns.

He wasted no time and banged on the door with urgency. After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, revealing a young boy rubbing his eyes, clearly annoyed at being disturbed.

"What do you want at this hour?" the boy grumbled, barely keeping his eyes open.

"Doctor! Where is the doctor?" Mo Yichen asked, his voice louder than usual, his words spilling out in a rush. He didn't wait for the boy to answer and pushed past him, stepping into the dimly lit hall.

"Hey! You can't just—" the boy started, but Mo Yichen was already calling out.

"Doctor! Doctor!" His voice echoed through the quiet halls, startling the few flickering candles that illuminated the space.

"Who's causing such a ruckus at this hour?" came a calm, measured voice.

Mo Yichen turned toward the sound, his eyes landing on an elderly man descending a narrow staircase.

The man was clad in a simple light green robe, his long beard flowing like a gentle stream. His expression was serene, but there was a sharpness in his gaze that hinted at years of experience.

"Who-"

"I am the healer you are looking for," the man said, stepping into the hall.

Mo Yichen didn't waste a second and rushed toward him, his voice filled with panic.

"She fainted from the cold! Her pulse is weak, her breathing shallow, and her hands and feet are ice-cold to the touch,"

Mo Yichen explained rapidly, his eyes darting to the healer's face, hoping for some reassurance. "Her lips are pale, almost bluish, and she's barely responsive. I tried to wake her, but she didn't react, and her body felt unnaturally light, like she hadn't eaten in days. She was trembling so much earlier that she could barely walk, and now.. now she's completely still." He paused as if thinking something, then added, "Her heartbeat is faint but irregular, and her skin feels clammy. I… I think she's hypothermic and severely malnourished."

The healer stroked his beard thoughtfully, glancing at Mo Yichen before checking her pulse just to ponder for a while.

"You are right, young boy, she indeed caught Hypothermia," he said plainly, his voice calm, his eyebrows furrowing as he studied Mo Yichen from up to down as he added "But I don't heal for free"

Mo Yichen froze. "What?" His eyes widened, his mind racing as his heart sank.

"You heard me," the healer said, folding his hands behind his back. "My services are not charity. If you want me to treat her, you'll have to pay for it."

Mo Yichen's throat went dry as he stared at the man. "I… I don't have any money right now," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. His fists clenched tightly at his sides. 

This was the first time in his life that he was this broke. If he was still on his planet his name was enough for these things.

Now that he thought about it, in the past no one ever asked him for money. Firstly because he was the youngest researcher under the immortal bureau, secondly, he never ever needed too much money. Everything was already provided for him.

The healer raised a single eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Well… I never asked for money," he said slowly, his calm voice carrying an undertone of mischief.

"If you want to save her, you'll have to work under me for a year. That's my price."

Mo Yichen's expression froze mid-thought, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "What?" he blurted out, his voice a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

"Work under you?" 

The old man nodded, his tone completely nonchalant. "A year. Think of it as an apprenticeship. Consider the woman's life the first lesson—valuable knowledge doesn't come free." 

Mo Yichen stared at him, dumbfounded. Out of all the scenarios he had run through in his head, this was definitely not one of them. 

'Who does this old man think he is!? Me!? His apprentice?'

Disbelief is evident on his face as he grits his teeth.

Only if he had his spiritual powers..

"You've got to be kidding me," Mo Yichen mutters, rubbing his temples as if to process the absurdity of the situation. "I'm offering to save her life but I am a total stranger to her.. You can't rope me like this!" 

The healer watched him, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. "You're sharp, boy. That's exactly why I'm interested. Also with my old age, I wanted an apprentice for a long. This deal benefits us both." 

Mo Yichen frowned, "For ten days, and not as in apprentice"

'Heh.. if he thinks anyone can be my master then he can as well go and grow melons' 

For a moment, he stared at Mo Yichen as if sizing him up, then finally let out a long sigh. He moved calmly to one of the cupboards, pulling out a variety of herbs with practiced ease, beginning the preparation of the concoction.