《Moon Cultivation》 Chapter 1: Waking up A sharp whistle of an incoming shell warned me, and I dove into the trench. A violent blast slammed me to the ground, burying me under a mound of dirt. The headache and ringing in my ears were unbearable¡ªanother blast concussion for my collection. A choking sensation made me cough. Cold air rushed into my lungs, sharp as needles. My eyelids felt heavy, but I forced them open. Above me, a curved surface glowed dimly¡ªmatte, like a thin layer of ice concealing a world beyond. What the hell?! I was enclosed in some sort of tight structure. The walls around me were smooth and cold, while beneath my back, thighs, and heels, I felt a strange, springy material¡ªalmost like gel. I seemed to be naked. To confirm, I ran a hand over my thigh, and at that very moment, my prison reacted. It trembled and began to shift, raising me from a lying position to a standing one. Not entirely upright¡ªit retained a slight tilt¡ªbut now my weight was pressed onto my feet. The frosted surface before my eyes slid upwards, and the frame beneath it split open like a pair of doors. A rush of air washed over my face¡ªand everything below it. Yes. I was definitely naked. My head throbbed, as if caught in a vice, and my vision blurred at the edges. My genitals seemed to dissolve into the haze. And then, like a lightning bolt shattering the void in my mind, a pain came. I struggled to gather my thoughts. Where was I? How had I ended up here? The ringing in my head drowned out any answers. A sound interrupted my daze¡ªa sharp hiss, like a valve releasing pressure in the confined space. Cautiously, I stepped out. My legs trembled like a newborn¡¯s. The pod I had emerged from stood in the corner of a small room, its walls gleaming with a metallic sheen. The space was strange¡ªsterile, like an operating theatre, yet eerily silent, as if time itself had stalled. I looked around. Along the walls, five more pods were positioned in two neat rows, lying horizontally. Mine was the only one standing open. I approached the nearest closed pod. Through its transparent window, I saw a person. A teenager? The boy looked around sixteen¡ªmaybe a little older. He was asleep¡­ or in hibernation¡­ or a coma. A fresh wave of pain shot through my skull. I shut my eyes and waited for it to pass. When my vision cleared, I moved forward again. On one of the walls¡ªone without pods¡ªI spotted a built-in screen. At least, I assumed it was a screen; the surface was far too dark to be a mirror. Then something made me stop. I caught my own reflection. Smooth skin. Sharp cheekbones. Deep-set, eyes framed by thick brows. Soft black hair falling over my forehead. I reached out, brushing my fingers against my cheek, but the sensation¡ªno, it wasn¡¯t what I was used to. Where was my stubble? This face¡­ wasn¡¯t mine. The realisation struck like thunder. I didn¡¯t know what I used to look like, but this¡ªthis wasn¡¯t me. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I ran my hands over my shoulders, my chest, checked the most essential parts. The body was toned, strong¡ªbut foreign. Like wearing a suit that didn¡¯t quite fit. ¡°What the¡­¡± The words escaped me. My voice sounded too clear, almost ringing, which only irritated me more. A sudden click broke the silence. A faint rustling caught my attention¡ªa pod was pulsing with a brighter light. The teenager inside twitched. A moment later, his eyelids fluttered, and his fingers gave the slightest tremor. I took a step back. Another wave of panic crashed over me. Why am I here? Who are these people? What kind of bloody isekai is this?! Wait¡ªisekai! At least it wasn¡¯t a truck¡­ and now a new world? So, when do I get my overpowered magic and personal harem? ¡­Although, no. This place reeked of science, not magic. Hopefully, they wouldn¡¯t cheat me out of the harem part. I stepped closer to the pod, peering through the transparent window. The light inside was dim, but I could make out the teenager¡¯s face. He was¡­ handsome. A softly rounded face, short blond hair. His skin was smooth, flawless¡ªjust like mine. That put me on edge. Wait¡­ what if I¡¯m the one being prepped for a harem? A shiver ran down my spine. What if I was a clone? Or worse¡ªa genetically engineered pleasure doll? Or am I hallucinating? I walked along the row of pods. Inside each one was another attractive teenager. But they were all different. In the second pod, a dark-skinned girl with thick curls lay motionless. The third held a lean boy with a tanned face and long, straight hair spilling over his shoulders. The fourth¡ªan Asian girl with a short bob and a dragon tattoo curling around her neck. Different genders. Different races. Different features. Clones don¡¯t look like this, do they? And test-tube hybrids don¡¯t usually have tattoos¡ªunless they¡¯re barcodes. I ran a hand over my own neck, half-expecting to find a scar, a tag¡ªsomething to prove I was an experiment. Or maybe to prove I wasn¡¯t. But there was nothing. I approached the final pod. Inside lay a girl¡ªthin, almost delicate, her pale skin almost translucent under the pod¡¯s soft glow. Her face was serene, almost angelic. For some reason, I lingered. ¡°Who are you all?¡± I murmured, though, of course, no answer came. ¡°Who are we?¡± I stepped away from the pods, trying to piece everything together. But before I could, a sharp hissing sound behind me made me spin around. The doors had slid open. A man in a white coat stepped into the room. Tall and lean, with sharp features and close-cropped silver hair. His eyes fixed on me with clear irritation. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± His voice was low and measured, but the tension in it was unmistakable. ¡°I¡­¡± My first instinct was to cover myself. ¡°¡­was just looking,¡± I finished, realising¡ªrather belatedly¡ªhow perverted that sounded. The man stopped a few steps away, giving me a slow, measured once-over. His gaze was cold and analytical¡ªlike I was an exhibit in a museum. ¡°You were instructed to remain in place,¡± he said sternly. ¡°No one told me anything,¡± I replied. He let out a sigh and shook his head, like a teacher disappointed by a student who hadn¡¯t done their homework. ¡°I personally sent you a voice command via your neuro-interface the moment you woke up,¡± he said, moving to the dark mirror-like screen on the wall. His fingers danced across the still-black surface, and a sudden chill ran down my spine. ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re talking about,¡± I said, but he ignored me. He turned, studying me with sharp focus¡ªthen frowned. ¡°Well, that explains your behaviour,¡± he muttered, more to himself than to me. ¡°What explains it?¡± I asked, trying to make sense of his words. ¡°Your neuro-interface is inactive,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ unusual. The operation logs indicate successful implantation, but that would explain why you never received the command.¡± ¡°Operation?¡± I echoed. The doctor gave me a long look, as if assessing my mental state, then turned back to the dark screen. ¡°What do you see?¡± he asked, gesturing at it. ¡°A black, mirrored surface.¡± He turned back to the screen, scrolling through invisible data with his fingertips, his expression tightening. ¡°Neuro-interface implantation is a standard procedure,¡± he murmured, eyes still locked on the display. ¡°All cadets receive one. It allows integration with the network¡ªso we can maintain communication, monitor your condition, and assist with adaptation. But in your case¡­¡± He frowned again. ¡° ¡°Fallen through? From where?¡± I asked. ¡°Not from the network¡ªthat¡¯s certain. You never connected to it in the first place. The interface is there, physically implanted, but for some reason, it¡¯s inactive. And that¡¯s¡­ an anomaly.¡± ¡°One in a million,¡± I muttered. For a moment, he looked at me with a mix of exhaustion and irritation, as if dealing with a particularly unruly child. Then he stepped closer, pulling out a small device that resembled a pen and raising it towards my head. ¡°Lean back,¡± he instructed, nodding towards the open pod. Awkwardly, I complied. Covering myself didn¡¯t exactly add to my grace. The doctor simply shook his head, as if my embarrassment was mildly amusing. ¡°This is just a quick scan. No need to worry,¡± he said, leaning in. The device in his hand emitted a faint hum, radiating gentle warmth as he moved it near my temple. ¡°What is that?¡± I asked. ¡°A scanner. I¡¯m checking your interface. Either it failed to synchronise with your brain, or¡­¡± He hesitated. His gaze sharpened, growing almost wary. ¡°Or what?¡± I demanded, irritation creeping into my voice. ¡°Or you have¡­ a memory gap.¡± He stepped back, examining the device before looking at me again. ¡°I¡¯m seeing anomalies in your brain activity. Certain patterns are missing.¡± ¡°A gap? What does that mean?¡± He sighed and ran the scanner around my head once more, as if hoping for a different result. ¡°A memory gap means parts of your past have been erased or blocked. Your brain is functioning, but large sections of data are inaccessible. It could be due to trauma, a procedural error, or¡­¡± He paused. ¡°Or it was done intentionally.¡± ¡°Intentionally? And who the hell would do that?¡± My heart pounded. My hands would have curled into fists¡ªif they weren¡¯t otherwise occupied covering my tresure. ¡°We didn¡¯t,¡± he said quickly, almost defensively. "Relax, I¡¯m just reciting protocol. It¡¯s a classified anomaly case. Think of it as winning the lottery¡ªwith a four-million payout." He arched an eyebrow. "And no, the odds aren¡¯t one in a million, but three." Then, shifting to a more official tone, he continued, making it clear his personal remarks were over. ¡°There¡¯s a chance this happened before you arrived here. Someone could have implanted a suppression virus.¡± His bureaucratic mask cracked, revealing humanity again. ¡°In your case¡ªunlikely. Too much effort to erase a random orphan.¡± ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± I asked. ¡°Do you know who I am?¡± The doctor raised his hands in a calming gesture. ¡°Jake Sullivan. Lewis Home for the Gifted. Orphaned at twelve. Relax. We only know what¡¯s in the system.¡± Oh, this was definitely an isekai. Orphan? Check. Minimal attachments for easy plot progression. Four million instead of magic? Also check. At least the names sounded normal. I¡¯d hate to wake up as some Feng Xiao. It¡¯s like watching a Chinese drama for over two dozen episodes and still having no clue what the characters'' names are. And whenever two characters talk about a third one, you¡¯re always guessing¡ªdo they mean the young lad, the old master, or maybe his granddaughter? The doctor must have noticed my reaction¡ªbut misread it. He made another calming gesture and, in a gentler tone, said: ¡°We¡¯ll fix this. But first, I need to make sure you¡¯re stable.¡± ¡°Stable? Are you serious?¡± I snapped, pushing myself upright. Some isekai stories started with disabilities for extra suffering. I really hoped this wasn¡¯t one of them. ¡°Calm down,¡± he ordered dryly. I exhaled sharply and leaned back against the pod again, trying to steady myself. My hands were trembling. The doctor stood there for a moment, silently observing me, then added: ¡°This seems to be more complex than we initially thought. But you¡¯re not the first case like this. The procedure is well-established. In most cases, it can be corrected.¡± ¡°And if it can¡¯t?¡± ¡°Then there¡¯s more money involved.¡± He waved a hand dismissively. ¡°For now, we need to see if your neuro-interface can be activated. If we can switch it on, we might be able to retrieve some of your memories¡ªeven if they¡¯re blocked. If not¡­¡± He trailed off. ¡°If not what?¡± I pressed. ¡°Then we reset the process. You could start from a blank slate.¡± His gaze met mine. ¡°With a very large sum of money.¡± Reset. Blank slate¡­ He said it so casually, but the words sent a chill through me. Would I survive that process? Because one thing was certain¡ªI wasn¡¯t Jake Sullivan. Whoever that kid had been, I felt sorry for him. But I wasn¡¯t about to get wiped out of this body. Especially not with that much money on the line. Something told me I¡¯d never had that kind of cash before. ¡°¡­Can I just take the money now?¡± I whispered. ¡°No,¡± he said flatly. ¡°Standard protocol. You have a chance to recover your memory, and we will use that chance.¡± Translation: we¡¯ll do everything we can to avoid paying you. The doctor put the scanner away and pulled out another pen-like device from his pocket. ¡°Now, relax,¡± he said. ¡°You might feel a slight tingling, but don¡¯t worry.¡± With that, he pressed the device to my neck. Something cold touched my skin. ¡°Just don¡¯t kill me by accident,¡± I muttered, closing my eyes. The doctor didn¡¯t answer. Chapter 2: Interface Activation The cold against my neck turned to warmth¡ªthen a sharp sting flared, shooting straight into my temple. ¡°Bloody hell!¡± I blurted out, jerking instinctively, but the doctor¡¯s grip tightened on my shoulder. ¡°Do not move!¡± he barked. ¡°This is a standard synchronisation process. If it works, the interface should activate in a few seconds.¡± The pain faded just as suddenly, leaving only a faint tingling sensation. The doctor tilted his head, eyes fixed on his scanner, but before I could even ask what he saw, a wave of dizziness hit me. A moment later, something like static rippled through my body. I opened my mouth to ask if that was normal, but before I could speak, a loud hissing sound filled the room. One of the pods¡ªthe one with the tattooed girl¡ªbegan to shift into a standing position. The doctor sighed in irritation, tearing his attention away from his magic pen just as the pod clicked open. ¡°I told you to wait! What, is your interface broken too?¡± he asked. Without hesitation, the girl pushed herself off the inclined wall and stepped forward. ¡°Seems to be working fine,¡± she replied, blinking at the empty air. Like me, she was completely naked¡ªexcept for the tattoos. The dragon coiling around her neck wasn¡¯t the only creature decorating her rather intriguing canvas. Someone had gathered quite the mythical menagerie across her skin, complete with mountains, waterfalls, and a rather impressive sky. The style wasn¡¯t entirely Asian, either¡­ "Where do you think you''re staring?" she snapped, finally noticing me. ¡°At your tits,¡± I answered without thinking. The artwork twisted in fascinating ways over the curves. ¡°Pervert!¡± ¡°You don¡¯t like it?¡± ¡°Of course not!¡± ¡°Then why are you flashing them at me? You could turn around.¡± Her mouth opened in outrage¡ªthen she flushed red and spun away. ¡°Nice arse, too,¡± I added. Flowers and birds were inked across her lower back. Her fists clenched, and she whirled around furiously¡ªonly for the doctor to whack me on the forehead with his magic pen. ¡°Ow!¡± ¡°Both of you, shut up!¡± the doctor snapped, and for the first time, there was real anger in his voice. ¡°You have far more important things to worry about than your childish bickering! Get your bloody hormones under control!¡± He pointed to the wall behind the girl, and a hidden compartment slid open, revealing neatly folded hospital clothes. With a curt nod, he gestured for her to take them. ¡°Get dressed. You¡¯ll have plenty of time to argue later.¡± She grabbed the clothes without breaking eye contact, silently warning me that our conversation wasn¡¯t over yet. But even that wasn¡¯t enough for her. ¡°Say one more thing,¡± she hissed. ¡°What, compliments aren¡¯t in fashion anymore?¡± I muttered, though this time, I kept my voice low¡ªno need to provoke the doctor and his iron grip of justice. The girl pulled on a loose grey jumpsuit while the doctor turned back to me, rolling his pen-like device between his fingers in a clear warning. I sighed, lifted my right hand, and mimed locking my lips and throwing away the key. ¡°Good,¡± he said, raising the scanner to my neck again. This time, the pain was duller, but a strange sensation took its place¡ªlike rusty gears grinding inside my brain. And then¡ªa flash. Semi-transparent windows blinked into existence before my eyes, hovering in mid-air. ¡°What the¡­¡± I recoiled, bumping into the pod behind me. Was this¡­ LitRPG? Or had I just hit my head way harder than I thought? ¡°The interface seems to be working?¡± the doctor asked, eyeing me like a tired parent trying to convince a toddler to eat their vegetables. ¡°Something¡¯s working¡­ I guess¡­¡± ¡°Then look at it,¡± he instructed, his voice laced with exhaustion. The text flickered, shifting as my gaze moved. A window suddenly popped forward, filling my vision. And what I saw nearly made me choke. Lifespan: 16/60 years. ¡°What the¡­ What does this mean?¡± I asked the doctor, pointing at the text. ¡°One moment,¡± he said, stepping over to the black screen on the wall. This time, it displayed a copy of my interface. ¡°You can see this?¡± he asked. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Then what¡¯s the problem?¡± ¡°Sixteen out of sixty? Why so low?¡± The question applied to both numbers. I was definitely older than sixteen, but that number didn¡¯t bother me as much as the other one. Sixty? That seemed¡­ a bit short. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°According to your medical records, you¡¯ve already lost a significant portion of your potential lifespan. Your body underwent intensive treatment that shortened your natural life cycle.¡± ¡°So sixty, and that¡¯s it? I just drop dead?¡± I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, though my pulse was racing. ¡°Sixty years is only the projected lifespan¡ªif you take no action. There is a way to extend it.¡± ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡± I really hoped they weren¡¯t about to demand the millions they¡¯d just promised me. ¡°Cultivation,¡± he said. ¡°¡­What?¡± ¡°Cultivate your internal energy. If you reach the next stage¡ªFoundation¡ªyou can extend your life by forty or fifty years.¡± I stopped, trying to process his words. ¡°Cultivation¡­¡± I muttered. Xianxia? I¡¯d landed in a bloody sci-fi xianxia world¡­ Oh, and with an interface, too. So it was LitRPG xianxia. Brilliant. Which idiot thought this was a good idea? The doctor seemed to realise I needed a moment to absorb this information, so he turned to the girl. ¡°Your turn,¡± he said, gesturing for her to lean against the pod. She complied without hesitation, though her gaze kept flicking back to me¡ªas if just waiting for the perfect moment to get even. ¡°Tilt your head slightly. Yes, keep it steady,¡± the doctor instructed, moving his device along her neck and temple. I pushed off the pod and took another look around the room. Cold walls. Rows of pods. It all still felt surreal. What the hell is this place? Why am I here? Fully sinking into my thoughts was proving difficult¡ªmostly because of the constant discomfort of being stark naked. I wasn¡¯t cold, but the sheer awareness of my nudity was starting to get on my nerves, and covering myself with my hands wasn¡¯t helping. ¡°Can I get some clothes?¡± I finally asked, realising the doctor wasn¡¯t even looking my way. ¡°In a moment,¡± he muttered, eyes glued to his scanner. He kept glancing at the display, where different interface windows were shifting. One of them looked just like mine, except its lifespan read 16/95. Damn, is Painted this healthy? No¡ªthere was a separate bar for that. Health: 100/100. Mine was 99/100. The doctor paused briefly, then gestured towards the same wall where he had retrieved the girl¡¯s clothes earlier. Another panel slid open, revealing a similar jumpsuit and a pair of slippers. Both were simple but soft to the touch. Balancing awkwardly, I pulled on the jumpsuit and slipped into the slippers. Then I glanced back at the doctor and the girl. He had finished scanning her, and they were now speaking in hushed voices. Her expression was focused, his was calm¡ªbut I noticed he kept glancing at me. Apparently, my condition worried him more than it worried me. And honestly¡­ that was worrying. My reaction to all this¡ªit didn¡¯t feel natural. I had woken up naked in a pod. Then I found out this body wasn¡¯t mine, that I was a ¡°lucky¡± sixteen-year-old with a capped lifespan of sixty. I had massive memory loss¡ªliterally the only thing I remembered was that whistle of incoming shell and an impact. And yet, instead of panicking, I was cracking jokes and admiring tattoos. Speaking of which¡­ I liked the artwork a lot more than the canvas. What the hell is wrong with me?! I tried to analyse myself. Yes, she was only sixteen, yes, I was disoriented. Yes, my thoughts kept jumping around, as if scrambling for something familiar. But overall¡­ I felt too in control. I had been able to argue with the girl, joke about her tattoos, and now here I was¡ªcalmly assessing my situation, thinking about my next steps. I sat down on the floor and tried to dig deeper. Something in my mind felt dull. Like there was an invisible wall between me and my emotions. This wasn¡¯t normal. This wasn¡¯t me. ¡°Something wrong?¡± The doctor¡¯s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. He stood a few steps away, having finished with the girl. She now stood silently by the door, arms crossed. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong with me,¡± I said, a bit slower than usual. ¡°Why am I¡­ reacting like this?¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked, studying my face closely. ¡°I have a massive memory gap¡­ but I¡¯m way too calm about it.¡± I gestured vaguely. ¡°This whole circus¡ªpods, cultivation, neuro-interface, a set lifespan¡ªwhy am I not panicking? Why am I not banging my head against the wall? This isn¡¯t normal.¡± The doctor was silent for a few seconds. Then he nodded, as if he had just remembered something obvious. ¡°That¡¯s entirely natural in your case,¡± he said. ¡°Your system is still under the influence of the medication. After awakening in the pod, we administer sedatives and stabilisers. It¡¯s standard procedure to prevent shock.¡± ¡°So, I¡¯m¡­ drugged right now?¡± ¡°There are residual traces of stabilisers in your bloodstream,¡± the doctor confirmed. ¡°They reduce emotional distress and help with the awakening process.¡± I nodded slowly, though his answer didn¡¯t exactly put me at ease. ¡°Hear that?¡± I said to the girl. ¡°I¡¯m not a jerk, blame the drugs.¡± ¡°I¡¯m drugged too,¡± she scoffed. ¡°You¡¯re just an arse.¡± "Hmm¡­ Could be. Unfortunately, I wouldn¡¯t know that, thanks to the memory gap. Or maybe it¡¯s just that you¡¯re a bitch?" ¡°Nope. I¡¯m definitely a sweetheart,¡± she retorted. ¡°Go to the waiting room,¡± the doctor ordered, nodding towards the door. Then, turning to me, he added, ¡°Focus!¡± ¡°Alright, fine. How long does this last?¡± ¡°Depends on your metabolism,¡± the doctor replied. ¡°Typically, the effects wear off in a few minutes. You¡¯ll start feeling more... yourself, though it might be unpleasant.¡± ¡°Unpleasant?¡± ¡°Some patients describe it as an ¡®emotional crash¡¯. Your mind will start processing reality without the filter of medication. You may become especially stubborn or agressive. If you already feel disoriented, it may intensify once the effects fully dissipate.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s fantastic,¡± I muttered sarcastically, though anxiety stirred inside me. The doctor stepped closer, his gaze serious. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m monitoring everything. If anything goes wrong, we have methods to stabilise you again.¡± ¡°Goes wrong?¡± I echoed. ¡°That¡¯s reassuring¡ªespecially since it¡¯s already going wrong.¡± He didn¡¯t respond, only glanced at the girl, who appeared to be listening to our conversation with mild interest. ¡°Out!¡± he barked at her. ¡°We¡¯re done with you for today.¡± She shot him a brief look, then glanced at me as if she wanted to say something¡ªbut simply waved a hand and left. ¡°So, we¡¯re just waiting for this ¡®emotional crash¡¯, then?¡± I asked. ¡°No new memories?¡± he inquired, holding his scanner pen to my temple while watching the monitor. ¡°Nothing!¡± I replied. Maybe that shell impact was just a dream? I still couldn¡¯t remember anything before it¡ªjust a consuming void where there should have been a mountain of memories. Maybe this was my real life? ¡°Are you familiar with the term isekai?¡± I asked. ¡°No. Is it from an ancient language?¡± ¡°What about xianxia? LitRPG?¡± ¡°No. What are they?¡± ¡°They seem like literary genres. I think¡­ I used to enjoy reading.¡± ¡°There you go! You¡¯re remembering!¡± he said, sounding oddly pleased. ¡°Though I must admit, I¡¯ve never heard of such genres.¡± Chapter 3: Moon, Demons and Roots ¡°Memories can be jumbled at first,¡± the doctor said. ¡°Let¡¯s start with something simple. Do you know where you are?¡± ¡°Looks like a hospital¡­¡± I said, glancing around. ¡°Is that a memory or an assumption?¡± ¡°Assumption,¡± I admitted. ¡°Strange. This is an important day, an important place. It¡¯s usually one of the first things people recall.¡± ¡°Nothing,¡± I shook my head. ¡°So where am I?¡± The doctor raised an eyebrow, as if doubting something¡ªor debating whether to answer at all. ¡°Verdis,¡± he said, as if that explained everything. We stared at each other for a moment. Then I snapped. "Doc, cut the bullshit and spit it out! I have no bloody clue what the hell Verdis is!" The doctor sighed. ¡°It¡¯s a moon. The third one.¡± ¡°A moon? How many are there?¡± The doctor gave me a look like I¡¯d just grown a second head and pointed his scanner pen at me. ¡°Not funny. That¡¯s basic knowledge. You don¡¯t forget something like that.¡± ¡°Well, then I¡¯m bloody sure there¡¯s supposed to be one goddamn moon!¡± I yelled, jumping to my feet, fists clenched. I took a step forward. The doctor flinched. ¡°Are you seriously trying to threaten me?¡± he asked, incredulously. ¡°I¡¯m trying to figure out what the hell is going on!¡± I took another step, but this time, the doctor didn¡¯t back away. Instead, he grabbed my ear, twisted it hard, and forced me back into my seat. His grip was iron. ¡°Aaagh¡ªOw!¡± I yelped, while he pressed the scanner against my neck. ¡°The crash has started,¡± he diagnosed after a few seconds. ¡°Get a grip. Picking a fight with a Condensation isn¡¯t the smartest idea.¡± ¡°What? Can you say that in human?¡± I was still fuming, though I knew full well my hormones were going haywire. "I''m a Condensation. Or rather, I¡¯ve reached Condensation. Third level of cultivation¡ªQi Condensation stage." He studied my face, searching for recognition. I just shook my head. ¡°Not even a flicker.¡± We fell into silence¡­ The doctor lifted his scanner to my neck again, then to my temple. I suppressed the urge to shove the damn thing up his arse. I had no idea what his third level meant, but judging by his grip, he was strong enough to make sure it ended up in my arse instead. ¡°So, how many moons are there?¡± he asked. ¡°One!¡± I growled. "Congratulations, you still qualify for an insurance payout." His tone was dry as he checked the interface. "It¡¯s been running for a while now¡ªif your memory was going to return, it should have by now. We¡¯ll monitor you for a bit longer, but I doubt anything will change.¡± ¡°Cheers.¡± Instead of anger, a crushing sense of despair settled over me. I suddenly felt so sorry for myself, I nearly cried. Poor me, poor bloody me¡ªwhat am I supposed to do without my memories? To snap myself out of it, I asked another question. ¡°So, are you finally going to tell me what¡¯s so special about this place?¡± ¡°Verdis¡ªthe third of nine,¡± he answered. ¡°The only one with a light atmosphere, livable gravity. It has enough qi to sustain cultivation.¡± I forced myself to process the information. Alright¡­ a moon. The only one of nine that could support life. That meant the rest were just dead rocks. Still, I got the feeling people didn¡¯t live here permanently. More like¡­ they came here. ¡°This moon¡­ what planet does it orbit?¡± ¡°Earth.¡± That answer didn¡¯t even faze him¡ªthe unspoken ¡®Duh¡¯ was almost audible. But I was starting to wonder what kind of Earth we were talking about. I didn¡¯t tell the doctor that my memory had finally coughed up an image of a blue-green sphere. ¡°Do they only implant neuro-interfaces here?¡± I asked. ¡°No. Here, people cultivate.¡± ¡°So they don¡¯t cultivate on Earth?¡± ¡°They used to. Once, Earth was rich with energy, but over the last few millennia, its levels dropped too low. The natural sources dried up. Whatever remained¡­ the demons took.¡± ¡°Demons?¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t a topic you¡¯ll be able to avoid. The next raid isn¡¯t for another forty years. You¡¯ll figure it out yourself.¡± He glanced at the monitor, then gestured at the pods. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°I¡¯ve got two more of your batch waking up, so let¡¯s get to the important stuff. Follow me.¡± We stepped up to the monitor, and my semi-transparent interface flickered onto the black screen. ¡°You won¡¯t need the interface ninety percent of the time, so I¡¯d suggest switching it to sleep mode and using the external display instead.¡± The doctor gestured at a list of data starting tutorial. Spiritual Roots: Martial Roots: Celestial Roots: ¡°Spiritual roots determine your affinity with natural elements. Martial roots indicate your potential in different forms of combat and weaponry. As for celestial roots¡­ well, they¡¯re more exotic. We suspect there are more of them, but we can only detect two. There aren¡¯t any proper techniques for them yet, so I wouldn¡¯t recommend getting too excited.¡± ¡°You are a first-period cadet,¡± he continued. ¡°You have one year to reach the second level¡ªFoundation stage. If you fail, you¡¯ll be culled.¡± That sounded ominous. Like a bloody death sentence. ¡°¡­What exactly do you mean by ¡®culled¡¯?¡± I dragged my thumb across my throat in a universal we-get-rid-of-you gesture and raised an eyebrow. ¡°What? No! You¡¯ll just be kicked out of the programme, sent back to Earth, and you won¡¯t be able to cultivate anymore. The pressure is high¡ªsome cadets don¡¯t take rejection well and end up offing themselves. But I promise you, it¡¯s not the end. I was culled in my first year. Went on to get a degree in medicine, came back as staff. Been here for a years now, just broke through at Condensation. Once your insurance payout comes in, you¡¯ll have every chance to pull the same trick.¡± Somehow, that didn¡¯t sound very convincing. No competition among the staff? Yeah, right. ¡°How many get culled?¡± I asked. ¡°Seventy-five percent.¡± I stared at him. ¡°Only one in four makes it through?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right. The ones who break through faster and score higher in technique mastery get priority.¡± Sounded like a bloody Battle Royale. ¡°How many cadets are there in total?¡± ¡°There are roughly one hundred and fifty thousand cultivators on Verdis at any given time. Fifty thousand are cadets, including ten thousand first-period. About a hundred are staff. Another thirty thousand¡ªthird- and fourth-period cadets¡ªtrain on other moons and return to Verdis for rest.¡± ¡°¡­Didn¡¯t you say those moons don¡¯t have an atmosphere?¡± ¡°At third and fourth levels, that¡¯s no longer a serious issue. Especially with the right armour.¡± I tried to process the idea of cultivator astronauts, but it didn¡¯t quite fit. In web novels, cultivation took decades, if not centuries. And here? A bloody rat race. And I knew nothing about it. The other cadets would have prepared. They¡¯d have strategies, plans¡ªAll I had was money. Which I hadn¡¯t even received yet. Should I just take it and go, live comfortably on Earth. Though something told me the demons wouldn¡¯t allow that. The doctor hadn¡¯t mentioned them for no reason. ¡°Doc, you do realise that I¡¯m¡­¡± I tapped my forehead with a fist. ¡°Don¡¯t do that,¡± he cut me off. ¡°You¡¯re one to talk.¡± I gestured at his scanner. ¡°You whacked me with that thing!¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. Don¡¯t do it.¡± ¡°¡­Fine. But I am memoryless. Doesn¡¯t that qualify me for some kind of exemption? Maybe a delay?¡± The doctor let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. ¡°First year is hell. Don¡¯t trust anyone. And don¡¯t turn your back on anyone, either.¡± There was something personal in the way he said it. ¡°Some cadets won¡¯t hesitate to eliminate the competition physically,¡± he continued. ¡°The punishment is expulsion, but I¡¯ve never seen a first-year class without incidents. If you make it to the second level, things calm down. You¡¯ll get another three-year period to reach Condensation. The dropout rate drops to less than ten percent.¡± ¡°¡­Any practical advice on how to not get culled?¡± ¡°The highest scores go to those who break through quickly. If you make it into the top five hundred, your chances jump to fifty percent.¡± ¡°¡­Five hundred out of ten thousand?!¡± ¡°Out of the two thousand who entered the Black Lotus School with you,¡± the doctor continued. ¡°Still, I¡¯d suggest checking the overall Verdis rankings to be sure.¡± He paused, seemingly lost in thought¡ªmaybe recalling his own experience. ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t recommend focusing solely on cultivation and ignoring combat techniques,¡± he added. ¡°The moment cadets master their first skills, bullying starts. The goons start hunting pure cultivators.¡± He glanced at me. ¡°And I also wouldn¡¯t recommend neglecting internal techniques. Take Focusing Technique, for example¡ªevery researcher here uses it. Mine¡¯s red¡ªCondensation level. You, however, should stick to the green-blue one, level one¡ªQi Refining. That¡¯s your current stage.¡± I opened my mouth to ask something, but he shut me down before I could. ¡°You¡¯ll figure out the colour system on your own.¡± The doctor tapped the screen, opening a new tab titled Journal. ¡°You can take notes¡ªvoice or text input, whichever you prefer.¡± Oh. Quests unlocked. Do I get EXP for this? ¡°Demons,¡± I said, and the word appeared under the date 12.05.3225. A timestamp read 14:16. ¡°Colour system,¡± I added, watching it appear at 14:17. ¡°The first month is meant to be introductory, but if you follow the programme, you¡¯ll be lagging behind from the start,¡± the doctor said. ¡°What you really need is to push past the first bottleneck. Each cultivation level has two of them. You can¡¯t break through without supplements. I¡¯d recommend Pleomax A1.2 over the standard A1.56. It¡¯s worth the extra cost¡ªyou won¡¯t regret it. So, forget everything else and cultivate until you break through the first bottleneck. That¡¯ll allow you to access a minimal qi reserve¡ªenough to properly use techniques.¡± I absorbed the information in silence. ¡°After that¡ªFocusing Technique. Then a fist technique. Again, don¡¯t waste time on high-rank, flashy moves¡ªpick something you can master fast. Even a grey technique will do. You just need to land one solid hit on a bully. Show them you¡¯re not an easy target. And if you get cornered, pay up for a Fist Essence and boost your root level. It¡¯ll be quicker that way.¡± ¡°Fist Essence,¡± I muttered, noting it down. The doctor gave me an approving nod before his gaze unfocused, as if reading something in his interface. Then he turned to the pods¡ªone of them was shifting upright. ¡°After that, cultivate until your breakthrough, then start completing assignments. It¡¯ll be easier for you, since the tasks are designed for first-level cadets, and you¡¯ll already be second-level. And don¡¯t overdo the duels. It¡¯s the easiest way to lose points.¡± With a few precise gestures in the air, he sent a notification to my interface. Incoming message from: R. P. Robinson Subject: manuals I tapped ¡®Read,¡¯ and the doctor moved on to check his next patient. He sent me three manuals: Just as I started skimming them, a pink-cheeked man with two thin, ten-centimetre-long horns walked into the chamber. My first thought? Demons. Raids. But the white coat wasn¡¯t exactly prime raiding armour. ¡°You called, Doctor Robinson?¡± The doctor gestured at me. "Memory loss. Help him make sense of things, answer his questions. Just not here. You can use Room Four¡ªthe old facility." Chapter 4: Thinhorn The thin-horned guy led me into the corridor. His little horns were distracting, but¡ªVerdis, eight other moons, cultivation, cull¡­ I had bigger things to think about. I¡¯d landed right in the middle of a bloody rat race, with no memory, no experience and he didn¡¯t seem like he was about to kill me. The corridor was wide, with dim white lighting and unnaturally smooth, sterile walls. The air carried a faint trace of antiseptic. I had just opened my mouth to ask my first question when someone nearly knocked us over. A stocky cadet, wearing the same grey jumpsuit as me, burst out of a nearby room and crashed straight into Thin-Horns. But the guy moved like a damn ballerina¡ªtwisting aside, dodging the impact, and even steadying the cadet to keep him from falling. ¡°Get your filthy hands off me, freak!¡± the cadet snapped, swinging at his arm. Thin-Horns pulled back just in time. The miss only pissed the guy off more¡ªhe lunged forward, slamming a shoulder into him. Despite all his grace, Thin-Horns went down this time, landing flat on his arse. ¡°Piece of shit,¡± the cadet sneered. ¡°The hell¡¯s your problem, mate?¡± I asked. ¡°What, you into freaks or something?¡± he spat. Is this racism, or something else? Ah, fuck it. I could already feel the heat rising inside me. Without thinking, I swung my fist straight at his jaw. It never landed. One moment, Thin-Horns was still on the floor¡ªthe next, he had caught my wrist in an iron grip, just inches from the cadet¡¯s face. I couldn¡¯t move it an inch. ¡°Not worth it,¡± he said calmly. The brute finally processed what had just happened. I had tried to hit him. Now, he wanted to return the favour, but Thin-Horns caught his fist just as effortlessly. Frustrated, the guy changed tactics¡ªWith a snarl, he jumped, aiming a hammering punch straight between those horns. I tried to step in, but my guide twisted my arm, forcing me back. The cadet¡¯s fist smashed into Thin-Horns¡¯ forehead¡ª And he screamed in agony. Not Thin-Horns. The cadet. ¡°Son of a bitch!¡± Thin-Horns, completely unfazed, simply released his hand, and the guy collapsed to the floor, cradling his injured knuckles. ¡°Fucking thinhorns¡­¡± he whined. Another figure shot around the corner¡ªa young man wearing a darker, sleeker, and more formal jumpsuit than ours. I spotted an insignia on his collar: the Roman numeral III. ¡°Cadets!¡± he barked, already closing the distance. He turned to me first. ¡°Sullivan.¡± Then, to the other cadet. ¡°Tariq. With me, you two degenerates.¡± His tone left no room for argument. ¡°Apologies, Cadet,¡± thinorn interrupted, ¡°but I was ordered by the doctor to answer this cadet¡¯s questions.¡± ¡°Memory loss,¡± I added. Thin-Horns had addressed him as Cadet, but for some reason, I had no desire to argue with the guy. The upperclassman scanned me, assessing whether I was bullshitting him. Then he sighed and nodded. ¡°Fine, take him. Tariq, let¡¯s go.¡± The aggressive cadet shot me one last burning glare but said nothing¡ªjust followed after his superior. I watched them go, then turned back to Thin-Horns. ¡°Who was that?¡± ¡°A temporary supervisor,¡± he explained. ¡°A third-period cadet. Upperclassmen assist with training logistics.¡± ¡°They¡¯re going to be teaching us?¡± ¡°For the most part, they just help manage newcomers, enforce discipline, and evaluate your progress.¡± I exhaled. ¡°Something about this system rubs me the wrong way¡­¡± Thin-Horns gave a small, knowing smile. ¡°Most cadets say that. But it doesn¡¯t change the rules of the game. Living space on Verdis is limited.¡± ¡°Why? Let that be my first question.¡± ¡°To maintain qi concentration.¡± He gestured for us to keep walking. I nodded and asked my next question. ¡°How should I address you?¡± ¡°Focus,¡± he advised. ¡°Use the interface.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not exactly¡­ Oh!¡± Above his head, text flickered into view: Diego 0015. I focused on the numbers, and somehow, another menu popped up¡ªsimilar to my own stats window. Except Diego 0015¡¯s lifespan read 67/178. ¡°What the¡­?¡± He didn¡¯t look sixty-seven. Thirty at most¡ªvery well-maintained thirty. Like those Asian male models thirty. ¡°Figured it out?¡± he asked. ¡°Condensation? Third level?¡± I skimmed through his other stats. Every single root was above forty. Mace and Lightning was 118 each. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± Something didn¡¯t add up¡­ Doc had said cadets had three years to reach the third level. But Diego was clearly not a cadet. ¡°You¡¯re not a cadet, are you?¡± I asked. He chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m a thinhorn¡ªa GES¡ªgenetically engineered servant, a human-demon hybrid. At your service.¡± I glanced at his roots. I hadn¡¯t seen that other cadet¡¯s stats, but I had a strong feeling they weren¡¯t much different from mine. ¡°You know any techniques?¡± ¡°Only internal ones. I¡¯m not a combat model.¡± ¡°And you couldn¡¯t smear that prick across the walls?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a servant,¡± he repeated. ¡°Not a slave, though?¡± I asked, watching his reaction. A barely noticeable flinch. For someone who controlled his body so well, that was telling. Then again¡­ that cadet knocked him down. ¡°You let him knock you down,¡± I realised. ¡°He was in a crash,¡± Diego said, relieved by the change of subject. ¡°His body was overloaded with hormones, stabilisers, and stress. It¡¯ll pass. I thought letting him land a punch might help him regain control faster.¡± ¡°He¡¯s a prick who hates thinhorns. I doubt a few hours will make him love you.¡± Diego smiled again. ¡°I was designed for work, not love.¡± Yeah. He was definitely a slave. Which complicated things. First of all¡ªit was wrong. Second¡ªslavery was stupid. Slaves always revolt. They always end up butchering their masters. I could, theoretically, swear undying love to Diego just in case, but if a rebellion broke out, thinhorns wouldn¡¯t be picky about who they cut down. And I couldn¡¯t bribe all of them. Besides, this was something I needed to think through. No way was this ¡°servant¡± giving me the full truth upfront. So I focused on the first topic in my quest log. ¡°Tell me about demons. Keep it short.¡± Diego didn¡¯t answer right away. He merely slowed his pace a little, as if weighing the best way to start. I figured that, being half demon himself, he had to tread carefully. ¡°For a long time, humans believed them to be true spawns of hell,¡± he said at last. ¡°And while their behaviour did match our idea of infernal creatures, they weren¡¯t demons in the religious sense. They¡¯re just another race. Aliens.¡± I raised an eyebrow. Then again¡­ make sense. Cultivators here live on the bloody moon. ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°They¡¯re horned humanoids. Thick horns, like a bull¡¯s. And they¡¯re all cultivators¡ªthird level and up. At least, the ones humanity has encountered. The last two raids on Earth were led by seventh-level¡ªSoul Formation demons. Or possibly¡­ the same one demon. They used different techniques, but both specialised in swordsmanship.¡± ¡°Wait¡ªhold up.¡± I frowned. ¡°There was no sword root in the stats.¡± ¡°Sword techniques rely on Blade and Point roots,¡± Diego explained, gesturing to a door marked 4. ¡°Ah. Makes sense. I assume other techniques work the same way? Like, a storm technique would use Lightning and Air?¡± The room held six pods, but they weren¡¯t just different from mine and Tattoo Girl¡¯s. They were different from each other. All looked outdated, some more worn than others. One even had a nice, fist-shaped dent in it. Didn¡¯t even surprise me anymore. At least there was a small table and two chairs. We took our seats. ¡°Well, that depends on the storm,¡± Diego continued. ¡°A thunderstorm¡ªyes. But an ice storm would require Wind and Water. You get the idea.¡± "What I don¡¯t get," I said, "is whether firearms have any place in all this. Do you guys even use guns?" "Of course. Law enforcement uses them down on Earth. But for cultivators, they¡¯re not particularly useful. Why would you bother, when a Point or Finger technique can do the same thing as a bullet or a laser?¡± ¡°Okay, Point, I get. But Finger?!¡± ¡°It releases a thin qi beam, cutting through anything like a laser.¡± I tried to process that. All I could picture was a guy making finger guns and shouting ¡°pew pew¡± while red lasers shot from his fingertips. ¡°¡­And what does Fist do?¡± ¡°It releases a wave of hard qi, causing external damage to the body. Palm techniques use soft qi¡ªthey inflict internal damage.¡± Interesting. But I was drifting off-topic. Making a quick journal note¡ª¡°roots and techniques¡±¡ªI steered the conversation back. ¡°Back to the demons. How often do they attack, and how do we fight them off?¡± ¡°Once every five hundred years. Give or take. They appear suddenly, through portals. Kill, loot, then vanish.¡± Once every five centuries¡­ I suppose that made sense. Cultivation¡ªlong lifespans and all that. But¡ª ¡°Portals?¡± I asked. ¡°Yes. We don¡¯t understand the technology or technique behind them. It¡¯s what made people believe they were actual demons in the first place. During the second-to-last raid, humans detected ships in the Solar System for the first time. At first, it didn¡¯t match up with mythology or religion. But when the ships appeared again during the last invasion¡ª All doubts vanished. They weren¡¯t from hell. They were from space.¡± ¡°¡­And why the hell do they keep coming here?¡± ¡°To pillage.¡± ¡°What do we have that space doesn¡¯t?¡± ¡°Artefacts. Precious metals. Anything infused with qi that can be taken.¡± ¡°There were legends,¡± Diego added, ¡°that they used to come more frequently¡ªuntil they stripped the planet of qi crystals.¡± ¡°So¡­ they¡¯re after the same resources we want.¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± ¡°But they don¡¯t just steal artefacts. They can drain qi directly from cultivators. They can hollow them out.¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not great.¡± ¡°It¡¯s death,¡± Diego said flatly. ¡°Without qi, a cultivator is just an empty shell.¡± ¡°So if you don¡¯t cultivate, they leave you alone?¡± ¡°The last time demons attacked, they wiped out entire countries. They performed qi harvest rituals on the biggest cities¡ª Nothing survived. Not even microbes.¡± ¡°¡­So, war?¡± ¡°More like a massacre,¡± Diego replied, still eerily calm. ¡°¡­And we?¡± ¡°We prepare.¡± I snorted. At least he said we¡ªdidn¡¯t separate himself from humanity. I¡¯d have to dig deeper into the whole thinhorn thing. Maybe they really weren¡¯t slaves. That is, if I had the time. Verdis, the Black Lotus School, all these trials, culls, accelerated training¡­ None of this was random. ¡°When¡¯s their next scheduled visit?¡± ¡°Forty years. Give or take.¡± I sighed. Another war in forty years. At least this time, I had time to prepare. A nagging feeling told me the last one had caught me off guard. ¡°Well, at least it¡¯s not tomorrow¡­¡± I had no desire to get drained dry by some horned bastard. Which meant I definitely didn¡¯t have forty years. I had one. ¡°So¡­ where¡¯s the ¡®cultivate¡¯ button?¡± I joked. ¡°In the interface.¡± ¡°¡­Seriously?!¡± ¡°Of course not.¡± ¡°If there¡¯s one thing you won¡¯t be getting a shortcut for, it¡¯s cultivating qi.¡± He smirked. ¡°Good old-fashioned meditation. Didn¡¯t the doc send you the manual?¡± I nodded and opened the interface. I should probably request his contact while I was at it. ¡°He did. But if you had to sum it up in two sentences?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t cultivate indoors¡ªany scraps of qi that make it in are already being absorbed by the bodies here. And you won¡¯t be able to cultivate outside until you receive your battle suit.¡± I raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°The further from the school, the better. All the surrounding qi is gathered by formation arrays and channelled into Flow Chambers. You¡¯ll be assigned a meditation schedule later.¡± ¡°A schedule? The doc told me to forget everything else and cultivate until I break through the first bottleneck.¡± ¡°The schedule covers the hours guaranteed by the school. You can increase that time by spending training points¡ª Or cash, if it¡¯s burning a hole in your pocket.¡± ¡°How much?¡± ¡°Ten thousand per hour.¡± ¡°¡­And roughly how many hours will I need to reach the bottleneck?¡± ¡°Anywhere between two and twenty.¡± ¡°Well, that doesn¡¯t sound too bad!¡± I said, relieved. ¡°First¡ª¡± Diego cut in, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t count on money that isn¡¯t in your account yet. The whole process of verifying your memory loss and approving your insurance claim will take at least ten days.¡± ¡°¡­And second?¡± ¡°You won¡¯t last more than fifteen minutes on your first try. And then you¡¯ll be out of commission for half a day.¡± Chapter 5: Roommates As Diego explained cultivation and its hidden pitfalls, my decision had already been made. I wasn¡¯t going to sit around waiting for someone to lead me by the hand¡ªespecially when both Doc and thinhorn had made it clear that no one would give a damn about me. They hadn¡¯t said it outright, but that was the impression I got. If cultivation was the key to survival, then I wasn¡¯t about to waste time. Flow Chambers¡ªthat¡¯s what I needed. "You said the first meditation knocks you out for a while? Then the sooner I get it over with, the sooner I recover. Can you set it up?" I leaned forward slightly. "I¡¯ll cut you in¡ªten thousand for fifteen minutes, as soon as I get my insurance payout." Diego listened with polite attentiveness. But his face made it clear¡ªhe wasn¡¯t going to help. "Not before the briefing." I could argue. I could try to convince him it wouldn¡¯t be a big deal. But Diego didn¡¯t seem like someone who could be easily swayed into breaking protocol. Who knew what kind of punishment he¡¯d get for that? And I didn¡¯t want to ruin our working relationship right from the start. "No shortcuts around this?" "Cultivator parents and rich families often give their kids qi crystals. Some cadets will likely be meditating soon, absorbing their energy. That¡¯s the only ¡®legal¡¯ shortcut. The school actually encourages students to invest in their own development." "But I am willing to pay." "With money you don¡¯t have." "I will have it, won¡¯t I? I¡¯m starting to have doubts." "There¡¯s a tiny chance you won¡¯t. But that¡¯s not the issue. You¡¯re only sixteen. Any debt agreements with you would be legally void. For the next two years, you won¡¯t have the right to sign official documents without a guardian¡¯s approval." "And who¡¯s my guardian?" "Some nameless bureaucrat in the Ministry of Social Welfare." Who had never seen me in his life. And didn¡¯t give a shit. "So I guess ¡®we just won¡¯t tell anyone¡¯ isn¡¯t an option?" "Cadets¡¯ personal data and status are public information," he explained. "The moment your level increases, your cultivation ranking updates automatically. If I help you before it¡¯s officially allowed, I get punished." He said it with a level tone¡ªno regret, no apology. Just a simple fact. Diego might not have been a slave in the literal sense, but he was still bound by duties and restrictions. Free¡ªwithin the limits of his role. Nothing more. And if he was created to serve, then there was no reason he couldn¡¯t serve me¡ªas long as I made it worth his while. ¡°Alright. Then after the briefing.¡± He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging my words. ¡°If I have the time¡­¡± ¡°For an extra fee,¡± I added. That earned me a brief glance. Subtle, but enough to confirm¡ªI was right. He might have been a servant, but money still mattered to him. ¡°I¡¯m a servant. The school pays me for my work. I¡¯m not allowed to take payment from others.¡± ¡°A gift from a friend?¡± ¡°More like a bribe.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll figure something out¡­¡± Diego studied my face for a moment. ¡°If you still need help after the briefing, I¡¯ll assist¡ªif I have the time.¡± ¡°Great!¡± I had no idea how much I could actually trust him. But that didn¡¯t matter for now. The important thing was¡ªI had taken my first step. Made my first connection. Though¡­ maybe I should¡¯ve tried talking to Rogers about this instead¡­ ¡°Doesn¡¯t Doc need to observe me absorbing qi? To make sure I don¡¯t have any issues besides memory loss?¡± Diego gave the faintest of smiles. ¡°I¡¯ll ask,¡± he said¡ªthen his eyes unfocused slightly as he checked his interface. ¡°Doctor, the patient is asking whether we should test his ability to absorb qi in a Flow Chamber.¡± ¡°I¡¯m willing to pay for the tests,¡± I added. Diego repeated my words, then flicked his gaze back to me a few times before letting out a quiet chuckle. ¡°What?¡± I asked. ¡°He says the patient is showing clear symptoms of terminal smartassery and that I should check your hormone levels and kick you out.¡± Diego pulled a scanner pen from his pocket and held it to my neck. A few seconds later, he did kick me out¡ªthough he at least showed me how to use the interface¡¯s navigation system first. And where to find the waiting hall. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Upon arrival, I was supposed to report to the temporary supervisors that my emotional crash was over and my hormone levels had stabilised. The hall turned out to be nothing more than a long, wide corridor¡ªbenches lined one side, while panoramic windows stretched across the other. At first glance, the view outside seemed almost¡­ Earth-like. But only at first. The garden beyond was designed in a Japanese style: winding white gravel paths snaked between rocky islands covered in soft moss. Here and there, trees resembling bonsai stood tall, their thin, gnarled branches stretching skyward as if clinging to the heavens. Their leaves shimmered, shifting between a silvery glow and a faint bluish tint. Some trees had no leaves at all¡ªtheir limbs transitioned into thinner, softer, translucent tendrils, swaying like underwater plants at the slightest breeze. I stepped closer to the glass, momentarily captivated by the scene. This was an inner courtyard¡ªI could see tall grey walls of glass, concrete, and steel beyond the trees. Quite tall walls, looming over the garden. Only a fragment of the sky was visible above them¡ªan impossibly deep shade of blue, almost black, without a single cloud in sight. And just beyond the walls, the silhouette of lunar mountains rose, shrouded in mist. They looked unreal. Like the trees with their flowing tendrils¡ªlike a movie set for some faraway planet. The light hit at an odd angle, casting sharp, elongated shadows that only made everything seem even more alien. But what struck me the most was the pond at the garden¡¯s centre. Its surface was completely still¡ªperfectly smooth, like glass. The water had a faint bluish hue, and now and then, tiny sparks flickered within it. Qi? Bioluminescent bacteria? Some unknown physical phenomenon? Whatever it was, the sparks barely held my attention compared to the lotus flowers floating on the surface¡ª Black. As black as the school¡¯s name. Their petals were semi-transparent, catching the light at strange angles, creating the illusion of shattered crystal. The garden was empty. It felt like no one came here unless they had to. And the crowded hall only made its isolation stand out more. It looked peaceful¡ª But it was the kind of peace that felt unnatural. Like the forced stillness before a storm. And sure enough, the storm was brewing inside the hall. Two female cadets suddenly erupted into a shouting match¡ªthen lunged at each other, yanking at hair. A third-year female supervisor was on them in an instant, grabbing both by the heads and pulling them apart. They shrieked, still clawing at each other, but there was no resisting her grip. To really drive the message home, the supervisor landed a slap on each of them¡ªOne dropped onto her arse, the other collapsed completely. If anyone else had been considering starting trouble, the brutal display convinced them otherwise. I looked away. No point staring. No matter how stunning the garden was, or how fascinating it was to study local customs, I wasn¡¯t here for sightseeing. I scanned the supervisors and spotted the one who had broken up my scuffle with Tariq. I headed straight for him. "I don¡¯t remember the proper way to address you," I admitted. "You may go with ¡®sir," he replied. My interface identified him as N. V. Phillips. "My emotional crash is over, sir. Hormone levels are stable." Phillips didn¡¯t take my word for it. He called over another thinhorn, who scanned me before nodding in confirmation. Only then did Phillips gesture towards a group of about ten male cadets standing near another supervisor. ¡°Join them.¡± I reached the group at the same time as another cadet. The supervisor silently marked us on his tablet, then gestured to where we should stand, forming us into two orderly columns. Nearby, another group of girls was lining up, but our dozen filled up first. The supervisor waved at a thinhorn in a jumpsuit and barked out an order. ¡°You run after the thinhorn. Anyone who falls behind or breaks formation¡ª¡± he smirked, ¡°¡ªgets a nice boot from me. Move it!¡± The thinhorn set a brutal pace right from the start. We scrambled after him, trying to keep up. No deadweights in our group¡ªeveryone was fit. Still, by the time we reached our destination¡ªthe dormitory¡ªwe were all dripping with sweat. And we¡¯d taken plenty of kicks along the way. The supervisor dashed back and forth like a lunatic, never even breaking a sweat himself. Once we arrived, he shoved us into rooms¡ªtiny boxes¡ªand ordered us not to leave without permission. No kicks this time. Instead, he threatened penalty points. And somehow, that sounded a lot worse. The room they¡¯d shoved me into was maybe three metres by three. Two sets of bunk beds. Two double-door wardrobes. One tiny desk. My roommates? A blond Viking. A black guy, so tall and skinny he looked like he was made of sticks. And an Asian kid with blue hair. We all eyed each other. ¡°Denis,¡± the blond introduced himself first. Blue-hair scoffed and rolled his eyes. ¡°You got a problem?¡± Denis asked. ¡°What¡¯s the point?¡± Blue-hair muttered. ¡°Elimination rate is 75%. Statistically, only one of us will make it.¡± ¡°Jake,¡± I said, pointing at the bottom left bunk. ¡°Mine.¡± Then I squeezed past them and claimed it before anyone could argue. The general awkwardness worked in my favour. ¡°Mine!¡± Two voices rang out at once. Denis and Blue-hair Asian had both pointed at the bottom right bunk. The stick-thin guy just shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit,¡± he said¡ªand climbed onto the top bunk above me. Denis shoved Blue-hair aside and flopped onto the bottom bunk. ¡°Up you go,¡± he told him. Blue-hair stared at him. ¡°Do you even know who I am?¡± ¡°Nope. You didn¡¯t introduce yourself.¡± Denis smirked. ¡°You could¡¯ve checked the interface,¡± Blue-hair spat, seething. I did. F. Bao. Didn¡¯t mean shit to me. ¡°Well?¡± Bao snapped, smug. Denis sat up. He slowly extended his arm and raised his middle finger. Then, just as slowly, he pointed it straight at the top bunk. "Get up top!" Bao¡¯s face flushed red. "You¡¯ll regret this, I¡ª" "You¡¯re some pampered brat with a big-shot daddy, we get it! Now shut up and climb!" I snapped. Maybe I shouldn¡¯t have. But the guy clearly wasn¡¯t looking to make friends¡ªand unlike him, I was. Statistics are a funny thing. They only work with large numbers. Maybe only one of us in this room would survive cull. Maybe none. Maybe all of us. There were twenty-five bloody hundred cadets here. If he didn¡¯t want support, that was his problem. Me? I wasn¡¯t about to turn it down. Better to have someone at your back. Then again, Doc did warn me to watch it. "Think you can just get away with this?! I¡¯ll be the first to break through in this room!" Bao said. "I think¡­ we should¡¯ve asked if we¡¯re allowed to leave for the toilet first." I stretched lazily. "Third-rate villains don¡¯t interest me." Chapter 6: Big Ego Man Bao kept up his attitude for a bit longer, muttering something about ¡°pathetic idiots¡± before finally climbing up¡ªteeth grinding all the way. Silence settled over the room. It lasted just long enough for everyone to form their own first impressions. I sat on my bunk, stretching, eyeing the others from the corner of my eye. I figured we¡¯d sit in silence a while longer, each lost in our own thoughts. But Denis spoke up first. ¡°Well, let¡¯s do this properly.¡± He leaned back on his bunk. ¡°Denis Rein, Den, New Valla. Main root¡ªPalm, 24.¡± Seemed important to him. We could all see most of this info through the interface anyway¡ªexcept for where someone was from. So this felt more like an old-school who¡¯s-the-alpha ritual. Though, to be fair, there was no aggression in his tone. The black guy, already settled on the top bunk, spoke next. ¡°Marlon Kay. Syrena. Air, 21. Point, 20.¡± Now that was interesting. Denis was straightforward¡ªa classic close-range fighter. At least, that¡¯s what it seemed like. I still hadn¡¯t actually seen how techniques worked. But Diego had said Point techniques were the closest thing to firearms. I wondered how that played out in Marlon¡¯s case¡ªwould it look more like fencing? Shooting? Or maybe a goddamn tornado? Denis glanced at me. I wasn¡¯t in a hurry to speak, but with Bao pointedly ignoring us, staying silent didn¡¯t feel right either. ¡°Jake Sullivan¡­ uh, Fist, 23.¡± I shrugged. ¡°No idea where I¡¯m from. Neural interface installation didn¡¯t go great¡ªI¡¯ve got some huge memory gaps.¡± Bao snorted something unintelligible from above. He didn¡¯t bother to add anything we could understand. Kay said nothing either. Only Denis reacted. ¡°They¡¯ll pay you insurance. If you¡¯re not some rich brat like Bao, that¡¯s a win.¡± I said nothing. ¡°Did they tell you anything about it?¡± I nodded. Denis raised a brow, waiting for more. I just smiled and shook my head. He smirked back, nodding in understanding. At that moment, a notification flashed before my eyes. Incoming message from: R. P. Robinson Subject: Preparation Content: Go through the manuals within an hour. Memorise the essentials. Surprise flickered across my face. "What?" Dennis asked. There wasn¡¯t much point in hiding it. "The doc sent me a message. Wants me to read something." I navigated through my interface, tapping at the holographic buttons floating in the air. Dennis stood up and walked over to a wardrobe. "Pick a locker," he said, "and initiate binding." After fiddling with the door he had chosen, Dennis opened it and pulled out a black tablet from the top shelf. "Easier to read on this," he explained. In my interface, the door behind him now displayed D. R. Rain. I copied his actions on the nearest wardrobe door, and my initials appeared on the door as well. I didn¡¯t bother checking the full inventory the school had provided¡ªjust grabbed the tablet. It seemed to serve the same function as the black monitor in the hospital room. My interface automatically transferred to the screen. It really was more convenient. I flopped back onto the bed and opened the first file¡ªBasics of Cultivation The text was clear and structured, with no unnecessary explanations¡ªlike a standard technical manual rather than something that fundamentally altered the human body. And, most importantly, none of that flowery nonsense about the Jade Emperor entering the Golden Gate or other incomprehensible Chinese mysticism. The core principle of cultivation was absorbing and refining energy. qi filled the world, but its concentration varied by location. There was almost none left on Earth, which was why cultivators trained here, on Verdis, and on other moons. The first step was to sense the energy. This was handled by certified specialists who assessed candidates for cultivation. Which meant I should have been introduced to qi back on Earth. That didn¡¯t quite add up in my head¡ªsince there was no qi on Earth¡­ So why the hell were demons so fond of it? Maybe that specialist used objects infused with qi¡ªcrystals or artefacts? The main issue was that I had no idea what qi even was. I immediately sent a message to the doc. Subject: Qi! Content: I don¡¯t remember what the hell it is! I don¡¯t know how to sense it. The process of absorbing energy involved opening one¡¯s body to the external qi flow. It was similar to breathing, except the energy didn¡¯t enter through the lungs but through specialised internal channels, which developed differently in each cultivator. The manual detailed several techniques tailored to different roots. I chose the palm-based technique recommended for Fist users. Interestingly, cultivators with a highly developed Palm root were advised to absorb energy through the backs of their hands rather than their palms. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Absorbing qi required concentration and control. Taking it into your body was only half the battle. If you just pulled it in, it would disperse, leaving only a faint trace behind. To truly integrate the energy, it had to be compressed and stabilised in the lower abdomen or the solar plexus. I¡¯d seen a mention of bottlenecks in the manual¡ªthose very same obstacles you couldn¡¯t overcome without special compounds. I wondered how hard it really was to reach the first one. I moved on to the next manual, but before I could start reading, a new message popped up: Incoming message from: R. P. Robinson Subject: Re: Qi! Content: Got it. No problem. Keep reading! Cultivating in a Flow Chamber was the most effective method for accumulating qi, as the concentration there was dozens of times higher. But there was a catch: You couldn¡¯t hold onto the flow¡ªyou had to let it pass through you. Untrained cultivators often tried to seize all the energy at once, overloading and damaging their channels in the process. It was like taking a sharp breath of scorching air in a burning house¡ªwithout the proper technique, you''d just choke. The manual advised letting the energy pass through rather than trying to trap it. To allow the flow to move through the body, like wind through an open window, gradually leaving its imprint. Here, the author couldn¡¯t resist some imagery. He even threw in a waterfall analogy: "Imagine standing under a waterfall. If you try to catch all the water in your hands, it¡¯ll simply slip through your fingers. But if you stand beneath the flow and let it run over you, some of it will naturally be absorbed by your skin." I leaned back against the bedframe and closed my eyes for a moment. Absorption is passive, channel it through, don¡¯t hold¡­ Alright. We¡¯d see how that worked in practice. I thought an hour wouldn¡¯t be enough, but the manuals were fairly short. The collection techniques took up the most space, but since I¡¯d already settled on the recommended one, I skimmed through the manuals twice. Dennis was absorbed in his tablet. Marlon had picked a locker and was reading as well. Only Bao was deliberately ignoring us¡ªand the rest of the world. His primary roots, by the way, were Mace 20 and Wood 23. Not that he¡¯d said it out loud, but he himself had pointed out that we could check. So, when I got bored of reading, I took a look. An hour had passed, and still no word from the doc. Another hour later, I was just about to put the tablet away and get some rest when the door to our room swung open. Diego stood in the doorway, as composed and polite as ever, his expression unreadable. "Cadet Sullivan, you are required to undergo an additional medical examination," he announced. I raised an eyebrow as if I wasn¡¯t thrilled about it. "Do I have to?" I asked, winking at the thin-horned visitor. "I don¡¯t think it¡¯s worth troubling the supervisors¡ªthey¡¯re not exactly known for their delicacy. This is just a routine check-up," Diego assured me. Alright, fair enough. He¡¯d convinced not just me, but the whole room. I stood up, stretched, and cast a quick glance at Dennis and Marlon. They pretended not to care, but I knew¡ªthey¡¯d memorised every detail. Bao, however, surprised me. He actually got involved. He jumped down from his bunk. "Thinhorn, I am Bao Fen. Bring me my personal belongings." Diego didn¡¯t so much as blink. "I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s impossible, Cadet Bao. Access to storage chambers is granted only to the cadets themselves." Bao Fen clenched his jaw. He¡¯d even introduced himself this time, and it still didn¡¯t work. Even this damn thinhorn ignored him. He skipped "Do you know who I am?!" and went straight for the heavy artillery. "I am the son of Bao Hai, grandson of Bao Wei, great-grandson of Bao Zhui!" Diego nodded, almost bowed, and put on the most insincere expression of fear I¡¯d ever seen in my life. His tone, however, remained just as level and composed as ever. "A pleasure to meet you, Son of Bao Hai, Grandson of Bao Wei, Great-Grandson of Bao Zhui. Forgive this humble servant, but the most I can do is summon a supervisor. I¡¯m sure one of them will be more than willing to make an exception¡­ for the Son of Bao Hai, Grandson of Bao Wei, Great-Grandson of Bao Zhui." Bao Fen turned red, his whole body trembling with rage. So, the supervisors didn¡¯t give a damn. The only thing waiting for our dear Fen from them was a well-placed boot up his arse. I barely managed to hold back my laughter. Diego knew exactly what he was doing¡ªhe never gave a direct excuse for punishment, but at the same time, he humiliated Bao Fen far more effectively than simply ignoring him. "And now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, Son of Bao Hai, Grandson of Bao Wei, Great-Grandson of Bao Zhui, we have a doctor to see." That was it¡ªDennis lost it. He snorted with laughter and turned to face the wall, trying to stifle it. Marlon, the calmest of us, buried himself under his pillow to hide the sound, but his elbows bounced with every suppressed heh-heh. As for me, I bolted into the corridor, hand over my mouth, waiting for the door to shut behind Diego before finally letting the laughter burst out. "That was bloody brilliant!" I told Diego. "Experience!" he replied with a grin, wagging his finger like an old grandpa. Well, despite how he looked, he wasn¡¯t exactly young. Diego gestured for me to follow, and I decided to take the opportunity to ask about that arrogant prick. "So¡­ who exactly are the Baos?" "Bao Fen is one of the younger sons of a major cultivator family," Diego replied. "How major are we talking?" "Around fifty members, and every other one is a cultivator." I let out a low whistle. Now that was interesting. Maybe even dangerous. "How strong and influential are they?" "The family patriarch¡ªthe great-grandfather¡ªhas reached the fifth stage of cultivation, Nascent Soul." "Is that impressive?" I asked. "Very! There are only about two hundred fifth-stage cultivators on Earth. And they¡¯re the best we¡¯ve got." "What about the demons? You mentioned the seventh stage." "I said the raid was led by a seventh-stage demon. There were three of them in total. About fifteen at the sixth stage and over a hundred at the fifth. We usually have the upper hand at lower levels, but the power of the higher ranks is hard to overcome." "Could Bao Fen be a problem for me?" "From what I¡¯ve seen, he¡¯ll be a problem for everyone around him. But I doubt a serious one. The patriarch is over three hundred years old, and from what I hear, his health is failing. The family has already begun fighting over the heir¡¯s position, so Bao Fen would be a complete idiot to cause a scandal for his father right now." "So the kids are already trying on the crown?" "Grandkids," Diego corrected me. "All of his children are dead. To live that long, they would¡¯ve needed to reach the fifth stage. They didn¡¯t make it." Well, cultivators lived longer than ordinary people, but not forever. "And what about the grandkids and great-grandkids? Not as tough?" "Some of them have reached the fourth stage. Many others in the family are at the second or third." I nodded slowly, processing the information. Looked like Bao Fen had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and his future was all but guaranteed¡­ almost. "He seems a bit too twitchy for someone from such a powerful family." Diego smirked slightly. "Family status doesn¡¯t automatically make him strong. You wouldn¡¯t believe how many like him get weeded out despite all their advantages. Remember when I mentioned qi crystals? Why do you think he was so desperate to get his belongings?" Now that was satisfying. Bao Fen could scream about his father all he wanted, but here, at Black Lotus Academy, there were plenty of third- and fourth-stage cadets. And none of them gave a damn about some rich brat whose potential was still up for debate. Chapter 7: Cultivation Level We walked down the familiar corridor, and I immediately recognised the spacious waiting hall with its panoramic windows. It was much quieter now. Only a handful of cadets remained on the benches, and instead of a crowd of supervisors, there were just two. They looked relaxed¡ªone stood by the window, lazily scrolling through something on his tablet, while the other sat slumped against the wall, almost dozing off. Outside, everything looked the same, but even the garden seemed calmer, no longer filled with the restless movement of first-years behind the glass. The seaweed trees, as I had dubbed them, swayed gently in the barely noticeable air currents. The black lotuses on the lake¡¯s mirror-like surface still shimmered with tiny sparks, but now it felt less tense¡ªalmost meditative. "Where did everyone go?" I asked. "They just loaded a new batch into the capsules," Diego replied in his usual level tone. "While the neural interfaces are being installed, there¡¯s less work for them. The doc has a bit of time for ¡®additional examinations.¡¯" I nodded, though I wasn¡¯t entirely sure what kind of examination I¡¯d been signed up for. Hopefully, the Flow Chamber. We continued down the corridor, once again arriving at the medical wing, but this time we turned into a different hallway. We didn¡¯t have to walk far. Robinson¡¯s office was small but packed with equipment. One wall was almost entirely covered in monitors displaying cadets¡¯ medical data¡ªheart rate graphs, neural interface activity, qi levels, and other readings I didn¡¯t understand. Some screens showed video feeds from the recovery rooms, where new cadets were still coming around after their interface installations. Or maybe those were live feeds of the installations happening inside the capsules¡ªwho knew? The doc¡¯s desk was mostly clear¡ªone of the perks of the digital age. Back on my old Earth, it would have been buried under piles of paperwork, but here, there was only a tablet and a few devices that I assumed were scanners. Near the very edge of the desk sat a small ceramic teapot, black with delicate gold patterns. Steam curled from its spout, filling the office with the scent of pine and apples¡ªan unusual combination. Beside the teapot was an empty cup. Diego smirked when he saw it, poured himself some tea, and raised his cup in salute to the doc. Robinson took a sip from his own cup and nodded in response, all while gesturing for me to take a seat on an old couch against the wall. It had clearly been through more than one cultivator. The upholstery was slightly worn but looked clean. Above it hung a painting¡ªabstract, with sharp strokes of blue, black, and white. A storm over the sea¡­ or space? For some reason, it seemed to shimmer, as if the paints reacted to changes in the light. "Take a seat, Jake," the doc said after swallowing his tea. "Did you read the manuals?" "Yeah, doc. Went through them twice more after that." "Good. Then let¡¯s move on to practice." He glanced over the monitors, making sure everything was in order, then pulled a small sealed container from his desk drawer. "Diego," the doc said, nodding towards the monitors. Diego nodded in response, pulled up a chair, and settled in to monitor the readings. Meanwhile, the doc clicked open the latches on the container and took out a yellowish crystal. It was small, about the size of my thumbnail, and flickered with a faint glow¡ªbarely visible under the lamp. "This is a used qi crystal. It was once part of medical equipment for treating cultivators. Now, there are only traces of energy left in it¡ªleftovers, basically," he explained, placing the crystal in my hand. "And what am I supposed to do with it?" "Feel it. Focus, look inside. Qi is the energy of life. If you do it right, you¡¯ll sense it as a pulse or warmth. Just try. You can close your eyes if it helps." I clenched the crystal in my right hand and shut my eyes. At first, nothing happened. I concentrated, trying to relax as the manual had described, but still¡ªnothing. Just the smooth surface of the crystal. "Switch," the doc ordered. "This one¡¯s already drained." He calmly took another crystal from the container and placed it in my palm. I repeated the process, but again¡ªnothing. Instead of warmth or energy, I only felt frustration. Without a word, the doc pulled out a third crystal and handed it to me. "You¡¯re trying too hard. Relax. Don¡¯t force it. Just perceive. You don¡¯t strain when you look at me¡ªsense it the same way. Oh, and hold it with just two fingers!" I sighed and tried to follow his instructions. This time, I let go of my thoughts, breathing slowly and evenly. And suddenly¡­ something changed. A faint tingling sensation. Barely noticeable warmth, starting at my fingertips and creeping slowly up my hand. It felt like a weak electric charge¡ªexcept soft, almost soothing, like gentle pressure from a warm massage. "There¡­" I whispered. "I think I feel it!" The doc smiled. "Describe it." "Warmth¡­ Like something alive. Like it¡¯s pulsing." "That¡¯s possible. Now, look at this." The doc pulled up my interface window on his tablet: Stage: Qi Refinement, Early Cultivation Level: 2/2467 "Two poits of qi," Robinson explained. "You absorbed two poits. To reach the next level, you need 2,467. There¡¯s a long way to go, but it¡¯s a start." I looked down at the crystal again and couldn¡¯t help but smile. Feeling the energy was¡­ strange. But at the same time, it brought a kind of inexplicable satisfaction. "Let¡¯s try again, but don¡¯t rush it," the doc said, pulling out another crystal. "You already know how this works. Now, try to draw the energy out and direct it. Those crystals held around ten points, and you just waisted them. That¡¯s normal for a first attempt, but from now on, don¡¯t let the energy drift aimlessly." This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. "Unless you¡¯re in the Flow Chamber!" Diego corrected him. "Exactly! In the Chamber, trying to control the flow would tear you apart. Again!" The doc placed another crystal in my hand. "Where do I direct it?" I asked. "The dantian," he pointed to my lower abdomen, "or the solar plexus. Your choice¡ªbut don¡¯t switch between them later. It¡¯s for life." I chose the solar plexus. It was easier for me to sense and understand. The belly was for food, not energy! This time, the warmth came faster. I let the flow pass through my hand, guiding it towards my solar plexus, and felt the warmth spread there. The numbers on the screen changed: 5/2467 "Good. One more," the doc nodded. I took the last crystal. The sensation was once again a faint tingling, but now I felt like I was starting to understand how it worked¡ªat least a little. Still, I only managed to extract a single point of qi from this one. "So, how am I doing? Any progress?" I asked, hoping for some positive feedback. The doc and Diego turned to look at me at the exact same time. They studied me, then exchanged glances. And¡­ they laughed. "Progress?" The doc smirked and let out a short chuckle. "You mean a whole six points of qi? Though¡­ congratulations, Jake, that¡¯s six more than any of your classmates." "But they were also taught to sense qi," I pointed out. "They should have at least some scraps of it." "You were taught too," the doc said, and I decided not to correct him. "Qi level drops without cultivation. Besides, that was on Earth, where qi concentration is much lower." "At least now you understand what qi is," Diego said. "Which means real cultivation won¡¯t be a problem for you. And that begins when you learn to draw qi from the environment." "Or when you find yourself a pile of crystals," the doc added. "Though I wouldn¡¯t count on that." I frowned. "Are qi crystals really that hard to get? Diego said rich parents buy them for their kids." "A small crystal with 50 to 100 qi costs¡­" The doc tilted his head as if doing the maths. "Well, starting at fifty thousand¡­" "And how many would I need to break through the first bottleneck?" "Hmm¡­ If you relied entirely on crystals¡­ around twenty. Maybe more, depending on how well you absorb them. The closer you get to the bottleneck, the harder it gets. Your reserves will start dissipating faster." I raised an eyebrow. "Twenty?! That¡¯s a million! You know, Doc, that insurance payout you promised me isn¡¯t looking all that generous!" The doc grinned and nodded. "Oh, you haven¡¯t even heard the best part. They aren¡¯t sold on the open market. Most crystals go straight to corporations, research institutes, the military, or those who mine them themselves. Speaking of which¡ªthat¡¯s a mandatory second-year assignment. And if any do make it to market, they get snapped up like hotcakes." I sighed and glanced at the tablet displaying my interface. Cultivation Level: 6/2467 "So that means the Flow Chamber is my only option?" "You can use anything. If you manage to get a crystal, bring it to me¡ªI¡¯ll assess it and seal it properly so it doesn¡¯t lose capacity. Might come in handy for the bottleneck or your Foundation breakthrough." I couldn¡¯t help but think how much this all felt like a bloody RPG. Gather qi, level up. Natural cultivation was just a slow grind, while crystals were like pay-to-win XP boosters¡ªexcept they cost as much as a spaceship. And unlike games, here you didn¡¯t just lose a skill¡ªyou lost XP too if you didn¡¯t cultivate. "Well, thanks for the lesson. I owe you one¡­" I said with a pointed look. The doc waved his hands in protest. "None of that! I¡¯m not losing my job over some stupid favour!" he said indignantly, then poured himself a cup of tea and took a dramatic sniff. Even Diego turned away from the monitors to watch my reaction. "Can I have some?" I asked. "Sure. The moment you hit the third stage," the doc smirked. "Right now, this stuff would send you straight to heaven. Literally." "What the hell is this?" "This?" The doc looked genuinely offended. "This is tea made from Yellow Pine blossoms! It only grows on Verdis!" He sighed dramatically. "And only on the grounds of the Yellow Pine School." "Yellow Pine¡­ is it something like our Black Lotus?" I asked, recalling the flower in the garden. "Well, not exactly¡­ depends on how you look at it. Both are symbols of their respective academies, both are valued by cultivators¡ªbut you don¡¯t make tea out of our lotus." A hundred questions popped into my head, but I held them back and simply noted it down in my journal: 18:43 ¨C Black Lotus 18:43 ¨C Yellow Pine, Yellow Pine blossoms, tea made from Yellow Pine blossoms I made sure to say it out loud so the doc would get the hint. And just in case, I added a nod at the end. The doc stood up, gave the monitors a quick glance, then clapped Diego on the shoulder. "Monitoring¡¯s on you. If anything goes wrong, don¡¯t hesitate to call." "As always," Diego replied calmly, shifting into a more comfortable position and saluting him with his half-full tea cup. The doc gestured for me to follow. We left the office and headed down the corridor. "And where exactly are we going?" I asked. "The Meditation Hall. Let¡¯s see how you handle real conditions." The Meditation Hall turned out to be not a hall at all, but a wide corridor lined with numbered doors on both sides. About fifty in total. There were cultivators here, too¡ªquite a few of them, actually. Many stood near the doors like they were waiting for a bathroom queue. Most wore grey jumpsuits with II and III insignias, like the supervisors, but I also saw people in lab coats and black uniforms without patches¡ªprobably staff. "Is it always this crowded?" I asked, feeling the weight of the stares. My hospital clothes were drawing attention. "It¡¯ll get even worse once your lot is allowed in here," the doc replied. "Ours is number forty-six," he added, pointing towards the end of the corridor. I took a quick guess¡ªthere were exactly fifty of them. The doc checked his tablet, peeked through the small observation window, and told me, "Soon." A few minutes later, the door hissed open, servos whirring. Only then did I realise just how damn thick that slab of metal was. A short guy in a black jumpsuit stepped out, chewing on a fragrant stick. It was smoking, but I couldn¡¯t smell anything. A thin wisp of smoke curled lazily around his head. "Hey, Robert," he greeted, scratching his short, light-brown beard. His green eyes flicked over me¡ªassessing, slightly lazy." "Alan," the doc nodded. "What¡¯s got you here today?" "Well, gotta drop by once in a while. And soon these lot¡¯ll start flooding in, clogging up the queue," he said, gesturing toward me. "Is he your nephew or something?" "Patient," the doc said with a grin. "Uh-huh¡­" The guy scratched his beard again, and I finally thought to check his stats. Age: 37 Stage: Fourth Air: 136 Palm: 119 Like Diego, he didn¡¯t look his age. Except for the eyes¡­ He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Well, send him my way if he ever needs anything." "Will do," the doc promised. Once Alan walked off, he leaned in and whispered, "You have no idea how lucky you just got¡­ Alright, in you go¡ªwe¡¯ve got about ten minutes." Chapter 8: Flow Chambers The Flow Chamber looked¡­ like a gas chamber. Or maybe a crematorium. I had expected something futuristic¡ªgleaming metal walls, holograms, or at least some kind of high-tech equipment. A meditation mat at the very least! But inside, there was nothing. The walls looked like they had been cast from raw iron, not even painted over. No buttons, no panels¡ªjust soft, dim lighting filtering through a grate above and a thick, much thicker, grate instead of a floor. The centre of the floor grate was shinier, polished smooth from repeated use. "Hurry up, hurry up!" the doc urged, giving me a shove in the back. "Uh¡­ Doc, quick question. The manual said to find a comfortable position. Any position?" "I wouldn¡¯t recommend standing on one leg or bending over backwards. What kind of question is that?" "I mean, can I just lie down?" I asked. There weren¡¯t any chairs, so lying on my back seemed like the most comfortable option. "You can, though you won¡¯t be stretching your legs in here." The chamber really was on the small side, but if I lay diagonally, corner to corner¡­ No, still not enough space. Whatever¡ªI could just bend my knees. It was still better than sitting in a lotus position, even if my head rested against the hard metal edge of the grate. Unlike the centre, this part hadn¡¯t been polished smooth. "Alright, ready!" I finally said. No point in stalling¡ªI had no idea what to expect anyway. "Remember, you can¡¯t control the flow! You have to let it pass through you!" the doc reminded me again, then added with a smirk, "So just relax and try not to die." I gave him a thumbs-up, though I was tempted to use a different finger. The doc shut the door, and the chamber darkened without the corridor¡¯s light. The small window didn¡¯t do much, but a soft blue glow began to flare behind the ceiling grate. When the light grew too bright, I shut my eyes¡ªand felt it. At first, the qi brushed against my hands¡ªa faint tingling, like with the crystals¡­ I was sure I could control it. And then, in the very next moment, I realised just how wrong I was. The gentle touch was immediately followed by a scalding wave. Heat engulfed me from every direction¡ªmy arms, my legs, my chest, my head. It flooded my eyes, burned down my throat, and crawled into significantly more intimate places¡ªthrough equally intimate openings. Control? Forget it. My body tensed instinctively, fighting back against the invisible force. Big mistake! It felt like the flow had suddenly grown heavier¡ªlike I hadn¡¯t just been drenched in boiling water, but as if molten lava had been poured all over me, and my own body had instantly turned to stone. The qi flow didn¡¯t just threaten to tear me apart¡ªit crushed me against the floor. Good thing I had decided to lie down instead of sit¡ªotherwise, I would¡¯ve collapsed for sure. Maybe even bashed my head on the metal and ended up with a nasty bruise and a pounding headache. Every instinct screamed at me to get the hell out. I grabbed the grate and tried to push myself up. Pain exploded in my hands¡ªlike I was gripping searing-hot metal. "Relax!" the doc¡¯s voice cut through the roaring in my ears. "Let go!" I clenched my teeth but forced my fingers to unclench, made myself exhale. The pain in my hands eased, but now my jaw ached, my teeth throbbed. Relaxing my clenched jaw was harder than I expected, but eventually, I let go¡­ The qi ripped through me, surging like water through an opened floodgate. The crushing pressure vanished, but now every muscle, every nerve, every bone in my body burned. It did feel like a waterfall pouring through me¡ªa waterfall of liquid fire. That¡¯s the analogy they should have used in the manual! This¡­ this wasn¡¯t something you controlled. "Not bad!" the doc commented. "Pretty good for a first time." I couldn¡¯t answer. Every part of me was focused on distancing myself from the pain, on not interfering with the raging force tearing through my body¡ªand my soul. Eventually, the qi flow began to subside. The feverish heat faded, but my skin still tingled as if drenched in water. I opened my eyes just in time to see the blue light behind the ceiling grate slowly dimming. "That¡¯s it?" I croaked. My throat was dry as hell. "One more minute!" the doc¡¯s voice came through¡ªthere must have been an internal speaker, because it sounded crystal clear. I instinctively tried to shake off the feeling of being soaked, only to realise¡­ I was soaked. Sweat. My clothes were drenched. Breathing was hard. My heart pounded in my ears. My muscles trembled like I¡¯d just finished an intense cardio workout. I mentally patted myself on the back for choosing to lie down. As soon as the last traces of qi dispersed, the doc pulled the door open with a heavy clang. I lifted my head to look at him. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. "Well?" The doc tapped his tablet a few times, then turned the screen toward me. Cultivation Level: 37/2467 "Just ten minutes," he said. I looked at the numbers. Then at him. "That¡¯s good, right?" He burst out laughing. "Congratulations, now that¡¯s real progress. Come on, get up." As I struggled to obey, trying to steady my trembling legs, the doc flagged someone down. "Cadet, interested in earning an extra point?" A dark-haired cadet, with Middle Eastern features and II insignias on his collar, raised an eyebrow. "What¡¯s the job?" "Make sure this first-year survives the showers and makes it back to his room in one piece." "That¡¯s at least three points, Doc," the cadet tried to haggle. The doc pulled a pen-like scanner from his pocket and tossed it at the cadet, hitting him square on the forehead. The scanner bounced right back into the doc¡¯s hand. "One point it is!" the cadet quickly changed his stance. "Come on, mate." He offered me a shoulder, completely unfazed by the sweat soaking through my jumpsuit. Then again, he had sweat stains under his arms too. Looked like he had just come out of a Flow Chamber himself, though he¡¯d handled it a hell of a lot better. Probably had far more experience. And since he¡¯d made it through the culling process, maybe even talent. Despite his higher status, the cadet wasn¡¯t acting superior. Quite the opposite¡ªhe seemed pretty friendly. "That¡¯s it for today," the doc told me. "If I need more tests, I¡¯ll send Diego." He left first. Once he was far enough away, the cadet turned to me. "What kind of tests?" "Memory loss after the interface installation," I replied, sticking to my usual excuse. "And what does that have to do with the Flow Chambers? You from an influential family or something?" The cadet wasn¡¯t buying it. "They told me I¡¯m an orphan." "Then, mate, they¡¯re definitely lying to you. More likely, something serious happened, and the administration is just covering their arses." "Thanks for the new phobia!" I joked. "Anytime. I¡¯ve got plenty!" The cadet waved his hand over his head as if measuring the sheer height of his paranoia. "But no, seriously," he added, "I heard a few years back, they pulled a girl out of a pod¡ªtotal vegetable. The administration kept her on the rosters for six months, then during a field mission, they marked her down as a casualty and buried her." I nearly tripped. He¡¯s joking¡­ right? His face was stone-cold. Either he was one hell of an actor, or he actually believed it. "Shit like that happens around here," he hinted. "Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. That¡¯s my advice." Then, as if flipping a switch, his tone lightened. "By the way! Since you¡¯re not a vegetable, you should get some insurance money out of this. When the credits come in, hit me up¡ªI know a lot of people here," he winked. "Might be useful. Here, take this." We stopped, and the cadet fiddled with his interface, using his hands to guide the inputs. A new notification flashed before my eyes. Incoming message from: O. S. Hakim Subject: Contact Message: O. S. Hakim "Thanks," I said. "You wouldn¡¯t happen to know where I can get some Yellow Pine blossom tea, would you?" "Never even heard of it, but I¡¯d guess the Yellow Pine School." "You don¡¯t have to guess. That¡¯s exactly where you can get it," I replied sarcastically. "And here I thought you knew a lot of people¡­" "I do, I do, don¡¯t worry. But I need to ask around first. You don¡¯t want someone selling you some fake knockoff, do you? I¡¯ll check with my contacts." "A simpler question, then. Where can I get some water?" "The cafeteria, vending machines, or free from any tap. It¡¯s all the same sterile water anyway. There¡¯s a vending machine on the way." Free from a tap¡­ but what about the machine? Was that free too? Did I even have any money? I definitely didn¡¯t have anything physical, but this was the age of digital transactions¡ªmaybe there was some kind of account in my interface? "I¡¯ll wait for the tap," I muttered. The next few corridors all looked identical, like twins. Getting lost alone in this place would be a pain. I¡¯d have to get familiar with the interface¡¯s navigation system. Eventually, I recognised the right sector, and the interface confirmed it. Just like with my locker, it displayed the names of the occupants when I focused on the door. "Here," I said. Hakim helped me inside. My roommates were already dressed in their uniforms¡ªsame as the supervisors¡¯, but with an "I" insignia on the collar. Bao, unsurprisingly, was ignoring everything around him. He sat in a lotus position on his top bunk, holding a blue crystal between his fingertips¡ªthree or four times larger than the ones the doc had used. He looked completely lifeless, lost in concentration. "You look like a drowned rat," Marlon greeted me. Seemed like he was eager to know exactly what they had done to me in the med centre. "Feels about right," I admitted. "What¡¯d I miss?" "There was an assembly," Dennis answered. "They handed out the basics. I told the supervisors that the thinhorn took you on the doc¡¯s orders, so no penalty points for you." I glanced at my bed. A neatly folded stack of uniforms, underwear, and towels sat on top. Beside it were two pairs of shoes¡ªsilicone slippers and a pair of soft boots that matched the jumpsuit. "I grabbed yours," Dennis said. Rain was clearly staking his claim as leader of our little pack¡ªbut not by force. Right now, he felt more like a mother hen. "Thanks," I nodded and stretched to sort out what I needed for the shower. "What are you doing?" Hakim asked as I set aside the fresh jumpsuit. Then he quickly remembered. "Oh, right¡­," he said, tapping his forehead with his fist without any malice. "Just grab your underwear, a towel, and slippers¡ªthat¡¯s all you¡¯ll need. Move it!" Easy for him to say. I just wanted to collapse right then and there. The bed was calling my name. But I followed orders. "You," Hakim jabbed a finger at Rain. "You¡¯re coming with us." He led us to the showers, showed me where to drop off my dirty clothes and wet towel, then promptly dumped responsibility for me onto Dennis. "Make sure he doesn¡¯t pass out and actually makes it back to bed," he instructed. Then, turning to me, "Start with cold water." He wiggled his fingers in a mock wave. "Ciao!" The "cold" water here turned out to be downright freezing¡ªbut damn, it tasted good. I drank straight from the showerhead, then turned the temperature up a little. The shock of the cold woke me up just enough to keep me from falling asleep on the wet tiles, and I managed to make it back to my bed without Dennis¡¯s help. And what a bed it was¡ªsoft, warm, inviting¡­ I blacked out instantly and slept like the dead until morning. Chapter 9: Touching the Top A sharp wake-up alarm shattered the morning silence, yanking me out of the warm cocoon of sleep. I opened my eyes and immediately felt my body protest. My muscles ached like I¡¯d just run a marathon, my joints felt rusted over, and my solar plexus still held onto a faint warmth from yesterday¡¯s Flow Chamber. Someone sighed. Someone else mumbled something unintelligible. And someone, apparently, decided that ignoring the alarm for five seconds would magically send them back into Morpheus¡¯ embrace. I saw Dennis pull his blanket over his head and felt Marlon shifting on the top bunk. Bao Fen, however, had a very different wake-up routine. "What the hell?!" His irritated outburst, filled with disbelief and rage, sent a ripple of curiosity through the room. Dennis pulled the blanket off his face and stared up at the bunk above him. I had barely managed to sit up, rolling out the stiffness in my neck, when Bao¡¯s eyes locked onto me. "This some kind of joke?!" he demanded, as if I had just stolen a priceless family heirloom. "Who the hell are you?!" I blinked. "Jake Sullivan," I muttered, still not fully awake. "Don¡¯t play dumb!" Bao snapped. "How the hell did you end up on the top cultivators list for first-years?" Oh, shit! I hadn¡¯t even considered this could be a problem. I shook my head, trying to focus on my interface. Where was this list? I couldn¡¯t find it, but I did pull up my progress window: 28/2467. Wait. Hold on. Where did the other nine go? Yesterday, I left the chamber with 37. A cold pit formed in my stomach. What the hell happened? The doc had mentioned qi dispersion, but this was way too fast! My first instinct was to message him, but I decided to hold off. Let the man have his morning coffee¡ªor whatever they drank here. "Don¡¯t ignore me!" "Huh? Sorry. What ranking are you talking about, and where do I find it?" Bao Fen tossed me his tablet. His name was the first thing I saw¡ªranked 52, with 28/2845. "You¡¯re on it too," I said, scrolling down to find myself. "You¡¯re higher!" he accused. Ah. So that¡¯s what pissed him off. I scrolled the list the other way and found my name almost instantly. #49 ¨C J. M. Sullivan ¨C 28/2467. "How the hell did you do that?!" Bao demanded. "I cultivated half the night while you were out cold!" "You were sucking on Daddy¡¯s crystal like a baby on a bottle," Dennis shot back, deflating his ego. "Go on, tell us about all your sweat, blood, and years of training!" "He didn¡¯t even have a crystal!" Bao snapped, turning to glare at me. Marlon probably would¡¯ve joined in too if he didn¡¯t have to lean over the edge of his bunk to do it. "The doc ran some tests yesterday," I said. "What, qi absorption tests?" Bao scoffed. "Yeah," I confirmed. Bao blinked, processing, then froze. "That¡¯s bullshit!" he declared after his mental reboot. "An orphan with amnesia makes it into the top rankings on day one? Don¡¯t make me laugh! You¡¯re hiding something." I yawned and glanced back at the list. "I¡¯m only three spots ahead of you. Stop throwing a fit." My bad. I should¡¯ve known better. "A fit?! Oh, trying to deflect, are we? You¡¯re¡ªwhat, someone¡¯s illegitimate son? Some big shot¡¯s secret heir?" I rolled my eyes, shook my head, and reached for my jumpsuit. "A rich daddy¡¯s boy accusing someone else of using family connections. Don¡¯t you find that a little ironic?" I asked while getting dressed. Dennis seemed to take my lead and started changing too. "Are you a Gunter? A Dubois?" Bao pressed. "Bao," I snapped. "Your long-lost cousin." "Hah! Nice try!" he shot back, then added, "Not with that face!" Dennis and I finished dressing. Marlon finally started too, but Bao still wouldn¡¯t shut up. "No¡­ maybe you¡¯re a Novak¡­ or a Shevchuk¡­" Dennis grabbed a towel and toothbrush from his locker. My stuff was still sitting on the desk where I¡¯d left it before passing out¡ªbut no toothbrush among them. Not in my locker either. Ignoring Bao, I turned to Dennis. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. "Where¡¯d you get your toothbrush?" "It¡¯s my personal one. Oh, right¡ªyou haven¡¯t picked up your personal belongings yet. They should be in the storage unit." "You do realize I have no idea where that is, right?" "I¡¯ll show you later. After breakfast. We don¡¯t have much time." Then he turned and barked at Bao, "And you, cut the quiz show. We¡¯re not waiting for you." "I know where the cafeteria is!" Bao snapped. "Yeah, well, I don¡¯t!" I pointed out. "That¡¯s because you overslept dinner¡ªthe one we were marched to as a group. And once again, I had to cover for you with the supervisors," Dennis said, jabbing his toothbrush at me like an accusation. "For which I am eternally grateful." "Alright, then wait for me¡ªI¡¯ll show you where it is. Or use the navigator, and we¡¯ll meet there." "I¡¯ll wait!" I assured him. Navigator or not, I wasn¡¯t taking any chances. Marlon and Dennis left, and Bao finally hopped down from his bunk. Puffing out his chest, he declared, "I¡¯ll find out who you really are!" Hard to look intimidating when you¡¯re standing there in nothing but bright white underwear. At last, I understood something: it wasn¡¯t just about me ranking higher than him. It was the uncertainty that pissed him off. He needed to know who I was to fit me into the hierarchy he was used to. If he didn¡¯t know where I stood, he didn¡¯t know how to treat me¡ªwhether as a rival, a threat, or trash. I wasn¡¯t about to make it easy for him. "I told you¡ªI¡¯m your long-lost cousin." His fists clenched, but that was as far as it went. "We¡¯ll talk about this later," he muttered before pulling on his jumpsuit. By the time the guys returned, Bao had just left to brush his teeth. As Dennis had promised, we did not wait for him. The Black Lotus School cafeteria was massive. Then again, with this many people, it had to be. There were two and a half thousand first-years alone, and they made up the bulk of the crowd. Second-years were noticeably fewer, and as for third- and fourth-years? Nowhere in sight. Either they ate somewhere else, or they were on a completely different schedule. For now, it remained a mystery. I had expected the usual military-style food¡ªbland porridge, compressed protein bricks, or something along those lines. But from what I saw on other trays, everything actually looked¡­ pretty appetizing. The air was filled with a mix of aromas¡ªsavory, spicy, a hint of heat. There was even a smoky undertone, like well-grilled barbecue. There was no food line. Instead, a massive vending unit dispensed trays at the press of a single button. And the menu? Completely random. My little lottery served me a slab of dark meat with a crispy crust that had an almost unnatural golden sheen; a bowl of thick soup filled with seaweed, dark fibrous chunks of something, and a translucent broth tinged green; and a side of rice¡­ Rice that had a shiny metallic colour. The whole meal looked unfamiliar, but still appetizing. Except the rice. The rice looked like it could crack teeth. As soon as we found seats at one of the long tables, I bit straight into the meat¡ªand was immediately hit with the strangest sensation. Instead of the smoky, spiced flavor I expected¡­ it was sweet. And cold. Like ice cream. I raised an eyebrow. "What the hell?" "Cultivator food," Dennis explained, already working his way through his meal with a fork. "Restores physical reserves, improves qi absorption. The taste might seem weird at first¡ªyour taste buds aren¡¯t used to it yet." Judging by the way he was grimacing, neither were his. I glanced back at my tray. This was going to take some getting used to. They couldn¡¯t take meat taste away from me! Except¡­ they hadn¡¯t. The metallic rice? It tasted like stew. At first, I was thrilled. Then my brain caught up. Wait. Why does rice taste like meat? Maybe¡­ those weren¡¯t grains at all¡ª No. No, I didn¡¯t want to know. I just wanted to eat. After breakfast, Dennis took me to the storage hall. Marlon, silent as always, tagged along. It turned out to be¡ªsurprise, surprise¡ªanother long corridor. They seemed to love long corridors around here. This one had a single row of lockers running down both sides of the central aisle, with another set lining the walls. The storage units only unlocked via retinal scan or interface access. Naturally, mine was locked to a retinal scan¡ªbecause my interface, or rather, old Jake¡¯s interface, didn¡¯t exist yet when he¡¯d stashed his belongings. Using the terminal at the entrance, we tracked down my locker. A few minutes later, I was standing in front of my not-so-impressive possessions¡ªthings that could easily fit in one hand. A toothbrush¡ªjust a regular one, no fancy features. A keychain, hexagonal in shape, engraved with a symbol I didn¡¯t recognize. And a thin silver chain, simple in design, but holding two rings¡ªone thick and masculine, the other slender and feminine, both made of the same silvery metal. No inscriptions. No engravings. Dennis identified the small black plate as a standard memory card. The big black card with a number line across it and a logo? My interface handled that one, identifying it as a bank card. It immediately suggested linking it to my account, and I quickly agreed¡ªonly to hit a brick wall at the PIN screen. I was about to message the doc (my financial well-being was very much in his best interest) when Dennis noticed my reaction and asked what was up. He assured me I could sort it out at a bank branch. He recognized the emblem and said there was one on campus. His own card was from the same bank, while Marlon used a different one. That was reassuring. I moved on to the last item¡ªvisually identical to the memory card, except for the color. This one was orange. "Another memory card?" Dennis nodded slowly. "That¡¯s an Orange Technique. Pretty rare." I gave the card a second look. "Okay, break it down for the orphan with amnesia." "Combat techniques are ranked by power. Movement techniques¡ªby speed. Mental techniques have their own system, but it¡¯s less strict. Traditionally, they¡¯re divided into seven colors." Dennis started counting on his fingers. ¡°Gray¡ªlowest level, basic techniques that are publicly available, even on Earth; Green¡ªbasically the same; Blue¡ªa bit better, but still standard; Purple¡ªa serious upgrade, used by most cultivators; Yellow¡ªrarer, harder to get; Orange¡ªnow that¡¯s high-level stuff. For first-stage cultivators, it¡¯d cost at least ten thousand. The rights usually belong to a school or a powerful family. And if you use it illegally, they¡¯ll drag you through the courts and leave you without a single pair of underwear.¡± "So, this is top-tier?" I waved the card. "The absolute top is Red Techniques," Dennis corrected. "This is top-tier accessible." "If I actually have the rights to use it." "If you have the rights¡ªand if it¡¯s not a pirated copy," Dennis added. "And if you do have the rights¡­ well, I¡¯m joining Bao in asking¡ªwho the hell are you, man?" "I told you. His long-lost cousin." I smirked. "No, seriously, how do I check if I have the rights?" "Just look," Marlon suggested. "When we get back to the room, plug it into your tablet and check. It might be clear right away." "And what if it¡¯s password-locked like the bank card?" "If it¡¯s locked, that actually increases the chances that it¡¯s legit," Key said. "You¡¯d have to contact the rights holder to verify. Could be even harder than dealing with the bank. If it¡¯s not locked, we can check it in the library." And¡­ this could totally backfire on me. Why the hell would an orphan have an advanced technique like this? No, this was classic Xianxia. A mysterious, overpowered technique that would let me dominate the school. Except¡­ the doc had literally told me to start with Gray. Oh, right. Speaking of that. I opened my journal and deleted my note about colored rankings. Guess I had that figured out now. I considered adding a new entry, but honestly? It¡¯s not like I¡¯d forget about this card. Unless Jake got hit with another convenient bout of amnesia. And if that happened¡­ well, then "I" wouldn''t really care, would I? Chapter 10: Glimpse of the Past On the way back, I finally figured out the navigator. Turned out, it wasn¡¯t complicated at all. I¡¯d just been using the full-screen map mode before, which completely blocked my view and blended annoyingly with my surroundings. But in compact mode, the holographic display shrank down to about the size of both my palms and hovered somewhere on the periphery¡ªoff to the side, easy to glance at without constant distraction. It was, quite literally, a mini-map from a video game. Even better, I could enable a route guide, and glowing blue arrows would light up on the floor, showing me exactly where to go. By the time we got back, Bao was already in the room¡ªmeditating with his crystal. A much smaller one this time. "Assembly in two minutes. All cadets, take your positions!" The announcement popped up in my interface. Even Bao reacted. He quickly sealed the crystal inside a container like the one the doc had and tossed it into his locker. I dumped my meager belongings inside mine as well. "Where exactly are our positions?" I asked. "Right outside the door," Dennis replied, stepping out behind Bao. Cadets lined up in two rows¡ªbacks to their dorm doors, facing the row across from them. I quickly sized up the scale of it. There were about twenty rooms in our corridor, meaning around eighty cadets total. With two and a half thousand first-years, did that mean similar assemblies were happening throughout the dormitory? Or were supervisors making their rounds from block to block? I glanced around. Bao was trying to look more important than Dennis¡ªbut no matter how much he puffed himself up, Dennis still overshadowed him with sheer physical presence. Marlon¡­ was as unreadable as ever. The cadets across from us? A full spectrum of emotions¡ªthough, unlike the waiting hall, no one was crying this time. A few seconds later, our supervisor appeared. He was an Asian lad, lean, of average height, but his movements were precise and controlled¡ªan immediate sign he was no amateur. The double threes on his collar confirmed it. His green hair was tied into a short ponytail. Was this a fashion trend, or was that his natural color? His sharp, narrow eyes swept across the rows. He walked nearly to the end of the corridor, checked his tablet, then returned to the middle. "I am Liang Shi," he announced, clasping his hands behind his back, tablet in one of them. "I¡¯m responsible for this block. And for the geniuses among you¡ªthis block means this exact corridor." He jabbed a finger at the floor. "I¡¯m not your nanny, and I¡¯m not your friend. But I¡¯m not your enemy either. I only care about cleanliness and discipline. Maintain order, and we won¡¯t have daily assemblies. This isn¡¯t the Army and Fleet Academy, after all. We¡¯re not here for pointless daily drills." A quiet chuckle rippled through the ranks. "Aside from situations where you or the academy administration force me to hold assemblies, there will be two exceptions. First¡ªtomorrow¡¯s trip to the Flow Chambers." A murmur spread through the cadets. Seemed like everyone, without exception, had been waiting for that. "Quiet!" The supervisor¡¯s tone cut through the noise. "Second¡ªarmor fitting at the end of the week." This time, no one interrupted, so he continued. "By the end of the week, all of you must sign up for mandatory maintenance duty. If you don¡¯t, you¡¯ll receive penalty points." A few cadets couldn¡¯t suppress their groans. Liang snorted in disdain. "Oh, quit whining. Right now, it¡¯s the only way you can earn bonus points. Don¡¯t want to do it? Fine¡ªyour choice. But that¡¯s minus five points for every second day you skip." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bao Fen grinning to himself. That was unexpected. If there was anyone I wouldn¡¯t peg as eager to work, it was him. Liang took a few more steps up and down the corridor before making another announcement. "I¡¯m not going to stand around here all day dealing with every little issue personally. To keep things from turning into chaos, I¡¯m appointing six assistants. They will act as an extension of my will and serve as your direct line of communication with me. "I do not answer personal messages from first-years. One more time: the only things that concern me are discipline and cleanliness. Any other issues¡ªtake them to your mentors." He glanced at his tablet and read off the names. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. "Lin Jiao, Rainer Kowalski, Sun Hao, Bao Fen, Eric Dubois, Omar Said. Assistants¡ªcome with me. The rest of you¡ªdismissed." We headed back to our room, and as soon as the door shut behind us, Dennis let out a dry chuckle. "Guarantee you, they¡¯re getting extra points for that ¡®job.¡¯" He flopped onto his bed, hands behind his head. "Gotta love having a daddy in the right places." "I just hope his little promotion doesn¡¯t come back to bite us." I said. "You think he¡¯d screw over his own roommates?" Dennis asked. "Hell if I know. Maybe not¡ªif we don¡¯t give him a reason to." "Well, I¡¯m not about to start kissing his ass." Rain stated firmly. I didn¡¯t push the topic further. I wasn¡¯t about to kiss his ass either. If I had the chance, I¡¯d just stay the hell away from Bao altogether. "What¡¯s next on the agenda?" I asked. "Personally, I¡¯m checking what jobs are available and picking the one with the best rewards," Dennis said. "Better pick a good mentor," Marlon advised, his usual quiet tone carrying weight. "A solid mentor is the key to success. And you," he turned to me, "check that technique card." Oh, right! I grabbed the cards from my locker, picked up my tablet, and started turning it over, looking for a slot. Marlon pointed to the left edge, near the top corner. Obviously, the guys were waiting for me to try the orange one first. I wasn¡¯t about to disappoint them. As soon as I inserted the card, an orange-bordered prompt appeared on the screen: Stone Dart I Version D.1.28.35 Earth Technique Do you wish to download? Yes / No "Ha!" Marlon clapped me on the shoulder, looking almost sympathetic. "What is it?" Dennis asked. "Earth." "Shit¡­ condolences." "Okay, orphan-with-amnesia explanation time!" I demanded. "Is this reaction because my main root is Fist?" Marlon spoke up. "In Black Lotus School, Earth techniques aren¡¯t taught. The school specializes in Air and Wood; Mace, Point, Fist, and Palm. Even if you manage to learn that technique, growing Earth root will be hell. We don¡¯t even have an earth garden." That was the longest I¡¯d heard Marlon talk so far. "So, should I avoid downloading it? Not even just to take a look?" "Absolutely not!" Dennis cut in. "You can¡¯t just ¡®take a look.¡¯ If it¡¯s a licensed copy¡ªand it does look like one¡ªdownloading it will erase the card. Better check it in the library first." "And if it turns out to be pirated?" Dennis glanced at Marlon, but he just pulled a face that clearly said, Hell if I know. I pulled the card out and tossed it back into my locker. "What¡¯s an Earth Garden?" I asked right away, saving myself an extra journal entry. Hopefully, the answer wouldn¡¯t take too long. "An Earth Garden is a place for cultivating earth qi. Some cultivators practice earth techniques there, saturating the environment with it, while others meditate, absorbing the qi to strengthen their affinity with it¡ªessentially growing their root." "But doc said roots grow from essence¡­" I recalled. "Which is made from the fruits of the garden," Marlon added, "literally from the plants that grow there and absorb that specific qi." "And that¡¯s different from the qi Bao was pulling from his crystal?" "It¡¯s like the difference between flour and a croissant," Dennis joked. Marlon, surprisingly, nodded in agreement. "So, basic qi is a raw material, while Earth qi or Fist qi is a finished product," I concluded. "More like¡ªraw qi is the base ingredient. In Dennis¡¯s analogy, not flour, but raw grain," Marlon corrected. "qi has natural variations too. If you find a place with a natural concentration or the right kind of crystal and cultivate specifically with that qi, you can develop a root. Our academy doesn¡¯t specialize in these six roots by accident¡ªthere¡¯s simply more of that type of qi in the area." I caved and opened my notes. Specific qi and roots (root growth and essence). Definitely something I needed to study in more detail. For now, the guys waited while I inserted the next memory card. It looked completely normal, so it shouldn¡¯t contain any techniques, but still¡­ It was password-locked. Off to the locker it went, right after the first one. The guys lost interest and sprawled out on their beds, busying themselves with their tablets. I decided to do the same. Marlon showed me where the browser was, and I dove into the web, searching for info on schools. Here¡¯s what I found: Looked like Spirit Temple and the military didn¡¯t get along too well. Spirit Temple had a reputation for being nerds, while Army & Fleet cadets were considered meatheads. Meanwhile, our school and Yellow Pine had a good relationship¡ªregular exchange programs and joint training. Beyond the big academies, there were tons of smaller research institutes focused on one or two specific roots and the techniques that combined them. So, I¡¯d expanded my knowledge of this world¡­ But the research had eaten up all my time until lunch, leaving me with the nagging feeling I¡¯d wasted it. Bao, on the other hand, had latched onto his crystal the moment he got back. Now, he was starting to glance at me condescendingly. I checked the cultivator rankings. Bao had climbed one spot to 51st place with 39/2845. Meanwhile, I had dropped all the way down to 87th, sitting at 27/2467. Just how many cadets had rich parents buying them crystals?! And why the hell was my level dropping?! I ended up messaging the doc. His reply? "That¡¯s normal." That was it. No explanation, no elaboration¡ªjust "that¡¯s normal." Annoyed, I headed to lunch in a less-than-cheerful mood. At least I had the bank card with me. After choking down some salads and sour-tasting meat patties, I set off for the bank branch to sort things out. Now that I¡¯d figured out the navigator, getting there wasn¡¯t as daunting. The entire branch was fully automated¡ªnothing but touchscreens for interface access, monitors looping advertisements, and not a single human in sight. Apparently, keeping an actual cultivator stationed at reception was too much of a luxury. The AI, on the other hand, was impressively advanced. The digital girl on the screen quickly understood my problem, cross-referenced her databases, sent a request to the medical AI, and linked the account to my interface. My balance? Just under 10,000 units. That was the local currency. Or, in other words¡ªless than an hour in the Flow Chamber. A nasty suspicion crept into my mind. The original Jake? He probably wouldn¡¯t have made it through the culling process. Would I? Guess we¡¯d find out. Chapter 11: Looking for a Mentor With money in my pocket, I suddenly felt like sweetening life a little. Besides, I needed to test the interface¡¯s payment system¡­ Or at least, that¡¯s what I told myself. At the first vending machine I came across, I bought four packs of crisps and two cans of cola. My pockets couldn¡¯t hold more cans, and I had to carry the crisps in my hands. The whole lot cost me twelve units and went through without a hitch. Of course, I wasn¡¯t planning to feast alone¡ªthat would have been rude. Back in the room, I tossed a pack to Denis and Marlon, then called out to Bao, who was once again glued to his crystal, eyes shut. "Bao¡­ Bao!" He opened his eyes and snapped, "What?!" I tossed a pack his way and set a can of cola on the table. "I¡¯ve only got two pockets, so I¡¯ve no idea how you lot are splitting that." "What¡¯s this?" Bao asked, as if he¡¯d never seen crisps before. "Oh!" Denis crunched into one. "Ohhh! This¡­ this is the food of the gods!" His enthusiasm was infectious¡ªI could practically taste it already. I flopped onto my bed, tore open my pack, and took a deep breath, inhaling the divine scent of salt, pepper, numbered flavourings, and taste enhancers potent enough to dissolve a stomach lining under the right conditions. After the disaster that was the cafeteria food, I kept my expectations in check¡ªat least until the first crunchy, unmistakably synthetic bite hit my tongue. "Ohhh, yes!" I crunched. "The Lord has not abandoned this sinful world just yet!" "This thing belongs in a toxic waste dump, not a human stomach," Bao muttered, reading the ingredients list. "If you don¡¯t like it, hand it over," Denis declared, tipping the last crumbs into his mouth. "Here," Bao said, holding the pack out over the edge of his bunk. Denis blinked. "Seriously?" "Take it." Denis hesitated before reaching for the pack. Meanwhile, a suspicion formed in my mind. "Mate," I asked. "Be honest¡ªhave you ever actually tried crisps?" "Of course I''ve had crisps!" Bao huffed. "Our chef made them all the time." "Your chef?" I echoed. "I am Bao! Of course we had our own chef." "Alright," I said, standing up and holding out the pack. "Try one." "What for?" "I want to know just how different this crap is from what your chef made." "Are you joking? This rubbish doesn''t even come clo¡ª" "Do me a favour," I insisted. "One crisp won¡¯t kill you." Bao rolled his eyes in irritation. "Fine!" He grabbed a crisp, grimaced, and tossed it into his mouth. I watched his face closely. He was about to chew quickly and swallow the disgusting thing¡ªbut the moment the flavour hit his taste buds, his jaw slowed, and his eyes widened in surprise. "This... isn¡¯t that bad," he admitted. "Oh, it¡¯s bad! This stuff definitely belongs in a landfill," I said. "But it¡¯s damn tasty!" Denis sat up and tossed his empty pack onto Bao¡¯s bed. Then he grabbed the can of cola from the table and cracked it open for a sip. "Marlon, shall we stock up?" he asked. Kay nodded eagerly and jumped down from his bunk. While they were off raiding the vending machine, Bao finally caved and started snacking, even setting aside his crystal for a while. When the others returned, a whole mountain of junk food and cola had piled up on our table, courtesy of Marlon¡¯s bony arms. "You lot might¡¯ve gone a bit overboard," I remarked. "Couldn¡¯t help it," Denis admitted. "I haven¡¯t had anything salty in a month, and Marlon was craving chocolate." I missed chocolate too, but the vending machine I used didn¡¯t have any. Long story short, the only thing that saved us from a sugar-and-salt overdose was the fact that lunch hadn¡¯t been too long ago, so we physically couldn¡¯t fit much more in. I made sure the guys stashed the leftovers in their lockers¡ªout of sight, out of mind, and most importantly, out of reach. After that, we sort of got back to our own business, which mostly meant staring at our tablets. Except Bao, of course¡ªhe was back to sucking on his crystal. Rank 37 ¨C Score: 71/2845 Meanwhile, I had dropped another eight places, landing at Rank 95 ¨C Score: 27/2467. Looked like the fluctuation had finally settled, and Doc was right¡ªthis was normal. I opened my interface a few times, staring at his contact, but in the end, I couldn¡¯t bring myself to message him. I still had questions¡ªjust how "normal" was his normal? And how did this dispersion even work? But since it had stopped¡­ In the end, I opened my interface and tapped on a different contact. Outgoing message to: Diego 0015 Subject: Need advice Content: Hey. Got a question about mentors. Can you recommend someone? Also¡ªwhere can I find a decent job that doesn¡¯t take up too much time? Points aren¡¯t a priority right now. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. I hit send and sighed. The list of available mentors for first-years was easy enough to find on the academy¡¯s database, topped by fourth-stage cultivators. But there were thousands of them! How was I supposed to choose? The reply came almost instantly. It contained nothing but a name. Incoming message from: Diego 0015 Subject: Re: Need advice Content: K. L. Wong She wasn¡¯t on the mentor list. I searched for "Wong" in the database¡ªforty-three matches, but no K. L. Wong. Still, I doubted Diego was messing with me. I sent a short message. Outgoing message to: K. L. Wong Subject: Mentor Content: Hey. Diego recommended you as a mentor. Interested? Silence. A few minutes passed, then a brief reply. Incoming message from: K. L. Wong Subject: Re: Mentor Content: Which Diego? "Thinhorn," I answered. "Which thinhorn?!!!" she shot back. What the hell¡ªcould she not read properly? "Diego," I typed. "I don¡¯t have time for this shit. Don¡¯t message me again." So Diego had screwed me over¡­ Outgoing message to: Diego 0015 Subject: Re: Re: Need advice Content: You could¡¯ve just said you didn¡¯t have time, or that it wasn¡¯t your thing. Suddenly, a sharp ringing filled my ears, and a notification popped up on my tablet¡ªone I¡¯d never seen in the interface before: Incoming call: Diego 0015 Accept / Decline I glanced at Denis and Bao. They were completely focused on their own stuff, oblivious to the sound. Keeping quiet, I got up and slipped into the corridor. Only then did I tap Accept. "Is it because she¡¯s only second-stage?" Diego¡¯s voice came through my ears. "She didn¡¯t even talk to me!" "That doesn¡¯t sound like her. I¡¯ll call you back." The line went dead, leaving me to process the fact that I apparently had a phone inside my head. Way cooler than just a messenger. Honestly, I wasn¡¯t a fan of the email-style format¡ªthey should¡¯ve made it a proper chat. A few minutes later, another call came through. Incoming call: K. L. Wong Accept / Decline "Hello," I answered. "Sorry, I thought you were messing with me. I haven¡¯t even applied as a mentor." "I did say Diego recommended you. Thinhorn Diego." "There are about fifty thinhorn Diegos at this school," she replied. "I personally know four. Diego is a model name. If you¡¯re talking about thinhorns, always include their numeric ID." "Damn, I had no idea! I¡ª" "I know," she interrupted. "Diego told me." We fell silent for a moment. "So¡­" she prompted. "Mentorship. There are plenty of more experienced cultivators out there." "The list is longer than the one for first-years. How am I supposed to make sense of it? Besides, keep my¡­ special circumstances in mind. Most of the time, I don¡¯t even know what I¡¯m doing." "Hmm¡­ I need to think about it. Let¡¯s meet by the Fist Garden in an hour. Sending you the location now. You¡¯ve figured out the navigator, right? You don¡¯t still have it on full-screen mode?" "I use the minimap." "Good. Here you go. See you in an hour¡ªwait above the station." A new message from Kate popped up. After unpacking it, a red arrow appeared at the edge of my minimap, pointing beyond its borders. An hour to kill. She was probably looking me up already. But how could I find out who Kate Wong was? If I dug through the school¡¯s database, I¡¯d probably find some mentions of her. But for a quick lookup¡­ the second-year cultivation rankings were the obvious choice. There she was. Rank 156/1876 overall. Rank 149/624 among third-year second-period cultivators. Not exactly impressive, to be honest¡­ But at least her primary root was Fist¡ª180. That was a solid score for a second-year. And then there was Lightning in second place¡ª116. I thought we didn¡¯t study Lightning here¡­ Setting aside my search on Kate, I checked the map. The location she¡¯d sent me was way out in the middle of nowhere. Estimated travel time¡ªthirty-seven minutes. Sixteen on foot, fourteen by metro, then another seven on foot. Yeah, the school had its own metro. That explained which station she meant. But no¡ªit was just a normal metro. Tunnels, stations, platforms, trains. Just sealed and pressurised. Everything looked way cleaner and more high-tech than the ones I remembered. Well, I didn¡¯t actually remember it. Random images still surfaced now and then, but nothing solid. Damn memory still hadn¡¯t coughed up my actual name. I was starting to get used to Jake. And I realised¡ªI didn¡¯t feel out of place in this body anymore. I tossed my tablet back into the room and followed the navigator¡¯s arrow through several corridors and a lift. That¡¯s where I ran into a problem. The damn arrow didn¡¯t tell me which button to press. It just turned into a round blue blob on the floor. But as soon as I reached the right level, it morphed back into an arrow. On the platform, I quickly noticed that first-years didn¡¯t come here. The crowd consisted mostly of third- and fourth-period cadets, along with a handful from the second period and some staff¡ªmostly in black jumpsuits or lab coats, plus a few thinhorns. But the ones who stood out the most were the armoured ones. They looked like a cross between Iron Man and Stormtroopers from Star Wars¡ªonly more colourful, with custom helmets and unique patterns. None of them carried firearms, but one had a massive jet-powered surfboard strapped to his back, while another rested a giant mace on his shoulder. Unlike the metro I was familiar with, this one was silent. The only warning of an approaching train was a thick gust of air rushing through the tunnel. The doors slid open, and I stepped inside. The carriages were spacious, lined with soft seats along the walls. There was plenty of room to avoid getting in each other¡¯s way. I took a seat near the door. The armoured guy with the mace sat next to me, lowering his weapon to the floor. His armour was mostly black with red accents, and his helmet¡¯s faceplate was flipped back, revealing a fairly young man with European features. "Where you headed, freshie?" His voice boomed in my ears, even though he didn¡¯t seem to be speaking that loudly. "Fist Garden." "Bit early for that," he frowned. "I¡¯ve got a meeting with a potential mentor." "Ah¡­" He nodded, relaxing. "Just don¡¯t do anything stupid." I got off at my stop and took the lift to the surface. Panoramic windows offered a view of the garden. Beyond the glass stretched a field of low-growing flowers in strange colours. There weren¡¯t many trees, and the ones that did exist were thick-trunked, with dark leaves. The air outside had a faint haze, though I couldn¡¯t quite tell what caused it. The exits were blocked by airtight chambers, similar to airlocks. I watched as thinhorns in breathing masks with oxygen tanks, along with cultivators in full armour, passed through them to join the others already in the garden. With nothing else to do, I decided to observe¡ªand immediately spotted something interesting. One of the cultivators stood on an elevated platform. He pulled his arm back and struck the air. A silvery energy trail burst from his fist, shooting forward like a projectile, gliding several metres above the flowers before fading away. For a split second, just before it dissipated, I could swear the trail had kept the exact shape of a fist¡ªonly larger. A hundred questions flooded my mind at once, and my hands itched with the urge to finally learn my first technique. Chapter 12: Kate Wong I felt the air in the station¡¯s airlock shift as the hermetic doors hissed shut behind me. A group of armoured figures stepped inside, and among them was a short, almost dwarf-like figure in a black-and-pink exosuit¡ªor rather, pink-and-black. There was barely any black at all. Kate Wong flipped up her visor and waved a massive gauntlet before pointing towards the lift. Shame¡ªI¡¯d wanted to watch more of those Fist techniques in action. But arguing with a potential mentor didn¡¯t seem like the best idea. Kate was short, with features that looked unusually European for her surname. Only the slight slant of her eyes and the shape of her nose hinted at her Asian heritage. And even though the armour made her frame look bulkier, she still stood nearly a head shorter than me. Her voice was slightly husky, carrying that unreadable tone that could be either mild exhaustion or quiet amusement. "We¡¯ll talk on the move," she said. "I¡¯ve got a Flow Chamber session soon. So, tell me¡ªwhat¡¯s your plan for the future?" "Conquer the academy, then Verdis, then the other moons, and finally Earth." Kate gave me a tired smile, making it clear she wasn¡¯t in the mood for jokes. I quickly corrected myself. "In the short term? Slack off at work, ignore everything else, and cultivate up to my first bottleneck in the Flow Chambers. They should cover my memory loss with a hefty insurance payout, so I should have enough funds." She nodded slowly. "Not a bad plan¡­ but if you focus only on the Chambers, you¡¯ll burn out. Mentally and physically." "Tell me more," I prompted. We stepped out of the lift and reached the platform just in time to slip into a carriage before the doors shut. "You know how many people I¡¯ve seen try to buy power with money?" she said, dropping into a seat. "To be fair, most of them did succeed. But not all of them! It¡¯s mostly the business kids that fall into that trap¡ªcultivators¡¯ kids usually get warned by their parents not to take Flow Chamber hours back-to-back!" A shiver ran down my spine. "That¡¯s even possible?! I barely lasted ten minutes!" "They¡¯ve already taken you to the Chambers?" Kate asked, surprised, as she checked something in her interface. "Doc ran some tests on me." "Ah¡­" She fell into thought. "So, what¡¯s the deal with overusing Chambes?" I prompted. "For some, their bodies couldn¡¯t handle it. Others suffered internal channel ruptures, losing the ability to hold qi. And the worst cases?" She gave me a serious look. "Some people became completely incapable of absorbing it. At all. Result? Expulsion from the academy. No chance of coming back." I frowned. "If you didn¡¯t know," she continued, "a lot of former students try to return here as staff. But qi cripples? They don¡¯t get hired. So don¡¯t rush¡ªrest, recover. If you pace yourself properly, you¡¯ll still have time for other activities. And if you want my advice, I¡¯d suggest starting with a job." "What kind of job?" Kate smirked. "Physical work in the garden. Probably one of the least popular choices. The pay¡¯s crap, the work¡¯s boring, but there¡¯s one huge reason to do it. You¡¯ll be surrounded by Fist techniques constantly. Whether you like it or not, you¡¯ll feel something. It won¡¯t grow your root, but it¡¯ll help a lot when learning your first technique." "Sounds tempting¡­" "But there¡¯s a catch¡ªyou¡¯ll need armour." "Fitting¡¯s at the end of the week," I recalled what our block supervisor had said. "And without it? I saw the thinhorns wearing masks." "Masks are only allowed for thinhorns and cadets third period and up. And you, freshie, are not there yet." The train began to slow. Kate got up and stepped towards the doors just as they slid open onto the platform. "I¡¯m heading to the Armour Hall. You coming?" she asked. "Weren¡¯t you going to the Flow Chamber?" "I¡¯ll drop off my gear first, then head there." Of course, I followed. "So, we¡¯re good? You¡¯ll be my mentor?" Kate shook her head. "I need to check with my master first. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m ready to take you on." "Not sure? I¡¯m not taking your virginity, Kate." She shot me an outraged look, turned red, and raised her armoured fist. "I can punch, you know!" "For what?" I asked, confused. "I just meant we¡¯re not starting a family. If it doesn¡¯t work out, we go our separate ways. You¡¯ll find a new first-year, I¡¯ll find a new mentor." "You think it¡¯s that simple? Well, for you¡ªyeah. But for every first-year, there are six senior cadets." The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. "Which makes me even less sure why you¡¯d turn me down. This isn¡¯t volunteer work, right? You¡¯re supposed to get something out of it too." "Points," Kate confirmed. "Pretty decent ones, actually, for every success you have." "And why do you need points? We use them to survive the screening process. You lot just have to break through to¡­ Third level. What¡¯s it called¡­?" "Qi Condensation stage," Kate supplied. "Points are the internal currency for those of us without money¡ªtechniques, serums, weapons, armour¡­" She tapped her chest plate, which rang with a metallic clang. The Armour Hall was much bigger than the Meditation Hall. According to the map, it shared the building with the Weapons Hall. Meaning it wasn¡¯t just one long corridor¡ªit was a maze of hallways, storages and even what looked like machine rooms. Kate didn¡¯t give me a tour. We just took the lift one floor above the station and stepped into a place that looked suspiciously like Tony Stark¡¯s lab¡­ How the hell could I remember a fictional character but still couldn¡¯t recall my own name?! That was really starting to piss me off. Anyway¡ªthe corridor. Of course it had to be a long corridor. It was more spacious than the ones I¡¯d seen before, lined with two dozen platforms equipped with mechanical arms. Those were what reminded me of Stark. The moment someone in armour stepped onto a platform, the arms swiftly dismantled their suit, packed it into a case, and stored it somewhere in the walls. And vice versa¡ªif someone needed to gear up, the arms assembled the suit around them just as fast. The difference? You couldn¡¯t move. The very first thing the platform did was clamp down your legs, arms, and torso with heavy restraints. There was a queue, but it moved quickly. People kept eyeing me again. The third-stage cultivator behind Kate was staring so hard I felt the need to explain, "I¡¯m with her. Just watching." Kate¡¯s platform stripped off her armour in under a minute, packed it up, and stored it away. But the part that caught me off guard? The last thing the machine did was release her hair, which had been neatly tied back under her helmet. Silky strands spilled over her shoulders. "This thing does hairstyles too?" I asked as Wong stepped down. Without her armour, she looked even more petite. "Thank God for that," she said. "Otherwise, I¡¯d have to walk around looking like your bird¡¯s nest. Let¡¯s go." As we walked, I ran a hand over my head¡ªand something clicked. A feeling. A memory. Anything longer than a centimetre felt wrong. Five millimetres on top, two on the sides¡ªthe golden standard. Stubble could be longer, but that wouldn¡¯t be a problem anytime soon. "Does it just style, or does it cut too?" I asked. "You need a barber contact?" I immediately figured that if this was a person, then they had to be a cultivator. There was no one else here. And if a cultivator got distracted by something, it had to be worth their attention. Which meant¡­ people were expensive. "Isn¡¯t there a machine that does it for free?" I asked. "You¡¯d trust a machine with your hair?" Kate sounded almost offended. "No surprise you have that bird¡¯s nest of a haircut!" "You trust that thing to put you in armour! It¡¯s just hair, not teeth. It¡¯ll grow back." "Well, actually¡­ they can regrow your teeth too." "Seriously? That¡¯s awesome!" We were heading back to the same lift that had brought us here when, about ten metres away, the doors slid open, and Alan stepped out¡ªthe guy I¡¯d seen in the Meditation Hall, the one Doc knew. The incense stick was still hanging from his lips, burning, but the smoke didn¡¯t spread through the hall. It coiled tightly around his head, as if held in place by an invisible force. "Sir," I greeted him as we passed. Alan arched an eyebrow. "Looking for me?" Then he noticed Kate. Didn¡¯t seem to recognise her, though. "Sir," she greeted him, her tone noticeably more formal. I could have been mistaken, but she definitely recognised him. "Apologies, but I¡¯m in a hurry," she said before quickly making her exit. Over her shoulder, she added, "I¡¯ll message you after I speak with my master." And just like that, she was gone, leaving me standing in the corridor with Alan. "Actually, I was here because of her," I admitted, nodding towards the lift she¡¯d just stepped into. Alan shrugged and moved to walk past me. "Wait a moment, sir," I stopped him. Before he could ask questions, I clarified, "I¡¯ve got memory loss from the neural interface installation. I might make mistakes or say stupid things, but¡­ I felt like you had something to offer me." "I¡¯m an armourer," he said with a casual shrug. "If you need something better than what the school provides¡ª" "Do I?" I tapped my forehead. "I have no idea." "Depends on whether you have the money for it." "I was promised insurance compensation for my memory loss, but the details are still unclear." "If I were you, I wouldn¡¯t take the school¡¯s standard issue. It¡¯s a bloody lottery. Half of those models are over fifty years old¡ªrepaired, re-repaired, patched together. Every new malfunction? Cadet gets penalised." "What are you offering?" "I can either tweak an old model to fit you or build you a custom set from scratch." "The school won¡¯t have a problem with that?" I asked. He wasn¡¯t lowering his voice or anything, but I still wasn¡¯t sure exactly what he was suggesting. "Why would they? They take a nice cut from it. It¡¯s all above board, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking. You¡¯ll see at the fitting¡ªall the rich kids will be in shiny, high-end suits with extra features, while everyone else gets issued the standard junk." "So, is the standard junk really junk?" "Not at all. There are plenty of good models," Alan said. "But like I said¡ªit¡¯s a lottery. And given your amnesia¡­" He flicked his incense stick to the other corner of his mouth before summing up, "You pay for your own repairs on personal armour. School-issued gear? That gets repaired with points. Unless it¡¯s damaged in a duel, sparring session, or tournament. Then the school covers it for free." I mulled that over. "And how else would you even damage your armour if not in combat?" I asked. "Training, obviously! Most breakdowns happen during training." "Can I resell it?" Alan smirked¡ªhe could tell I was leaning towards buying. "Forget about reselling it to another cadet. They¡¯d need a smith to adjust the fit anyway. But if you buy from me, I can buy it back for a quarter to half the price, depending on the condition." Damn. They really were making a fortune off cadets here. No wonder he was so eager to have this conversation with me. "Right now, I only need armour to work in the Fist Garden. How much would that cost?" "Standard school-issue runs about thirty thousand. A cheap plastic shell? Two to three grand, tops. But given your¡­ special circumstances," he tapped my forehead, "let me remind you¡ªif you¡¯re planning to train Fist techniques, you¡¯ll want to get your gloves from a weaponsmith. You do want better qi conductivity, increased damage output, all that, right?" Damn. I wouldn¡¯t have even thought of that. Wait¡­ "No, I don¡¯t," I said. Kate had only mentioned physical labour. But just in case, I double-checked. "I can practise techniques in standard gloves, right?" "You can," Alan confirmed. "But they won¡¯t last long." "That¡¯s fine. They probably don¡¯t cost much, and by the time they wear out, I¡¯ll have more information to work with." I tapped my forehead. "So?" Alan shrugged. "I¡¯ll take the cheapest shell," I said. "Alright," Alan said, sounding a little disappointed. "What colour?" "Not pink!" I blurted, remembering Kate. Chapter 13: Meditation Hall in Chaos Dinner, sleep, and breakfast passed without incident. Even Bao Feng was calmer than usual. He actually came to breakfast with us. Maybe it was the crisps, maybe he just wanted company¡­ I decided not to ask unnecessary questions for now. The cafeteria buzzed with tense anticipation. Almost every other cadet was fidgeting in their seat. With each passing minute, the atmosphere felt more and more like the moments before an exam¡ªor something even worse. Some tried to act indifferent, while others openly discussed rumours and traded advice, most of it clearly second-hand. The reason was obvious¡ªFlow Chambers. "They say you just have to endure it," I overheard from the next table. "Just grit your teeth and push through." That made me look up. "What?" Denis asked in a much lower voice. "Not true?" He must have heard the same advice. "Half true," I said. "I wouldn¡¯t recommend gritting your teeth. Or tensing up in any way¡ªit¡¯ll only make it worse. Much worse. But yeah, you¡¯ll have to endure it." I kept my voice as quiet as Denis had, but nearby cadets still overheard. At least no one dared to ask where I got my information. They had plenty of other voices to listen to anyway. "Some second-period cadet told me the record for a first session is forty minutes. So what?" "That¡¯s a lie, they only give you fifteen!" "I also heard that if you pass out, you get penalty points." "For real?" "Swear on it! I¡¯ve got a friend who¡ª" I listened to their chatter, chewing another spoonful of food, and realised¡­ I wasn¡¯t really nervous. I was way more concerned about the fact that my chocolate cereal tasted salty. Maybe it was because I had already been in a Flow Chamber? Even though my session lasted barely ten minutes, I didn¡¯t just imagine what was coming¡ªI knew exactly what to expect. And then there was Bao Feng, looking dead serious. He kept zoning out, staring into space, eyes darting along invisible lines. He was terrible at hiding his nerves. "Looking up how not to pass out?" I teased. "I¡¯m reading how to maximise the effects of the first session," Bao replied smugly, giving me a look that practically screamed: I know more than you. I didn¡¯t push the topic further. Doc hadn¡¯t sent me any kind of ¡®how to maximise¡¯ manual, but that didn¡¯t mean one didn¡¯t exist. After breakfast, we¡ªlike the rest of the first-years¡ªheaded back to the dorms. But as we approached the corridor, I heard raised voices. "Watch where you¡¯re going, idiot!" "Me?! You stepped on my foot, imbecile!" "I¡¯ll step on your throat next!" "Oh yeah? Try me!" I spotted two cadets standing chest to chest, their backs arched like fighting cocks. A small crowd was already forming around them, eager for some entertainment and a way to shake off the stress. It hadn¡¯t escalated into an actual fight yet, but their faces were tense, and their fists were already clenched. And that was the moment Bao suddenly detached from our group and marched straight into the scene, shoving through the crowd with his elbows. Two more cadets followed him¡ªboth among those assigned yesterday as Liang Shi¡¯s assistants. Bao, of course, struck the most condescending pose he could manage and loudly declared: "Enough! One more move, one more word¡ªand you both get penalty points!" His tone was authoritative, but the cadets didn¡¯t budge. They were still locked in a stare-down. "You¡¯re not a supervisor," one of them muttered, still glaring at his opponent. Oh. That was a familiar voice. Tariq. Guy sure had a habit of picking fights out of nowhere. "I¡¯m his assistant, imbecile!" Bao snapped¡ªand kicked him. Tariq actually jumped like a startled rooster and spun towards Bao, but the other two assistants had already closed in from the sides. The Arab-looking cadet shook his head. "Don¡¯t even think about it." "He probably doesn¡¯t even know what penalty points are," other assistant added dryly. "Disperse!" Bao ordered. The other guy in the confrontation turned on his heel and walked away, but Tariq? He just stood there, fists still clenched. "Penalty point!" Bao announced, tapping at the air as if typing something. "Where?" Tariq spread his arms wide, grinning mockingly. "Where¡¯s the point?" Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. "It¡¯ll be logged as soon as Liang Shi reads the report," Bao explained, though he suddenly didn¡¯t sound so sure of himself. "Uh-huh. Sure it will¡­" Tariq¡¯s face changed. Looked like he did get that penalty point. Bao, pleased with himself, held his head high. "Anything else you¡¯d like to add?" he pressed. Tariq¡¯s face reddened. "Get to your room, imbecile! And I don¡¯t want to hear a word from you until lining up!" Tariq clenched his fists, clenched his jaw, spun around sharply, and stormed off¡ªbumping shoulders with everyone he could reach. But no one took the bait. Both Tariq and the rest of us made it back to our rooms just in time for the interface to chime again¡ªassembly order. Like yesterday, we lined up in two rows outside our rooms. Liang Shi once again paced the corridor, checking something on his tablet. He didn¡¯t talk much¡ªjust explained that today, we¡¯d be escorted to the Meditation Hall, where the Flow Chambers were located. "You¡¯ll be accompanied by supervisors and instructors. You¡¯ll move in formation. Maintain order. If anyone falls behind or starts talking¡ªpenalty points. You¡¯ve already had an example!" He looked straight at a still-red-faced Tariq. "So don¡¯t cause trouble!" Liang raised a hand toward another supervisor at the front of the corridor. "Follow cadet Johnson¡ªmarch!" This time, no one ran. Which meant the walk took much longer than when we were first shown around the dorms. Maybe there were medical reasons for that. Even my own heartbeat felt slightly elevated, and I hadn¡¯t been running at all. I walked in the middle of the first-years, feeling the tension thicken in the air. Ahead of us was the first real trial, and no one truly knew how it would affect them. No one except me. At least, that¡¯s what I thought. Turned out¡ªI was wrong. The Meditation Hall was far more crowded than when I¡¯d been here with Doc. Back then, it was already busy. Now? It was like a mix between a tightly regimented military outpost and Tokyo Metro during rush hour. And the induction process? Pure conveyor-belt efficiency. Around a hundred first-years stood in two rows at the entrance. Like sheepdogs, senior-period cadets circled around us, keeping us in line, while black-clad staff members directed the flow. A makeshift checkpoint had been set up at the entrance. The moment another group of cadets exited the hall, the curators ushered the next batch inside. And inside? Organised chaos. At least five times as many cadets as outside, with the air humming with qi. Just before my group was sent in, a team in lab coats carried out a first-year on a stretcher. Denis and Bao Feng had already gone ahead. I was first in my row, which gave me a good view of the process. Each chamber had two supervisors stationed nearby¡ªone managing the Chamber door and what happened inside, the other overseeing the queue of three to four cadets. The supervisors guiding us into the hall spread cadets out among the shorter queues. Some lines moved faster than others¡ªfew cadets lasted the full fifteen minutes, while in other queues, one after another they barely managed a single minute inside. And that wasn¡¯t even the worst outcome. Somewhere near the tenth chamber on the right, a supervisor suddenly shouted, "Medic!" Together with his colleague, he pulled an unconscious cadet into the middle of the corridor. A doctor in a white coat rushed over, checked the cadet¡¯s pulse and breathing, then waved his hands. A gust of wind swept through the hall, and a soft, milky-white glow of qi enveloped his palms. An Air technique. There were plenty of people in white coats inside¡ªmedics and thinhorns, most of whom weren¡¯t even paying attention to what was happening. Because while one of them was treating the downed cadet¡­ the others were cultivating. I recognised the movements immediately¡ªthat was definitely a palm-based qi gathering technique. The medic treating the cadet placed one hand on his chest, then pushed a current of air straight into his nose. The cadet jerked, exhaled sharply, his body tensed¡ªand then he rolled onto his side, breaking into a fit of heavy coughing. The supervisor beside him wiped sweat from his brow, shook his head in irritation, and checked his tablet. "Next," he called, pointing at someone hidden in the crowd. The injured cadet was carried off on a stretcher, and the moment they were clear, the instructor signalled for our group to move forward. The concentration of qi thickened immediately. It felt like stepping into an open field during a thunderstorm¡ªstatic tingling on my skin, pressure settling in my chest. Since I was at the front, the instructor clapped a hand on my shoulder first. "Chamber Twelve," he said, pointing to a queue with only three cadets. "Move!" The second-stage curator at the end of the line gave me a quick glance, tapped something into his tablet, and said nothing. The third-stage curator by the door wasn¡¯t paying attention to me at all¡ªhe was staring through the chamber¡¯s window. A few seconds later, he slammed a large button beside the door and, with a slight delay, pulled the handle. A residual qi wave rolled out all the way to me. So that¡¯s where the concentration in the hall was coming from. No one here waited for the energy to dissipate, the way Doc had done during my test. "Can you stand?" the curator asked. "Yes." "Can you leave on your own?" "Yes." "Good. Thirteen-forty-two," he muttered, letting the girl out. I knew her. Tattoo-painting girl. Our eyes met, and she froze in the doorway. "Problem?" the curator asked. "No." "Then stop blocking the entrance!" he snapped. I gave her a small nod of recognition. She nodded back, but neither of us said a word. The curator was already pushing another cadet inside. "You go in, sit down, endure. Don¡¯t tense up. The moment the pain¡¯s too much¡ªdrop. That¡¯s the signal to shut off the flow." That cadet lasted ten minutes. "The girl in the chamber next to mine? One minute." Then a thinhorn in a lab coat spent two more minutes trying to pry her clenched jaw open. They all had to sit¡­ "Excuse me," I said, addressing the curator at the back of the queue so I wouldn¡¯t distract the one monitoring the door. "A doctor prescribed me cultivation in the Chamber lying down." The cadet frowned in obvious doubt. "Come up with a better excuse," he scoffed, clearly thinking I was just trying to milk more time inside. "Did you see the ones they had to drag out? Not worth it." "I did see," I shot back. "That¡¯s exactly why I don¡¯t want to do it sitting down." "And how am I supposed to know when you¡¯re done?" the curator by the door called over without turning around. "Doc had a way of knowing¡­" And he had to be here somewhere, mixed in with the staff. For a second, I was tempted to message him¡ªno, call him. But then I remembered the other doctor, the one who had been cultivating while his colleague treated the injured cadet. I¡¯d bet ten credits Doc was doing the same thing right now. The senior supervisor hit the button next to the door and turned to me. "Doc¡¯s not here, and I¡¯m not here to wipe your arse." He opened the Chamber door and repeated the same routine. "Can you stand? Can you leave on your own?" And then¡ªmy turn. No excuses. No negotiations. "Get in and sit." Chapter 14: Cultivation Progress This time, the Chamber didn¡¯t just look like a crematorium¡ªit felt like one. The overwhelming concentration of qi in the air, combined with the taut, wire-strung nerves, created the eerie illusion of smoke hanging in the chamber. All that was missing was a pile of ash on the thick metal grating of the floor. I shook off the intrusive thought, stepped inside, and tried to sit on the metal surface polished by thousands of cadets before me. Tried. Lotus position? Not happening. My legs got in the way, then my arms, then I was leaning too far forward. "Hurry up, cadet!" the curator barked. "You¡¯re keeping hundreds of others waiting!" I didn¡¯t give a damn about the others¡ªI¡¯d seen what happened to those who weren¡¯t careful. After a few more awkward shifts, I finally settled into something vaguely stable¡ªright knee nearly twice as high as the left¡ªfolded my hands, palms down, and gave a slight nod. The curator looked at me like I was mocking him. "That¡­?" He struggled to find the words for my grace. "Yes," I confirmed confidently. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head in frustration. "Remember: the moment the pain gets too much¡ªdrop. Don¡¯t tough it out." I nodded again. Another sigh. But he shut the door. The crowd noise disappeared, leaving only the stale, lingering scent of sweat, fear, and pain. The echoes of previous sessions¡ªlike the room itself remembered those who had been here before me. I waited until the curator¡¯s face appeared in the viewing window, then closed my eyes. A few seconds to clear my mind. Qi was already tickling my fingers. I exhaled, bracing for the impact. But the surge was lighter this time. Not boiling water, just very hot air. I even opened my eyes in surprise¡ªonly to shut them again before I burned them out of my skull. But this time, I didn¡¯t fight it. I let myself tear up. Let the pain wash over me. This was the dangerous part¡ªI lost balance and leaned to the side. A slightly stronger wave would have knocked me to the floor. I let the heat engulf me, ignored the unpleasant sensation of qi scraping over my mucous membranes like sandpaper. It was unpleasant as hell. But I knew this feeling. And compared to what Doc had put me through during his test, this was nothing. The only thing that worried me¡ªmy back. Holding balance and keeping the pressure off while the current poured through me was impossible. The energy streamed through my body, igniting every part of it, activating every cell, attacking every weakness. Bones vibrated. Muscles tensed at the slightest shift, but once engaged, refused to relax. Blood roared through my veins. My whole body became a resonator for this strange force. And I felt myself swaying, matching its strange pulse, as if that was exactly how it was supposed to be. I took a deep breath, let go of my thoughts, and drifted on the waves of fire. The heat must have understood that I wasn¡¯t its enemy¡ªbecause it stopped biting into my skin. At some point, I wasn¡¯t being rocked by flames anymore. It was the gentle ebb and flow of a calm sea. And then¡ª "CADET!" The shout ripped me from its embrace. I opened my eyes and found myself back on the polished metal grating of the Flow Chamber. The doors were open, and the supervisor was staring at me in surprise. "You alive?" He opened the door? What the hell? "I didn¡¯t drop!" "Fifteen minutes are up," he informed me. "You sat through the whole thing like a damn statue. And after all that whining before you went in?" "It would¡¯ve been easier lying down," I pointed out. "Next time, do whatever you want. Now move¡ªcan you stand on your own?" I untangled my legs. Every muscle in my body crackled with energy, and a burning sensation coiled under my solar plexus, like I¡¯d swallowed a whole chilli pepper without chewing. But I stood. I swayed for a second, but I stood, then walked out of the hall on my own two feet. It was a strange state to be in¡ªon one hand, my body was buzzing with energy. On the other, there was so much of it pressing down on me like a solid weight, making every step a struggle. On the way back, I saw something strange¡ª My classmates were passing out right in the halls, slumping against the walls mid-step. The thinhorns were loading them onto carts and wheeling them off to their rooms. For a brief moment, I considered asking for a ride. Then I dismissed the thought and proudly made it to my room on my own. Denis and Marlon were already there¡ªcollapsed on their bunks, still in their sweat-soaked jumpsuits. "Up!" I barked. Both of them flinched awake, eyes snapping open. "Shower," I ordered. "Fuck off¡­" Denis mumbled, flopping back onto his pillow. "I¡¯m not sleeping in a room that stinks of your sweat!" I shot back, yanking him off the bed. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I left Marlon alone¡ªhe had way farther to fall. But he didn¡¯t put up a fight. Grumbling, he started climbing down on his own. I shoved them both into the showers and washed up myself. Then, with absolute satisfaction, I crashed onto my bed. I plunged into sleep. Only to be ripped out of it by a loud chime. It hit the silence like an explosion. I jolted upright, half-ready to dive for cover¡ª Then realised. Not an alarm. Not an attack. Just¡­ dinnertime. A message flashed in my vision, informing me that the school administration strongly recommended students not to skip dinner. We¡¯d already slept through lunch, by the way. Blinking heavily, I cracked my eyes open. Denis was sprawled on his bed in a position that would be nowhere near comfortable under normal circumstances. The air in the room was thick with the sour scent of sweat¡ªeven though we¡¯d all showered earlier. Fatigue clung to everything¡ªevery limb, every breath. I inhaled deeply, forcing myself to move. My muscles creaked like I¡¯d just run a marathon. "Up. Food," I grumbled, peering at Marlon¡¯s bunk. Denis mumbled something incomprehensible, clearly not interested in moving. Marlon reacted slightly better¡ªslowly sat up, rubbed his eyes, then stared at me like I¡¯d just said something deeply offensive. Then he spent a long moment reconsidering his entire life. "Den¡­" I called. "Leave me alone¡­" "They say cafeteria food helps absorb qi." That got him moving. None of us wanted to get up. But we had other wants¡ªwants that clashed with the desire to keep sleeping. For Denis, somewhere deep in his subconscious, was the wish to become a great cultivator. For me? Something much simpler. I was hungry. Didn¡¯t even care about the taste at this point. Though¡­ meat was still the priority. In the end, Denis forced himself upright. Marlon climbed down from his bunk. "Where¡¯s Bao?" I asked. No answer. We stepped into the corridor. Silence. The morning chaos¡ªthe anticipation, the nerves¡ªhad evaporated. Now, first-years moved like zombies, slow and sluggish. I saw one guy crawling along the wall. Another ahead of us staggered so hard he looked ready to collapse. A cadet to the left yawned so wide that not even a cat could have matched it. It was almost comical¡ªjust how wrecked everyone was. And yet¡­ I felt way better than these zombies. "This isn¡¯t how I imagined the day after a Flow Chamber," Denis muttered. "I¡¯m dead," Marlon mumbled, rubbing his temples. The cafeteria was quiet. No loud conversations. No jostling in the queue. No more heated debates about Flow Chambers like at breakfast. It felt like we had all survived something collective, something exhausting. And now, we were just trying not to pass out into our food. Well¡ªthey were. My strength was returning fast. The food tray lottery gave me something hot, thick, and calorie-dense. Didn¡¯t even question what it was¡ªjust scooped up a spoonful. Turned out to be a decent vegetable stew, with a strong kick of paprika. The other dishes were sweeter, so I focused on this one. Once we¡¯d dulled the worst of our hunger, Denis spoke up. "Seven minutes," he said. I looked up. "What?" "Seven minutes. That¡¯s how long I lasted in the Chamber." I nodded thoughtfully. "Why¡¯d you drop?" Marlon asked. "Couldn¡¯t relax," Denis sighed. "Kept tensing when I should¡¯ve just¡­ well, you know. You went through it too." Marlon finished his drink and said, "Eleven minutes." Denis snorted. "You bastard¡­" I took a sip of mine, kept my face completely neutral, and added¡ª "Fifteen." Denis nearly choked on his food. Marlon froze mid-movement, looking directly at me for the first time since dinner started. And it wasn¡¯t just them. Everyone who heard turned to stare¡ªsome in shock, others with clear resentment. "Repeat that, sir," Denis said, like he didn¡¯t believe his own ears. "Fifteen." "You know," he muttered, "Bao was right. Who the hell are you?" I smirked and tapped my forehead. "If only I knew. Hey, maybe I¡¯m the reincarnation of some ancient hero?" "Or maybe a demon?" "Do you see any horns?" I took my last sip of tea, watching as Marlon and Denis focused on their interfaces. "Twenty-eighth place!" Denis blurted out. "What?" I asked. "Jake Sullivan," he repeated. "Twenty-eighth place. 102/2467." I blinked. 102? In one session, I¡¯d jumped from 27 to 102? That completely shattered my math again. I¡¯d already calculated that one minute in the Chamber gave roughly 3 qi points. So, for 15 minutes, I should¡¯ve gained +45 points. 27 + 45 = 72. At best, I should¡¯ve only caught up to Bao and his crystal. And 15 of those units should have already dispersed¡­ Wait. I¡¯d slept for half a day. Which meant¡ªright after the Chamber, my numbers had been even higher! Denis scratched the back of his head, looking uneasy. "Twenty-eighth place, holy shit. That¡¯s insane." "Alright¡­" Marlon muttered. "Let¡¯s see where we are." That phrase triggered a chain reaction¡ªall around the cafeteria, cadets pulled up their rankings. Except Denis. He sighed, clearly reluctant, and then finally admitted: "1243." "745," Marlon announced a few seconds later. Denis scowled harder. "God damn you¡­" I took another sip of my drink and asked, "And where¡¯s Bao?" Denis groaned. "Go ahead, finish me off." Then he perked up slightly. "Actually, I would be happy if you ranked higher than him. His sour face would make my day." "Looks like you got your wish," I said. I scrolled through the top thirty. Bao wasn¡¯t there. Marlon found him first. "Two thousand four hundred fifty-seven," he said, stunned. "What?! How is that even possible?" I frowned. "He had over seventy points this morning. He was in the top hundred!" "He has two now," Marlon murmured, as if even his own voice couldn¡¯t believe it. Even Denis stopped smiling, staring wide-eyed at the screen. We all understood¡ªsomething had gone very wrong with Bao. "You think he¡¯s in the infirmary?" I asked. Marlon shrugged. "Could be." Denis rubbed his chin. "Bao¡­ failed." He exhaled sharply. "I don¡¯t even know how to feel about that. That asshole pissed me off, but¡­" "He definitely overdid it," I said. "Wonder what he¡¯ll say when he gets back?" Denis managed to squeeze out a drop of sympathy. "Hope this doesn¡¯t break him." I, on the other hand, hoped it wouldn¡¯t make him bitter. Or worse¡ªmake him resent us. This was the first morning he had actually started acting like a normal human being. A rich brat with a grudge could be a pain in the ass. "Should we try to find him?" I suggested. Denis and Marlon nodded. Chapter 15: Avoiding Scum When messaging Doc, I was the picture of politeness. Outgoing message: R. P. Robinson Subject: Personal Inquiry Content: Good evening, sir. Apologies for the intrusion. How can I find out what happened to a cadet? My roommate, Bao Feng, hasn¡¯t returned since visiting the Meditation Hall, and his cultivation ranking and qi levels have dropped sharply. If he¡¯s in the infirmary, my friends and I would like to visit him. I made sure not to annoy Doc. At least¡ªnot until I found that damn tea. My neuro-interface confirmed the message had been sent, but there was no response. I sighed and dismissed the panel from my view. Bao had crashed. And it was a stark reminder of how easily things could fall apart in a cultivator¡¯s life. Our eagle had soared high¡ªonly to plummet straight to the bottom. Didn¡¯t seem like he¡¯d died, though. His two remaining qi units in the rankings confirmed that much. But Doc had mentioned that some cadets¡­ took their own lives. And Bao did strike me as the type who would see no point in life without cultivation. I didn¡¯t care about him. He was a complete asshole. But I wouldn¡¯t be happy if he just gave up. As long as you''re alive, there''s still a chance. Doc replied about twenty minutes later¡ªjust as we were nearing our room. "Bao is in a recovery capsule," he wrote. "He¡¯ll be there for at least a week. No point in visiting." I froze, rereading the message. Looked like our dear roommate had just blown all his chances of making it through the culling. Then again¡­ his family was rich. Maybe this wasn¡¯t the end for him. "Bad news?" Marlon asked, noticing my expression. "Bao¡¯s in a capsule for a week. We won¡¯t be seeing him." Denis whistled low but just shook his head without commenting. The next message came after I had already settled into bed, scrolling through my tablet to read another training manual. Incoming message: K. L. Wong Subject: Mentor Content: "My master wants to meet you. Before lunch tomorrow. Let¡¯s meet at 10:30 in the metro under your dorm." A master? Kate had said she needed to consult with him. So why the hell did he want to see me? Was it because of my cultivation results? Speaking of which¡ªmy qi level had dropped by two points over dinner. But this time, I wasn¡¯t as concerned. I already understood that loss was normal. I sent Kate a reply and immediately received another message¡ªfrom Hakim. Incoming message: O. S. Hakim Subject: Tea Content: Found someone who can sell the tea. Details in person. That message did put me in a good mood. I set up a meeting at the same metro platform for ten o¡¯clock. Half an hour should be enough to sort this out. That was my last task for the day. The next morning, I woke up with a strange feeling. My muscles no longer ached from the Flow Chamber, but my body still carried a lingering fatigue¡ªlike after an intense workout. It felt like I had rested¡­ but not completely. My qi level had dropped again. Down to 85 units. I didn¡¯t check my ranking¡ªno need for distractions. What I did notice was that we were late for breakfast. There had been no general wake-up signal. And none of us had set an alarm. Denis and Marlon were still asleep. So I woke them up. "Up! Breakfast!" Marlon groggily sat up, but Denis didn¡¯t even budge. "Den, we¡¯re leaving without you!" "Then go," he grumbled, pulling the blanket over his head. Well, alright then. Denis wasn¡¯t the only cadet to skip breakfast¡ªthe cafeteria was half-empty. Looked like plenty of people were still recovering from the Flow Chambers. The meal passed in near silence. Marlon wasn¡¯t much of a talker, which suited me just fine. I got my tray¡ªa bowl of metallic rice, still holding the title of best-tasting food here¡ªand used the time to search for information about tea. And of course, there were thousands of teas. The world of cultivators, damn it. They even brewed stones. And yet, there was barely anything on Yellow Pine Flower Tea. No photos. No videos. Not even a simple description, just obscure mentions in academic papers and cultivation forums. It wasn¡¯t just rare¡ªit was considered a third-stage cultivator resource and above. Its primary effects? Restoring internal channels and purifying qi¡ªbut only if your body could handle it. For a first-stage cultivator it could be deadly poison. Or, more likely¡ªa drug. One mention caught my eye¡ª30,000 credits for 10 grams. I almost choked on my rice. Doc had expensive tastes. If my insurance payout came through, I might be able to afford something. But right now? Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. I was seriously debating whether to message Hakim and cancel the meeting. After a long moment of consideration, I decided not to. At the very least, I wanted to meet the seller in person and get a sense of the prices. Time passed quickly. By ten o¡¯clock, I was at the metro platform. It was nearly empty¡ªfirst-years didn¡¯t have many places to go. Of course, there were a few passersby¡ªsupervisor cadets, staff members, thinhorns in jumpsuits. But overall? The place felt cut off from the rest of the school. Omar was already waiting, leaning against a metal column. His signature dark curls fell slightly over his eyes, and the slight smirk on his lips suggested he felt like he owned the situation. "You''re punctual. That¡¯s good," he said as I approached. I didn¡¯t bother explaining that, since I was broke, the least I could do was not be late. Hakim nodded over his shoulder and led me toward a bench a little further down. A tall, skinny guy with a tired expression was already sitting there. He looked about twenty, with sharp features and closely cropped hair. His jumpsuit looked slightly worn, and the threes gleaming on his collar marked his rank. "This is Brandon," Omar said. "He¡¯s got the goods." Brandon gave me a silent once-over, then reached into his pocket, pulled out a small plastic bag, and held it out. "Ten thousand." I took the bag and examined it closely. The leaves were dark yellow, with a faint greenish tint. At first glance¡ªjust tea. And a lot of it¡­ "How much is here?" I tossed it lightly in my palm, trying to gauge the weight. "Twenty-five grams." "This isn¡¯t Yellow Pine Flower Tea," I said flatly, handing the bag back. They were trying to scam me. At that weight, the price should¡¯ve been at least eighty thousand. Brandon raised a disapproving brow. Omar shot me a confused look, then turned back to him. "You said you had the damn tea!" "I said I had the right tea," Brandon corrected. "It¡¯s cheaper. Safer." Safer? I suddenly remembered the properties of real Yellow Pine Flower Tea¡ªand it clicked. He thought I was looking for a high. "I¡¯m not here to trip," I corrected. "It¡¯s a gift." Brandon slowly tucked the bag back into his pocket. Omar looked stunned. "Goddamn it, Brandon¡­" "I thought he was looking for something to take the edge off!" "What kind of arsehole does that?!" Omar looked genuinely pissed. "You tried to push this crap on a first-year?! What are you, a demon agent?" "Hey! This is quality stuff. Non-addictive." Brandon scowled. "Call me an asshole one more time, and you¡¯ll be flying across the platform. And drop the conspiracy shit¡ªthere are no damn demon agents." Omar opened his mouth to fire back¡ªbut shut it again. Brandon was a full stage above him. Pissing him off wasn''t a smart move. Instead, Omar shot me an apologetic look, then grabbed Brandon by the shoulder and pulled him aside. They spoke in hushed voices, but I caught snippets. "This was a setup, Brandon!" "It was a fucking mistake!" "Next time, maybe don¡¯t make assumptions and just bring what the client asks for!" "And next time, maybe ask the damn client why they need it!" "Oh, I will!" I checked the time¡ª10:07. Even faster than I expected. Well¡­ No tea. But I did learn something interesting. Omar and Brandon both muttered some half-assed apologies before disappearing, not-so-subtly hinting that I should keep my mouth shut. Fine by me. I stayed behind, waiting. Kate arrived at 10:23. A minute later, we were on the train, heading toward her master. "So what am I walking into? What''s this about?" "I have no idea," she admitted. "I messaged him about your request, and he called me back saying he wanted to meet you personally." "Does that happen a lot?" "Not really¡­ Usually, masters don¡¯t pay much attention to first-years until later in the period, when it¡¯s clearer who¡¯s going to pass and who isn¡¯t." "And what the hell made me so interesting?" "I didn¡¯t ask." "At least tell me about the guy. Is it actually a guy or a woman?" "Vaclav Novak." "Novak¡­" Bao had mentioned that name once¡ªwhen he was convinced I was some big shot. "Famous family?" Kate smirked. "If you''re a fifth-stage cultivator, your family automatically becomes famous." "Whoa!" There were only a few hundred of them. If he was that high up, then why the hell was he interested in me? The ride was long, and by the time we neared our destination, the crowd in the train had shifted. The black jumpsuits and heavy armor had almost entirely replaced the gray. The number of fours on collars was overwhelming, and I started feeling a little on edge. Once again, I found myself the focus of a few curious stares. Someone even stepped closer. "Hey there," said a deep voice. A massive man stood before me¡ªone I immediately recognized. The red-armored cadet with the mace. The same one who had spoken to me the first time I rode the train with Kate. I felt a bit relieved that despite the fours on his lapels, he was still wearing a gray cadet jumpsuit. "Where to this time? Still looking for a mentor?" Automatically, I gestured toward Kate. "Already found one, but her master needs to approve." "I never asked for permission when I took on a mentee¡­" he mused. "I asked for advice," Kate clarified. "And he wanted to meet Jake in person." "Seriously? What¡¯d he do to stand out?" "No clue," I admitted. "Unless memory loss counts." "Hah¡­" he muttered, his tone unreadable. "And who¡¯s the master?" "Vaclav Novak," Kate answered. "Ah¡­" Same unreadable tone. "Well," he said after a pause, "hope we run into each other again." With that, he moved toward the doors, getting off at the next stop. What the hell was that about? "How do you know him?" Kate asked. I told her about our first meeting. She shook her head. "A lot of strong cultivators are taking an interest in you." Our stop was the last station. The ride had already been long, and the elevator ride was just as slow. Not literally the same duration, but the ascent felt endless. When the doors finally slid open, we stepped into a small lobby with four doors. A single couch and table sat in the center, looking like they had never been used. The air felt different¡ªno trace of antiseptics, no stench of thousands of teenagers. Kate led me to one of the doors. Beyond it¡ª A luxurious European-style apartment. Polished wood and glass everywhere. A massive panoramic window overlooked the school grounds¡ªa sprawling landscape of tiered buildings, perfectly laid-out roads, enormous training centers, and open fields. Gardens bloomed across the terrain, stretching between the structures. Tiny figures moved among them¡ªtoo small to make out any detail. We passed an ornate tea table and stepped up to the window. Kate let me take in the view. "Impressive?" she asked. "The first time I saw this, it took my breath away." "This all belongs to the school?" "Not exactly. A lot of the property is owned by private contractors and corporations. But the core infrastructure? Yeah¡­" She gestured around the room. "These apartments are school-owned." Chapter 16: The Mighty Old Master I sensed his presence before I saw him. The hairs on my arms stood on end, as if a tiger had crept up behind me. It felt similar to the mace-wielding cadet, but much¡ªmuch¡ªlighter. Kate and I turned at the same time. He didn¡¯t look like a traditional Chinese shifu with a long beard and bushy eyebrows. Though his hair and beard were white, both were neatly trimmed and carefully groomed. If anything, he looked more like a European general¡ªtall, broad-shouldered, with sharp, chiseled features. His eyes were cold, analytical, piercing. And he wasn¡¯t wearing a jumpsuit. Instead, he had on black trousers, a black vest, and a white shirt with the top button undone¡ªno tie. He was probably the oldest man I had seen on Verdis. Both in appearance and, most likely, in actual age. Though I couldn¡¯t verify the latter¡ªthe interface refused to provide me with any information other than his name. He looked to be around fifty. "You¡¯re a little early," he said, offering me his hand. "Vaclav Novak." "Jake Sullivan," I replied, trying to shake the feeling that I was clasping the paw of a tiger. "Forgive us, Master," Kate said apologetically. "We both decided to come ahead of time. I thought it wouldn¡¯t be a problem." "It isn¡¯t," Vaclav replied. "Please, have a seat." He gestured toward the chairs around the table. "I¡¯ll brew some tea." "Do you have yellow pine blossom?" I joked¡ªonly to be met with an unpleasant, wary stare. To be fair, the look itself was ordinary. What made it unsettling was Vaclav¡¯s presence. It¡¯s one thing to get a displeased look from a cat¡ªquite another when it comes from a tiger. I hurried to smooth things over. "Just joking! It¡¯s just¡­ when I went for my medical exam, the doctor was drinking that tea. He refused to pour me some." "Did he not mention it might be dangerous for you?" "He did," I admitted. "Like I said, just a joke. Seems like it¡¯s hard to come by." "And you decided to test whether I had something so valuable?" Vaclav raised an eyebrow. A drop of cold sweat rolled down my back. "I don¡¯t," he admitted. "That tea is made from the discarded blossoms. I prefer more efficient blends¡ªones that use only the highest-quality flowers." He gestured to the chairs again. "Sit down." Vaclav left the room. Kate caught my gaze and tapped her forehead meaningfully. Yeah, I agreed. I shouldn¡¯t have said that. We stepped toward the chairs, and I picked the one facing the window¡ªbut before I could sit, Kate smacked my hand and pointed to the seat across from hers. The one with the direct view of the window remained unoccupied, clearly meant for the master. She shook her head in disapproval once again. Vaclav returned a few minutes later, carrying a black lacquered tray. His movements were smooth, almost feline¡ªnot what you¡¯d expect from an elderly man, even a well-trained one. On the tray sat two porcelain teapots and three small handleless cups¡ªdelicate, white and blue, adorned with fine, intricate patterns. The teapots were different: one was deep green, with a subtle relief resembling pine branches, the other nearly white, its design swirling like gusts of wind. As Vaclav set the tray down, a rich, multi-layered aroma filled the air. At first, I caught a faint herbal bitterness, then a soft astringency, and at the very heart of it¡­ something familiar. Pine and apple? I narrowed my eyes slightly, inhaling the scent. "Does this blend contain yellow pine blossoms?" I guessed. Vaclav smiled, then nodded. "Correct. This is Yellow Mountain¡ªone of the finest teas for purifying qi. It contains yellow pine blossoms, but for a first-stage cultivator, the dose must be minimal. A single drop¡ªno more." He picked up the white teapot and poured a golden liquid into his own cup. Steam curled upward, carrying an even stronger fragrance. "As for you and Kate," he continued, reaching for the dark green teapot, "I¡¯ll serve a different tea. One better suited to your current condition." The tea he poured us was a light amber shade, with a soft, unobtrusive scent¡ªnotes of citrus, a touch of honey, something refreshing, reminiscent of mint but gentler. I lifted the cup and took a sip. The liquid was hot but didn¡¯t burn. Instead, it spread through my body, wrapping every muscle in warmth and lightness. The lingering fatigue from the Flow Chamber, buried somewhere deep inside me, slowly began to dissolve. My mind grew clearer, my breathing easier. I hadn¡¯t even realized how tense I¡¯d been¡ªuntil now, when I felt myself unwittingly relax. "Impressive," I admitted. Vaclav smiled slightly, just the corner of his lips curving upward. "It¡¯s often drunk before cultivation or after training. Helps clear the mind, relax, and recover faster." Kate nodded and took a calm sip from her cup. She had clearly been here before. I set my cup down and looked at Vaclav. He had finally taken his seat as well, holding his own cup¡ªbut instead of drinking, he simply stared at me. "Why did you choose Kate as your mentor?" I took another sip, recalling the events of the past few days. "Why not?" I tapped my forehead. "I have no idea how things work here, so I turned to someone who does and got a recommendation." This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. "Fifteenth Diego..." Vaclav nodded. "Doesn¡¯t it concern you that he¡¯s a thinhorn?" "If anything, it¡¯s an advantage. No one pays attention to slaves. And slaves see everything." "Jake!" Kate warned, her voice sharp. Whoops. Looks like this tea hits the brain just as hard as alcohol. Vaclav silenced her with a lazy wave of his hand. "Let it go, Kate. I appreciate honesty. Thinhorns are not slaves," he said, turning back to me. "Uh-huh..." I decided to agree. Vaclav didn¡¯t buy it. "What do you really think?" "I don¡¯t think Diego has much of a chance to buy his freedom and settle down in a nice house somewhere on Earth," I answered honestly. That made Vaclav smile. "People fear them. Many believe they¡¯ll betray us when the demons come¡­ What do you think?" "It¡¯s entirely possible. There¡¯s no value greater than freedom. If the demons promise them that¡­" I shook my head. "For someone with amnesia, you think quite rationally." "I don¡¯t think amnesia affects rationality. It¡¯s more about the amount of data my rationality has to work with." "We could try expanding that amount. Try to recover something." "Doc already tried." "Doc relied on standard procedures and didn¡¯t have my resources. Besides, I¡¯m not promising success." I shrugged. I wanted to remember at least my own name. "What do I need to do?" "Finish your tea," Vaclav said, reaching for my cup. I swallowed the last drops and handed it over. Vaclav let a single drop of his own tea fall into the cup, then left the room. When he returned, he gave the cup back to me. A few tiny drops of liquid had gathered at the bottom. With a slight gesture, Vaclav ordered me to drink. Did I really have a choice? I doubted it. Despite his ever-present smile, Novak¡¯s eyes remained cold. What could go wrong, right? I tilted the cup back. A thick drop rolled into my mouth and burst against my tongue. A wave of cold and bitterness spread through my body, making me shiver. "Jesus!" I said, stopping myself from cursing. "It¡¯ll pass soon," Vaclav assured me. "Kate, would you mind waiting outside?" he asked. "Jake might not behave¡­ appropriately." Like me, Kate didn¡¯t have much of a choice. The tea hit almost instantly. At first, it was just a light tingling in my fingers. Then it crept upward¡ªalong my arms, across my shoulders¡ªas if my nerves had suddenly decided to test their sensitivity. Then came something deeper. A wave¡ªheavy, deep, but somehow gentle at the same time. I slumped back into the chair. My muscles relaxed so completely that I felt like I might melt and spill onto the floor. My head grew light, my thoughts drifting one after another, clinging to nothing. I didn¡¯t even notice when I closed my eyes. Darkness flickered behind my eyelids. Spots of light flared and faded, shifting into something else¡ªmoving, changing shapes, like a blurred reflection in a puddle. It felt as if I were floating inside my own mind, dissolving into the space around me. The sensations were so pleasant that I didn¡¯t even feel afraid. "Relaxed?" Vaclav¡¯s voice reached me from somewhere far away. I opened my eyes¡ªand realized nothing had changed. I was still in the chair, still here¡­ and yet, at the same time, I wasn¡¯t. Slowly, I turned my head toward Vaclav. "So, Jake¡­ Is your name Jake?" he asked. "No." The cup in Vaclav¡¯s hand cracked. Shards scattered to the floor, and his gaze turned sharp, almost hostile. It broke my heart. "Are you a demon?" "No." Vaclav¡¯s white eyebrows shot up. "Are you human?" "Yeah." "Do you work for the demons?" "No." Vaclav leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together in deep thought. "Let¡¯s clarify¡­ You¡¯re not Jake, and this isn¡¯t your original body." "That¡¯s right," I confirmed. "Then who the hell are you?" I wasn¡¯t sure... "I¡­" "Who are you?! How did you end up in this body?!" "I was at war¡­ I died¡­" "What war? Who were you fighting?" "Orcs." "Orcs?!" Vaclav repeated in surprise. "Like in books and games?" I hesitated before answering¡ªbecause those orcs weren¡¯t like that... "No..." The heavy wave of relaxation began to recede, and with it came a new sensation¡ªsharp, insistent, cold, like an icy wind cutting through me. I blinked. The floating feeling was fading. My head no longer felt light, and my thoughts¡­ they had stopped flowing freely, as if something had dammed them up, trapping a tangled mess inside my mind all at once. What the hell was this? I looked at Vaclav. He was still sitting motionless, fingers laced together, his cold gaze drilling into me. But now there was less hostility in his eyes¡ªmore curiosity. I took a breath. A metallic taste coated my tongue. I¡¯d been drugged. But that wasn¡¯t the worst part. I was completely at this man¡¯s mercy. My eyes narrowed instinctively, and I gripped the chair¡¯s armrests tightly. The warmth that had wrapped around me just moments ago was slipping away, leaving behind the faintest tremor in my fingers. The deep relaxation had fully vanished, replaced by tension. My heart was pounding faster now, as if I were waking from a heavy sleep. Vaclav noticed the change¡ªbut didn¡¯t even blink. I clenched my jaw, bracing for his next move. This man was dangerous. Then, suddenly, through the chaos in my head, I grasped the most important thought. "Shit! They¡¯re already here?! I thought we had forty years before the raid!" Novak tilted his head slightly, watching me like a test subject in an experiment. "Are you sure you¡¯re human?" I nodded. "Orcs aren¡¯t real." "Maybe not on this Earth," I shrugged. "You¡¯re saying you¡¯re not from this one?" "My mind is a mess, but I was sure qi was a myth¡­ and that there was only one moon." We stared at each other for a long moment. Then Vaclav stood up. I instinctively pressed back into the chair. Not out of fear. Well, okay¡ªpartly out of fear. But mostly so I¡¯d have a better push-off if I needed to run. I didn¡¯t need to. Vaclav stepped away, picked up a tablet, tapped a few times, then turned the screen toward me. An image appeared¡ªa planet with multiple moons. And the moment I saw it, I knew. "If that¡¯s Earth, it¡¯s not mine." Vaclav sat back down, fingers lacing together once more. He was silent for a few moments, lost in thought. Then his gaze flicked toward the door. "Tell Kate she can come back." I exhaled. This was definitely not the kind of meeting I¡¯d been expecting. Chapter 17: Talking to the Tiger So, he wasn''t planning to kill me. The immediate danger had eased, though the tension hadn¡¯t disappeared. I laced my fingers together, mirroring Vaclav. But my heart was still beating faster than it should. Something else was starting to boil inside me. It felt like the emotional crash I¡¯d experienced after the interface installation. I forced my emotions back under control¡ªas much as that was possible. Inhale¡ªexhale. "Kate can wait," I said, meeting Vaclav¡¯s gaze. His eyebrows rose slightly, but his face remained unreadable. "Now it¡¯s my turn to ask questions," I added. Vaclav didn¡¯t answer right away. He simply studied me, assessing. And then¡ªsomething strange happened. The air around me seemed to thicken. My heart lurched into a frantic rhythm, my palms went cold, and a chill of sweat ran down my back. Fear. It had no scent, no color¡ªyet it sank into my bones, making every cell in my body scream of danger. I could still see Vaclav in front of me. He hadn¡¯t moved, hadn¡¯t even changed his expression. But his aura¡ªhis very presence¡ªsuddenly became so heavy that I felt like a mouse caught in the gaze of a cat. No. A goddamn tiger. I knew this feeling. I had known it long before waking up in this body. This was the breath of death. This was an orc horde, charging your trench when your ammo had run dry... "Interesting," Vaclav finally said. I gripped the armrests, forcing myself to breathe evenly. Yes, I was afraid. Yes, my body was screaming¡ªrun! hide! But¡­ dying a second time wasn¡¯t nearly as terrifying. The pressure didn¡¯t vanish immediately, but I felt it receding. My body was still trembling, but my mind remained cold. "Ask," Novak permitted. I gave a short nod, pulling my thoughts into order. "Has the invasion already begun?" Vaclav shook his head slightly. "Not yet. But that doesn¡¯t mean the enemy isn¡¯t already here." "Demon agents?" "Yes. They¡¯re already on Verdis. And, worst of all¡­" Vaclav paused, studying my face carefully. "They¡¯re not just agents. They¡¯re real demons¡ªwearing human bodies." I didn¡¯t need an explanation to understand what that meant. The demons hadn¡¯t just infiltrated the moon¡ªthey had an entire network here. They could be anyone. Any cadet¡­ Only cadets? Suddenly, the pieces started falling into place. I had no memories of my past. I had woken up in someone else¡¯s body. This wasn¡¯t a coincidence. More likely¡ªit was a mistake. "This body¡­" I said aloud. "It was meant for a demon, wasn¡¯t it?" Vaclav nodded slowly. "I suspect so. But I also can¡¯t rule out the possibility that you¡¯re just lying to me." His voice hadn¡¯t changed, but a chill ran through me anyway. If he decided I was a demon¡ªhe would destroy me. That much was obvious. We locked eyes for several seconds. "How long?" I asked. "Clarify." "How long have they been here?" "Who knows¡­ Aren¡¯t you going to try convincing me you¡¯re not lying?" "How?!" "No idea," he admitted. "Exactly!" I exhaled sharply and leaned back. "Tell me this¡ªcan demons only take cadets?" "Well, we can¡¯t rule anything out¡­" "Great." So it could be anyone. One of my neighbors, Doc, Diego¡­ Anyone. As I was considering my next question, Vaclav leaned down to gather the shattered pieces of his cup, left the room, and returned with a new one. He poured himself some tea, took a slow sip, leaned back into his chair, and stated: "Kate will be your mentor." "So basically, Kate will be watching to see if it¡¯s time to¡­" I dragged a thumb across my throat. "Kate doesn¡¯t know," Vaclav said. "And I¡¯d rather keep it that way. I don¡¯t want to distract her." "Who does know?" "You think I¡¯ll tell you?" "Omar Hakim?" I asked. "Who?" Vaclav frowned. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. "Second-year. We ran into each other by accident. He mentioned demon agents. And that a few years ago, the School buried some girl with no memories in the desert." Vaclav¡¯s eyebrows told me there was some truth to that. "No way! You actually buried her? Was she a demon?" "Omar Hakim, you said?" he clarified. "Apparently, people think he¡¯s into conspiracy theories," I added. "You might want to be careful before you bury an innocent person next time." "Maybe worry about yourself first. Anyone else?" "Big guy. Fourth-year. No idea what his name is. Red-and-black armor, carries a mace¡­" This time, Vaclav¡¯s face didn¡¯t so much as twitch. "And what did he say?" "Nothing, really¡­ We ran into each other a couple of times in the metro. He was very suspicious. The first time, he asked where I was going. The second time, when he heard I was coming to see you, he said he hoped to see me again¡­ Like it was my last trip." "I see. I¡¯ll look into both of them." He definitely knew the brute. His indifference was way too deliberate. "And if I run into anyone else suspicious?" "Then you¡¯ll message me. Or call." "Alright. I need yellow pine blossom tea." "For what?" "I promised it as a bribe to my doctor. To get into the Flow Chamber ahead of schedule." Vaclav actually tilted his head at that. "So instead of kicking that corrupt bastard out, I¡¯m supposed to fund your bribery?" "Well, if we¡¯re really playing fair, you¡¯d have to shut down the whole damn school. I¡¯ve only been here a few days, and I¡¯ve already seen enough favoritism to last a lifetime." Novak puffed up at that but said nothing. "Doc could be useful. Let me build some useful connections, and I¡¯ll keep my ears open." I could see him thinking it over¡ªnot tense, but serious, weighing his options. "Alright," Vaclav finally said. "I¡¯ll give you some tea." He got up, left the room, and returned with a small tin¡ªlike the kind they sell mints in. He placed it in front of me. "This isn¡¯t that one, is it?" I asked, frowning. I doubted he¡¯d lie about not having yellow pine blossoms. So¡­ was this something better? "Pure Thoughts," he explained, nodding toward the same dark green teapot he had poured from for Kate and me. "It¡¯s an excellent tea for first- and second-stage cultivators. It would be strange to give you something you can¡¯t even use. Besides, this blend has more properties than pine blossoms¡ªthough they¡¯re weaker." "Will Doc take it?" "He¡¯s a doctor. He should appreciate it." "Okay." Never look a gift horse in the mouth. I slipped the tin into my right pocket. "Now, call Kate." I stepped outside, gave her a nod, and went back in. She looked a little uneasy. Before taking her seat again, her gaze flicked over me¡ªlike she was checking whether I was still in one piece. "You¡¯re taking him," Novak stated. "That¡¯ll give you enough points to cover the Flow Chambers and breakthrough materials." She looked at me, then back at Vaclav. "Alright." "What¡¯s the plan?" the master asked. "How are you going to train him?" Kate glanced at me, as if asking if I wanted to explain. I nodded and opened my mouth¡ª Vaclav shut it. "Who¡¯s the mentor here?" he asked. Kate had to answer after all. "The goal is to break through the first bottleneck. As soon as his insurance payout comes in, we¡¯ll start cultivating in the Flow Chambers. Until then, he¡¯ll work in the Fist Garden. Physically, I mean." "To get a feel for Fist Qi?" Vaclav guessed. "Exactly." "Smart." He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together again. "I¡¯ve seen your results. Fifteen minutes¡ªthat¡¯s impressive. Did it hurt?" "Not really. Toward the end, I kind of¡­ dissolved into the flow. I could¡¯ve lasted even longer." "Is that so?" Vaclav raised a brow. "Reassess him," he told Kate. "I object!" she declared, cheeks flushing slightly. "As you yourself said, Master¡ªI¡¯m the mentor here. Rushing things could be dangerous! I don¡¯t want to cripple him. Fifteen minutes is already a lot! We¡¯ll revisit this after the insurance payout¡­ No, in two weeks. I¡¯ll cover his cultivation with my own points until then, and he¡¯ll pay me back. Deal?" "I¡¯ve got about twenty thousand," I admitted. "Oh. That should be enough for now. You¡¯ll cultivate once every four days¡­" "I gave him tea," Vaclav interrupted. But that tea was meant for something else! "Oh. Then once every three days," Kate corrected herself. "Can I add him to the chat?" "Let¡¯s not rush that. He¡¯s your trainee, not my disciple." "But you gave him tea¡­" Wait. Was this some kind of ritual? Giving tea to a student? And what chat? Was there a group for Novak¡¯s students? "Speaking of tea," I cut in. "Will I be able to buy more when the insurance comes in?" "Sometimes the school store has it for points," Kate said. "But not always¡­ Right now, for example, it¡¯s out of stock." "Your stash is empty?" Novak asked. Kate nodded. Her master got up again, left the room, and returned with another tin. "This is Pure Intent. Five doses. Use it wisely." Kate¡¯s eyes lit up. She jumped up, bowing slightly as she accepted the tin with both hands. "Thank you, Master!" "It¡¯s nothing," Vaclav waved it off. "Looks like you have a plan. Need any advice?" Kate hesitated, then shook her head. "I¡¯ll manage." "Good. Then I won¡¯t keep you," Vaclav said, subtly hinting at the door. "Send Jake the brewing instructions." Brewing instructions? This tea needed a special brewing method? Wait¡ªwhat was I even supposed to do with this tea? Give it to Doc, or drink it myself? Vaclav walked us to the door, said his goodbyes, and practically shoved us out. During this process, my right pocket suddenly felt heavier. I slipped a hand inside and found another tin¡ªidentical to the one in my left pocket. Well. The tea problem was definitely solved. And I was still alive¡­ Funny how quickly I¡¯d stopped worrying about the Damocles¡¯ sword hanging over my head and started focusing on tea. Then again, that was the right call. Because there was nothing I could do about the sword. "What¡¯s next?" I asked Kate. "Next, we¡¯re getting you a teapot, some cups, and some cheap tea leaves so you can serve your neighbors. And don¡¯t even think about sharing Pure Thoughts with them!" "Not offering them any would be rude¡­" Kate gave me the look of a mother scolding a child¡ªthough she still had to look up at me. With a gesture, she ordered me to take out the tin. I hesitated slightly, then pulled out the one from my left pocket. I still wasn¡¯t sure what Vaclav had slipped into my right one. Kate snatched the tin from my hands. "This is top-tier spiritual tea! It rarely shows up in the school store, and when it does, it costs at least ten thousand! But the price isn¡¯t even the point. There are only fifteen doses in here. This isn¡¯t something you serve guests¡ªit¡¯s a valuable cultivation resource!" "Isn¡¯t that exactly what your master just did? Served tea to his guests?" "First of all, don¡¯t compare his resources to yours!" Kate snapped. "Second, don¡¯t go looking for friends among first-years. You¡¯re not friends. You¡¯re competitors. Do you know why is it that rich kids and legacy cultivators always break through first?" "Enlighten me." "Because they don¡¯t share the resources their parents give them! You¡¯ve seen the sucklings by now." "The what?" "The ones whose parents gave them spirit crystals. Ask around¡ªsee if any of them shared." Hah. She had a point. Bao sure as hell didn¡¯t share his. "Got it?" Kate asked, handing the tin back. "Good. Then take it. And feel free to tell everyone I swore to break your spine if you share even a single dose." She spun on her heel. "Now let¡¯s go buy you a teapot and a cup." Chapter 18: The Way of Tea The School had an entire business center¡ªits own metro stop, a separate building with shops, restaurants, and even a hotel. There were several types of stores: the school shop, corporate halls, private vendor stands, and an auction that was traditionally held once a year. The next one was five months away. The commercial area itself wasn¡¯t that large since real goods weren¡¯t displayed on shelves. Instead, screens and holo-projections took their place. Most of the available space was used for storage. That didn¡¯t mean we couldn¡¯t get our hands on the merchandise. Kate was most familiar with the school store, so she took me there. Grabbing a terminal, she quickly pulled up the recommended items and started tossing them into a virtual cart. First on the list was a regular backpack. Then, a glass teapot with a metal strainer¡ªsimple, functional. It came with four small, thick-walled glass cups. Next was an electric kettle¡ªcompact, stainless steel, with adjustable temperature settings. Pharmacy scales. Because, apparently, I had to measure tea leaves properly now. "For most teas, it¡¯s important not to overheat the water," she explained. "For Pure Thoughts, the ideal temperature is 96 degrees Celsius. So, I recommend setting the kettle to 97. I¡¯ll send you the brewing instructions." Kate kept scrolling until she found what she was looking for¡ªa tall ceramic cup with a lid, no handle. "I use one like this," she said, flipping through the images. The white cup had a delicate blue pattern, a lid with a small opening, and a built-in strainer. It also cost 99.99 units¡ªmore expensive than everything else combined¡ªand one School point. "You can brew tea directly in it," Kate added. "And from now on, Pure Thoughts¡ªonly in this." The second-to-last item was cheap tea. To my surprise, the color ranking system I¡¯d heard about also applied to tea. Kate picked out Gunpowder, a green-rank green tea blend with fatigue-relieving effects¡ªmostly so I wouldn¡¯t offend my neighbors by refusing to serve them tea. "And what rank is this stuff?" I asked, pulling out the tin from her master again. It had no markings. "Not lower than orange." "Whoa." Yeah, I was definitely not sharing. The final item was bottled water. It was cheap¡ªtwo units per bottle. "I¡¯m not saying it enhances the effect¡ªit hasn¡¯t been proven," Kate admitted. "But for brewing Pure Thoughts, use this." At checkout, we were able to inspect everything before buying. The system was similar to the multi-armed setup in the Hall of Armor¡ªmechanical manipulators pulled the items from storage and placed them on the counter. Kate gave everything a thorough once-over, while the cashier simply confirmed the purchase. I quickly packed everything into my brand-new backpack and slung it over my shoulder. "What¡¯s next?" I asked Kate. "Next, we wait for your armor fitting. Let¡¯s see what you get." "I heard it''s a lottery too." "Oh, big time. If you get an old model, you¡¯ll have to shell out for something better." "Actually, I already ordered¡­" "What?" "A cheap plastic shell." "Why?!" "For working in the garden." "Hmm¡­ Well, for that, it¡¯s hard to think of anything better. But you could have waited to see what they¡¯d issue you first before spending money." I spread my hands. Looked like Alan had definitely scammed me¡­ "Alright, no big deal," Kate said. "Let¡¯s see if we can make use of it. Who¡¯d you buy it from?" "Alan¡­ Hold on, let me check." I pulled up my contacts. "Kalum. Alan Kalum." "The guy you were talking to in the hallway? Isn¡¯t he into top-tier armor? How¡¯d you even meet him?" "By accident. Doc knows him¡ªwe ran into each other near the Flow Chambers. As for the armor, he suggested the options, I just picked one." "Send me his contact. I¡¯ll handle it." Kate took Aalan¡¯s contact and told me to go get some rest. I felt like I¡¯d just taken one step deeper into life here. I had a tea set now¡ªwhich meant I could officially call myself a cultivator! But I didn¡¯t rush home to brew tea. Instead, I called Doc, invited myself over, and texted that I¡¯d bring tea. He was so surprised that he actually called me back. "You have tea?" "Yeah, I found myself a mentor, and her master gave me some. Kate says it¡¯s no lower than orange rank. Pure Thoughts." "That¡¯s¡­ a very good tea. I¡¯d advise you to use it for its intended purpose instead of serving it to everyone. You can treat me to something else when you¡¯ve leveled up a bit. Though¡­ don¡¯t throw out the used leaves. I can repurpose them. Swing by my office¡ªI¡¯ll give you a container for collection." "Send me the location. I don¡¯t remember the way." The office was the same, except the monitors were off, and Doc had his legs propped up on that ancient couch under the weird painting. He was scrolling through something on his tablet. When I walked in, he moved over to his desk and held out a hand. I passed him the tin. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Doc took it, popped it open, inhaled deeply, and let out a short snort. "Well, damn. Share some of that luck, will you?" Yeah, right. With the school¡¯s brutal entry exams, demon agents running around, and a looming raid with guaranteed bloodshed, I needed all the luck I could get. Even if I knew how to share it, I wouldn¡¯t. "I could share some tea." "Eh." Doc waved a hand dismissively. "You¡¯ll get more use out of it. I¡¯ll take the used leaves." He handed me a small dark container¡ªit looked like a vacuum capsule. "Put them in here after every brew. As soon as possible. Don¡¯t let them sit out in the air too long." I still didn¡¯t get it. "What do you need used tea for?" Doc smirked slightly. "Tea leaves don¡¯t lose all their properties after brewing. With the right chemical treatment, I can extract a bit more and put it to good use." That was¡­ unexpected. "You can do that with any tea?" "Only high-rank ones. Otherwise, it¡¯s not worth the effort." "Hmm¡­ Pure Intent?" I asked. Doc¡¯s eyes widened. "High-rank? You have it?" "Not me, but I know someone who has it. Though I doubt she¡¯d give it away for free." "If you mean used leaves, they¡¯re not worth buying. I¡¯d spend more on reagents than I¡¯d get back." "Got it. I¡¯ll bring you mine¡ªbut I would like to know what you can extract from them." "Nothing major¡ªjust a mild sedative for the Flow Chamber. Same effect as the tea itself." We chatted a bit longer. Doc asked about my mentor. Turns out, he knew her¡ªapparently, Kate had patched up a lot of broken bones in the infirmary. She even reattached her leg once. Probably where she met Diego. The thought of broken bones didn¡¯t exactly thrill me¡­ but at least their medical tech was advanced. Regrowing teeth, reattaching limbs¡ªnot bad. I decided not to dwell on it. For now, everything was going pretty well. I got back to my room, loaded with shopping bags and Doc¡¯s container, in a decently good mood. Metaphorically speaking, the sky was clear¡ª Until I ran into Tariq. Flashing a smug little grin, he tried to shoulder-check me. And then¡ª Not even a memory. More like d¨¦j¨¤ vu. I knew he was going to do that. I sidestepped, angled my shoulder away, and placed my foot just right. Tariq tripped, flailed his arms, and went down. "Oops. Didn¡¯t hurt yourself, did you?" I asked, voice thick with mock concern. Face red as a tomato, Tariq sprang back up and tried to shove me. But before he could even get his balance, I drove my shin into his thigh. Hard. Tariq dropped like a felled tree, eyes wide, gasping. "Son of a¡ª" The d¨¦j¨¤ vu vanished. ¡­Do I know kung fu? No. This definitely wasn¡¯t kung fu. I wondered¡ªwas there kung fu in this world? Or was it something more practical, like boxing? From what little I¡¯d seen so far, martial arts here looked more like magic than actual combat. I crouched down next to Tariq and made him a very clear promise. "Keep this up, and you¡¯ll be shitting blood." My memory was a mess, but one thing I did know¡ªyou had to deal with bullies early and hard. Tariq shot me a hateful glare, pulling his leg in, but said nothing. Didn¡¯t matter. I wasn¡¯t expecting him to. His words weren¡¯t worth a damn anyway. I simply turned and, ignoring the cadets staring from the hallway, stepped into my room. Denis and Marlon were there¡ªboth sprawled on their beds, messing with their tablets. First thing I did was warn them about Tariq. He might take his frustration out on them instead. Denis didn¡¯t seem too concerned. "He¡¯s not much on his own," he admitted. "But I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll latch onto a gang sooner or later." I set my backpack on the desk, pulled out my purchases, and started unpacking. I handed Denis the kettle. "Be a good man," I said, gesturing for him to get some water. "I¡¯ll read up on how to brew this properly." "Is it anything special?" Marlon asked. "Green tea, green rank," I replied. "I do have something special, but I was explicitly warned that my spine would be broken if I shared it with you." "Who warned you?" "My mentor." "Wait, what? You already found one?!" Marlon gaped. "Who is it? Spill!" "Hold on a second!" Denis protested. "I wanna hear this too!" He ran off to fetch water, while Marlon climbed down from his bunk and grabbed the tea packet. "Smells bitter," he noted, rummaging through his locker. A moment later, he dumped a pile of chocolate bars and a box of cookies onto the table. I set out the cups, measured the dose, and dropped the leaves into the infuser. Denis returned a few minutes later, rubbing his cheek. "You were right," he grumbled. "That little shit tried to pick a fight with me." "Tariq?" I asked. He was little only comparing to Denis. "Yeah. Had to slap him down." I set the kettle to 88 degrees and started my story. Trimming out a lot of details, I told them about Diego and Kate. I mentioned Novak¡ªthere was no way to hide that. I left out most of what we actually talked about¡­ but even with the edited version, both of their jaws dropped. Finally, the kettle beeped, signaling it was ready. I poured the hot water into the infuser. Within minutes, a pleasant aroma filled the room¡ªgrass and green walnuts. I poured the tea into cups and handed them to the guys. "A toast?" Denis asked, raising his cup. "To surviving the selection?" I suggested. "Great idea." We drank. The tea was strong, slightly astringent, but left a pleasant warmth in my stomach. "Bitter," Denis disagreed and chased his sip with a cookie. "Donkey piss!" Marlon declared, tearing open a candy bar. "You two have no spirit of real cultivators!" I announced. I actually liked the tea. "This piss belongs in our cafeteria menu!" Marlon added, biting into his bar. "Give it back!" I reached for his cup. Marlon immediately yanked it out of reach. "Easy, easy, don¡¯t lose your mind! I¡¯m talking about the taste¡ªthe effect still stands. Hey, by the way, think your Kate could recommend me a mentor?" "Not sure. I¡¯ll ask if I get the chance." "You trying to get in with one of Vaclav¡¯s students?" Denis caught on. "Hell yeah! You ask for me too!" "But he¡¯s a Fist cultivator¡­" "Kate is a Fist cultivator. Vaclav¡¯s already at the fifth stage. I highly doubt he¡¯s only developed one root," Denis corrected me. "Which means he probably has students specializing in Palm techniques." He leaned forward, grinning like a cat that just stole cream. "Oh! And to make me look more valuable and promising, tell them I already landed a job!" He practically sang the last part. "Meditation Hall janitor¡­" We didn¡¯t share his enthusiasm¡ªso he felt the need to explain. "You guys felt the qi field in there, right? I¡¯ll be able to clean and cultivate at the same time!" "I think you¡¯re mistaken," I rained on his parade. "I¡¯m pretty sure that field was just leftover Flow Qi. The curators were rushing the introductions and opened the chamber doors before the energy fully dissipated. When Doc took me there, there was no leftover qi field." Denis froze, drained his cup in one go, and bolted out into the hallway. Probably off to check the Meditation Hall. My theory was confirmed later. He came back looking very disappointed. I texted Kate about the guys. She replied that she¡¯d ask around. She also let me know she had settled things with Alan. My fitting was set for tomorrow¡ª9.00. Chapter 19: Brand New Armour I woke up rich. Four million units. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was my account balance¡ªthe system had sent a notification during the night, and the moment I woke up, it flashed before me in massive numbers: New funds have been deposited into your account: 17.05.3225 00:01 +4,000,000.00 Looks like the School had kept its promise. Official insurance for memory loss, plus my own "fortune" of nearly nine thousand¡ªI was rich. And yet, no euphoria. No thrill. On Old Earth, that would have been enough to last a lifetime. Here? How long would it last? Somehow, Kate found out about the money before I even told her. I hadn¡¯t told anyone¡ªnot even the guys. They were jealous enough already. Incoming message from: K. L. Wong Subject: Fitting Content: Funds arrived? Armour will cost 30k. I stared at the message for a moment, then called her. "I''m not getting the plastic anymore?" "You are. I don¡¯t have time for this right now. Did the money come in?" "Yeah, but¡ª" "Alan¡¯s workshop. 9:00. I¡¯ll explain everything." Well. I really wanted to hear that explanation. A sudden jump in expenses with no warning? Annoying. People making financial decisions for me? Infuriating. Even if it was the logical choice. Which I wasn¡¯t sure it was. Alan¡¯s workshop was nothing like I had imagined. I expected something like the School¡¯s Hall of Armour¡ªa sterile space with rows of equipment and dressing platforms. What I got was a cramped, dimly lit room, cluttered with parts. The air smelled of metal and something burnt. Along the walls hung armor plates, helmet prototypes, coils of wiring, and even some tools that looked¡­ medical. The same scanning pens Doc used. Alan was sprawled out on a couch¡ªan exact copy of the one in Robinson¡¯s office¡ªwhile Kate was inspecting a suit of armor on a nearby stand. She was already wearing her own. "Sullivan! Right on time," Alan was the first to react. He looked much happier than the last time we spoke. Not hard to guess why¡ªmy order had suddenly jumped in price by more than ten times. With a casual gesture, the armorer pointed toward a platform with mechanical arms in the corner of the workshop. It wasn¡¯t as spacious as the ones in the School¡¯s armor hall, but I was pretty sure it worked the same way. I stepped onto the platform, placing my feet on the white foot markers. Nothing happened. I glanced at Alan, silently asking what was next. "Spread your arms," he said. I did. With a sharp clack, clamps locked around my ankles, holding me in place. I flinched, even though I¡¯d expected something like this. Because of that, one of the manipulators¡ªthe one reaching for my right hand¡ªmissed, and I flinched again when I felt the pressure around my left wrist. My body swayed, thrown off balance. I didn¡¯t fall¡ªthree solid points of contact kept me upright¡ªbut my instincts screamed at me to move. "Relax!" Alan ordered. "Don¡¯t try to regain balance. Just stay still." I froze. The manipulator caught my wrist and pulled it into position, stretching my arms out. Somewhere deep inside me, a primitive fear stirred¡ªlike this machine was about to tear me apart. But the feeling was pointless. The system worked methodically, pressing a black-and-yellow chest plate with a lotus emblem to my torso and locking it onto a matching backplate. From there, the machine worked its way downward, attaching lightweight plates that felt almost toy-like. Once only my feet and hands were left uncovered, the clamps shifted to my forearms and shins. The system lifted me slightly, fitted boots onto my feet, then set me back down and slid gloves over my hands. Last came the helmet. A short beep sounded, and the clamps released me. I instinctively took a step forward. "Walk around," Kate said. I stretched, testing my range of motion. Moving was¡­ easy. Too easy. I took another step, and then it hit me. The feeling was strange. I could hear my own breathing. No, not hear¡ªfeel. Not just as a faint hum in my chest, but as¡­ I wasn¡¯t even sure how to describe it. When I turned my head, the sound of my jumpsuit rubbing against the armor was too sharp¡ªlike dragging a finger across a microphone. I clenched my fists. Shit¡­ I could feel the texture of the material through the gloves. No¡ªwith the gloves. I looked down at my hands, noticing every tiny imperfection on the plastic, every uneven patch where the yellow paint had settled. I grimaced. "What is this?" My own voice blasted through the helmet like a megaphone. "Heightened Sensory Formation," Kate answered just as obnoxiously loud, hopping off the table. "It¡¯ll help you sense Fist Qi faster." Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I looked at her. Then at Alan. "That¡¯s why this armor costs thirty thousand?" "Exactly," Alan grinned. "Do I even need this formation on a cheap suit like this?" "You definitely don¡¯t want it on battle armor," Kate said. "Imagine getting injured¡ªa fracture, a break¡­" A shudder ran through me. I took another step, trying to get used to the armor. The sensations were unnerving. My body felt both light and hyper-aware. When I touched the wall, I could feel every tiny roughness on its surface. "Feeling nauseous?" Aalan asked. "A little," I admitted. "You¡¯ll get used to it," he said. "But for now¡ªopen your helmet. Just in case." "How do I¡ªOh!" The armor responded to my intent, and the faceplate lifted. Breathing instantly got easier¡ªso did keeping my eyes open. Alan handed me a plastic bucket. "Just in case," he repeated. "Don¡¯t stand still. Walk around, jump a bit," Kate suggested. The workshop wasn¡¯t big enough for me to really move, and the nausea wasn¡¯t helping, so my motions were sluggish at best. "What do you think?" Aalan asked. "Satisfied with the work?" "Satisfied," Kate answered for me. "As long as the next adjustment is free." "The next adjustment on this suit?" "Of course. He needs time to adapt. I doubt he can properly assess anything right now." They settled it without me, and Kate made me pay. With the nausea clawing at my stomach, I didn¡¯t even argue. I just wanted this to be over. I just wanted this thing off me. But my mentor had other plans. Instead of letting me take off the suit, she led me straight to the metro¡ªordering me to keep the damn bucket close. The ride to Fist Garden was pure torture. Still, I was starting to get used to the heightened sensations. With that, the discomfort dulled a little. But I still felt everything¡ªthe vibrations of the train, the movements of the mechanisms. Thank God this metro was nearly silent. Otherwise, I would have gone deaf. If this armor was supposed to help me sense Fist Qi, its first job was clearly to drive me insane. This time, we didn¡¯t stop to admire the garden through the panoramic windows. Kate headed straight for the airlock and sealed her helmet. I ordered my armor to do the same¡ªbut Wong stopped me. "Open it. I want you to understand the danger." "I do understand," I tried to argue. Apparently, my mentor had a very extreme idea of training. "Open it," she ordered. "Are you a sadist or something?" I muttered¡ª And suddenly, the ground wasn¡¯t holding me anymore. "Whoa!" "What?" Kate asked. "We haven¡¯t even stepped out yet." I gave a small hop and touched the ceiling with my hand. "Oh¡­" she realized. "Gravity. No jumping outside. And hold onto your bucket." "Yeah, yeah," I grumbled. It had completely slipped my mind that Verdis was a moon. Which meant gravity here was different. For everyone else, that was common knowledge. For me? A surprise. The compressors hissed as the chamber equalized the pressure inside and out. The first thing I felt¡ª Was the change. Like something invisible was slowly pulling the air from my lungs. Reflexively, I took a breath and realized I¡¯d made a mistake. The air was thin. Almost weightless. It filled my lungs slowly, like I was high in the mountains. My head spun instantly, my heart hammered faster. I pressed my lips together and focused on exhaling, trying to keep my breathing steady. "Uncomfortable?" Kate¡¯s voice was muffled¡ªlike she was speaking through layers of cotton. "It¡¯s bearable," I admitted. "But why do I need endure it?" The airtight exit doors slid open. A faint scent of violets rushed in. "Let¡¯s go," Kate said, stepping out first. "Thin atmosphere. Lower gravity, lower pressure, different air composition. Without preparation, you won¡¯t last long." I grimaced as a dull throbbing started forming in my head. Trying to focus on my breathing while dealing with hyper-sensitivity was throwing me off. I took a few careful steps, and still almost fell. "Can I close my visor?" I asked. "Not yet," Kate said, but she held out a hand for support. "Sadist," I muttered. I glanced at the cadets and thinhorns in my line of sight. All of them were either wearing full armor or masks. Not a single open helmet. A light tingling in my fingers. A heaviness in my chest. My head felt lighter¡ªbut at the same time, a slow fog was creeping in. "Screw this," I said and shut my helmet. The difference was instant. The air was thicker, richer. I took a deep breath and felt my lungs working properly again. The dizziness started fading¡ªalong with most of the discomfort. Well¡­ except for the part caused by the hypersensitivity formation. On the downside, the glare from the metal irrigation pipes stung my eyes, and the smell of my own sweat hit my nose like a punch. "Now do you understand?" Kate asked. "I already understood!" "Hmm, I don¡¯t know¡­ Some geniuses try to adapt." "You could have just shown me a video! Why the hell did I have to go through this?!" "Personal experience is the best teacher," Kate declared confidently. "Sadist," I grumbled again. "Or¡­ wait. Were you one of those geniuses who¡ª" "Hey! Who do you take me for?!" she snapped and let go of my hand. "Walk on your own, then! Follow me!" "Wait!" I shouted. With my support gone, I tried to find my balance. At that moment, I really wanted to blame hypersensitivity¡­ "Give me a few more minutes!" I said, shuffling in place, trying to adjust to my new weight¡ª And at the same time, taking in my surroundings. Fist Garden¡­ It was a vast plain, divided into small sections, each filled with low-growing flowers, twisted trees, or raised platforms. On the platforms, armored cadets practiced their strikes¡ªeither in the air or against specialized targets that looked like compressed metal blocks. The flowers near us were violets. A thinhorn in a mask stood nearby, overseeing a group of spider-like drones that moved silently, collecting the blossoms. "And what exactly am I supposed to do here?" I asked. "You¡¯ve got two options," Kate said. "Now come on¡­" I followed. She led me further from the metro station, closer to the platforms with the targets. Some of them were completely shattered. Others were dented¡ªcaved in as if someone had slammed a concrete battering ram shaped like a fist into them. "Option one¡ªrepairing the targets. The frames get replaced every few days, but the steel plates wear out even faster. That¡¯s what you¡¯ll be doing¡ªswapping plates, fixing broken mounts. Drones handle it too, but¡­" She gestured at one, jabbing its plasma cutter into the ground next to a platform. "They tend to break down." "And option two?" Kate nodded over her shoulder at the thinhorn tending to the violets. "Harvesting. Flowers, root crops¡­ Something like potatoes, but charged with energy. They¡¯re used to make Qi essence." I glanced at the field. Didn¡¯t look too hard. The drones moved between the rows, picking flowers, digging up roots, and tossing them into containers. "You said this was physical work," I noted. "But that thinhorn doesn¡¯t look like he¡¯s breaking a sweat." "The drones glitch constantly. Sometimes you have to fight them to keep them from destroying the crops." I looked back at the plasma-cutter drone. "How often?" Kate let out an amused snort. "Depends on your luck." I gave her a skeptical look. "Why not just use normal equipment?" "This is normal! The Qi concentration here is too high, so cheap electronics glitch out. And expensive ones aren¡¯t worth it¡ªespecially when we¡¯ve got people like you." "Fantastic." I looked at the field. Then at the targets. "I¡¯m picking harvesting. I don¡¯t feel like fighting a drone with a plasma cutter." Chapter 20: Fist Garden I thought Kate would just dump me into the work and leave, it wasn¡¯t exactly complicated, but, apparently, she had something else in mind. She led me deeper into another part of the garden, where the thinhorns were harvesting crops. Drones moved soundlessly between the rows, slicing flowers and placing them into large baskets on their backs. Some thinhorns simply watched over them, while others dug up root vegetables or gathered leaves. "Diego!" Kate called out to one of them. I recognized him before he even turned around. Same body type. Same face. But¡­ something felt off. Maybe this one was a little broader, a little heavier. No white coat. I immediately checked his profile. Diego 098. I already knew the thinhorns were genetically engineered servants. That their "names" were really just model numbers. But still¡­ seeing the same face in a place it shouldn¡¯t be? That threw me off. Diego 098 looked almost identical to his "brother"¡ªtall, lean, sharp features. But there were differences. His expression was harsher, more distant. And there was no lab coat¡ªinstead, he wore a black jumpsuit, something between a technician¡¯s uniform and a farmer¡¯s, given the setting. An oxygen mask was strapped to his face, linked to a slim tank on his back. As we approached, he lifted his head and gave Kate a small nod. "098, this is my mentee, Jake Sullivan," she said. Diego turned to me. His eyes were different from 015¡¯s¡ªsharp, but not piercing. "Jake," he greeted me briefly. His voice was calm, even, with no trace of emotion. I wondered¡­ How similar was he to 015? In personality, for example? Does cultivation shape a person¡¯s character? 015 had a mace and lightning roots at 118. This Diego cultivated fist¡ªhis root was at 149. How different were they? "Got any work for him?" Kate asked. "Harvesting." "Chamomile," he added, waiting for Kate¡¯s nod before gesturing for me to follow. The chamomile fields stretched for dozens of meters. White carpets of flowers swayed gently in the segmented flower beds, stirred by the wind that swept between the platforms. The wind wasn¡¯t natural. It was kicked up by a cultivator¡¯s technique¡ªa man in black-and-green armor training at the platform in the center of the field. He moved so fast that his sheer speed alone could create wind currents. But he wasn¡¯t just relying on his body. He danced across the platform, golden Qi bursting from his fists in a continuous stream, flying several meters before detonating¡ªscattering into golden light that settled over the flowers. I froze for a moment, watching the spectacle. I tried to see if the qi retained the shape of a fist, like the technique I had seen before. This one was more advanced¡­ Diego snapped me back to reality. "I just sent you my contact," he said, forwarding me a message. "Tasks, temporary drone control access¡­" At the same time, I noticed several drones skittering toward us, their spider-like legs moving quickly and precisely. Each one carried a stack of plastic baskets. They lined up neatly in front of Diego¡ªlike obedient soldiers. Or well-trained dogs. "Your job is simple," Diego said, grabbing a basket. "The drones collect the flowers and hand off the baskets to you. You check the contents. Seal the basket. Keep an eye on them. If they start glitching¡ªshut them down. App¡¯s in your messages. If a drone won¡¯t shut down¡ªcall me immediately. Got it?" "Two questions," I said. "First¡ªhow do I check the contents? I¡¯m no herbalist¡­" "Just make sure there are only flowers in the basket. If they start shredding leaves or stems¡ªshut them down. What¡¯s the second question?" "If a drone goes rogue, do I need to catch it? Kate said I should." "You can try. If you can avoid damaging the crops, or if the damage from you stepping in is less than what the drone would cause. Either way¡ªcall me first." "Understood," I said. "The baskets get picked up every thirty minutes. Good luck." He nodded, turned, and walked toward the other workers. I looked at the drones. Then at Kate. "Control app," she reminded me, unloading the stacks of baskets, leaving only one per drone. I skimmed through the message, activated the app. Suddenly, my interface highlighted the drones and flower beds. The controls were pretty intuitive. At first, I sent the drones to different beds¡ª And immediately got scolded by Kate. She told me it split my attention and slowed my reaction time if one of them malfunctioned. So, I reassigned them to a single flower bed. The metal spiders suddenly extended their legs, lifting themselves high above the plants as they moved into position. Carefully stepping between the flowers to avoid damaging them. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. "They act like these chamomiles are made of glass!" I said. "There¡¯s a reason for that," Kate replied. "Fist Qi disperses on impact and vibration. If the harvesting is too rough, these flowers won¡¯t be much different from regular ones." I watched as the delicate manipulators of the nearest metal spider swiftly snipped a flower just below the head and carefully placed it into a basket. Then I looked at the stacks of baskets, and finally understood what Kate meant by boring. "Step closer to the platform," she said, pointing at the nearest one before hopping onto it herself. Her movements weren¡¯t anywhere near as fast as the cadet still hammering out wave after wave of strikes in the distance. What she demonstrated looked more like a basic karate punch, but it didn¡¯t end with her fist. With a barely audible pop, a silver qi projection shot forward in the shape of her gauntlet, flying a few meters over the flowers before fading. "Eyes on the drones!" Kate ordered. "It¡¯s way too easy to get penalty points here!" "You didn¡¯t mention that earlier!" "You¡¯ll survive," Kate said. "Open your senses. Try to catch the feeling. Just don¡¯t absorb the Qi! That¡¯s another penalty." Alright. Eyes on the drones. Behind me, Kate kept up her steady rhythm. Pop¡­ pop¡­ pop¡­ I tried to sense something, but I felt nothing. Actually, I felt a hell of a lot. Every damn sense was sharpened by that bloody Heightened Sensory Formation¡ªturning everything into complete white noise. Worse¡ª It was starting to piss me off. Kate continued practicing her technique for another thirty minutes. I stood nearby, accepting baskets from the drones and glancing at her every few minutes. She never stopped. Her fists kept launching silver qi projections, dispersing into the air above the flower beds. Twice during that time, a cart rolled up, driven by a thinhorn in a black jumpsuit. Lu 211. His features had an Asian look to them. He silently gathered the full baskets, loaded them onto the platform, and drove away. By now, the drones had cleared three flower beds¡ª Not much left to do. I was just starting to get used to the monotony when, out of nowhere, one of the drones jumped, its frame shrieking as if something had struck it. Its legs spasmed, its body twisted. And it crashed into the flower bed, crushing plants and scattering flowers from its basket. Its manipulators jerked violently, making sharp clicking noises. I blinked. What the hell was that? I didn¡¯t have time to properly react, I didn¡¯t see what happened. But¡­ I felt something through the etching sensorial noise. A brief flash of danger, a sudden jolt that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. Sharp, but not painful, like something invisible had rushed past, barely grazing my skin. I wasn¡¯t sure if it was just my imagination or if something really happened. Kate heard the noise and turned. "Call Diego," she reminded me. "It just jumped and fell¡­" I quickly opened the control app and tried to shut the machine down. No response. "It was like something hit it." Since the drone had crashed in the middle of the flower bed, I didn¡¯t want to trample the chamomile. So I called 098. "Diego, we¡¯ve got a problem. One of the drones went nuts. I can¡¯t shut it down." "Is it causing a lot of damage?" "Not really¡­" I said, watching servos twitching weaker each time. "I¡¯m on my way." Kate hopped down from the platform, stood next to me, and crossed her arms. "It was residual qi detonation," she said. I raised a brow at her. Not that she could see it through the helmet, but she must have guessed, because she explained. "Qi left behind from techniques. It doesn¡¯t just settle in the air¡ª It lingers on objects, on plants. It mixes with natural Qi. The result is a lot messier than the clean qi used in techniques." I looked back at the drone. "So that¡¯s what hit it?" "Yeah.¡± ¡°Did you feel it?" I asked. Kate tilted her helmet toward me. "Of course. Did you?" "There was¡­ something." "Try to remember that feeling," she ordered, stepping back into her stance. Then she launched a flurry of rapid strikes¡ª Silver fists burst from her hands again, soaring through the air and dissolving several meters above the ground. I tried. I focused on every sensation, every shift in the air, every change in my body¡ª But¡­ Nothing. Just the noise. No pulses. No pressure. I tensed harder, even shut my eyes! But the only thing I could feel was the tremor of my own breathing under the helmet. "Nothing?" Kate asked, stopping. I shook my head. Kate nodded. "Relax. It¡¯s not a fast process. But the fact that you felt something before means you¡¯re moving in the right direction." I snorted. "Yeah, speeding in that direction." Kate tilted her head¡ªprobably laughing. "My part¡¯s done. The garden¡¯s charged. I¡¯m leaving you with Diego. He¡¯ll explain what to do with the drones. Work. Observe¡­ Your job isn¡¯t to force it¡ªjust to get used to it. And talk to Diego about a regular schedule." "As you say, mentor," I grumbled. Right then, 098 arrived. Floating behind him was another drone¡ª A blocky, bread-loaf-shaped thing, hovering without any visible propellers. "Later, Diego," Kate said. "Later," he grunted. The loaf drone drifted over to the damaged machine, hovered above it, then extended two long mechanical arms¡ªgently lifting it and passing it to Diego. The thinhorn examined the twitching drone, popped open a panel on its back, and pressed a button. Finally, it went still. The loaf flew off to grab an empty basket but didn¡¯t bother collecting the scattered flowers. Diego dumped the rest of the basket onto the flower bed, then turned to me. "Anything collected from this batch¡ªdump it. These flowers won¡¯t be of much use. Better to wait for the next harvest." "Because of the detonation?" "Yeah. It knocked the qi out of them. This culture doesn¡¯t absorb Fist energy, so there¡¯s no point in keeping them. Let them dry out¡ªthey¡¯ll go to compost later. Finish up here, and you¡¯re free to go." He turned to leave. "Wait!" I called. "I¡¯ll be coming here regularly. Can we set up a schedule?" "Just come when you¡¯ve got time. We¡¯re always short on hands." "I can come back after lunch?" Diego allowed it. In fact, we worked out a deal¡ª I could put in extra shifts ahead of time to cover my mandatory work hours for the school and use them later. Normally, getting assigned to garden work¡ªharvesting and repairs¡ªwas a punishment for screwing around. Unlike qi saturation, which had plenty of volunteers because charging the gardens let people practice their techniques. Which meant that, until first-years started screwing things up, they¡¯d always be short-staffed here. Well¡­ My first attempt at sensing Fist Qi had been a total failure, but it looked like I¡¯d have plenty of chances to practice.