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**Chapter 5**
*"Strength is not just the power to break mountains, but the will to stand when the world crumbles around you."*
The Drunken Crane was a cauldron of noise and sweat, its air thick with the tang of cheap ale and the arrogance of cultivators. Lin Zen—Elias in a stranger's skin—wove through the crowded tavern, balancing a tray of chipped mugs that sloshed with amber liquid. His body, frail and aching, protested every step, but he grit his teeth and moved. The coarse robe clung to his sweat-dampened skin, and the jade pendant around his neck felt like a weight pulling him back to memories that weren't entirely his. He was still grappling with this new life, this world of qi and power, where he was nothing but a weakling scraping by in a city that chewed up the powerless.
The tavern's patrons, low-tier cultivators and rough laborers, barely noticed him, except when they wanted to vent their frustrations. "Boy!" a burly man with a scarred face barked, slamming his mug on the table. "This ale's watered down! You trying to cheat me?" His companions, their robes stained with dirt and drink, roared with laughter, their eyes glinting with malice.
"It's the same ale as always," Lin Zen said, keeping his voice steady, though his heart pounded. Elias's stubbornness fueled him, but Lin Zen's memories warned him to tread carefully. These men could crush him with a flick of their qi-enhanced fingers.
The scarred man sneered, grabbing Lin Zen's wrist and yanking him forward. The tray clattered to the floor, mugs shattering in a spray of ale. "Talk back again, and I'll break your arm, runt," he growled, his breath sour. Before Lin Zen could pull away, another cultivator, a lanky man with bloodshot eyes, kicked out, catching him in the shin. Pain flared, sharp and familiar, echoing the aches of Elias's hospital days. He stumbled, biting back a cry, and the table erupted in jeers.
"Clumsy little worm!" a woman with a crooked nose cackled. "No wonder you're stuck scrubbing tables. Can't even stand straight!" The laughter spread, a chorus of cruelty that made Lin Zen's cheeks burn. He wanted to snap back, to channel Elias's defiance, but Lin Zen's memories held him in check—retaliation meant worse than a kick. He was weak, his meridians blocked, his body unfit for cultivation. In this world, that made him less than dirt.
He knelt to gather the broken shards, his hands trembling. Memories of Elias's life flickered—Lily's small hand in his, Anna's fierce love, the hospital's sterile walls. He'd fought death then, but here, he was fighting something else: the crushing weight of being nobody. Boss Chen, the tavern's owner, stormed over, his face red. "You're paying for those mugs, boy!" he snarled, cuffing Lin Zen on the ear. "Get back to work!"
Lin Zen nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat, and scrambled to the kitchen for a rag. The patrons' mockery followed him, a stinging reminder of his place. He was Lin Zen now, an orphan cast out at fifteen, surviving on scraps in a city that worshipped power. This small city, Jade Hollow, was a backwater, its streets a mix of wooden shacks and qi-powered spires, its skies rarely graced by the flying figures of high-ranking cultivators. Those with real power had left for grander cities, chasing strength in sects and academies, leaving Jade Hollow to fend for itself with a handful of low-tier cultivators who preferred drink to discipline.
As Lin Zen returned to wipe down tables, a sudden shout shattered the tavern's din. The door slammed open, and a young man stumbled in, his face pale as ash, his robes torn and bloodied. "Monster herd!" he gasped, clutching the doorframe. "They're coming! A whole stampede from the Black Fang Mountains!"
The words hit like a thunderclap. The tavern fell silent, mugs frozen mid-sip, faces draining of color. Lin Zen froze, the rag slipping from his hand. Lin Zen's memories supplied the terror: monster herds were rare but catastrophic, waves of qi-maddened beasts—scaled wolves, iron-horned boars, shadow panthers—driven berserk by surges in the land's spiritual energy. They tore through everything, leaving villages and cities in ruins. Jade Hollow, with its crumbling walls and sparse cultivators, was a lamb before a slaughter.
"Impossible!" the scarred cultivator bellowed, though his voice trembled. "The last herd was years ago!"
"It's real!" the runner cried, his eyes wild. "They're an hour out, maybe less! The watchtowers spotted them—hundreds, maybe thousands!" He collapsed to his knees, panting, as panic erupted.
Patrons scrambled, shoving tables aside, their earlier bravado gone. The woman with the crooked nose screamed, "We're dead! This city's got no one strong enough!" Others shouted for the city guard, but Lin Zen knew from his memories that Jade Hollow's guards were barely cultivators, their qi weak, their skills rusty. The high-ranking cultivators, the ones who could fly like dragons or shatter mountains, had long abandoned this place for greater prospects.
Boss Chen grabbed Lin Zen's collar, his face a mask of fear. "You! Get to the cellar and bar the door! We're locking down!" But Lin Zen saw the truth in his eyes—Chen didn't care about saving him, only saving himself. The cultivators in the tavern were already fleeing, their qi flaring as they leaped toward the rooftops, abandoning the powerless to their fate.
Lin Zen's heart pounded, a mix of Elias's courage and Lin Zen's terror. He remembered the hospital, the pain in his chest, the flatline. He'd faced death once; he could face it again. But the thought of Lily, of Anna, of the family he'd left behind, burned in his chest. He wasn't ready to die again, not like this, not as a nobody in a world that didn't care.
He tore free from Chen's grip and ran to the door, ignoring the pain in his shin. Outside, the city was chaos—vendors abandoning carts, mothers clutching children, qi-powered lanterns flickering as their energy faltered. The air thrummed with dread, the distant roar of the approaching herd vibrating through the ground. Lin Zen's frail body shook, but he forced himself to move, dodging panicked crowds as he headed toward the city's edge. He didn't know why—instinct, maybe, or a spark of Elias's defiance—but he couldn't cower in a cellar while Jade Hollow burned.
The streets were a blur of wood and metal, ancient pagodas dwarfed by rune-etched spires. A low-tier cultivator, his robe singed, flew past, his qi weak and flickering. "Run, kid!" he shouted. "The herd's too strong!" But Lin Zen kept going, his breath ragged, his body screaming in protest. He reached the city wall, a crumbling barrier of stone and qi-wards, where a handful of guards stood, their faces grim. Beyond the wall, the horizon churned with dust and shadow, the herd's roars growing louder.
Lin Zen's memories flashed: Lin Zen as a child, hiding under a table as cultivators fought a stray beast, its claws rending wood like paper. He'd been powerless then, and he was powerless now. But Elias's voice whispered in his mind: *You fought for Lily, for Anna. Fight now.* He gripped the jade pendant, its cool surface grounding him. He didn't know cultivation, didn't know how to fight, but he wouldn't let this world break him.
A guard, a grizzled man with a spear, noticed him. "What're you doing, boy? Get to shelter!" His voice was gruff, but his eyes held a flicker of pity.
"I want to help," Lin Zen said, surprising himself. The words were Elias's, born of a life spent defying pain.
The guard laughed, bitter and short. "Help? With that body? You'll be trampled in seconds." But he tossed Lin Zen a short dagger, its blade etched with faint runes. "Stay behind the wall, then. If the wards fall, you'll need it."
Lin Zen clutched the dagger, its weight unfamiliar but solid. The herd's roars were closer now, shaking the earth. The guards braced themselves, their qi flaring weakly, while screams echoed from the city behind. Lin Zen's heart raced, fear and resolve colliding. He was Lin Zen, an orphan, a weakling. But he was also Elias, who'd faced death and loved fiercely. Whatever came next, he'd meet it standing.
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