Li Fan woke just as the faint blue of dawn slipped through the cracks in his window shutters, painting faint lines across the floor.
His eyes blinked open reluctantly, and the first thing that greeted him wasn't the chirp of birds or the warmth of morning light — it was his stomach, groaning like an old wooden door.
"Damn it," he muttered. "I'm starving…"
His gaze fell on the shelf in the corner of the room. He pushed himself off the bed and limped over. After a moment of rummaging through his things, he found what he was looking for—an old cloth bundle.
He unwrapped it quickly.
Inside were a few strips of dry meat, rough and dark. He'd forgotten about them. Probably left them there a few weeks ago.
It didn't matter. Right now, it was all he had.
He devoured them in seconds, barely bothering to chew.
"…Still empty," he whispered after finishing it.
He sank to the floor, back pressed against the wall. His eyes drifted to his right hand—the one he'd burned the night before.
No scar.
Not even a mark left.
He flexed his fingers slowly. They moved just fine. The system had healed him completely.
That was good.
But it was also the problem.
"I can't keep doing this…"
The system had changed him—granted him strength, power, speed beyond anything he'd ever known. But it came at a cost. Energy wasn't conjured from nothing. Healing alone had drained him close to collapse.
And the sect's food?
He scoffed. "One bowl of watered soup and a bun. That's barely enough to keep someone alive, let alone train."
If he kept this up—pushing his body, burning through reserves, enduring pain with nothing to replenish it…
"…I'll die," he said aloud.
Not from an enemy's sword.
Not from a beast's claws.
Just quietly… alone… from an empty stomach and a worn-out body.
A long silence followed.
His eyes drifted to the north window.
Beyond the sect walls, past the old fence line, stretched a patch of wild land. Not big enough to be called a proper forest, but dense enough to be dangerous."
Most avoided it unless they were on beast-hunting duty.
"I could hunt small game there," he muttered. "Boars. Rabbits. Maybe even a deer, if I'm lucky."
But it wasn't without risk.
The forest wasn't empty.
Wild beasts roamed freely, and running into a low-tier spirit beast wasn't out of the question. Even inner disciples had fallen to those things. One wrong step could mean death.
He sat up straighter.
"I'll have to risk it."
There was no other choice.
Starve slowly, training half-dead until his body gave out—or cross the line, face whatever was waiting out there, and take what he needed to survive.
His eyes sharpened.
"I need a weapon," he whispered.
It was still early. The sect was quiet. Most were still asleep. If he moved quickly, the kitchens might be empty.
He rose to his feet, swaying for a moment before steadying himself. His body was weak, but his thoughts were clear now.
He had a plan.
---
The outer sect kitchen wasn't far—tucked between the mess hall and the storage sheds. The side door was usually left unlatched this early.
He glanced around.
No one.
Then he slipped inside.
The kitchen was dark, but the smell of smoke and oil still clung to the air. Rows of pots lined the walls. A few old sacks of rice sat in the corner, probably rationed for today's breakfast.
He didn't touch any of that.
He headed straight to the counter.
Drawers.
He opened the first—spoons, ladles, and wooden stirrers.
Second—dull chopping blocks, rusted cleavers.
Third—steel knives.
He grabbed the smallest one.
It was just a kitchen blade, thin and worn, but sharp enough to cut meat. That was all he needed.
He wrapped it in a piece of cloth and tucked it inside his robes.
Then he slipped out the back door.
---
The edge of the forest loomed like a wall of darkness.
Li Fan stood just beyond the final fence of the outer sect, staring into the trees. Mist clung to the underbrush like fingers, curling around twisted roots and thick brambles.
Birdsong echoed faintly in the distance. But otherwise, the place was still.
The periphery of the forest wasn't too dense. Trees were spaced far enough apart to allow movement, though the uneven ground and thick patches of brush made every step cautious. He kept low, crouching often, ears open for any rustle or snap.
He didn't want a fight with a predator.
He wanted something simple.
Minutes passed. Then half an hour.
His stomach growled, loud in the silence. Hunger dulled the edge of his focus. He stumbled on a gnarled root, barely catching himself in time. Sweat clung to his brow despite the morning chill.
He crouched beside a fallen log, studying the soil.
There—hoofprints. Small. Light.
A boar?
He followed the tracks.
Step by step. Low to the ground. Every movement measured.
Then—movement ahead.
Near a patch of tall grass, something stirred.
The bushes rustled—and a low grunt echoed through the clearing.
There it was.
A small wild boar, no taller than his thigh. Its snout rooted through the dirt, searching for food.
His pulse quickened.
This was it.
If he could kill it, he'd have real food—enough to recover, enough to keep training.
But if he messed up…
His grip tightened around the cloth-wrapped knife in his sleeve.
The boar snorted, ears twitching, but it hadn't seen him yet.
Li Fan crouched lower.
His heart pounded in his chest like a drum.
He'd only get one shot.
Li Fan inched forward, breath shallow, each step a careful calculation. The kitchen knife, dull but solid, was wrapped tight in his palm. His stomach growled again—too loud—and the boar's ears twitched.
It paused.
Sniffed the air.
Li Fan froze mid-step, crouched low behind a tangle of underbrush.
The boar let out a short grunt and turned slightly, angling its side toward him.
Now.
He sprang from the brush, feet thudding hard against the earth. The boar jerked up, eyes wide, legs bunching—
He drove the knife downward.
But the boar moved.
The blade skimmed its shoulder, slicing fur and skin but not deep enough. It squealed—a sharp, furious sound—and barreled into him.
Pain exploded in his ribs as its head slammed into his side. He hit the ground hard, tumbling through dry leaves and dirt, the knife flying from his grip.
The boar turned, snorting, blood trickling from the shallow wound. It pawed the ground, angry now, foam gathering at its mouth.
Li Fan scrambled back, coughing, his hands fumbling through the grass for the knife. His fingers found it—just as the boar charged again.
No time.
He rolled to the side. The boar shot past, kicking up leaves. He lunged up and slashed blindly.
The blade struck flesh, ripping through the haunch.
The boar screamed, bucking and twisting in pain. It spun, slower this time, limping.
Li Fan stood, swaying, knife held low. His breath came in ragged gasps. Blood ran down his forearm—he didn't remember getting cut.
The boar hesitated, foam-flecked jaws twitching.
Then it came again.
Snorting. Limping. But no less deadly.
He didn't dodge this time.
He stepped forward.
At the last second, he shifted to the side, dropped low—and plunged the knife up into the boar's neck as it passed.
Hot blood sprayed across his arm.
The boar let out a strangled cry, momentum carrying it forward. It crashed into a tree trunk, collapsed in a twitching heap.
Then, silence.
Li Fan stood over it, chest heaving, bloodied knife still clutched tight.
His legs buckled, and he sank to his knees beside the body.
The boar twitched once more—then stilled.
He sat there for a long moment, staring at the beast. At the blood soaking the leaves. At the shaking in his own hands.
But the boar was dead.
He looked down at the blood on his hands.
"…I did it."
And then, the system spoke.
---
[Damage detected.]
[BTE +24]
[Realm Progress: +2.4%]
---
Li Fan stared at the notification, chest rising and falling with labored breath.
He laughed softly, shaking his head.
The pain in his chest was still there—but faintly, he could already feel the warmth of regeneration beginning deep inside.
The system was working again.
But more than that—he'd survived.
He stared at the boar's body for a long time.
"…Sorry," he muttered quietly.