Chapter 4: The Weight of Breath

The barn’s hay pile was Ethan’s bed again that night, but sleep eluded him. The adrenaline from the cultivator fight lingered, a restless buzz in his veins, and the Basic Qi Cultivation Manual glowed faintly in his lap. Its parchment was worn, edges frayed like it’d been passed through a hundred hands, but the golden script shimmered with a life of its own. Every time he traced the words—Inhale the world, exhale the self—a faint tug stirred in his chest, where the system said his qi sat at a measly 3/100. He was Level 3, stronger than the shivering wreck who’d landed in Tianxu, but still a gnat in this world of monsters.

Outside, the village settled into an uneasy quiet. The cultivator’s body had been dragged beyond the huts, left for the wolves—or worse—while Jun, the kid who’d taken a hit, was patched up with strips of cloth and bitter-smelling herbs. Ethan could still hear the boy’s pained whimpers through the thin walls, a reminder of how close they’d all come to dying. His hands, crusted with dried blood, gripped the scroll tighter. “I’m not cut out for this,” he muttered, voice cracking. “But I don’t have a choice, do I?”

The system pinged, its blue screen flaring: [Sub-Task: Practice Basic Qi Cultivation. Reward: 10 XP, Qi +2.] Ethan snorted. “What, you’re my personal trainer now?” But the scroll’s pull was undeniable. He shifted, crossing his legs like he’d seen in kung fu movies—awkward, with his sneakers still caked in mud—and closed his eyes. Inhale the world… He sucked in a breath, the cold night air sharp with the scent of straw and distant smoke. Exhale the self… He let it out, slow and shaky, imagining the fear and exhaustion bleeding away.

Nothing happened at first. His breathing hitched, his mind wandering to the convenience store, to ramen he’d never eat again. Then—a flicker. A thread of warmth coiled in his gut, faint as a matchstick flame. He focused, chasing it, and the scroll’s words echoed: Draw the qi through the meridians, let it flow. The warmth crept upward, sluggish and unsteady, like water through a clogged pipe. His meridians—whatever those were—felt tight, rusty from years of disuse in a world without magic. But there it was: qi, his qi, a gray wisp pulsing in time with his breath.

He kept at it, losing track of time. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his skinny frame trembling as he pushed the qi higher—chest, shoulders, arms. It fizzled out at his fingertips, weak and unstable, but the system chimed: [Sub-Task Complete. Reward: 10 XP, Qi: 5/100.] Ethan opened his eyes, gasping. The scroll dimmed, its glow settling into the parchment. He flexed his hands—they felt lighter, like the strength boost had layered something new atop his measly 7/100. “Okay,” he panted, grinning despite himself. “That’s… something.”

Dawn crept over the village, painting the sky a bruised purple. Ethan stepped outside, the dagger tucked into his belt, and found the old woman waiting by the barn. Her cane tapped an impatient rhythm, her squinting eyes locked on him. “Up already, outsider?” she rasped. “Thought you’d sleep like the dead after yesterday.”

“Couldn’t,” Ethan said, scratching his neck. “Too wired. And this—” He held up the scroll. “—kept me busy.”

She grunted, peering at it. “Basic manual, huh? Barely a crumb of the real stuff, but it’s a start. You’ve got qi now, I can smell it—faint, like a wet spark. Don’t get cocky.” She turned, beckoning him with a gnarled hand. “Come. You want to live here, you pull your weight.”

Ethan followed her to the village square, where a handful of villagers were already at work—repairing the smashed cart, stacking firewood, hauling water from a creaky well. Jun sat on a crate, a bandage around his head, watching with a scowl as his grandmother barked orders. “You’re on water duty,” she told Ethan, pointing to a pair of buckets and a yoke. “Stream’s half a mile east. Don’t dawdle—bandits and beasts don’t care about your pretty scroll.”

[Sub-Task: Fetch Water for the Village. Reward: 15 XP, Strength +1.] Ethan sighed, slinging the yoke over his shoulders. The buckets clattered against his legs as he trudged off, the weight dragging at his still-weak frame. The path to the stream wound through sparse trees, their branches clawing at the sky. Every rustle made him flinch, the dagger a cold comfort at his hip. “This is my life now,” he muttered. “Water boy in a death world.”

The stream glittered under the rising sun, its surface deceptively calm. Ethan knelt to fill the buckets, the icy water numbing his hands. His reflection stared back—pale, bruised, with bags under his eyes that could carry groceries. “Level 3, huh? Still look like a loser.” He smirked, but it faded as the water rippled—something moved beneath it.

A shadow lunged, and Ethan yelped, falling back as a serpentine creature burst from the stream. It was a snake, but not like any he’d seen—six feet long, scales glinting green, with fangs dripping a sickly yellow venom. [Task: Defeat Venomous Water Serpent. Reward: 25 XP, Minor Antidote Vial.] “Oh, come on!” he shouted, scrambling for his dagger. The serpent hissed, striking at his leg. [Dodge Instinct Activated.] He rolled, the fangs snapping shut an inch from his shin.

The buckets tipped, water soaking the bank, but Ethan had no time to care. He slashed with the dagger, the blade glancing off the serpent’s scales. It reared, coiling to strike again, and he thrust, aiming for its underbelly. The rusty iron sank in, blood spurting hot and foul-smelling. The serpent thrashed, its tail whipping his arm—[HP: 9/10]—but he twisted the blade, pinning it to the mud until it stilled.

[Task Complete. Reward: 25 XP, Minor Antidote Vial.] A small glass vial appeared in his free hand, filled with a murky green liquid. Ethan slumped, panting, the dagger dripping beside him. [Level Up! Level 4. Strength: 8/100. Qi: 6/100.] His muscles pulsed, a fraction stronger, and the qi in his chest flickered brighter. “Guess I’m not totally useless,” he wheezed, retrieving the buckets—half-empty now—and limping back.

The old woman raised an eyebrow when he returned, buckets sloshing. “Took your time,” she said, then sniffed. “Blood and qi. What happened?”

“Snake. Big one,” Ethan said, setting the yoke down. His arm throbbed where the tail had hit, a bruise blooming purple. “System made me fight it.”

She cackled, a dry, rattling sound. “Tianxu’s testing you, boy. Good. You’ll need that fire.” She waved him off. “Rest. Tomorrow, we talk real training.”

Ethan collapsed in the barn, the antidote vial clutched tight. He’d survived—again—but the serpent’s hiss lingered in his ears. That night, he practiced the breathing again, qi crawling through his meridians. It was slow, clumsy, but it grew. The system pinged: [Effort Detected. Qi +1. Qi: 7/100.] He grinned, exhaustion pulling him under. “One step at a time.”

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