Ning quickly settled into his new residence: a humble hut beside his ten acres of land.

Inside, he found a bed, a cupboard, a small kitchen, and even a bathroom. All the basics were there, though technically, they weren't his. They were hand-me-downs from whoever had lived here last.

"Thankfully, the servant cleaned the place and replaced the covers and blanket." Ning didn't want to imagine the alternative.

Who knew what kind of cultivator had stayed here before? Maybe the guy failed a breakthrough and exploded. Or worse, Ning shuddered, it could've been unwashed socks.

He didn't have much faith in the hygiene standards of teenagers in medieval fantasy worlds.

The cupboard was next. Empty, of course. No hidden manuals, no surprise snacks, not even a forgotten copper coin. Truly, the inheritance of the ages.

The kitchen wasn't much better: one pot, one ladle, and a stove that looked like it might explode the next time it saw firewood. He was seeing a common theme here.

"Well, at least Fang Zhu promised three months of rations."

In fact, there was a reason for the genrosity.

Beginners were advised against eating mortal food during qi cultivation. Something about turbid qi… or impurity. Either way, free food. Yay.

Still, it was a roof over his head. And unlike Earth, rent was zero. Well, zero if you didn't count back-breaking labor and giving seventy-five percent of your harvest to the sect. A bargain, really.

After a quick bath, Ning collapsed onto the bed. He considered himself an introvert at heart, and one day of moving, talking, and meeting new people had already shredded his mental stamina.

"Alright, plans for the future," he muttered. "Step one, survive. Step two, improve cultivation. Step three, learn farming."

The bed creaked ominously as he rolled onto his side. Ning frowned. "Step four, reinforce the furniture before it murders me in my sleep."

With that, he closed his eyes and drifted off into his favorite type of relationship. Death without commitment. He slept.

...

In the morning light, Ning stood bare-chested, his skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. He sank into a horse stance, rooting himself to the ground before driving his fists forward with sharp, echoing cracks.

After a grueling session, he finally stopped, muscles burning and chest heaving.

[Panel]

[Name: Ji Ning

Spiritual Root: Mid-grade Spiritual Root

Attributes: Five Elemental Attributes

Talent: Extreme Space-Time Sensitivity

Realm: 1st Stage of Qi Condensation (Consolidated)

Cultivation Method: Pure Qi Sutra (1st floor: 1/100)

Martial Arts: Bone Forging Fist (Starting: 99/100 → Small Accomplishment 1/200), Shadow Steps (Starting: 99/100)]

The panel had grown more detailed than before. Seeing his effort reduced to neat numbers filled Ning with unexpected satisfaction.

"The panel evolves on its own… but this change, " his lips twitched.

It looked less like something out of a cultivation world and more like the RPG stat screens he used to grind back on Earth. Except now, he was the one inside it. For a moment his gaze sharpened, then he sighed. "Still no clue."

Practicality won out. Cause or mystery, it worked in his favor. Progress he could measure was progress he could chase.

In a world where most people gave up before noticing results, he had proof in digits, motivation in hard numbers.

When his eyes lingered on the Bone Forging Fist and Shadow Steps, his lips curved faintly. Both teetered on the edge of breakthrough.

The original Ji Ning had ground away at these arts for years, hamstrung only by a lack of cultivation. Now, with even a thread of Qi to fuel them, that foundation surged forward.

"I really benefitted from 'Ji Ning.'" Ning couldn't help but say.

Despite being starved of Qi, the boy had never slacked, drilling every day. That stubborn effort had turned into Ning's sudden leaps.

Still, Ning realized he kept thinking of the former owner of this body as the "previous Ning." But the truth was, he was Ning now. Perhaps the two had merged, though it was clear the otherworlder's personality had taken the lead. One more mystery to unravel.

"I'm Ning no more, but at the same time, I have gone even further beyond," Ning said, raising my hand in the empty room.

...Great, now he feels stupid.

The mirror didn't laugh back, only showed a lean, sharp-eyed boy with muscle shaped by diligence. Bone Forging Fist had not only hardened his strikes but tempered his frame like forged steel. Each step meant more power, more resilience.

"Good thing too," he said, flexing once. "Farming's still muscle work."

After replenishing his Qi, Ning pressed the jade slip of sect rules to his forehead.

Respect elders. Obey orders. Don't trespass on forbidden grounds. No duels without cause. Theft and desertion are punished by death.

Straightforward enough. But the phrasing was uneven, absolute in some lines, vague in others.

Classic. A rule's only as strict as the one enforcing it.

Back on Earth, he'd learned early: the first step in surviving any system was memorizing its rulebook. Not to follow it blindly, but to see where the boundaries bent. If you knew the limits, you also knew how far you could push before the rope snapped.

He exhaled. Same principle here. Keep your head down, learn the cracks, and move inside them.

Setting the slip aside, he brought out the Pure Qi Sutra.

Like any sect method, it promised unique features. Practiced to its peak, it was said to not only refine Qi but purge one's marrow of impurities. Few reached that height, but its real strength was in what most disciples could grasp, purer Qi, longer endurance.

That suited Ning just fine. The purer his Qi, the longer he could drill martial arts before running dry. He liked that.

Crossing his legs, he closed his eyes and began breathing slow and deep. Spiritual energy trickled into his body, flowing through his meridians, refined at last into true Qi within his dantian.

It was smooth enough, until the ache set in. His meridians throbbed faintly, protesting the strain.

A beginner's limit. One hour at most, then rest. Push further and efficiency dropped sharply. Extended cultivation was a luxury of the higher realms, even most Foundation Establishment disciples couldn't afford long retreats.

When at last he opened his eyes, sweat cooling on his brow, Ning whispered to himself, "One step at a time."

...

For the next two days, Ning barely left his courtyard. The sect called it an "adjustment period," but he treated it like boot camp. No sightseeing, no socializing, just Qi cultivation and Bone Forging Fist.

Everything else was irrelevant.

"Today, farming," he muttered, shaking his head at the absurdity of it.

Morning light spilled over the valley like molten gold. Ning rose from his cushion, frowning.

Practice had gone smoothly, until the end, when a faint burning traced his immortal veins. His body felt heavier than last night.

'What went wrong?' He frowned, settling into thought.

By the lake, Old Zhou finished his morning routine. He kept the fish he had caught in the bucket. Humming a tune, he strolled past Ning's courtyard.

"Xiao Ning, daydreaming again? Come, I'll show you how to tend spiritual grain this morning."

"Xiao Ning?" Ning blinked. The form of address still felt strange to him, but it usually signaled friendliness. Best not to fuss over it.

So, he bowing quickly. "I was thinking over a cultivation issue and didn't hear you approach. Forgive me. I'll prepare breakfast and then join you."

"Did you feel uncomfortable while cultivating?" Old Zhou asked knowingly.

Ning blinked.

Old Zhou gave him a small smile. "I know what you're worrying about. The Pure Qi Sutra is balanced. It's not the method, it's your timing."

Ning raised an eyebrow. Timing?

"When the sun rises, fire energy surges. A novice's meridians can't handle that heat. At night, yin power peaks. Too cold for your stage. Either way, you risk injury."

He added, "Cultivation relies on Dharma, companions, wealth, and land. Without guidance, you'd spend years wandering blind."

Ning bowed again, relieved. "Thank you, Senior Brother for clarifying."

"Just common sense," Zhou said with a wave. "The Foundation Establishment masters will lecture the new disciples in a few days. The General Affairs Hall will announce the time."

Ning thanked him once more, sighing inwardly. If even the basics weren't on the jade slips, the sect's intent was obvious: authority, not prevention.

Soon, after a quick breakfast of veggie over rice, Ning quickly met Old Zhou.

"Here, you will be working with this." Old Zhou spoke in a laidback fashion. He was wearing a large straw hat to block out the sun.

Three things were laid out before him.

A shovel, hoe, and rake.

Ning looked at the tools and then at the overgrown spiritual field. His imagined grandeur of cultivation faltered.

"Brother Zhou," he said, a touch disappointed, "are we really using farm tools for this? Didn't you say this field was harvested five or six days ago? How are the weeds already this tall?"

Old Zhou had already explained the process: weed first, dig with the shovel, level with the hoe and rake, then plant the seeds. Magical implements or not, it still looked like ordinary farming.

"You don't understand, Xiao Ning." Zhou shook his head, calm and patient. "These fields are full of spiritual energy. Once a weed takes root, it grows this fast. Completely normal."

He tapped the tools. "And you're only at the first stage of Qi Refining. You haven't mastered spellwork. These tools are transitional. Once your magic improves, you'll never need to do this by hand again."

Ning looked at the long, overgrown weed and could only agree.

"Well, here's hoping cultivation can cure back pain."