Chapter 9: A Way Out

This cheat—there’s no doubt it’s useful. Just thinking back to yesterday, after “activating” it and feeling that terrifying surge of strength in my bones; how I crushed the solid wooden bedrail as though it were nothing… Before “activation,” I could never have managed such a feat, not in a hundred lifetimes.

And that level of power—I hadn’t even felt I’d used much strength. If I were to unleash it at full force, I can hardly imagine how terrible it would be.

Such an ability could well save my life in a dire moment.

But, of course, everything comes at a price.

That power drains my body.

“My energy and blood are depleted… What’s being consumed, it must be my vitality…” He stared up at the ceiling, cobwebs dangling from the beams, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“So, the foundation of the body is the key.”

“Only if my physical foundation is stronger can I truly wield that power.”

“If I were as robust as Uncle Nine… then, when I called upon that strength, it would be terrifying.”

He was just a frail, sickly child, yet upon using the power, he could shatter a solid wood bedrail without much effort.

If someone with Uncle Nine’s physique were to unleash it, the result would be unimaginable.

Of course, there’s likely a limit—after all, it’s described as the “strength of a green bull.” Given that Uncle Nine can toss around boulders of three or four hundred pounds as if they were balloons, his base strength must be several thousand pounds.

But that’s another matter.

In short—

Li Mu had found clarity in his path ahead.

Martial cultivation!

“I must first restore my body… then, pursue the martial arts!”

“Only by cultivating can I hope to grow stronger, to avenge my parents!”

He clenched his fists, but after only a moment, his hands began to tremble and ache; his arms so sore he couldn’t lift them, his fists loosening in weakness.

He stared, stunned.

Then, his face twisted with bitterness.

His lofty ambitions, his heroic resolve, faded considerably.

But soon, he roused himself again.

One must eat a meal one bite at a time.

Martial arts cannot be mastered in a day.

Step by step.

He still had time!

Resolved, his gaze grew firm…

…

Aunt Nine returned soon, carrying a large bowl of porridge.

In this era, porridge was never made with white rice—that was a delicacy reserved for wealthy families in the county. Ordinary folk made theirs with millet.

The dehulling process was poor, so there were often husks in the porridge, making it coarse and rough—sometimes scraping one’s throat as it went down.

In the first days after his arrival, Li Mu could barely swallow it.

But when hunger grew sharp and there was nothing else to eat, he forced it down—and gradually, he became used to it.

Today, Aunt Nine had prepared millet porridge with a few leafy greens, and even a scattering of meat cubes…

There was hardly any salt, but compared to what he’d eaten before, this was a marked improvement.

At least, there was meat.

…

“Salt in this world is precious indeed,” Li Mu mused as he drank his porridge.

He’d discovered this not long after arriving.

The salt eaten by common people here was still in large, coarse chunks—bitter, extremely salty, and with all sorts of indescribable flavors.

Even so, most folk could scarcely afford it.

Salt was expensive.

It was said that the finest blue salt was worth its weight in gold.

That alone showed how valuable it was.

Naturally, the first business idea that came to Li Mu’s mind was salt.

Thanks to high school chemistry experiments, he remembered well how to extract rock salt and purify coarse salt.

It was simple, and entirely feasible.

But after just a moment’s thought, he realized he could never reveal that knowledge.

Given his family’s standing, to produce a method for refining salt? That would not earn him wealth, but invite disaster.

As he pondered these things, he downed the large bowl of millet porridge. Warmth suffused his body, and that pervasive sense of weakness finally eased.

Man must eat to live.

“Are you full?” Aunt Nine had been watching him; seeing him finish, she asked with concern.

“I’m full. Thank you, Aunt Nine.”

Li Mu’s appetite was not large. Though he was still weak, his stomach could contain no more; that large bowl of porridge was enough.

“Silly child, still so polite with your aunt… As long as you’re full. Your third grand-uncle sent some medicine over; I’ll apply it for you.”

With gentle affection, Aunt Nine ruffled his hair and sighed, then produced a jar of salve. She bade Li Mu extend his arms and began to apply the ointment to his bruised, swollen limbs.

The medicine was black and thick, reeking of strong herbs, but as it was rubbed in, a cool sensation seeped into his skin, quickly easing the pain in his arms.

Clearly, Third Grand-uncle knew his craft.

Once finished, Aunt Nine urged Li Mu to rest well, then left.

…

Three days passed in this manner.

Just one use of the demon chart’s power had left Li Mu bedridden for three full days before he could rise.

It made him wonder—was his cheat a little too weak?

Other people activate their cheats and soar to the heavens, defying fate, slaying gods and buddhas alike.

Why, when it came to him, did just one use leave him flat on his back for days?

And, up to now, aside from that explosive outburst, he was still as frail as ever.

It was almost enough to make one weep.

“I really must start cultivating soon…” he thought.

But truly beginning martial cultivation was no easy task.

At least at present, two problems stood before him.

The first was the matter of technique.

This shouldn’t be too difficult… After all, Uncle Nine was a martial artist. With enough pleading, given how well Uncle Nine treated him, he would almost certainly agree to teach him.

And if not, there were still martial schools in Wu County—a visible path forward.

The real issue was the second problem.

That was…

Vitality.

Or rather…

Money.

To train in martial arts, one needs not just techniques, but, more importantly, vitality.

Vitality comes from good food.

He couldn’t expect Uncle Nine to both teach him and provide the necessary sustenance.

Even if Uncle Nine were willing, Li Mu himself would feel ashamed.

Moreover,

Emergency aid is not a permanent solution.

For now, people helped him because he was young, weak, and out of respect for his deceased parents.

But after a while, who would continue to support him out of mere sympathy?

This was no long-term plan.

He must find a livelihood of his own.

That was the foundation for everything.

Only after standing on his own could he properly approach Uncle Nine to ask about martial training.

In fact, only then, if Uncle Nine truly refused, would he have other options to pursue.

But what could he do now to earn a living?

Li Mu frowned deeply.

He had thought about it for three months, but no good ideas came to him.

He had many money-making ideas in his head, but in this situation, none could be realized.

Business acumen was useless; as for practical skills, the only one he had was salt refining. Soap, glass, perfumery, brewing—he knew nothing about those.

Even his skill with salt was thanks to high school lab work.

But salt was too dangerous—producing it openly would be courting death.

He would have to seek another path.

But what else could he do?

…

…

Days passed in such frustration, and in the blink of an eye, another six or seven days slipped by.

Li Mu’s health improved steadily; at least, the drain from the demon chart seemed to have been fully replenished.

Third Grand-uncle’s medicine was surprisingly effective; the bruises on his arms had faded greatly. Only a slight tingling remained when he exerted force.

But it no longer hampered his daily life.

“Mu, after you finish eating, tidy up a bit. I’m going out to gather pigweed. If you’re hungry at noon, go to the kitchen and see what you can cook for yourself, all right?”

Early that morning, after breakfast, Aunt Nine slung a large bamboo basket over her back and prepared to head out.