## Chapter 2: The Art of Cowardice and Cultivation
The morning sun crept over the jagged, mist-shrouded peaks of the Azure Cloud Continent, casting long, pale rays through the numerous cracks in Lu Chen's dilapidated roof. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light, illuminating the meager reality of his existence.
Yet, for Lu Chen, the world had never looked brighter.
He opened his eyes, ending his final circulation of the *Green Wood Art*. He had sat in the exact same lotus position for eight hours straight. For a normal Qi Condensation Level 2 cultivator, sitting still for that long and forcing spiritual energy through narrow, fragile meridians would have resulted in excruciating muscle cramps, mental exhaustion, and a dangerously unstable dantian.
Lu Chen, however, felt as fresh as a daisy bathed in morning dew.
His back didn't ache. His legs weren't numb. His mind was razor-sharp, devoid of the sluggish fog that usually accompanied sleep deprivation. The Immortal Lotus, floating serenely in his spiritual sea, had spent the entire night bathing his body in its boundless vitality, repairing the microscopic wear and tear of cultivation the instant it occurred.
He summoned his interface with a mere thought.
**[Cultivation Method]**
* Green Wood Art (Level 2) - Proficiency: 154/200 *(+8)*
Eight points. One point per hour of continuous cycling. It was an agonizingly slow pace. At this rate, he would need nearly six more days of non-stop, twenty-four-hour cultivation just to reach Level 3 of the basic Qi Condensation stage. And that was assuming he didn't eat, farm, or do anything else. For an ordinary cultivator with a limited lifespan of a hundred years, spending a week just to gain a single minor sub-level in a trash-tier art was a tragedy.
"Slow and steady wins the race," Lu Chen whispered to himself, stretching his arms above his head and feeling the satisfying pop of his joints. "When you have eternity, a week is just a grain of sand in the hourglass."
A soft rustle of silk drew his attention to the bed. Mei Lin was stirring. She rolled over, the thin blanket slipping down to expose the smooth, pale curve of her shoulder and the tantalizing swell of her breast. She let out a soft groan, burying her face into the lumpy straw pillow.
"Are you trying to achieve ascension by glaring at the wall?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep and the lingering exhaustion of yesterday's marathon session.
Lu Chen chuckled, standing up and walking over to the bed. He sat on the edge, gently stroking her raven hair. "Just catching the morning Qi, Sister Mei. A cultivator must be diligent, after all."
Mei Lin cracked one eye open, glaring at him with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, wincing slightly as a flush of soreness reminded her of his unnatural stamina. She looked at him closely, scanning his face for the dark circles or hollow cheeks that should rightfully be there.
"You didn't sleep at all, did you?" she asked, her tone shifting from playful to incredulous. "You cultivated the entire night after... after *that*?"
"I have a lot of energy," Lu Chen replied simply, offering a warm smile.
"You have a death wish," she corrected, sitting up properly and pulling the blanket up to cover her chest, though the flush on her cheeks indicated she remembered quite clearly that he had already mapped every inch of her. "Forcing your meridians without rest will lead to another Qi deviation. Did yesterday teach you nothing?"
"I know my limits better now," he lied smoothly, omitting the part where his limits had been entirely erased by a supreme divine object residing in his soul. "Besides, I couldn't sleep. I was too busy admiring the view."
Mei Lin rolled her eyes, but a small, pleased smile tugged at the corners of her painted lips. She reached out and lightly slapped his chest. "Silver-tongued rogue. The Qi deviation definitely broke your brain. The old Lu Chen would have apologized for breathing my air."
"The old Lu Chen died yesterday," Lu Chen said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a weight that made Mei Lin pause. "I realized that living in fear is no way to live at all. I want to enjoy my life, Mei Lin. And part of that is appreciating you."
She held his gaze for a long moment, the banter dying down. In this harsh, unforgiving outer sect slum, emotional vulnerability was a weakness usually exploited. Yet, looking into Lu Chen's dark, calm eyes, she felt a strange sense of security.
"Just... don't push yourself too hard," she finally said, her voice softening. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and began gathering her scattered robes. "I need to get back to my cabin. I have a batch of Blood-Stanching Wine fermenting, and if I don't stir it by mid-morning, the whole vat will turn to vinegar."
"Let me walk you back," Lu Chen offered.
"It's a hundred yards, Lu Chen. I'm not going to get eaten by a spirit beast between here and my front door," she scoffed, slipping into her light-green dress and tying the sash tightly around her waist. She walked over to the door, pausing with her hand on the wooden frame. She looked back over her shoulder, a sultry, challenging light in her eyes. "But... if you manage to earn a few spirit stone fragments today, you can buy me a proper meal tonight. Maybe then I'll let you 'admire the view' again."
"It's a date," Lu Chen grinned.
As she slipped out the door, the small cabin suddenly felt very empty. But Lu Chen didn't have time to dwell on it. The sun was up, and he had work to do. Not for survival, but for the principle of progress.
### Tending the Spirit Field
Lu Chen dressed in his coarse, grey hemp robes—the standard, unofficial uniform of the lowest tier of loose cultivators in the Crimson Valley slums. He strapped a rusted iron sickle to his waist and grabbed a woven bamboo basket before stepping out into the morning air.
The Crimson Valley wasn't a valley at all, but a sprawling, chaotic shantytown built along the jagged slopes of the Azure Cloud Mountain Range. Thousands of loose cultivators lived here, clustered together like barnacles on a ship's hull, drawn by the faint, secondary spiritual veins that leaked from the great sects deeper in the mountains.
The air smelled of morning dew mixed with the acrid stench of cheap spirit coal, unwashed bodies, and the metallic tang of blood that was never entirely absent in a lawless zone. Narrow dirt paths wound between haphazardly constructed huts, tents, and stone hovels.
Lu Chen walked at a leisurely pace, nodding politely to the few early risers he passed. He ignored the sneers of a group of level 3 cultivators gathered around a fire pit, and sidestepped a puddle of suspicious red liquid without a second thought. He was invisible. He was a nobody. And he intended to keep it that way.
His destination was a ten-minute walk up the slope: a half-acre terraced plot of land that belonged to him—or rather, that he rented from the local enforcers at an extortionate rate.
When he arrived, he stood at the edge of his field, taking in the sight. The soil was a dull, dusty brown, severely lacking in spiritual nourishment. Planted in neat, albeit struggling, rows were hundreds of Starlight Grass shoots. It was a Grade-1, lower-tier medicinal herb used as a filler ingredient in basic Qi Gathering Pills. They were cheap, hardy, and barely worth the dirt they grew in, but they were his livelihood.
Lu Chen took a deep breath and activated one of his two learned skills.
*Spirit Vision.*
He channeled a fraction of his meager spiritual energy into his eyes. The world shifted. The dull colors of the morning were overlaid with faint, glowing auras. The dirt path beneath him emanated a weak, muddy brown light. The distant mountain peaks pulsed with vibrant, swirling colors of elemental energy.
And his field... his field looked pitiful. The Starlight Grass shoots glowed with a sickly, dim yellow light. Several weeds, glowing with a parasitic red hue, were strangling the roots of his crops, siphoning away the precious little spiritual energy the soil provided.
**[Spells & Skills]**
* Spirit Vision (Novice) - Proficiency: 23/100 *(+1)*
The prompt appeared, confirming his progress. He held the vision, enduring the slight sting in his eyes as the skill drained his Qi. Because his Qi pool was so small, he could only maintain the skill for about two minutes before he felt the familiar scrape of an empty dantian.
But as soon as his Qi hit rock bottom, the Immortal Lotus in his soul pulsed. A wave of pure, refreshing vitality washed over him, instantly replenishing his exhausted spiritual energy reserves.
Lu Chen grinned. "Unlimited mana. What a glorious cheat."
He kept *Spirit Vision* active permanently, tying the continuous drain to the continuous regeneration of the Lotus.
He stepped into the field, sinking his hands into the dirt. This was where his second skill came into play.
*Herb Farming (Competent).*
Drawing upon the memories of his predecessor, Lu Chen began to work. He didn't just yank the weeds out; that would damage the fragile root system of the Starlight Grass. Instead, he channeled a tiny thread of his Green Wood Qi down his arms and into his fingertips. He carefully infused this life-giving energy into the roots of the Starlight Grass, bolstering their strength, while simultaneously using his iron sickle to sever the parasitic weeds at their base.
It was tedious, backbreaking work. The sun climbed higher in the sky, beating down relentlessly on his back. Sweat beaded on his forehead and soaked his coarse grey robes. Dirt caked beneath his fingernails.
But Lu Chen didn't stop. He didn't take a water break. He didn't stand up to stretch his aching lower back, because his lower back didn't ache. The Endless Vitality negated the physical toll entirely. His muscles operated at peak efficiency, untiring and unyielding.
For four hours, he moved methodically down the rows.
*Infuse Wood Qi. Sever weed. Inspect soil. Move forward.*
**[Spells & Skills]**
* Herb Farming (Competent) - Proficiency: 311/500 *(+1)*
* Herb Farming (Competent) - Proficiency: 312/500 *(+1)*
...
* Herb Farming (Competent) - Proficiency: 340/500 *(+1)*
By midday, he had cleared the entire half-acre. The Starlight Grass, previously glowing with a sickly yellow aura in his *Spirit Vision*, now pulsed with a steady, healthier green light. The weeds were piled neatly at the edge of the field, ready to be burned for compost.
Lu Chen stood up, brushing the dirt from his knees. He wasn't panting. His heartbeat was steady. He felt as though he had just gone for a leisurely stroll rather than performing four hours of intense, Qi-draining agricultural labor under a blazing sun.
"This is peaceful," Lu Chen murmured, looking over his handiwork. There was a profound, simple satisfaction in watching the numbers go up, in seeing the tangible results of his labor. He didn't need to slaughter a dragon to feel a sense of accomplishment; nurturing a field of cheap grass was enough, because every action permanently cemented his foundation.
### The Local Tyrant
"Well, well. If it isn't the little grass farmer. I heard you almost coughed your lungs out yesterday."
The harsh, grating voice shattered the quiet peace of the afternoon.
Lu Chen turned, his expression instantly smoothing into a mask of mild apprehension and deep respect.
Standing on the dirt path bordering his field were three men. The two in the back were lackeys, dressed in matching black martial robes, both at Qi Condensation Level 2. They sneered at him, hands resting on the pommels of cheap iron swords.
The man in the front was the problem.
His name was Wang Lei, known locally as Scarface Wang. He was a Qi Condensation Level 4 cultivator, an enforcer for the Black Tiger Gang—the local syndicate that essentially ruled this sector of the Crimson Valley slums. He was a large, heavily muscled man with a jagged, ugly scar running from his left temple down to his jawline. He radiated a fierce, untamed spiritual pressure that was meant to intimidate the weaker cultivators around him.
To a Level 2 cultivator, a Level 4 was an insurmountable mountain. The difference in spiritual reserves and physical strength was massive.
Lu Chen quickly evaluated the situation. He had Endless Vitality, yes. He couldn't tire. But he had absolutely zero combat skills beyond a Novice level *Fireball Spell* that took three seconds to cast and would probably only singe Wang Lei's eyebrows. If they fought, Wang Lei would cross the distance in half a second and decapitate him before Lu Chen could blink. Endless stamina didn't mean immortality against instant physical destruction.
His philosophy kicked in instantly: *Be the ultimate coward when outmatched.*
Lu Chen immediately lowered his head, clasping his hands together in a deep, respectful bow. "Senior Wang. It is an honor to see you. Rumors of my demise were greatly exaggerated, though I did suffer a minor setback in my cultivation."
Wang Lei snorted, stepping onto the edge of the field and deliberately crushing a healthy Starlight Grass shoot beneath his heavy leather boot. Lu Chen watched the plant die in his *Spirit Vision*, but his face remained completely impassive.
"I don't care about your setbacks, brat," Wang Lei growled, crossing his thick arms. "It's the fifth of the month. Rent is due. One whole spirit stone, or ten fragments. Pay up, or I'll break your legs and take your field."
The rent was extortionate. A half-acre of barren land wasn't worth half a spirit stone a year, let alone one a month. The Black Tiger Gang was simply bleeding the loose cultivators dry.
In a standard cultivation novel, this would be the inciting incident. The protagonist, filled with righteous fury, would refuse to pay. He would spit in Wang Lei's face, utilize some hidden trump card or a burst of sudden enlightenment to defeat the Level 4 enforcer, and thereby draw the ire of the entire gang, setting off a bloody arc of revenge and escalation.
Lu Chen had zero interest in that narrative.
Why fight over a single rock? He had infinite time. A spirit stone today was meaningless in the grand scheme of eternity. If paying a small toll kept the local thugs off his back so he could farm and level his skills in peace, it was the best investment he could make.
"Of course, Senior Wang. I have it ready," Lu Chen said smoothly, his voice laced with the perfect amount of subservient tremble.
He reached into the inner pocket of his robe and pulled out a small, grimy leather pouch. It contained exactly ten spirit stone fragments—irregular, chipped pieces of low-grade spirit stones that served as the primary currency in the slums. It was his entire life savings, gathered from three months of selling Starlight Grass.
He walked over, keeping his posture hunched to appear smaller, and offered the pouch with both hands.
Wang Lei snatched the pouch, bouncing it in his palm to weigh it. He opened the drawstring and peered inside, his scarred face twisting into a disappointed scowl. He was clearly hoping Lu Chen didn't have the money so he could exercise some violence to relieve his boredom.
"Hmph. Exactly ten. You cut it close this month, trash," Wang Lei spat. He looked at Lu Chen, his eyes narrowing. "You look awfully healthy for a guy who just had a Qi deviation. Did you stumble upon some hidden treasure? A healing pill, maybe?"
Lu Chen's heart maintained its steady, unbothered rhythm. He didn't sweat. He didn't stutter. He looked up, his eyes wide with perfectly feigned terror.
"T-treasure? No, Senior Wang! I swear to the heavens! Sister Mei Lin... the widow down the hill... she took pity on me. She gave me a bowl of medicinal soup. That's the only reason I'm standing. I spent my last copper on the herbs she used!"
Wang Lei laughed, a harsh, barking sound. The two lackeys behind him joined in.
"Ah, the Widow Mei. Still throwing her pity at stray dogs, I see," Wang Lei sneered, his eyes gleaming with a dirty light. "I should pay her a visit to collect her rent personally. I hear she pays in... other ways if she's short."
A brief, icy spike of genuine killing intent flared in Lu Chen's chest. It was instinctual, a protective urge over the woman who had shared his bed and shown him kindness.
But his mind, cold and analytical, instantly smothered the emotion.
*Emotion is the enemy of longevity,* he reminded himself. *Wang Lei is trying to provoke a reaction. If I show anger, he attacks. If I attack, I die. I am Level 2. I have no combat arts. I must endure. I will add his name to a very, very long-term list.*
Lu Chen kept his face perfectly blank, maintaining his submissive posture. He offered no defense of Mei Lin, knowing that protesting would only make things worse.
Seeing that Lu Chen wasn't going to rise to the bait, Wang Lei lost interest. He tied the pouch to his belt and turned away.
"Have the rent ready next month, trash. Or next time, I won't just step on your grass," Wang Lei threatened over his shoulder as he and his lackeys sauntered down the dirt path, laughing amongst themselves.
Lu Chen remained bowed until they were completely out of sight.
When he finally straightened up, his face was devoid of the subservient fear he had just displayed. His expression was placid, his dark eyes entirely calm.
He looked at the crushed Starlight Grass beneath his feet.
"Level 4 Qi Condensation," Lu Chen murmured to the empty air. "A physical strength roughly equivalent to a silverback gorilla back on Earth. Spiritual pressure capable of paralyzing a mortal. And a gang backing him."
He turned and began walking back towards his cabin.
"I am immortal. I have endless time. I will not die over pride, and I will not fight a battle I am not one hundred percent certain I can win without a scratch."
He reached his cabin, unbarring the door and stepping into the cool, damp interior. He walked over to the rickety table and sat down.
"However," Lu Chen said, his voice hardening into steel. "I also refuse to be a victim forever. Today, I played the coward because I am weak. That is a logical survival strategy. But to remain weak when I have the means to grow strong is just stupidity."
He summoned his interface.
**Name:** Lu Chen
**Lifespan:** 19 / ∞
**Cultivation Realm:** Qi Condensation (Level 2)
**[Spells & Skills]**
* Fireball Spell (Novice) - Proficiency: 45/100
* Body Forging (Mortal) - Novice - Proficiency: 15/100
"It's time to build the arsenal," Lu Chen declared.
### The Endless Grind
For the rest of the afternoon, Lu Chen did not farm. He did not cultivate his *Green Wood Art*. He transformed his small, one-room cabin into a training ground.
He started with the *Fireball Spell*.
It was the most basic offensive spell in the cultivation world. It required a specific sequence of three hand seals, the drawing of Fire-attribute Qi from the ambient air, merging it with his own Qi, and violently expelling it.
Lu Chen stood in the center of the room, facing the stone fireplace to avoid burning down his own house.
He formed the hand seals: *Tiger, Serpent, Dragon.*
He drew upon his Qi. Because his spiritual roots were the 'Five-Element Mixed Inferior' type, his affinity for fire was abysmal. Gathering the fire elements felt like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands. He strained, his mind focusing entirely on the process.
A small, pathetic spark fizzled at the tip of his index finger, then died with a tiny *pop*.
Failure.
Normally, a failure like this would frustrate a cultivator. It would disrupt their mental state, forcing them to meditate to regain their calm before trying again.
Lu Chen just smiled.
**[Spells & Skills]**
* Fireball Spell (Novice) - Proficiency: 46/100 *(+1)*
Even a failure counted as an attempt. Even a failure built muscle memory. Even a failure forced his meridians to adapt to the flow of fire Qi. The panel did not judge the quality of the output; it judged the effort of the input.
He immediately formed the seals again. *Tiger, Serpent, Dragon.*
*Pop.* Another failure.
*Fireball Spell +1.*
He repeated the process. Ten times. Twenty times. Fifty times.
By the sixtieth attempt, a sphere of fire the size of a walnut stabilized above his palm. He pushed his hand forward, sending the miniature fireball flying into the stone hearth, where it left a scorch mark the size of a coin.
Success.
*Fireball Spell +1.*
His Qi was completely drained after sixty attempts. The spell was incredibly inefficient. But the Immortal Lotus hummed, and within three seconds, his Dantain was entirely full again.
He didn't pause. He didn't rest. He formed the seals again.
For three continuous hours, Lu Chen stood in his cabin, casting fireballs. The room grew swelteringly hot, feeling like the inside of a furnace. Sweat poured off his body, soaking his robes entirely, but his breathing remained perfectly even. The Endless Vitality prevented his muscles from cramping and his mind from suffering magical fatigue.
He became a machine.
*Seal. Cast. Boom.*
*Seal. Cast. Boom.*
When he finally stopped, the stone hearth was blackened and cracked from repeated impacts.
He checked the panel.
**[Spells & Skills]**
* Fireball Spell (Competent) - Proficiency: 5/500
It had broken through. The knowledge of how to efficiently draw fire Qi, the exact angle of the hand seals, and the optimal pathway through his meridians had instantly solidified in his mind, becoming as natural as breathing. He didn't need to think about it anymore.
To test it, he casually raised his hand without forming a single seal. He willed the Qi to move.
*Whoosh.*
A fireball the size of a cantaloupe, burning with a fierce, concentrated orange heat, materialized instantly above his palm. He extinguished it with a thought before it could set the roof on fire.
"Instant casting," Lu Chen marveled. "At the 'Competent' level, the hand seals are no longer necessary. The casting time went from three seconds to zero. If I grind this to 'Master' or 'Grandmaster' level... a basic mortal spell could become a devastating instant-kill weapon."
But magical damage was only half the equation. If Wang Lei managed to close the distance, a fireball wouldn't save him from getting his neck snapped.
"Physical conditioning," Lu Chen decided.
He stripped off his soaked upper robe, revealing a lean, pale torso. He dropped to the floor and began to exercise.
He had no martial arts manuals. He had no special body-refining techniques that used rare beast blood or spiritual herbs. All he had was the basic *Body Forging (Mortal)* skill he had unlocked yesterday by doing pushups.
So, he did what he knew.
He started with squats. Deep, perfect-form squats.
One hundred. Five hundred. A thousand.
His thighs burned for exactly half a second before the Lotus washed the fatigue away, replacing it with boundless stamina. He was forcing his mortal muscles to break down and rebuild at an impossible speed.
He switched to sit-ups. Two thousand.
He switched to burpees. A thousand.
He shadowboxed against the empty air, throwing straight punches, hooks, and kicks with every ounce of physical strength he possessed, aiming for maximum kinetic output.
He trained like a madman possessed. For another four hours, the small cabin shook with the rhythmic thud of his movements. He pushed his body to physical extremes that would have permanently crippled or killed a mortal man. He was tearing his muscle fibers to shreds, only for the divine energy of his cheat to instantly stitch them back together, slightly thicker, slightly denser, slightly stronger each time.
By the time evening arrived, painting the sky outside in hues of deep violet and bruised orange, Lu Chen finally stopped.
He stood in the center of the room, chest heaving—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer volume of oxygen his newly fortified body demanded to cool down. His skin was flush, radiating an intense heat. The lean, gaunt look of the malnourished nineteen-year-old was beginning to fade. His muscles weren't bulky, but they were defined, corded like steel wires beneath his skin.
He checked the panel.
**[Spells & Skills]**
* Body Forging (Mortal) - Competent - Proficiency: 45/500
"Mortal limits," Lu Chen noted, clenching his fist. He could feel the explosive power resting in his bones. He was still physically weaker than a Level 4 cultivator who had refined their body with Qi, but he was leaps and bounds ahead of where he had been that morning.
"I need a proper martial art," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow with a rag. "Shadowboxing is too inefficient. But martial arts manuals cost spirit stones. And I just gave all mine to Wang Lei."
He sighed, shaking his head. Money was always the bottleneck. Even with eternity, being poor was inconvenient.
*Knock. Knock.*
The sound at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
He grabbed his discarded robe, pulling it over his shoulders but leaving it open, and unbarred the door.
Mei Lin stood there. She had changed out of her work clothes and into a stunning, deep crimson silk dress that hugged her curves tightly. Her hair was down, cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall of midnight, and she held a small woven basket that smelled divinely of roasted meat and spices.
She looked him up and down, her eyes widening slightly as she took in his flush, sweaty skin and the newly defined muscles of his chest and stomach.
"By the heavens, Lu Chen," she breathed, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her with a soft *click*. "Did you spend the entire afternoon chopping wood or something? You look... different."
Lu Chen leaned against the doorframe, a slow, confident smile spreading across his face. The grueling training of the day had vanished from his mind, replaced entirely by the intoxicating scent of jasmine and roasted meat.
"I told you, Sister Mei," he said, his voice a low, teasing rumble. "I have a lot of energy to burn. And I believe I owe you a date."
Mei Lin held up the basket, an arch smile playing on her lips. "I brought dinner. Roasted Spirit Pheasant. It cost me five fragments, so you better be prepared to work off the debt tonight."
Lu Chen chuckled, reaching out to gently take the basket from her hand, his fingers deliberately brushing against hers.
"Don't worry, Mei Lin," he whispered, his eyes dark with promise. "I have endless stamina. I'm sure I can pay you back... with interest."
As they sat down to eat, the threats of the Black Tiger Gang, the extortion of Wang Lei, and the brutal reality of the cultivation world faded into the background. Lu Chen chewed the succulent, spirit-infused meat, savoring the explosion of flavor on his tongue.
He had his cheat. He had his plan. He had his eternity.
And tonight, he was going to enjoy his life. The revenge and the fighting could wait for another day, another decade, or another century. After all, what was the rush?