### Chapter 2: The Ledger of Life and Death
The silent, grey-misted realm held no concept of day or night. There was only the pearlescent, unchanging sky and the black, fertile earth. Within this absolute stillness, the only rhythm was the ragged, wheezing breath of an eighty-year-old man clinging to the very edge of existence.
Li Han sat perfectly still in the center of the one-mu plot. His grey robes hung loosely over his emaciated frame, making him look less like a living cultivator and more like a macabre scarecrow left to rot in an empty field. To an outside observer, he appeared to be a corpse.
But internally, a desperate, silent war was raging.
*Accounting is the language of business,* Li Han thought, his mind locked in a state of hyper-focused detachment to ignore the gnawing agony in his gut. *Right now, my body is a failing corporation. My assets are my spiritual Qi and my willpower. My liabilities are the accumulated pill toxins, the ruined internal organs, and the impending deadline of my natural lifespan. I am operating at a massive deficit. Bankruptcy means death.*
He drew in a slow, agonizing breath, guiding the ambient spiritual energy of the temporal space into his nasal passages, down his throat, and into the shattered network of his meridians.
Ever since the *Evergreen Breath Art* had broken through to the Advanced level, the efficiency of his cultivation had drastically improved. The spiritual energy, once a jagged, abrasive force, now flowed like a cool, albeit sluggish, stream. He could actively direct the Qi to skirt around the thickest deposits of dark, sludgy toxins that blocked his major pathways.
However, increased efficiency did not equate to comfort.
He had been inside the space for what he estimated to be three full months. His supply of mundane water had run out weeks ago. He had not eaten a single morsel of food. For a mortal, this would be an absolute impossibility. Even for a third-layer Qi Condensation cultivator, it was pushing the boundaries of physiological endurance.
He was surviving purely on the life-sustaining properties of the *Evergreen Breath Art* and sheer, unadulterated stubbornness. The art, while considered trash by the wider cultivation world, had one saving grace: it possessed a microscopic amount of wood-attribute healing energy.
Every time Li Han completed a Great Zhoutian cycle, a minuscule portion of that wood-attribute Qi seeped into his failing liver and decaying lungs, temporarily patching the necrotic tissue caused by the fake Lifespan Extension Pill. It was the equivalent of putting a cheap bandage over a gaping arterial wound, but it was enough to stop him from bleeding out instantly.
**[Cultivation: *Evergreen Breath Art* completed one cycle.]**
**[Experience +3]**
**[Technique: *Evergreen Breath Art* (Advanced: 145/500)]**
The blue panel flashed in his mind, the only source of validation in this empty void. The experience points gained per cycle had increased from one to three.
*Another cycle finished,* Li Han calculated, his mind a steel trap. *That's roughly one hour. My Qi reserves in the Dantian have increased by 0.01 percent. It is slow, but it is steady. The ledger is slowly balancing.*
He closed his eyes and immediately began the next cycle.
The solitude was crushing. In his previous life, he had spent seventy-two hours in an isolated office, surrounded by spreadsheets and coffee cups, driven by the pressure of deadlines. But this was different. This was total sensory deprivation combined with constant, low-grade physical torture.
Many cultivators would have gone mad from the isolation alone. They would have rushed their cultivation, experienced a deviation, and exploded into a mist of blood. But Li Han was a man who found comfort in routine, numbers, and predictable outcomes. The panel guaranteed that his effort would never be betrayed. That was all the motivation he needed.
Time lost its meaning. It became a blur of breathing, enduring, and watching the numbers slowly tick upward.
Four months. Five months. Six months.
Li Han's physical appearance had deteriorated further. His skin was pulled so tight over his skull that he looked like a living mummy. His lips were cracked and bleeding, and his sparse white hair had fallen out entirely, leaving him bald. He was quite literally a skeleton wrapped in skin.
Yet, within his Dantian, a miraculous transformation was occurring.
The dried-up, cracked puddle of spiritual energy had slowly filled. It was no longer a murky, pathetic mist. It was a dense, swirling vortex of emerald-green Qi. It pushed against the boundaries of his Dantian, straining the limits of his third-layer Qi Condensation capacity.
He was reaching the peak. He was approaching the threshold.
On what he estimated to be the dawn of his seventh month inside the temporal space, a profound sensation washed over him. His Dantian felt engorged, pulsing with a rhythmic, heavy pressure that radiated outward through his entire body.
A notification abruptly interrupted his meditation.
**[Alert: Cultivation base has reached the absolute peak of Qi Condensation Realm - Layer 3.]**
**[Requirement for Breakthrough met. Breakthrough to Layer 4 is available.]**
Li Han's eyes snapped open. A brilliant, emerald light flashed within his sunken pupils.
This was it. The bottleneck. The invisible wall that the original host had slammed his head against for thirty years without making a single crack. The barrier that required sudden enlightenment, expensive medicinal pills, or a superior spiritual root to overcome.
But for Li Han, there was no wall. There was only an open door waiting to be walked through.
"Heaven Rewards Diligence," Li Han rasped, his voice a dry, echoing croak in the silent space. "Initiate breakthrough."
He did not need to perform any complex mental gymnastics. He simply continued to circulate the *Evergreen Breath Art*, drawing in a massive influx of spiritual energy from the surrounding one-mu plot.
Because there was no bottleneck, the gathered Qi did not crash against an invisible barrier and rebound, which was the primary cause of internal injuries during failed breakthroughs. Instead, the emerald energy flowed effortlessly, gathering momentum like a river bursting through a fragile dam.
*BOOM!*
A muffled explosion echoed entirely within Li Han's body.
The boundaries of his Dantian shattered, only to instantly reform, expanding to twice their original capacity. The dense, emerald Qi rushed into the newly expanded space, swirling with unprecedented vigor.
But the breakthrough was not just about capacity; it was a fundamental shift in the quality of his existence.
As the fourth layer was established, a powerful wave of pure, life-giving spiritual energy erupted from his Dantian and flooded his ruined meridians. This was not the gentle, microscopic healing of the *Evergreen Breath Art*; this was the violent, forceful tempering of a realm advancement.
The pure Qi acted like a raging torrent of boiling water flushing through rusted pipes. It slammed into the thick blockages of dark, sludgy pill toxins and violently scoured them away.
"ARGH!"
Li Han threw his head back, letting out a raw, guttural scream. The pain was beyond anything he had ever experienced, eclipsing even the heart attack that had killed him in his past life. It felt as though millions of tiny, razor-sharp ants were marching through his veins, tearing apart his flesh from the inside out.
His frail body convulsed violently. Black, foul-smelling sweat erupted from his pores, staining his grey robes. He coughed violently, hacking up gobs of putrid, black blood mixed with chunks of necrotic tissue.
This was the "Marrow Washing and Meridian Cleansing" process, a rare phenomenon usually only experienced by geniuses with supreme spiritual roots or those who consumed heavenly treasures. Because Li Han had completely bypassed the bottleneck, the breakthrough energy was perfectly utilized to repair his crumbling foundation.
The agony lasted for what felt like hours, though it was merely minutes.
Slowly, the pain began to recede, replaced by a deep, profound warmth that spread from his Dantian to the very tips of his fingers and toes.
The pure energy washed over his failing liver, purging the residual poison from the fake pill. It soothed his lungs, clearing the decades of accumulated smog. It seeped into his bones, fortifying the brittle, osteoporotic marrow.
Li Han collapsed backward onto the black soil, panting heavily, staring up at the pearlescent sky. He was covered in a thick layer of disgusting, black filth that smelled like rotting fish, but he had never felt better in his entire second life.
The suffocating weight of impending death had vanished. The constant, rattling ache in his chest was gone. His breathing was deep, clear, and resonant.
He summoned the system panel.
**[Name]:** Li Han
**[Lifespan]:** 80 / 95 years
**[Cultivation Base]:** Qi Condensation Realm - Layer 4
**[Spiritual Roots]:** Five-Element Mottled Root (Inferior Grade)
**[Cultivation Methods]:**
* *Evergreen Breath Art* (Yellow-Grade Low-Tier) - Mastery: Advanced (146/500)
"Ninety-five years," Li Han whispered, a genuine, relieved smile cracking through the grime on his face.
The breakthrough had repaired his internal organs and purged the lethal poison, restoring his natural lifespan and granting him an additional fifteen years of life as a fourth-layer cultivator. He was no longer a dying old man with seventy-two hours on the clock. He had fifteen years to reach Foundation Establishment.
Suddenly, a deep, resonant tremor shook the very foundation of the spatial realm.
Li Han sat up, alarmed. The perfectly square, one-mu plot of black soil began to vibrate. At the edges of the plot, the impenetrable wall of thick, churning grey mist began to boil and retreat.
He watched in awe as the land literally stretched. The black soil expanded outward, pushing back the grey boundary. The process was swift and silent, ending as quickly as it had begun.
Li Han stood up, his joints popping with a newfound elasticity. He walked to the edge of the expanded soil. He paced the perimeter, performing a quick mental calculation based on his strides.
"Two Mu," he concluded, his eyes shining. "The space exactly doubled in size. Just as the rules stated... it doubles with every breakthrough."
He looked at the two acres of prime, incredibly fertile spiritual soil. The ambient spiritual energy in the air had also grown noticeably denser, making his pores open automatically to drink it in.
This spatial realm was a supreme treasure. If any of the major sects in the Azure Cloud Continent caught wind of this, they would dispatch Nascent Soul ancestors to hunt him down and dissect his soul to obtain it.
"Gou," Li Han reminded himself firmly, suppressing his excitement. "Absolute secrecy. I must never reveal the existence of this space, nor can I show an abnormal cultivation speed to the outside world. I am an eighty-year-old trash cultivator. I must remain an eighty-year-old trash cultivator in their eyes."
He looked down at his filth-covered body. The stench was unbearable.
He needed to wash, and more importantly, he needed to eat. The breakthrough had repaired his body, but it had entirely depleted his physical energy reserves. His stomach growled with a ferocity that threatened to tear him apart. He had spent seven months in this space without food. If he didn't eat soon, he might become the first cultivator in history to break through and immediately die of starvation.
He couldn't stay in the space any longer. He needed to return to the outside world.
But before he did, he had one more task.
He walked to the center of the expanded plot. He raised his hands, his fingers forming complex, fluid seals that the original host had practiced thousands of times.
He focused his newly acquired fourth-layer Qi and channeled it into the *Spirit Rain Technique*.
**[Alert: Cultivation base has increased. Spell effectiveness multiplier applied.]**
Because his cultivation had risen, his control over spiritual energy was fundamentally stronger. As he cast the spell, the ambient water-attribute Qi in the space rushed toward him, forming a dense, dark cloud above his head.
"Rain," Li Han commanded softly.
A gentle, shimmering rain began to fall over a ten-meter radius. The water droplets were not ordinary water; they glowed with a faint, crystalline light. As they hit the black soil, they released a burst of pure, nourishing energy.
Li Han stood in the rain, letting it wash away the black, foul-smelling impurities from his body. The spiritual water was cool and refreshing, soothing his skin and slightly alleviating his intense thirst.
He summoned the panel.
**[Spells/Skills]:**
* *Spirit Rain Technique* - Mastery: Proficient (212/500)
"My mastery is still only Proficient," Li Han analyzed. "If I want to survive in the outside world without taking risks, I need capital. In the outer shantytowns, low-level spiritual farmers are always desperate for high-quality Spirit Rain to save their dying crops. If I can master this technique to the absolute peak, I can condense the rain into 'Spiritual Dew'—a highly sought-after commodity."
He had time. The outside world had barely moved.
Ignoring his crippling hunger, Li Han planted his feet firmly in the soil and began to cast the *Spirit Rain Technique* over and over again.
He cast it until his Dantian was completely empty. Then, he would sit down, circulate the *Evergreen Breath Art* to replenish his Qi, and stand back up to cast the spell again.
Cast. Deplete. Cultivate. Replenish. Repeat.
It was a cycle of pure, mindless grinding. A grueling assembly line of magical practice. There was no inspiration required, no profound understanding of the Heavenly Dao. There was only repetition.
Months blurred together inside the temporal space.
He cast the spell ten thousand times. Then twenty thousand times.
**[Technique: *Spirit Rain Technique* has broken through!]**
**[Mastery Level: Master (1/1000)]**
...
**[Technique: *Spirit Rain Technique* has broken through!]**
**[Mastery Level: Grandmaster (1/5000)]**
...
**[Technique: *Spirit Rain Technique* has reached MAX Level: Transcendent]**
Li Han collapsed onto his knees, gasping for air. He had spent another entire year inside the space, purely dedicated to mastering a low-level utility spell. He was so hungry his vision was swimming with black spots, and his muscles had atrophied to the point where he could barely lift his arms.
But as he looked at the final notification, a triumphant grin spread across his face.
*Transcendent*. The absolute highest level of mastery possible. It was a realm of understanding that even the creator of the spell might not have reached.
He raised a trembling hand and pointed his index finger at the cracked teapot resting nearby. He didn't form any complex seals; he simply willed it.
Instantly, the water-attribute Qi in the air condensed not into a cloud, but directly into a single, perfectly spherical drop of liquid at the tip of his finger. The drop was heavy, viscous, and radiated a dazzling, sapphire-blue light. It was packed with incredibly dense, pure spiritual energy.
*Spiritual Dew.* He let the drop fall into the teapot. It hit the bottom with a heavy, metallic *clink*, rather than a splash.
He had done it. He had a product.
"Time to go back," Li Han croaked. "Time to enter the market."
He gripped the grey bead hanging around his neck and willed himself out.
*Whoosh.*
The vertigo hit him hard, exacerbated by his extreme starvation. He tumbled off the futon and hit the cold, dirt floor of his shack.
He lay there for a moment, listening.
The howling wind outside was exactly the same. The half-burned incense stick on the table was still burning, having progressed perhaps only a millimeter since he had last checked it.
Nearly two years had passed for him inside the space. Outside, it had barely been an hour.
Li Han forced himself up. His body was weak from hunger, but his meridians hummed with the solid, powerful energy of a fourth-layer Qi Condensation cultivator. He felt a profound sense of dissonance. He looked like a dying beggar, but he possessed the foundation of a seasoned outer-sect disciple.
He grabbed an old, frayed bamboo hat from a hook on the wall and pulled it low over his bald head, obscuring his features. He didn't bother changing his grey robes; the worn, pathetic look was his best camouflage.
He picked up a small, empty jade bottle—a relic from the original host's vain attempts to save pills—and carefully transferred ten drops of the Transcendent Spiritual Dew from the teapot into the bottle. He corked it tightly, sealing the dense spiritual aura inside.
He unbolted the door and stepped out into Muddy Water Alley.
The sky above the shantytown was a permanent, depressing grey, choked with the smog of cheap alchemical furnaces and the smoke of damp firewood. The alleyways were narrow, winding, and filled with a foul-smelling slurry of mud and waste.
Dilapidated wooden shacks leaned against each other precariously. Loose cultivators—men and women with hollow eyes, patched robes, and desperate auras—scurried about like rats, clutching tightly to whatever meager possessions they had.
This was the bottom of the cultivation world. There was no grand Dao being discussed here, only the brutal, daily struggle for the next meal, the next spirit stone, the next breath.
Li Han hunched his shoulders, mimicking the defeated, shuffling gait of the original eighty-year-old host. He suppressed his aura entirely. To anyone scanning him with spiritual sense, he would appear as nothing more than a frail, dying mortal, or at best, a crippled first-layer cultivator.
He navigated the labyrinthine alleys with the ease of someone who had lived there for sixty years. His destination was the Black Market of the outer ring—a chaotic, unregulated bazaar where stolen goods, cheap materials, and desperate services were traded.
As he entered the market square, the noise hit him like a physical blow. Hawkers yelled out the prices of inferior demonic beast meat, merchants argued vehemently over the authenticity of rusted artifact fragments, and cultivators haggled fiercely over single, chipped spirit stones.
*Stay calm. Observe. Analyze.* Li Han's modern accountant mindset took over. He was a small businessman entering a highly volatile, completely unregulated market.
He didn't just walk up to the first stall he saw. He spent an hour wandering the market, keeping his head down, listening to the prices of various goods, and observing the behavior of the merchants.
He noted a stall selling low-grade spiritual rice. Ten catties (about 5 kg) of low-grade rice sold for one low-grade spirit stone. He noted the price of basic healing pills and the exorbitant cost of pure water.
Finally, his eyes settled on a specific stall near the back of the market. It was a sturdy, well-maintained booth made of ironwood. Behind the counter sat a plump, middle-aged man with shrewd, narrow eyes and a meticulously groomed mustache. He wore a clean silk robe, indicating a level of wealth and backing that the other merchants lacked.
The sign above the stall read: *Hundred Herbs Pavilion - Outer Branch*.
The original host knew of this place. The Hundred Herbs Pavilion was a massive merchant consortium that spanned the entire Azure Cloud Continent. This stall was merely a tiny, insignificant outpost, but it meant the merchant was bound by the consortium's basic rules of trade. They were ruthless capitalists, but they generally didn't murder their customers in broad daylight to steal their goods—unlike some of the other thugs in the market.
Li Han shuffled toward the stall.
As he approached, a burly cultivator with a scar across his face, clearly a bodyguard, stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of a crude broadsword.
"Move along, old ghost," the bodyguard sneered, looking at Li Han's ragged appearance with utter disgust. "This isn't a charity. If you want to beg, go to the mortal towns."
Li Han didn't look up. He didn't show anger. He simply stopped, let out a raspy, pitiful cough, and slowly reached into his robes.
The bodyguard tensed, drawing his sword an inch from its scabbard. "Hands where I can see them, trash."
Li Han pulled out the small jade bottle with a trembling hand.
"I... I have something to sell," Li Han rasped, his voice perfectly mimicking a desperate, dying man. "To... the Shopkeeper."
The plump merchant, who had been ignoring the exchange while reviewing a ledger, glanced up at the mention of a sale. He took one look at Li Han, then at the cheap jade bottle, and scoffed.
"Old man, unless you've dug up a thousand-year-old ginseng from the Azure Cloud peaks, you're wasting my time. What garbage have you scrounged up?" the shopkeeper asked, not even bothering to stand up.
"Spiritual Dew," Li Han said softly.
The shopkeeper paused. He set his brush down. Spiritual Dew was not a rare treasure, but it was highly sought after in the outer ring. Spiritual farmers needed it to save failing crops, and low-level alchemists used it to stabilize cheap pills. However, it was difficult to produce. It required a cultivator with at least a Foundation Establishment cultivation base and an Advanced mastery of a water-attribute spell to condense ambient Qi into dew.
"Spiritual Dew?" The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where would a half-dead ghost like you get Spiritual Dew?"
"Found it," Li Han lied smoothly, his voice shaking. "Dead... Foundation Establishment senior... in the outer forest. Found his spatial bag. Only this was left intact. Need... spirit stones. For medicine. Dying."
It was a classic, plausible lie in the cultivation world. Scavengers often stumbled upon the remains of cultivators who had died in the perilous outer forests. The shopkeeper didn't care about the origin; he only cared about the profit.
"Bring it here. Let me see it," the shopkeeper commanded, gesturing to the bodyguard to let him pass.
Li Han shuffled forward and placed the jade bottle on the counter. He kept his hand resting lightly on it, a subtle display of possessiveness that matched his desperate persona.
The shopkeeper uncorked the bottle.
The moment the seal was broken, a wave of dense, incredibly pure, sapphire-blue spiritual energy wafted out. The ambient spiritual Qi in the immediate vicinity of the stall visibly pulsed toward the bottle.
The shopkeeper's eyes widened in genuine shock. He abruptly stood up, grabbing the bottle and holding it up to the light.
"This... this purity!" he muttered, his commercial facade cracking for a brief second.
He had expected standard Spiritual Dew, which usually had a cloudy, pale-blue appearance and contained trace impurities. But the liquid in this bottle was flawlessly clear, vibrating with a transcendent level of water-attribute energy. It was completely devoid of impurities. It wasn't just Spiritual Dew; it was *Perfect* Spiritual Dew.
"Ten drops," the shopkeeper calculated rapidly, his mind racing. Standard Spiritual Dew sold for one low-grade spirit stone per drop. But this? This flawless quality could be sold to the inner sect alchemists for at least five times that amount.
The shopkeeper quickly schooled his features, forcing a look of mild disappointment onto his face.
"It's... acceptable," the shopkeeper lied, waving a dismissive hand. "Slightly better than average, but the quantity is too small. I suppose I can take it off your hands out of pity. I will give you five low-grade spirit stones for the whole bottle."
Li Han remained perfectly still, his head bowed beneath the bamboo hat. Inside, his modern accountant mind was scoffing loudly. *A lowball offer designed to exploit desperation. Classic predatory tactic.*
According to the original host's memories, standard dew was one stone per drop. He knew his Transcendent dew was worth far more, but he couldn't push too hard. Showing too much knowledge or demanding too high a price would break his persona and invite lethal trouble.
"Ten," Li Han croaked, extending a trembling, bony finger. "Ten stones. I know... standard price is one per drop. Need ten... for the Lifespan Pill. Or I die."
He framed his demand not as a negotiation of value, but as an act of sheer, blind desperation. A dying man clinging to a specific number to survive.
The shopkeeper stared at the frail old man. He weighed the options. He could simply signal the bodyguard to kill the old man and take the bottle. It happened every day in the Black Market.
But Li Han had chosen the Hundred Herbs Pavilion for a reason. The consortium valued reputation above all else. Murdering a customer in broad daylight over a trivial amount of spirit stones would damage their credibility in the outer ring. Furthermore, who knew if this old man had more hidden away? If he killed him, the source dried up.
"Fine," the shopkeeper sneered, deciding to take the easy profit. He tossed a small cloth pouch onto the counter. It clinked heavily. "Ten low-grade spirit stones. Take it and get out of my sight before I change my mind, old ghost."
Li Han didn't hesitate. He snatched the pouch with surprising speed, shoving it deep into his robes. He didn't count it—doing so would show a lack of trust and invite anger. He simply bowed his head low, letting out a series of pathetic, grateful coughs.
"Thank you... generous Shopkeeper..."
He turned and shuffled away from the stall, disappearing back into the chaotic throng of the market.
As soon as he was out of sight of the Hundred Herbs Pavilion, his shuffling gait subtly changed. He moved with a smooth, calculated efficiency, navigating the winding alleys to ensure he wasn't being followed. He took three random turns, doubled back through a butcher's stall, and finally merged into a crowd of mortal porters hauling timber.
He was safe.
He found a secluded corner behind a collapsed shack and pulled out the pouch. He opened it. Ten glowing, crystalline stones, each the size of a thumb, rested inside. Low-grade spirit stones. The fundamental currency and basic energy source of the cultivation world.
To a sect disciple, ten stones were pocket change. To Li Han, it was extreme wealth. It was the seed capital for his ascent.
He didn't return home immediately. He went to the agricultural section of the market.
Using five of his newly acquired spirit stones, he purchased fifty catties of low-grade spiritual rice. It was the cheapest, most basic food for cultivators, but it contained enough spiritual energy to sustain his newly advanced body.
With another two stones, he bought a collection of cheap, common spiritual herb seeds: Blood Clotting Grass, Spirit-Gathering Flowers, and Iron-Wood Saplings. They were the most basic tier of medicinal herbs, taking anywhere from one to five years to mature in normal soil.
But Li Han didn't have normal soil. He had two Mu of supreme spiritual land and a time dilation of three hundred and sixty-five to one.
With three spirit stones remaining in his pocket and a heavy sack of supplies slung over his frail shoulder, Li Han began the long walk back to his shack in Muddy Water Alley.
He was still an eighty-year-old loose cultivator. He still lived in a decrepit shack in the worst part of town. He still had terrible spiritual roots and a trash cultivation method.
But as he walked, his back was straight beneath his robes, and his eyes beneath the bamboo hat burned with an intense, steady light.
The withered wood had not just sprouted; it had laid down roots in an unbreakable foundation. The ledger of his life, once overwhelmingly in the red, was finally moving into the black. And Li Han, the accountant-turned-cultivator, was ready to start compounding his interest.