Chapter 5: The Forge of Grit

The barn’s hay scratched at Ethan’s skin as he woke, the dawn light filtering through the slats in thin, dusty beams. His body ached—his arm bruised from the serpent’s tail, his legs sore from hauling water, and his hands blistered from gripping the dagger too tight. The Minor Antidote Vial sat on a crate beside him, its murky green glow a faint comfort after yesterday’s fight. He’d survived another brush with death, but the victory felt hollow. Level 4, Strength 8/100, Qi 7/100—he was still a weakling, a modern slacker playing catch-up in a world that didn’t care.

He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and the system flared to life: [Status Update: HP: 10/10. Strength: 8/100. Qi: 7/100. Skills: Dodge Instinct (Temporary), Minor Heal (1/day). Main Quest: Find Shelter and Purpose – Shelter Achieved.] Ethan smirked bitterly. “Shelter, sure. Purpose? Still figuring that out.” The Basic Qi Cultivation Manual lay crumpled beside him, its golden script dim but warm. Last night’s breathing practice had pushed his qi a notch higher, a sluggish trickle through his rusty meridians, but it was progress—proof he wasn’t entirely hopeless.

Footsteps crunched outside, sharp and purposeful. The barn door creaked open, and the old woman—Granny Wei, as Jun had called her—stood there, her cane tapping an impatient beat. Her squinting eyes raked over him, sharp despite the wrinkles framing them. “Up, outsider,” she rasped, voice like gravel. “You’re not here to laze. Training starts now.”

Ethan groaned, hauling himself to his feet. “Training? What, like kung fu lessons?” He grabbed the dagger, tucking it into his belt, and followed her out. The village square bustled with early risers—women weaving baskets, men sharpening tools, kids lugging firewood. Jun sat on a stump, his head still bandaged, tossing pebbles with a scowl. He perked up when he saw Ethan, waving weakly.

Granny Wei led him past the huts to a clearing at the village’s edge, where a rickety wooden dummy stood, its arms chipped from years of abuse. A shallow stream gurgled nearby, its banks littered with smooth stones. She pointed her cane at the dummy. “You’ve got qi now, boy. Barely a whiff, but it’s there. Time to use it. Hit that—hard as you can.”

Ethan blinked, gripping the dagger. “With this?” He waved the rusty blade, its edge dull from the serpent fight.

“No, fool,” she snapped. “With your fists. Qi’s not a toy—it’s your lifeblood here. Channel it, or you’ll die the next time something bigger comes sniffing.”

The system chimed: [Sub-Task: Master Basic Qi Strike. Reward: 15 XP, Qi +2.] Ethan sighed, sheathing the dagger. “Guess I’m punching wood now.” He squared up, feeling ridiculous in his torn hoodie and shredded sneakers, and took a deep breath. Inhale the world, exhale the self. The qi in his chest stirred, a faint gray wisp coiling like smoke. He focused, willing it down his arm, and swung.

His fist thudded against the dummy, a weak smack that barely rocked it. Pain flared in his knuckles—[HP: 9/10]—and he cursed, shaking his hand. The qi fizzled out, useless. Granny Wei snorted. “Pathetic. You’re not pushing it—feel the flow, guide it. Again.”

Ethan gritted his teeth, ignoring the sting. He breathed deeper, picturing the qi as a stream, not a trickle. It crept along his meridians, sluggish but steadier, and he punched again. This time, a faint spark of gray flickered at the impact, and the dummy creaked, a splinter flying off. [Effort Detected. Qi +1. Qi: 8/100.] He grinned, panting. “That’s more like it.”

Granny Wei nodded grudgingly. “Better. Keep at it—qi’s a muscle. Work it, or it rots.” She hobbled to a stump and sat, watching like a hawk as Ethan hammered the dummy. Each strike was clumsy, his form a mess—he’d never thrown a proper punch in his life—but the qi grew sharper, a thin thread weaving through his arm. Sweat soaked his hoodie, his knuckles raw and bleeding, but he didn’t stop. [HP: 8/10.] The system nudged him: [Strength +1. Strength: 9/100.]

Hours blurred by, the sun climbing high. Villagers passed, some staring, others muttering about the “outsider with guts.” Jun wandered over, sitting beside Granny Wei with a handful of berries. “He’s not bad,” the kid said, popping one in his mouth. “For a weirdo.”

“Shut it,” Granny Wei grumbled, but her eyes softened. “He’s green as spring grass, but he’s stubborn. That’ll keep him alive—maybe.”

Ethan’s next punch cracked the dummy’s arm clean off, a burst of gray qi snapping through the wood. [Sub-Task Complete. Reward: 15 XP, Qi: 10/100.] He collapsed to his knees, chest heaving, a stupid grin splitting his face. “Did you see that? I broke it!”

Granny Wei smirked. “Barely. That’s a child’s trick here. Real cultivators shatter mountains. You’re a flea with a spark.” She stood, leaning on her cane. “Rest. Tonight, you learn more.”

Ethan flopped onto the grass, the cool blades a relief against his sweaty back. His hands throbbed, but the qi in his chest pulsed stronger, a steady hum he could almost hear. Level 4 felt less like a joke now—he was still weak, but he was something. The system pinged: [Level Up! Level 5. Strength: 10/100. Qi: 11/100. New Skill Unlocked: Qi Pulse (Weak burst of qi, short range, 1/day).]

“Qi Pulse?” he muttered, sitting up. He held out a hand, focusing the qi like Granny Wei taught. A faint gray ripple shot out, barely a foot, rustling the grass. “Lame, but cool.” He’d take any edge.

That night, the village gathered around a bonfire, the flames casting long shadows. Granny Wei sat Ethan down with a bowl of thin porridge—gruel, really, but it was food. “Listen, boy,” she said, her voice low. “Tianxu’s no kind place. That cultivator you killed? He’s a grunt, a tax dog for the Iron Claw Sect. They’ll come looking when he doesn’t report back.”

Ethan froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Sect? Like, a whole gang of those guys?”

“Worse,” she said. “They rule this region—cultivators with qi thick as rivers, not your little sparks. We’re ants to them, but you’ve kicked their nest. Be ready.”

[Main Quest Update: Survive the Iron Claw Sect’s Retribution. Reward: TBD.] Ethan swallowed hard, the porridge tasteless now. “Great. Just great.”

Jun piped up, scooting closer. “You beat one, though! You can do it again, right?” His eyes shone with a kid’s blind faith, and Ethan forced a smile.

“Sure, kid. Piece of cake.” He didn’t believe it. The cultivator had nearly crushed him, and that was one guy. A sect? He was toast.

Granny Wei handed him a chipped stone pendant, etched with a crude spiral. “Wear this. It’s no treasure, but it’ll mask your qi a bit—keep the small fry off you. For now.”

Ethan slipped it on, the stone cool against his chest. “Thanks. Guess I’m sticking around, huh?”

“You’ve got no choice,” she said, turning away. “Sleep. Tomorrow’s harder.”

He lay in the barn later, the pendant a faint weight, the dagger and scroll beside him. The fire’s crackle faded outside, replaced by the night’s eerie howls. He practiced breathing again, qi flowing smoother now, a thin stream through his meridians. [Effort Detected. Qi +1. Qi: 12/100.] It wasn’t much, but it was his. The Iron Claw Sect loomed in his mind—a storm he couldn’t outrun. “Adaptability,” he whispered, clutching the pendant. “Better kick in fast.”

Sleep took him, fitful and haunted by armored shadows.

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