Chapter 2: The Actuary's Calculus of Death
The sun finally surrendered to the jagged, imposing peaks of the Blackwood Mountain range, dragging the last pitiful rays of twilight down with it. In its wake, a suffocating, freezing darkness swallowed Blackwood Village whole. The wind, howling like a chorus of starved ghosts, battered against the flimsy, rotting walls of Li Han's shack.
Li Han sat perfectly still in the center of his dark, unheated room. He was sitting on the frozen dirt floor, his legs crossed, the hunting knife resting across his knees. He hadn't lit a fire. He didn't have firewood, and even if he did, a fire produced light and smoke—two things that signaled life, warmth, and the presence of resources to desperate neighbors. Tonight, he needed to be a ghost.
His stomach let out a long, hollow rumble, a painful reminder that the small surge of physiological essence he had absorbed from the snow-hare was a temporary fix, not a substitute for actual calories. The starvation was still there, lurking just beneath his newly fortified muscles.
He ignored the hunger, channeling his focus inward. He was utilizing the long hours of the evening to do what he had done best in his previous life on Earth: calculate risk.
In his past life, Li Han had been a senior actuary for a massive insurance conglomerate. His entire existence had revolved around analyzing variables, assessing probabilities, mitigating liabilities, and determining the exact mathematical value of a human life based on health, environment, and occupation. It was a cold, clinical profession that reduced human tragedy and triumph into neat, undeniable spreadsheets.
Now, he was applying that exact same clinical detachment to his own survival in the Great Yan Dynasty.
Variable A: Zhao Mang. Zhao Mang was an unstable liability. The village thug had tasted the fruits of Li Han's labor. He had realized that the pathetic, starving orphan was capable of venturing into the Blackwood Forest and returning with prime meat. To Zhao Mang, Li Han was no longer a useless mouth to feed; he was a renewable resource. A goose that could lay golden eggs.
Projection: If left unchecked, Zhao Mang would return tomorrow. And the day after. He would demand more meat. If Li Han failed to produce it, Zhao Mang would beat him. If Li Han produced too much, Zhao Mang would become suspicious of how a starving boy could hunt so effectively, leading him to uncover Li Han's growing strength.
Conclusion: Zhao Mang's continued existence held a 100% probability of compromising Li Han's absolute priority: remaining lowkey and hidden.
Solution: Liquidation of the liability.
It was a terrifyingly simple equation, yet a part of Li Han's modern, civilized soul recoiled at the sheer, unadulterated coldness of it. He was planning a premeditated murder. He was sitting in the dark, sharpening a rusted blade, waiting for the optimal time to extinguish a human life. On Earth, this would make him a monster. A psychopath.
But this is not Earth, Li Han reminded himself, gripping the hilt of the knife so tightly his knuckles turned white beneath the gloom. This is the Great Yan Dynasty. The strong eat the weak, and the heavens do not care.
He thought of the two frozen corpses lying in the snow-covered street just outside his door. He thought of the magistrate who had doubled the grain tax during a famine. He thought of the "Immortals" who casually crushed mortal cities underfoot during their celestial battles.
Morality, he realized, was a luxury purchased with a full stomach and a secure environment. He possessed neither. If he allowed Earth-bound morals to dictate his actions in this brutal feudal world, he would be dead within a week. He would not just survive; he would thrive. And if the path to immortality required him to become the quiet, unseen scythe in the dark, then he would reap without hesitation.
Besides, his "Gold Finger"—the interface that harvested cultivation and lifespan—demanded death to function. It was the ultimate, horrifying incentive.
He closed his eyes and mentally reviewed what he knew about martial arts in this world. From the scattered memories of his predecessor, martial arts were not myths. They were categorized into distinct, terrifying realms. The lowest tier, the starting line for any aspiring warrior, was the Body Refining Realm.
The Body Refining Realm was divided into five distinct stages: Skin, Flesh, Bone, Blood, and Marrow.
Mortal villagers, regular soldiers, and common hunters were completely unranked. They relied entirely on natural genetics and mundane training. Zhao Mang, however, had managed to cross the threshold. He had somehow acquired a rudimentary technique and was currently sitting at the Initial Skin Refining Stage. It wasn't much in the grand scheme of the Great Yan Dynasty, but to a village of starving peasants, it made him practically invulnerable. His skin was as tough as cured leather, capable of shrugging off weak punches and glancing blows from dull blades. His physical strength was roughly equivalent to three robust adult men.
In a fair, face-to-face fight, Li Han's newly acquired +0.2 Agility and +0.1 Vitality would mean absolutely nothing. Zhao Mang would crush his skull with a single swing of his wooden cudgel.
Therefore, it cannot be a fair fight, Li Han thought, his eyes snapping open as the village outside plunged into the dead silence of midnight. It must be an execution.
He stood up. The air in the cabin was well below freezing, but the Minor Frost Resistance he had harvested from the snow-hare worked beautifully. His skin felt cool, but the agonizing, bone-deep ache of the cold was absent. His blood pumped steadily, his heart a slow, rhythmic drum in his chest.
He secured his tattered coat, tightened the cloth wrappings around his boots to muffle his footsteps, and slipped out the back window of his shack.
The night was pitch black, the moon obscured by thick, churning snow clouds. The wind was a blessing, howling loudly enough to mask any accidental sound he might make.
Li Han moved through the village like a wraith. He avoided the main paths, sticking to the deep shadows cast by the dilapidated cabins. He didn't walk normally; he utilized a stalking technique from his predecessor's memories, placing the outside edge of his foot down first and slowly rolling his weight inward to avoid snapping any hidden twigs or crunching the snow too loudly.
It took him twenty minutes to navigate a distance that would normally take two. Patience was his armor.
Finally, he arrived at the center of the village. Zhao Mang had claimed the largest, sturdiest structure in Blackwood—the former home of the village elder, who had conveniently "passed away" shortly after Zhao Mang decided he wanted the house. Unlike the thatch-roofed shacks of the other villagers, this building had solid pine walls, a heavy oak door, and a stone chimney.
Faint, grey smoke drifted lazily from the chimney, instantly snatched away by the wind. They had firewood. They had warmth.
Li Han crept around the perimeter of the house, his eyes scanning for weaknesses. The heavy oak door was barred from the inside; trying to force it would alert the entire neighborhood. The front windows were shuttered and nailed shut against the winter draft.
He moved to the rear of the structure, navigating a patch of frozen, overgrown weeds. Here, he found what he was looking for: a small, waist-high wooden hatch used for loading firewood directly into the home's internal storage bin.
Li Han crouched beside it and ran his gloved fingers along the edges. The wood was damp and rotting at the corners, but it was held shut by an iron latch secured by thick, rusted nails.
He drew his hunting knife. This was the critical point of failure. If he made a loud scraping sound, he was dead.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Li Han wedged the fine, sharp tip of his knife under the base of the iron latch, right where it met the rotting wood. He didn't pry outward. Instead, he applied a slow, agonizingly steady pressure upward, using his newly boosted Vitality and strength to maintain a relentless, silent torque.
Minutes ticked by. The muscles in his forearms screamed in protest, burning with lactic acid, but he didn't waver. He applied the exact, calculated amount of pressure necessary to slowly tear the rusted nails through the soft, decayed wood without snapping them.
Creak...
A microscopic sound, entirely swallowed by a sudden gust of wind. The first nail pulled free.
Li Han shifted his angle and repeated the process. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the freezing temperatures. He was operating in a state of hyper-focus, his entire universe reduced to the millimeter-by-millimeter yielding of iron and wood.
After thirty agonizing minutes, the latch finally gave way, coming loose in his hand with a soft, muted sigh.
Li Han exhaled a breath he felt he had been holding for an hour. He gently pulled the wooden hatch open. A wave of glorious, intoxicating warmth spilled out from the opening, carrying with it the rich, savory aroma of roasted rabbit meat and the stale stench of unwashed bodies.
He peered inside. The hatch opened into a small alcove adjacent to the main living space. The hearth fire had burned down to glowing red embers, casting long, dancing shadows across the room.
He saw them.
The two lackeys were asleep on the floor, curled up in a pile of filthy furs right next to the dying fire. They were snoring softly, deep in the heavy slumber of men who had eaten their fill.
Across the room, situated in the darkest corner, was a large wooden bed. A massive silhouette lay upon it. The deep, rumbling snores emanating from the bed sounded like a hibernating bear. Zhao Mang.
Li Han slowly, silently slid his legs through the hatch, lowering himself to the wooden floorboards inside. He paused for a full minute, letting his eyes adjust completely to the ambient red glow of the embers. He studied the floor, mapping out the creaky floorboards based on the wear patterns in the wood.
He was inside. The infiltration was successful. Now came the execution.
Li Han's actuary mind instantly began processing the variables of the room.
Target 1: Zhao Mang. Primary threat. High physical defense due to Initial Skin Refining.
Target 2 & 3: The lackeys. Low threat individually, but high risk of raising an alarm or complicating the primary assassination if awakened.
If he went straight for Zhao Mang, the lackeys might wake up during the struggle. A struggle with a Skin Refining martial artist was almost guaranteed to make noise, even with a sneak attack. If he killed the lackeys first, he eliminated all variables, ensuring a clean, one-on-one assassination of the primary target.
Decision: Total liquidation. Leave no witnesses. Leave no variables. Maximize the harvest.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, primal rhythm, but his hands were perfectly steady. He adopted an inverted grip on his hunting knife, the blade pointing downward parallel to his forearm.
He stepped out of the alcove, moving with agonizing slowness toward the two sleeping lackeys by the fire.
He approached the closest one, a scrawny man named Gouzi. Gouzi was sleeping on his back, his mouth hanging open, drooling onto the furs.
Li Han knelt beside him. He needed absolute silence. A slit throat would result in a gurgling, thrashing mess. He needed to severe the central nervous system instantly to prevent any involuntary vocalization or violent spasms.
He positioned himself over Gouzi. With a swift, practiced motion—borrowing heavily from the instinctual butchering knowledge of his predecessor—Li Han clamped his left hand down ruthlessly over Gouzi's mouth and nose, pinning his head to the floorboards.
Simultaneously, his right hand drove the hunting knife downward with terrifying force. The rusted iron blade punched through the soft flesh directly beneath Gouzi's jawline, angling sharply upward and backward, bypassing the bone and severing the brainstem at the base of the skull.
Gouzi's eyes snapped wide open in the dark, filled with a sudden, horrifying clarity, but his body immediately went rigid. A violent, full-body tremor racked his frame for exactly two seconds, and then, he went entirely limp. Not a single sound escaped Li Han's iron grip.
Li Han held the knife in place, waiting for the life to completely fade.
Suddenly, the ethereal, translucent interface flared to life in his vision, casting a ghostly blue light over the grim scene.
[Target Killed: Gouzi (Mortal)]
[Extracting Feedback...]
[Harvested: 1/2 of target's remaining lifespan (14 years, 2 months)]
[Harvested: 1/2 of target's physiological essence (Agility +0.1, Strength +0.1)]
[No Skills Detected]
A sudden wave of warmth washed over Li Han, but it was subtle, easily suppressed. He didn't have time to relish the gained lifespan.
He carefully extracted the blade, wiping the excess blood on Gouzi's furs to prevent it from dripping and making a sound. He turned his attention to the second lackey, who was sleeping facing the fire, his back to Li Han.
This one was even easier. Li Han straddled the man's waist, clamped a hand over his mouth, and plunged the knife into the base of the skull, right where the spine met the neck.
Crunch. A soft sound of parting bone and cartilage. Another rigid tremor. Another silent death.
[Target Killed: Er-Gou (Mortal)]
[Extracting Feedback...]
[Harvested: 1/2 of target's remaining lifespan (16 years, 5 months)]
[Harvested: 1/2 of target's physiological essence (Vitality +0.1, Strength +0.1)]
[No Skills Detected]
Over thirty years of human lifespan. He had just absorbed over three decades of life force in less than two minutes. A profound, almost intoxicating sensation of vitality bloomed in his chest, a deep reservoir of energy that made him feel invincible. The gnawing ache in his joints, a lingering byproduct of his earlier starvation, vanished entirely.
But the main event was still resting in the corner.
Li Han stood up, his eyes locking onto the massive silhouette of Zhao Mang. The village thug hadn't stirred. His deep, rumbling snores continued unabated, completely oblivious to the fact that his two closest confidants had just been butchered ten feet away.
Li Han approached the bed. This was the critical juncture. Zhao Mang was an Initial Skin Refining martial artist. His skin was incredibly tough. A thrust to the neck might deflect off the muscle and thickened dermis if the angle was even slightly wrong, resulting in a superficial wound and a very angry, very awake target.
Li Han stood over the sleeping giant. He needed maximum leverage and absolute precision.
He couldn't risk the neck. He needed to bypass the skin entirely.
He stared at Zhao Mang's face. The man was sleeping on his side, his temple exposed. The squamous part of the temporal bone—the side of the skull just behind the eye and above the ear—was the thinnest bone in the human head. Even a Skin Refining martial artist couldn't magically thicken their skull without advancing to the Bone Refining stage.
Li Han reversed his grip on the knife once more, holding it like an ice pick. He placed the very tip of the blade directly against Zhao Mang's temple, resting it lightly against the tough, leathery skin.
He took a deep breath, marshaling every single ounce of his newly acquired Strength, Agility, and Vitality. He wasn't just relying on his arm muscles; he engaged his core, his shoulders, his entire body weight.
Variable X equals zero.
Li Han brought his left hand down violently, slamming the palm against the pommel of the knife while simultaneously throwing his entire upper body weight forward onto the blade.
THWACK!
The sound was shockingly loud in the quiet room—the sickening crack of thick bone giving way under immense pressure.
The rusted hunting knife punched completely through Zhao Mang's toughened skin, shattered the temporal bone, and buried itself to the hilt directly into the man's brain.
Zhao Mang's eyes flew open. They didn't register fear; they didn't have time. They simply registered a massive, system-wide failure. His massive body spasmed violently, his arms shooting out, his legs kicking against the bed frame with terrifying force. The wooden frame groaned and cracked under the death throes of a body-refining martial artist.
Li Han threw his entire body weight over Zhao Mang's head, pinning it to the mattress, holding the knife buried to the hilt, refusing to let the giant thrash free.
Blood, thick and dark, bubbled up around the entry wound, soaking the dirty pillows.
The thrashing lasted for a grueling ten seconds before the massive brute finally, permanently, went slack.
Silence descended upon the cabin once more, save for Li Han's heavy, ragged breathing. He remained draped over the corpse for a full minute, ensuring the kill was absolute.
Then, the world around him vanished in a blinding flash of azure light.
[Target Killed: Zhao Mang (Mortal - Initial Skin Refining)]
[Extracting Feedback...]
[CRITICAL HARVEST DETECTED]
[Harvested: 1/2 of target's remaining lifespan (28 years, 7 months)]
[Harvested: 1/2 of target's physiological essence (Strength +1.8, Vitality +1.5, Toughness +2.0)]
[Harvested: Skill Fragment - Iron Bark Physique (Initial Mastery)]
Li Han barely had time to read the text before absolute agony tore through his body.
This was not the gentle warmth of the snow-hare, nor the subtle boost of the lackeys. This was the raw, concentrated essence of a martial artist forcibly integrating into a mortal frame.
It felt as though boiling lead had been injected directly into his veins. Li Han collapsed off the bed, hitting the floorboards hard. He curled into a fetal position, his hands clawing at his chest.
His muscles convulsed violently, tearing and repairing themselves at a microscopic level at an impossible speed. His bones ached with a deep, grinding pressure as they subtly thickened and increased in density. His heart hammered so fast it sounded like a continuous roar in his ears, pumping supercharged, oxygen-rich blood through expanding arteries.
He bit down on the thick leather collar of his coat, muffling a guttural scream of pure torment.
Then came the skill fragment.
Knowledge, alien and profound, was violently hammered into his brain. He understood the Iron Bark Physique. It wasn't a magical spell; it was a breathing technique combined with a specific method of circulating blood and microscopic muscle contractions designed to instantly harden the skin and underlying tissue upon impact. He felt the muscle memory of thousands of hours of training imprint itself onto his very nervous system.
His skin tingled fiercely. For a fleeting second, his pale, malnourished flesh took on a dark, almost grayish hue, resembling the rough bark of the black-iron trees, before slowly fading back to normal.
The agonizing transformation lasted for three minutes. When it finally receded, leaving him gasping and soaked in a cold sweat on the floor, Li Han felt entirely reborn.
He slowly pushed himself off the floor. The sensation was jarring. He no longer felt like a weak, starving teenager. He felt heavy. Dense. The frail, papery feeling of his limbs was gone, replaced by thick, taut cables of muscle. He looked down at his hands; the callouses were thicker, the fingers slightly broader.
He had done it. He had crossed the threshold. He possessed the physical attributes of an Initial Skin Refining martial artist. He was no longer at the bottom of the food chain in Blackwood Village.
"Incredible," he whispered, his voice slightly deeper, resonating with a new power.
But the actuary in him quickly silenced the rising arrogance. He had power for this village. Out in the wider Great Yan Dynasty, he was still nothing more than an ant. He had merely upgraded from a starving ant to a healthy ant.
He forced his mind back to the task at hand. The calculus wasn't complete. He had eliminated the variables, but now he needed to secure the equation. He needed to hide his tracks.
Li Han moved with a new, fluid grace, his enhanced Agility and Strength making his movements crisp and controlled. He began to thoroughly search the cabin.
He ignored the useless trinkets and clothes. He went straight for the loose floorboards under the bed, a classic hiding spot. Ripping them up with trivial ease, he found a small, iron-bound lockbox. He didn't bother trying to pick the lock; he gripped the iron padlock with both hands, engaged the Iron Bark Physique to protect his skin, and simply twisted.
The rusted iron groaned and snapped under his enhanced strength.
Inside the box lay a small fortune for a peasant: twenty silver taels, a string of heavy copper coins, a small, bloodstained pouch containing a coarse, black powder, and a worn, leather-bound booklet.
He picked up the booklet. The title, scrawled in crude, aggressive calligraphy, read: Iron Bark Physique - Skin Refining Chapter.
Li Han smiled coldly. He had already absorbed the mastery of the skill, making the book redundant for learning, but it was an incredible piece of camouflage. If anyone ever discovered his tough skin, he could claim he found the book and trained it secretly.
He stuffed the silver, the powder, and the manual into his coat. He then walked over to the hearth and found the remains of his roasted snow-hare leg. He devoured the cold meat in four massive bites, his newly supercharged metabolism roaring for fuel to sustain his modified body.
Now, the cover-up.
A targeted assassination of three men with a single knife wound each was the work of a professional. Professionals didn't exist in Blackwood Village. If an investigator saw this, they would immediately look for a hidden martial artist.
Li Han needed this to look like the work of desperate, starving scavengers or brutal mountain bandits.
He took his hunting knife and systematically began to mutilate the corpses. It was gruesome, stomach-churning work, but he disconnected his emotions entirely, viewing the bodies merely as props on a stage. He added dozens of shallow, frantic stab wounds to their chests and arms, masking the precise, surgical strike that had actually killed them. He made it look like a chaotic, bloody struggle.
He then tore the room apart. He smashed the chairs, ripped the furs, and threw the remaining firewood across the floor. He took a piece of charred wood from the hearth and smeared soot on the walls.
Finally, he needed to create a false trail. He found a pair of Zhao Mang's large, muddy boots. He put them on over his own wrapped feet. He climbed out the window, dropping heavily into the snow. He then proceeded to stomp a messy, chaotic trail of footprints leading away from the house, cutting through the village, and heading directly toward the main southern road that led out of the Blackwood region.
He walked backwards in his own tracks for a dozen yards, carefully stepped off the path onto a patch of solid, wind-scoured rock, and took the oversized boots off. He threw them deep into a snowbank where they wouldn't be found until spring melt.
Silent as a falling leaf, Li Han made his way back to his own pathetic shack.
Dawn broke over the Blackwood Mountain range, painting the sky in pale, bruised hues of purple and gray.
Li Han sat on his freezing wooden bed, his knees pulled to his chest, shivering violently. He wasn't actually cold; his Minor Frost Resistance and massive Vitality boost made the ambient temperature feel like a mild autumn breeze. He was practicing his facade.
When the village inevitably woke up and discovered the bloodbath in the center of town, there would be panic. The elder would summon everyone. Li Han needed to be exactly what they expected: the weak, terrified, starving orphan who had spent the night cowering in his shack.
He mentally reviewed his status.
Through the interface, he had absorbed over sixty years of mortal lifespan. Combined with his own, he easily had a natural lifespan approaching a century.
He had acquired the Iron Bark Physique at Initial Mastery.
His Strength, Agility, and Vitality had skyrocketed past mortal limits, placing him firmly in the Initial Skin Refining stage.
He had wealth. He had skills. He had a path forward.
Suddenly, a loud, terrified scream shattered the quiet morning air, echoing from the center of the village. It was followed by shouts, the ringing of the village warning bell, and the chaotic sounds of people running.
The bodies had been found.
Li Han forced his breathing to become shallow and ragged. He widened his eyes, injected a look of absolute terror onto his face, and huddled deeper into his tattered coat.
The cautious reaper had claimed his first human harvest, and as the panicked shouts of the villagers drew nearer, Li Han knew with absolute certainty:
This was only the beginning.