I followed Wei Lin along one of the raised paths through the paddies. We didn't speak much—neither of us really needed to. My thoughts were still a mess, too jumbled to sort through.
Eventually, we veered off from the main road and came to a small house set apart from the others. It was simple: one level, a sloped roof, and a sagging wooden fence. A vegetable garden stretched along one side, and bundles of drying herbs hung from strings along the porch. The place smelled like soil, water, and something faintly medicinal.
"This is my home," Wei Lin said, stepping onto the porch and pushing the door open.
Inside, the house was humble. A single room divided by hanging cloth, a hearth in the corner, shelves lined with clay jars and old tools. It felt lived-in. Quiet.
A soft cough came from behind the curtain.
"My mother," Wei Lin explained. "She's been unwell for a long time. That's why I was in the forest… looking for herbs." He hesitated. "Thank you again. If you hadn't come when you did…"
I gave him a small nod. I didn't have anything smart to say.
He pulled the curtain aside and disappeared into the back half of the house. I stayed where I was, not sure if I should follow.
"She's asleep," he called after a moment. "But I think she'll be glad to know someone helped her useless son get home in one piece."
He stepped out again and gestured toward a woven mat on the floor.
"You can rest here tonight, if you want. We don't have much, but the roof holds out the rain and the rice is usually fresh."
I sat down slowly, grateful for anything that wasn't grass or stone.
Through the small window, I could see the last of the sun dipping behind the hills.
Wherever I was… this was my reality now.
That night, we sat up talking. The flickering fire threw long shadows across the walls, and outside, the quiet hum of insects filled the silence between our words. At first, Wei Lin spoke like I was someone important—some noble's stray son. But the more we talked, the more that formality faded.
It helped when I admitted I had no idea what a "cultivation realm" was.
After that, he laughed a bit more easily. His posture eased. He even started teasing me every time I flinched at the creaking roof.
At some point, he stood and rummaged through a wooden chest in the corner. He came back with a folded set of robes. They were faded and threadbare, one sleeve patched with mismatched cloth, but still miles better than the blood-crusted rags I wore.
"They're not much," he said, handing them to me. "But at least people won't think you crawled out of a grave."
I gave him a half-smile and took them. "Honestly? Not far off."
He chuckled and sat back down, slower this time. I noticed again how he kept weight off his right leg.
"You hurt that in the forest?" I asked.
Wei Lin shook his head, eyes going distant. "Old injury. Beast wave years back. Got caught in a collapse—crushed the muscle. I think it healed wrong. Most days it's fine. But when the weather shifts, or I push too hard…"
There was bitterness in his tone, but he didn't dwell on it. I felt sorry for him, sure—but sympathy was hard to summon when I was still trying to process my own situation.
We sat in silence for a while, just watching the fire.
Then, as he refilled his cup with hot water from the hearth, he glanced over.
"I could use help," he said, voice light but hopeful. "With the farm. It's not much—just rice and vegetables—but with my leg, I can't manage it all. At least not until the swelling goes down."
I nodded, already seeing where this was going.
"I can't offer coin," he added, "but there's food, and you're welcome to stay as long as you need. Not much else to give."
Honestly, it was the best offer I'd had in a while.
I glanced around the little home. It wasn't much, but it was safe. A place to breathe. To figure things out.
I nodded. "Deal."
He smiled, visibly relieved. "We start early."
I gave a tired laugh. "Of course we do."
Later, once Wei Lin had gone to bed and I was left with a thin mat by the hearth, I found myself staring up at the ceiling. Sleep didn't come. Every time I closed my eyes, the memories rushed in—undead snarls, the weight of stone, Alex's final moments.
I couldn't shut it off.
Today had been one of the hardest days of my life. Not because of anything I fought, but because of what I kept buried.
I'd been doing it since I woke up—focusing on food, shelter, survival. Avoiding the bigger questions.
But now, in this quiet house, with the fire fading and the soft rustle of rice stalks outside… it finally caught up to me.
This was real.
I wasn't still lying under rubble. I hadn't imagined any of it.
Somehow, I'd survived.
And if I wanted to keep surviving, I had to stop pretending this was temporary.
No more waiting for things to go back to normal.
I took a long breath and forced myself upright. My body still ached, but I was getting used to that.
"Alright," I muttered to no one.
I focused inward, reaching for that strange sensation I'd felt before. That thread of power tied to the system—like a switch I hadn't realized existed until now.
And with just a flick of intent, the system responded.
A soft chime echoed in my ears, and words formed across my vision once more.
Status
Name: Ethan Ward
Cultivation: Mortal – 1/10
Titles:
• Diligence's Chosen
• Otherworlder
Skills:
• Last Stand
Stats:
Strength: 10
Agility: 10
Constitution: 15
Spirit: 11
I stared at the floating text, eyes fixed on it for what felt like minutes. This time, I wasn't skimming. I was finally paying attention. And there were changes—small ones, but changes nonetheless.
For one, my cultivation now had a number. 1/10. A progress bar? A level tracker? It hadn't been there before. I could only assume it was tied to that energy—the golden flakes that had sunk into my skin after killing the beast. Qi, the system had called it.
That alone raised a dozen new questions.
Was that how cultivation worked? Kill something, absorb Qi, level up? Or was it more complicated? It probably was. Things never stayed simple.
Either way, I needed more of it.
My eyes shifted to the stats. Strength, Agility, Constitution—unchanged. But Spirit?
That had gone up.
I still wasn't sure what Spirit actually governed. Mental resilience? Focus? Something else entirely? Whatever it was, something I'd done—surviving the collapse, absorbing Qi, maybe both—had nudged it higher.
Progress, however small.
Then there were the titles.
I skipped Diligence's Chosen. That one could wait. Maybe.
Instead, I focused on the second.
Otherworlder
You have traveled between worlds.
I read it once. Then again.
And again.
The words didn't change. They just hovered there, cold and absolute.
Traveled between worlds.
I let my gaze drift from the screen to the room around me—the wooden walls, the flickering fire, the crude tools hanging by the door. The faint scent of rice fields drifting in through the open window.
This wasn't a dream.
It wasn't a coma. It wasn't some twisted afterlife.
I wasn't on Earth anymore.
The realization hit like a hammer to the chest. Cold. Final. A weight I hadn't let settle until now.
The clues had been there. The language I understood but didn't recognize. The robes. The medieval village. The system. The fox offering me berries in trade should've been the last red flag.
But I hadn't let it sink in.
Not until now.
I was in another world.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
And I was alone.
I took a breath. Held it. Let it out slow.
Panic wouldn't help. Denial wouldn't help. Thinking too hard wouldn't help either.
So I pushed it all down.
Not away—just… down. Filed it somewhere deep, where it wouldn't burn through me.
I wasn't getting home by sitting here.
If I wanted answers, I had to earn them. I had to learn what this world was, how it worked, and what the hell I was supposed to do next.
The system responded.
Quest Generated
Objective: Reach Qi Refinement Stage
Reward: Cultivation Manual
I had no idea what that meant.
But it sounded like progress.
And right now, progress was the only thing I could hold onto.