Consciousness returned to Jiang Yi not with a gasp, but with a gag.
The smell was atrocious. It was the scent of rotting fish mixed with sulfur and old blood. He scrambled upright, retching, frantically clawing at his chest and face. His skin was coated in a thick layer of sticky, black tar.
"Am I... dead?" he rasped. His voice sounded different—deeper, clearer, lacking the perpetual rasp of dehydration he usually lived with.
He looked around. The moon was high, casting silver light through the canopy. He was still in the gully where he had found the sphere. The silence of the night was heavy, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl.
Jiang Yi looked at his right hand.
The black sphere was gone. In the center of his palm, buried deep beneath the skin, was a faint, jagged black line, resembling a scar from a lightning strike. It didn't hurt. In fact, it felt warm, pulsing with a low, rhythmic thrum that matched his heartbeat.
He scrambled to his feet and froze.
Usually, standing up quickly made him dizzy. Years of malnutrition and overwork had left him weak. But now, he shot up like a compressed spring released. His body felt impossibly light. The chronic ache in his lower back from sweeping thousands of stairs a day? Gone.
"Water," he muttered. "I need to wash."
If anyone saw him covered in this black sludge—the impurities expelled from his marrow and meridians—they would know something miraculous had happened. In the Azure Cloud Sect, miracles happening to servants usually led to vivisection, not promotion.
He sprinted toward the stream that ran near the servant quarters. He moved faster than he intended, nearly crashing into a tree. His reflexes, honed by dodging beatings, managed to twist his body mid-air to avoid the impact. He landed on his feet, stunned.
I moved like a leopard, he thought, staring at his legs.
At the icy stream, he stripped off his ruined hemp tunic and scrubbed his skin raw. As the black tar washed away, it revealed skin that was no longer sallow and rough. It was fair, tough, and glowed with a faint, healthy luster under the moonlight. His muscles, though not bulky, were defined and taut, like wire cables.
He washed his clothes as best he could, shivering not from cold—he realized with a start that he didn't feel the cold at all—but from excitement.
He sat cross-legged on the riverbank, naked to the waist, and did something he had tried and failed to do every night for five years.
He closed his eyes and tried to sense the Qi.
Before, the world had been a blank slate. Now, as he focused, the darkness behind his eyelids came alive. He saw motes of blue and white light drifting in the air like dust. This was Heaven and Earth Qi.
He inhaled, mimicking the Basic Breath Regulation technique he had watched the outer disciples practice a thousand times.
Whoosh.
A stream of white light was pulled into his nose. It traveled down his throat, hot and sharp. But as it passed his chest and moved toward his dantian (the energy center below the navel), it detoured toward his right hand.
The mark on his palm heated up.
The chaotic, wild Qi entered his hand, swirled for a microsecond, and then flowed back out into his body. But now, it wasn't wild white light. It was a pure, condensed azure liquid.
It flowed through his meridians—which he could now feel, wide and unobstructed—and settled in his dantian, forming a tiny, swirling puddle of energy.
Boom.
A shockwave of air blasted from his body, blowing the dry leaves around him away.
Jiang Yi opened his eyes, a sharp glint flickering within them.
"First Stage of Body Tempering," he whispered, his hands trembling.
He wasn't trash anymore. He had officially stepped onto the path of cultivation.
His stomach gave a violent roar, louder than thunder. The hunger was agonizing. Cultivation required energy, and his body had just burned through every reserve he had.
He dressed quickly in his damp clothes and hurried back up the path toward the servant quarters. It was well past curfew.
As he reached the courtyard, he saw a flickering lantern. A figure was standing by the door to the sleeping barracks.
It was Steward Ma, the man in charge of the servant roster. He was a fat, greasy man who enjoyed using a rattan cane on anyone who delayed his sleep.
"Jiang Yi!" Steward Ma barked, raising his lantern. The light illuminated his sour face. "You filth! Where have you been? You missed roll call."
Jiang Yi lowered his head, adopting his usual hunch. "I'm sorry, Steward Ma. I fell down the embankment while cleaning the waste. I passed out."
"Passed out?" Ma sneered, stepping closer. "You smell like wet dog. You think you can slack off just because—"
Ma raised his rattan cane and swung it viciously toward Jiang Yi's shoulder.
In the past, Jiang Yi would have cowered and taken the hit, hoping it didn't break a bone.
But tonight, as the cane descended, time seemed to slow. Jiang Yi could see the trajectory of the wood. He could see the sweat on Ma's lip. He could hear the cane cutting the air.
Too slow.
Instinct took over. Jiang Yi didn't dodge; that would reveal too much. Instead, he shifted his shoulder almost imperceptibly, just an inch, and tightened his muscle.
Thwack.
The cane hit him, but instead of the sickening crunch of bone, there was a dull thud, like striking a sandbag wrapped in iron.
Steward Ma's hand jarred. He yelped, dropping the cane as the vibration stung his palm. "What the hell are you made of?"
Jiang Yi immediately fell to his knees, feigning agony. "Ah! Mercy, Steward! My shoulder!"
Steward Ma looked at his shaking hand, then at the groveling boy. He was confused, but his arrogance overrode his suspicion. "Hmph. Must have hit a bone. Get inside! No breakfast for you tomorrow as punishment!"
Ma kicked the dirt and waddled away, nursing his hand.
Jiang Yi waited until the door closed behind the steward. He stood up slowly, his expression cold. He rubbed his shoulder. There wasn't even a bruise.
He looked at the moon again. He had power now, but he was starving, and he had enemies everywhere.
I need spirit stones, he thought. And I need food. The kitchen scraps won't be enough to sustain this hunger.
He touched the mark on his palm. The voice from the sphere echoed in his memory. "Hungry..."
"Me too," Jiang Yi whispered. "Me too."