Chương 15: Chapter 14

Morning arrived on Crimson Peak with all the warmth and hospitality of an eviction notice. Cold air seeped through the gaps in Ling Tian's wooden shack, carrying the sharp bite of high-altitude frost and the smell of damp pine. Pale sunlight slipped between the warped planks in narrow bands, illuminating drifting dust, a few scattered crumbs near the table, and the increasingly questionable structural integrity of the opposite wall.

Ling Tian sat on the frayed woven mat that served as his bed, legs crossed loosely beneath him, staring at the bronze sword resting across his lap. He had been staring at it for several minutes. The sword remained entirely unapologetic. Roughly twelve hours had passed since he carried it out of the hidden chamber behind the waterfall. Yesterday, the weapon had seemed almost suspiciously cooperative.

It had pulled free from the cracked stone pedestal without resistance, survived what appeared to be centuries of damp neglect without visible corrosion, and slid from its plain bronze sheath with a smooth metallic whisper. The blade had been sharp, balanced, completely devoid of gaudy spiritual decoration, and therefore almost perfectly suited to Ling Tian's needs. A practical weapon. Low-profile. Reliable. Exactly the sort of asset he appreciated. This morning, however, it refused to open.

Ling Tian tightened his left hand around the plain bronze scabbard. His right hand closed over the equally plain hilt. He adjusted his grip, braced his elbows against his sides, and pulled. Nothing. The sword did not slide a millimeter. Ling Tian stopped. He looked at his hands. Then at the weapon. He tried again. This time he planted both bare feet against the dirt floor and leaned backward, gradually increasing the force instead of jerking immediately. The tendons in his forearms tightened.

The tiny deposit of Earth Qi inside his Dantian rotated with its slow, familiar rhythm, sending a grounding pulse outward through his body. Ling Tian directed that reinforcement toward his wrists, shoulders, and back. He pulled harder. The old wooden mat shifted beneath him. The sword did not. Ling Tian's expression flattened.

"You opened yesterday." The sword declined to defend itself. He turned it sideways and inspected the point where the hilt entered the mouth of the sheath. There was no visible latch. No catch. No locking ring. No button hidden beneath the wrapping because there was no wrapping. The weapon was almost offensively simple: bronze hilt, bronze scabbard, clean seam between them. He ran one fingernail along that seam. Nothing appeared damaged. There was no rust. No grit. No deformation from his trip through the waterfall.

He shook the weapon beside his ear. Silence. Ling Tian frowned and pulled again, this time using enough strength that the muscles in his narrow arms visibly hardened beneath the skin. His Earth Qi responded with another pulse, spreading density through his skeletal frame and allowing the ten-year-old body to exert force that should have been completely unreasonable for its size. The hilt remained fixed. Not stuck in the ordinary sense. Fixed.

It felt less like a blade trapped inside a sheath and more like someone had taken two pieces of metal during the night and quietly informed them that they were now one object. Ling Tian stopped before he did something stupid enough to damage his shoulders. He stared at the weapon.

"You have got to be kidding me." Yesterday, he had found a hidden ancient chamber behind a waterfall, survived entry through several tons of falling water, discovered a mysterious sword stabbed into a stone altar, conducted what he considered a perfectly reasonable curse assessment, and successfully extracted the weapon. He had expected problems. Possession. Ancient enemies. A sealed demon.

Some dead cultivator suddenly materializing to explain that Ling Tian had inherited seventeen blood feuds and a sacred responsibility to avenge a sect exterminated four thousand years ago. He had prepared mentally for all of those possibilities. The weapon jamming overnight had somehow not made the list. Ling Tian flipped it over and inspected the opposite side. Still nothing.

"Is this planned obsolescence?" The question sounded ridiculous even to him. That did not make it less emotionally accurate. He tapped the scabbard against the floor.

"I verified functionality before acquisition. The product performed correctly during the demonstration period. Less than twenty-four hours later, critical functionality has been removed." The dull bronze gave no response.

"No warranty. No technical support. Manufacturer probably died three dynasties ago." Ling Tian sighed.

"Excellent." He briefly considered returning to the hidden chamber. Then dismissed the idea. The waterfall was several kilometers away. Passing through it carried real physical risk, and there was no guarantee the cavern contained anything capable of fixing the weapon. He had searched it carefully enough yesterday to find exactly one interesting object. This one. Taking the sword back to the empty pedestal and asking the room for customer service seemed unlikely to produce results. Ling Tian rose to his feet.

The weapon came with him easily. That, at least, had not changed. Despite its length and considerable weight, the sword remained strangely comfortable in his hands. Its balance was excellent, especially for something currently rendered incapable of performing its primary job. Ling Tian moved to the center of the shack and tested a slow horizontal swing. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The bronze scabbard cut through the air with a low hum.

He reversed direction. Another swing. The weight carried smoothly through the arc instead of dragging awkwardly at his wrists. The weapon almost seemed to encourage proper alignment, remaining stable through movements that should have felt clumsy with his short arms. Ling Tian paused. Then swung harder. The heavy bronze body accelerated. His eyes narrowed. The weapon no longer had an edge. That did not make it harmless.

A sword sealed permanently inside a thick bronze sheath was, from another perspective, a very well-balanced metal club approximately as long as he was tall. Combined with his improved strength and the structural support of Earth Qi, the impact could be substantial. Possibly extremely substantial. Ling Tian shifted his grip and brought the weapon down in a controlled overhead strike, stopping just before it hit the dirt. The mass pulled against his shoulders. Manageable. He tried a low sweep. Also manageable.

A thrust was pointless with the rounded end of the sheath, but a direct strike could still break something important. Ling Tian considered the situation. Cutting weapon: unavailable. Blunt-force weapon: excellent. Maintenance requirement: reduced. Need for sharpening: eliminated. Chance of accidentally slicing his own leg while learning how to use a sword with absolutely no instruction: dramatically reduced. His irritation faded.

"Fine." Ling Tian looked at the bronze weapon.

"A sword that can't leave its sheath is basically a stick with unreasonable branding." He gave it another experimental swing.

"I can work with that." He leaned the newly reclassified asset against the wall beside the door. The sword might be defective. His pantry was worse. Ling Tian crossed the shack and crouched beside the splintered table where his remaining supplies had been arranged with an optimism completely unsupported by quantity. He opened the canvas grain sack. A depressing amount of millet stared back at him. Beside it sat several bitter roots purchased in Hua City and the last portion of dried meat.

Calling the collection provisions felt charitable. It was enough food to keep a normal ten-year-old functioning for perhaps two days if rationed carefully. Ling Tian was becoming increasingly uncertain whether he still qualified as normal in any biologically useful sense. His experiment the previous morning had already established that Earth Qi dramatically reduced fatigue.

It stabilized his body against cold, reinforced his joints, improved recovery, and allowed him to run distances that would previously have left the original body collapsed beside the trail. What it did not do was place food in his stomach. That distinction had been bothering him since yesterday. Ling Tian pinched a small quantity of millet between his fingers. His stomach tightened almost immediately. The Earth Qi could suppress some of the symptoms associated with weakness and exhaustion.

It could keep his muscles functional far beyond their previous endurance. But calories necessary to keep up bodily function remained the same. At least he assumed they did. Cultivators eventually reached the point where people apparently flew through the sky and shattered stone without stopping afterward to consume six kilograms of rice.

There was clearly another mechanism involved at higher levels, whether Qi replaced some portion of biological energy requirements or their bodies simply became fundamentally different. Ling Tian had one microscopic drop. Whatever miraculous metabolic reform existed at advanced stages had not yet reached his department. He poured the millet back into the sack and mentally counted his supplies. Two days. Maybe slightly more if he reduced activity. Less if he continued testing his new body aggressively.

That meant his current situation had improved in nearly every category except the one that still possessed the power to kill him through simple arithmetic. His income. Cloudmint had been enough when his only objective was preventing immediate starvation. Eight copper coins per decent bundle could purchase cheap staples. But the entire economic model was terrible. Walk for hours. Search for herbs. Harvest. Carry them down the mountain. Sell them. Buy enough food to repeat the process.

One injured ankle could break the loop. One storm could break the loop. One bad harvest could break the loop. Cultivation had changed his physical capabilities. It needed to change his revenue. Ling Tian looked toward the shack door. Yesterday, he had learned that his Verdant Qi filtering could locate Cloudmint far more efficiently than eyesight. That discovery had doubled his harvest without requiring significantly more time. Useful. Still insufficient.

Doubling a terrible margin produced a slightly larger terrible margin. He needed better inventory. The original Ling Tian's father had spent years gathering herbs across Crimson Peak. Through the boy's fragmented memories, Ling Tian knew the mountain contained far more valuable plants than Cloudmint. Some grew only in dangerous places: narrow cliffs, deep ravines, upper ridges exposed to freezing wind, caves occupied by beasts. The old man had occasionally spoken about them. Rare medicines. Spirit herbs.

Plants worth silver instead of copper. He had also died trying to reach one. Ling Tian had previously filed that entire category under unacceptable occupational hazard. His circumstances had changed. Not enough to become reckless. Enough to reopen the file. He tied the herb sack securely across his torso, picked up the bronze weapon, and pushed open the shack door. The mountain greeted him with blinding sunlight and freezing air.

Crimson Peak stretched upward beyond the ridge in layers of jagged gray stone and dark pine. Thin morning mist clung to the valleys below, drifting between the trees like smoke. Farther above, the terrain grew harsher. Vegetation thinned. The paths became less distinct. Ling Tian did not turn toward the familiar route leading down to the lower Cloudmint patches. He looked uphill. Yesterday's ten-kilometer run had established a basic endurance benchmark.

He knew his body could move quickly across ordinary mountain paths without collapsing. What he did not know was how well that performance translated to steeper terrain while carrying weight and repeatedly changing elevation. Different test. Different data. And conveniently, the upper slopes were also where the valuable herbs tended to grow. Ling Tian adjusted the heavy bronze club in one hand. Two objectives. Physical stress test. High-value inventory search. Much better use of the morning.

He started running uphill. The first incline would have been miserable only days earlier. Loose slate shifted underfoot, and the slope rose sharply enough that every few steps required his calves to push his entire weight upward rather than merely forward. Today, Ling Tian accelerated. The Earth Qi inside his Dantian rotated. A pulse spread into his legs. His feet struck the mountain with increasing confidence.

He bounded across a cluster of uneven stones, planted one foot against the angled face of a moss-covered boulder, and drove upward. His small body cleared the obstacle. The bronze weapon swung slightly behind him. Ling Tian compensated instinctively, using its weight as a counterbalance during the landing. His bare feet struck a narrow patch of dirt. Stable. He kept moving. The experience differed significantly from his downhill sprint the previous day. Gravity had helped then. Now it demanded payment.

Ling Tian climbed aggressively. He deliberately selected routes that forced his body to work. A fallen pine blocked one narrow passage. He jumped onto the trunk, ran several steps along the rough bark, then dropped from the opposite side. A steep shelf of rock rose ahead. Instead of circling around, Ling Tian approached it directly. His hands found two narrow cracks. He pulled. His body rose. A week ago, the attempt would have been absurd.

His arms had barely possessed enough strength to carry a bundle of herbs for several hours. Now his fingers locked into the stone. The muscles in his back and shoulders tightened as he hauled himself upward. One hand. Then the other. His bare toes searched for shallow footholds. Earth Qi pulsed through his limbs. Ling Tian climbed. The rock face was not truly vertical, but it was steep enough that a fall would involve several unpleasant seconds of reconsidering his life choices.

He reached the top and rolled onto the narrow ledge. His breathing had accelerated. His forearms burned. Good. He sat for several seconds and observed the response. The familiar fatigue gathered through the muscles. Then the next pulse from his Dantian spread outward. The burn receded. Not instantly. Not completely. But fast enough to remain absurd. Ling Tian flexed his fingers. The grip strength returned. He looked at the rock face behind him.

"Still cheating." He stood. Unlike yesterday, however, he paid closer attention to his stomach. The hunger had sharpened. Not dramatically. Enough to notice. Interesting. He continued upward, increasing the difficulty in controlled increments. He jumped gaps that were uncomfortable but not suicidal. He climbed stone shelves instead of following switchbacks. He used the bronze weapon as a brace, lever, and counterweight, discovering that the sealed sword was surprisingly useful for movement even without an edge.

At one point he crossed a fallen tree spanning a narrow ravine. Ling Tian stopped at the edge first. The drop was perhaps fifteen meters. Not fifty. His survival instinct appreciated accurate measurements. The trunk looked old but solid near the center. He tested the wood with the bronze weapon before placing his weight on it. No obvious rot. Acceptable. He stepped onto the trunk. The weapon extended slightly to one side as a balancing pole. Wind moved through the gap below. Ling Tian walked.

Halfway across, he tested a controlled swing. The bronze shifted his center of gravity immediately. He compensated. Another swing, smaller this time. Better. By the time he reached the opposite side, Ling Tian had learned something else. The weapon's mass could help or kill him depending entirely on timing. Useful information. He would not practice combat on ravine bridges again. Some experiments only needed one trial. After roughly an hour, Ling Tian reached a high ridge overlooking a wide section of the mountain.

He stopped. His breathing was deeper now. Sweat cooled rapidly beneath the mountain wind. His muscles still responded cleanly, and his joints showed no signs of strain, but the hollow sensation in his stomach had become noticeably sharper. Ling Tian placed one hand against his abdomen. There was the hidden cost. Earth Qi was excellent at keeping the machinery operational. It was not generating the fuel. The distinction mattered. He had suspected it yesterday. Now the pattern was becoming difficult to ignore.

The harder he pushed his magically reinforced body, the faster hunger returned. That meant his new physical capabilities created an unpleasant possibility: he could work hard enough to consume his limited biological reserves long before muscular fatigue forced him to stop. A normal body possessed several built-in complaints designed to prevent that. Ling Tian's cultivation seemed to be disabling some of them. Convenient. Dangerous. He looked back toward the route he had climbed.

"The engine runs better." His stomach cramped.

"The fuel tank remains offensively small." He straightened. That made the second objective more urgent. Training could wait. Revenue could not.