The jade vial was small—no larger than a thumb—but the moment Wan Long uncorked it, a wave of heat rolled out, sharp enough to sting his nose.
The liquid inside shimmered faintly crimson, carrying the faint scent of molten iron and scorched herbs.
"Drink," one of the attendants ordered coldly.
Wan Long looked at the dead bodies lying beside the furnace—the girl's face frozen in terror, the boy's skin cracked and blistered. Their blood hissed quietly as it met the hot stone floor.
He took a slow breath.
Then, without hesitation, he swallowed the pill.
It slid down his throat like fire.
The next instant, the world exploded.
Agony.
Raw, blinding, soul-shattering agony.
It felt as if molten metal had been poured into his veins. His meridians twisted and convulsed. His blood boiled; his bones groaned. His body arched violently as if trying to tear itself apart.
He gasped, clutching his chest, but no sound came out. His throat burned, his vision flickered, and every heartbeat sent lightning bolts of pain through his limbs.
The crimson energy from the pill rampaged inside him, uncontrolled and wild. It tore through muscle and marrow, corroding his organs, flooding every meridian until they threatened to burst.
"Another failure," someone said distantly. "His meridians are collapsing."
Shen Murong's voice echoed faintly, calm and clinical.
"Observe carefully. Note the sequence of failure."
Her tone was detached, almost gentle—yet colder than any blade.
Wan Long's knees buckled. He fell to the ground, body twitching uncontrollably. His fingernails dug into the stone, leaving faint trails of blood.
His skin began to blister. His vision went white.
Not again, his mind screamed silently.
I died once already… I can't… not like this!
The world dimmed at the edges. Sound began to fade.
Then, somewhere deep within that storm of agony, something shifted.
Inside the whirlwind of pain, just as his consciousness began to unravel, a cold mechanical voice echoed through the chaos.
[Supreme Recycling System… binding successful.]
[Detected: Spirit Tempering Pill waste.]
[Do you want to recycle?]
Wan Long's thoughts were scattered, fading fast—but that voice… it was real.
Through the blinding pain, he forced a single desperate thought.
Yes!
Recycle! Anything—just make it stop!
[Recycling in progress…]
The raging fire that had been tearing through his veins froze.
Then, all at once—
The agony vanished.
Every trace of chaotic, poisonous qi twisted inward, pulled by an invisible current. His meridians trembled, then steadied as the energy that had been killing him began to spiral around his core instead of destroying it.
It was as if a dam had burst. The violent medicinal energy was drawn inward, condensed, and refined into something purer—clean, gentle, and warm.
His twisted meridians straightened, his blood cooled, and the unbearable burning faded into a steady pulse of vitality.
[Recycling complete.]
[Received: 60 days of spiritual energy.]
The voice faded into silence.
Wan Long gasped. His eyes shot open.
Cold air filled his lungs as if for the first time. The dim lights of the alchemy hall swam into focus above him—shadowed beams, stone walls, the faint scent of herbs and ash.
He blinked rapidly, chest rising and falling.
"…I'm… not dead?"
His trembling hand touched his chest. His heart was beating—steady, powerful. The pain was gone. Every wound, every burn, had vanished.
A strange laugh almost escaped him.
He remembered it vividly now—
back on Earth, the web novels he used to read after long days at the construction site.
Those stories where some poor fool dies and wakes up in another world… and gains a system.
A "golden finger," the ultimate cheat.
He never thought it would happen to him.
Now, lying on the cold floor of an alchemy hall filled with corpses, he could only whisper under his breath,
"…So it's real… I actually have one."
His heart pounded with a wild mix of awe and disbelief.
He wanted to laugh. To shout.
But instead—he bit his tongue and forced his expression to remain twisted in pain.
He gritted his teeth, clutching his chest, letting his body shake as if still suffering from the pill's backlash.
The attendants glanced over, their expressions unreadable. None suspected a thing.
Good.
Let them think he was half-dead.
He needed time—time to understand this power, this system.
"Dispose of him," one attendant said.
Shen Murong looked up briefly from her notes, her expression unreadable. "Wait."
Her eyes narrowed. "His pulse hasn't stopped."
The attendant frowned, kneeling beside Wan Long's body. "That's impossible. His meridians were torn apart—he should—"
He froze mid-sentence.
Wan Long forced his eyelids to flutter open, feigning weakness.
He took a slow breath, the scent of herbs and blood filling his lungs.
The pain was still there, but it no longer consumed him. It was… energy now. Something he could use.
"Impossible—he survived?"
"But I clearly saw his meridians tear apart—"
Shen Murong's expression shifted subtly—still calm, but now laced with curiosity.
"Interesting…" she murmured, stepping closer.
Her gaze locked on him, eyes sharp as a blade. "You. What did you feel when you swallowed the pill?"
Wan Long lowered his head, hiding the golden flicker in his eyes. His heart pounded, not from fear, but from revelation.
He bowed weakly. "This disciple… remembers only pain, Senior Sister."
Her brows furrowed slightly, then relaxed. "Pain, hm? Perhaps the formula finally stabilized for a lower constitution. Keep him under observation."
She turned away, losing interest.
The attendants soon dismissed him, assuming he was too weak to move.Staggering like a half-dead man, Wan Long left the Alchemy Hall and made his way back to the southern quarters.
By the time he reached his small wooden hut, the sky had darkened.
He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, exhaling softly.
Then, under his breath, he whispered, "System… show me my status."
At once, a soft chime echoed in his mind.
[Supreme Recycling System — Status Panel]
Name: Wan Long
Age: 17
Lifespan: 63 years
Cultivation Realm: None
Cultivation Technique: Moon Breathing Technique (Low-tier Yellow Rank)
Spiritual Root: Mixed Element
Cultivation Skills: None
Inventory: 60 Days of Spiritual Energy
Wan Long stared at the glowing panel, his pulse quickening.
From the inherited memories, Wan Long recalled the hierarchy of cultivation in this world.
Cultivators tempered their bodies and souls through nine great stages:
Body Tempering, Qi Cultivation, Spiritual Realm, Core Foundation , Golden Core, Nascent Soul, and Void Realm—
each realm divided into nine minor levels.
And he… was at none of them.
He hadn't even stepped into the first stage of Body Tempering.
He was still a mortal—fragile, powerless, and utterly ordinary.
.....
"Moon Breathing Technique…" he muttered. That was the basic manual given to servant disciples—the lowest of the low, barely a true cultivation method.
Still, it was something.
Cultivation Techniques were ranked from Yellow, Purple, Earth, Heaven, and Imperial,each divided further into Low, Middle, and High tiers.The higher the rank, the faster and purer one could cultivate.
Spiritual Roots, meanwhile, determined a person's potential:starting from Mixed Element, then Mortal Tier, Low Grade, Middle Grade, High Grade, and finally, the peerless Heavenly Spiritual Roots.
Mixed-element roots like his were the worst—chaotic, unstable, and nearly useless for absorbing spiritual qi.That was why he had been doomed to servitude.
His eyes drifted to the "Inventory." Sixty days of spiritual energy, converted from the pill's waste. The realization sent a thrill down his spine.
......
Wan Long's gaze lingered on the words Mixed Element
His heart sank.
He knew exactly what that meant.
In the world of cultivation, one's spiritual root determined the upper limit of their destiny.
Those with high-grade wood or fire roots could refine pills or command flames.
Those with earth or metal roots were prized for their defensive strength.
But those born with a mixed element root—a chaotic fusion of conflicting energies—were cursed.
A mixed root drew in spiritual energy from every element but refined none.
Most who tried to cultivate with such a constitution either stagnated forever at the mortal level… or exploded from inner conflict.
Wan Long clenched his fists. "So even in this life… I start from the bottom."
His eyes shifted to the bottom line of the panel—
Inventory: 60 Days of Spiritual Energy.
Sixty days' worth of pure, refined energy—more than enough for a mortal to take the first step toward cultivation.
But with a mixed root, most of it would scatter uselessly.
Still, his body was barely holding together. Every breath stung like knives, his bones ached, and the remnant toxins from the pill coiled inside him like venomous snakes.
He exhaled slowly.
"System," he whispered, "claim the spiritual energy."
[Confirm: Consume 60 days of spiritual energy?]
[Proceed?]
"Yes."
A deep hum filled his body as the invisible energy began to flow.The air around him stirred faintly, rippling as if the world itself responded.The moment the spiritual energy entered his meridians—
Boom.
The Moon Breathing Technique within his body suddenly stirred, activating on its own.He felt his chest rise and fall, his breath syncing with a rhythm beyond his will—inhale, exhale, slow and deep—each cycle drawing the refined qi inward, circulating it through his damaged veins.
With every breath, faint silvery light glimmered under his skin.His technique's efficiency surged, adapting instinctively to the flow of energy from the system.
[Moon Breathing Technique proficiency increased.]
But even then, the struggle was immense.His mixed-element roots fought against the inflow, rejecting and scattering qi like oil repelling water.Pain lanced through him, sharp and unrelenting, as if his body itself resisted cultivation.
Half of the energy evaporated instantly into the air.But the rest—condensed, refined by the system's purity—managed to stay.Bit by bit, it sank into his bones, tendons, and blood.
The chaos within him slowly began to align.The scattered fragments of qi coalesced into a faint, rhythmic pulse deep within his dantian.
A shudder ran through him. His heartbeat steadied. His bones creaked softly, strengthening.The ache in his muscles faded, replaced by a faint, enduring warmth.
Then—
[Body Tempering Realm — First Layer achieved.]
Wan Long's eyes opened. His breath came out as a thin mist.For a moment, he simply sat there, feeling the quiet hum of life coursing through him.
His body was firmer. His wounds had sealed.Even the lingering pain from the Spirit Tempering Pill had dissolved completely.
He looked down at his trembling hands, then clenched them into fists."So… this is cultivation."
A faint smile touched his lips.
It was only the first step—barely the threshold of the Body Tempering Realm, still countless realms below true immortality.But it was real.He had taken a step that the previous Wan Long never could.
Even with a broken foundation, even with mixed-element roots…he had advanced.
He leaned back against the wall, letting out a long, shaky sigh."If this system can recycle waste," he murmured, a glint in his eyes, "then even trash… can become strength."
Outside, the night wind whispered through the cracks in the wooden walls.The moon hung high, silver light spilling across his small hut—and in that dim light, a faint golden spark flickered behind Wan Long's eyes.