Years passed. Li Tian's name stopped coming up in conversations.
At first, a few villagers whispered guesses about where he came from, but those murmurs faded quickly.
He became just another person hauling water, chopping wood, and tending crops like everyone else.
He woke up early, just before the sky turned bright. He cut wood, filled buckets, cleared weeds, and helped with repairs. The villagers treated him like one of their own. No one asked about his past, and he never offered anything.
"Morning, Tian!" Old Man Bo waved as he carried a sack of millet.
"Morning, Uncle Bo. Want me to carry that?"
"Tian, you are always so helpful," the old man grinned. "But if you're heading to Aunt Lin's, take this."
Li Tian nodded and took the bundle without complaint. Life here was hard but simple. He didn't need to think too much. That helped.
But when the sun went down and the village went quiet, Li Tian sat in his small hut, legs crossed, trying to cultivate.
He followed the same breathing technique he had used for years. The air around him grew faintly cooler as he drew in the qi. It trickled into his chest like a thin stream of water, and for a moment, he could feel it coursing through his veins—light, faintly warm, like a passing breeze.
Then it vanished.
Not violently. Not with resistance. Just like that—it faded, as if his body let go of it on its own. Like a grip that never tightened enough.
No pulse of power. No after-effect. Just emptiness where energy should've gathered.
He changed his posture. He tried holding his breath longer. He focused harder.
Nothing changed.
Why won't it stay... he muttered, his brow damp with sweat.
He felt like a man scooping water with a broken bowl. No matter how carefully he tried, it all leaked away.
Still, he tried. Every night.
The years wore on. Winter followed summer. Children in the village grew taller. A few moved away.
Li Tian stayed. He worked. He helped. He smiled. And every night, he sat in silence and failed again.
However, as the years passed, his strength began to fade.
It started with small things. He needed more rest between tasks. His grip weakened. Sometimes, just climbing out of bed made his legs ache. A few times, he dropped the axe while splitting wood, and his hands kept shaking long after.
Aunt Lin noticed he was slower carrying water. Old Man Bo stopped letting him help lift sacks. "You've done enough," they would say gently, without making a fuss.
By the end of that year, his back hurt constantly. His knees clicked with every step. Some mornings, he could barely stand. When winter came, the cold hit his chest and joints like iron weights. A low fever lingered for weeks.
One day, while bending to tie a bundle of firewood, his knees gave out. He collapsed onto the ground, breath short and vision swimming.
"Quick, get him inside!"
"Bring the doctor!"
They carried him to his hut and laid him in bed. He didn't protest. He couldn't. Even staying conscious felt like work.
"You should rest," Doctor Suo said, handing him a bowl of broth. "You don't look well."
"Just tired," he replied.
He didn't tell him about the blood. Or the tightness in his chest. Or the way his arms sometimes went numb.
Clearly, he had lost the will to go on.
The hut emptied slowly. No one said anything else.
Li Tian stared at the ceiling. His breathing was shallow. He couldn't feel his legs. His arms were cold.
He started thinking back.
He saw the light from the orb again. The way everyone had stared. The pride in his father's voice.
He remembered walking into the sect halls with excitement, gripping the manual he had been given on day one.
The training grounds where disciples once called out to spar with him grew quieter over time. The lessons became shorter. One instructor had paused halfway through a demonstration, looked at him, and said nothing.
That silence said more than any words.
He remembered the way people had stopped speaking to him. The sudden silence. The forced smiles.
He remembered standing in front of his family once more. The ropes. The parade.
He remembered arriving here.
And then... years of nothing.
He blinked away the moisture in his eyes.
Was that it? he muttered. Is that all I was good for?
His hands trembled as he tried to sit up. He took a slow breath and formed the same cultivation seal.
Still trying. Even now.
He drew in the qi. It moved... and vanished.
He smiled weakly. Figures.
He closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled through his nose, shoulders sagging. There was nothing left to feel surprised about.
His chest tightened again. His head spun.
I guess this is it. Goodbye, world.
Then, without warning, a mechanical chime echoed in his mind.
DING.
[System Activation Complete.]
His eyes shot open.
[Accumulated energy: 75 years. Initialization success.]
Heat rushed through his body. The numbness disappeared. The pain faded.
His skin tingled. His spine straightened. His hands steadied.
He looked down. No wrinkles. No trembling. Just strength.
What... is this?
[Welcome, Host. AI Loves You System Initiated. Gift Package Unlocked.]
Host? System? Gift Package?
Was it some hallucinations of a dying man?
He blinked.
And blinked again.
His vision adjusted fast. The ceiling came into focus—dust, cracks, and old wood patterns all stood out clearly. This time, there was no blur or fog.
He could see everything, like a dirty lens had finally been cleaned.
It felt crystal clear.
What... what is going on?