Jiang Xun sat cross-legged on the hard board bed and placed the qi induction pill into his mouth.
The Medicinal Pill melted instantly upon entry, and a gentle yet irresistible heat surged through his limbs and bones, finally circling and settling in his lower abdomen.
He closed his eyes, discarded distracting thoughts, and tried to capture that ethereal "Sense of Qi."
After an unknown amount of time, in a state of absolute focus, a hint of coolness, as slender as a spring stream, quietly seeped in from the top of his head.
It's here!
Jiang Xun's mind sharpened as he guided this weak Sense of Qi to slowly travel along his Meridians.
The process was jerky and difficult, but he was patient.
Wherever the Sense of Qi passed, it brought a slight tingling and coolness, finally returning to the Dantian three inches below the navel, where it circled and remained, turning into a faint but real warmth.
The first level of Qi Refining was achieved.
This didn't just mean he possessed the qualification to Cultivate in this world, a Spiritual Root.
It also meant he possessed the most basic power for self-preservation.
He exhaled a mouthful of turbid Qi, his breath long and steady.
Getting off the bed, he moved his limbs, and his body indeed felt much lighter.
He threw a punch into the air; although it lacked technique, he could hear a clear whistling sound, the force far exceeding what it once was.
Is this a Cultivator?
It really is different from ordinary people.
Not only has his strength increased, but his five senses have also become sharper.
But in the end, the first level of Qi Refining is mere dust in the cultivation world; in the mortal world, it's nothing more than an "expert" who can fight a dozen strong men.
It might be enough to deal with ordinary local thugs, but a hundred strong men could still take him down.
He sat back down on the edge of the bed, leaning against the cold earthen wall, and began to organize the current situation.
The appearance of the System gave him a lot of confidence.
But he couldn't rely on it.
The progress of "ethereal immortal destiny" was driven by countless scattered "character dialogues" and "event triggers."
Without a clear main quest, it meant he couldn't just head straight for a "protagonist" to cling to, like in other games.
To obtain more information, resources, and even System rewards, he had to take the initiative to interact and trigger events.
Jiang Xun's eyelids relaxed, and a hint of drowsiness washed over him.
He suddenly thought, if this world is real, were the people he faced in the game truly just data and code?
Were those romancable characters really just NPCs?
His thoughts involuntarily drifted toward the simple small bed next door.
Jiang Wanxing seemed to have cried herself to exhaustion and had curled up to sleep.
Among the options triggered by the System, the essence of the first and third options both revolved around the Original Owner's potential goal of selling Jiang Wanxing.
The first option emphasized the Original Owner's own predicament and necessity—he couldn't survive without selling Jiang Wanxing.
The second option emphasized that Jiang Wanxing belonged to him; if he didn't let go, she could go nowhere.
And the third option was very obvious: it was to sell Jiang Wanxing.
The choice was obvious.
He was a newcomer who knew nothing about this world, and his identity was a gambler burdened with massive debt.
At this moment, completely breaking ties with Jiang Wanxing—the only person who could possibly be "by his side"—or driving her to a dead end was undoubtedly foolish.
Stabilizing emotions, gathering information, and clarifying his situation were the first steps to survival.
In his memory, Jiang Wanxing was like his accessory; wherever he went, she followed, being very dependent on him.
It was only after the Original Owner's father passed away that their relationship became distant.
But he hadn't expected Jiang Wanxing's favorability to actually remain at the level of 81.
This was a bit strange!
With that degenerate gambler appearance of the Original Owner, what was there for Jiang Wanxing to like?
Jiang Xun remembered the favorability settings in the game.
Above 50 was considered friendly, allowing for limited trust and cooperation; above 80 usually meant extremely high trust, closeness, and even affection.
This number at least reduced any subjective malice from Jiang Wanxing to a minimum.
But the problem still weighed on his heart like a mountain. Ten taels of silver before sunset tomorrow.
Selling his sister was out of the question.
But there wasn't a single thing of value in the house!
He needed money, a way to get money quickly, or... deal with the creditor himself... Amidst his tangled thoughts, a dim light peeked through the window.
The sound of a rooster crowing came from the distance; a new day had begun.
"Bro... Brother?"
A faint, timid call sounded in his ear, and at the same time, his cheek was gently poked by a cold finger.
Jiang Xun suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze instantly clear and sharp, startling Jiang Wanxing who was crouching by the bed. She pulled her hand back like a frightened rabbit and moved half a step back.
Seeing it was her, Jiang Xun quickly retracted the sharp light in his eyes and rubbed his brow as he sat up.
Only then did he notice that it was broad daylight, and Jiang Wanxing had already gotten up at some point and changed into a clean set of old clothes. Though still simple, she looked much tidier.
Jiang Xun then remembered that he had torn her clothes during the struggle last night.
She squatted by his bed, looking up at him with her small face. The fear from last night was gone, replaced by a complex, cautious inquiry.
This look made Jiang Xun feel inexplicably uncomfortable.
That scum of an Original Owner had almost pushed her into a pit of fire; how could she still hold a favorability as high as 81 for him?
Could this girl really harbor those kinds of feelings for the Original Owner?
"Yeah, I'm up." Jiang Xun suppressed his doubts, his voice flat.
Jiang Wanxing seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and said softly, "Break... breakfast is ready."
"Brother, go wash up. The water is ready."
Jiang Xun nodded, stood up, and walked to the simple wooden rack outside, washing himself cursorily with the fresh water in a broken tile basin.
The cold well water cleared his thoughts a bit more.
Returning to the room, the bowl and chopsticks were already set on the old wooden table with uneven legs.
A dish of pickled wild vegetables of unknown origin, and two bowls of thin porridge so clear you could see the pattern of the coarse pottery at the bottom.
The porridge was so thin it was almost just rice water.
Jiang Wanxing stood uneasily by the table, her fingers wringing the corner of her clothes, her voice so low it was almost inaudible:
"There's... only this much rice left in the house. Brother, just make do with this for now..."
Jiang Xun didn't say anything, sitting down in silence.
The sins committed by the Original Owner had left this home destitute; he had no right to be picky.
Seeing him sit down, Jiang Wanxing timidly sat opposite him, holding her bowl of "porridge" and taking small sips, her eyes occasionally stealing glances at him.
The atmosphere was somewhat heavy and awkward.
Just as Jiang Xun was about to pick up his chopsticks to eat some wild vegetables with the rice water, Jiang Wanxing suddenly put down her bowl and quickly walked into the simple kitchen attached outside.
Soon, she came out carrying a coarse pottery bowl and carefully placed it in front of Jiang Xun.
In the bowl was a shallow layer of soup with oily droplets floating on top. The broth was murky, with a few unidentifiable pieces of chicken and two slices of ginger floating in it.
A meat aroma that wasn't exactly rich, but seemed exceptionally precious in this situation, wafted through the air.
"This... this is chicken soup." Jiang Wanxing lowered her head, not daring to look at him. "Left... left over from last night... Brother, drink it to nourish your body."
Chicken soup?
Jiang Xun's movements paused, his gaze falling on the bowl.
He seemed to have overlooked the cause of the Original Owner's death.
There was an old hen in the house that Jiang Wanxing raised behind the house like a treasure, hoping it would lay eggs to trade for some salt money.
Given Jiang Wanxing's personality, even if the sky fell, she would never proactively kill the chicken.
Moreover, in the Original Owner's memories of last night, he indeed drank a bowl of "chicken soup" brought by Jiang Wanxing, and then became drowsy.
So much so that he couldn't muster any strength when trying to tie her up in the middle of the night, allowing Jiang Wanxing to wake up startled.
Immediately after, he had transmigrated here.
The timing was so coincidental.
This made Jiang Xun think of a popular meme from his past life.
An undercover agent carrying a pot of chicken soup and shouting, "The chicken soup is here!"
Jiang Xun slowly raised his head and looked at Jiang Wanxing.
She still hung her head, her hands nervously behind her back, her fingers wringing together so hard her knuckles were turning white.
Her gaze flickered, simply not daring to meet his eyes.
"What about you?" Jiang Xun spoke, his voice devoid of emotion. "You're not drinking?"
Jiang Wanxing's body trembled slightly, her head hanging even lower, her voice as thin as a thread: "I... I've already eaten... Brother, you drink it, you drink it..."
Eaten already?
He hadn't seen Jiang Wanxing drink any of this chicken soup.
This chicken soup... could there be something wrong with it?
But then, how to explain the 81 favorability?
Why would someone with such high favorability toward you want to harm you?
He remained calm on the surface, even picking up the spoon and slowly stirring the bowl of chicken soup.
The murky soup swirled, with a few pieces of chicken bobbing up and down.
The aroma remained.
Jiang Wanxing quietly raised her eyelids a little and looked at the spoon in his hand, her gaze complex to the extreme.
There was expectation, fear, a hint of resolve, and... a sadness so thick it wouldn't dissipate?
It was this touch of sadness that Jiang Xun caught.
Jiang Xun stopped stirring.
The earthen house was silent, with only the faint clamor of the marketplace in the distance.
He held the spoon, looking at the bowl of potentially lethal care in front of him, and then at the thin, lowly girl opposite him.
To drink, or not to drink?