Qin Lu lingered in the doorway, muttering a curse against the damp air. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed the splintered remains of the door Fang Hu had kicked in. He wedged the wood against the frame—a pathetic, makeshift barrier against the slum’s night.

He retreated to the edge of his bed and sat. Heart pounding.

Time to figure this out.

The panel vanished the moment I lost focus, he thought. How do I bring it back?

“Open,” he whispered.

Intent was enough. His vision blurred. In a heartbeat, the translucent, game-like interface hovered before his retinas.

“Thought activation,” Qin Lu muttered. “Convenient.”

He scanned the lines. Concise. Clear.

And absolutely pathetic.

“No skills. Zero talent,” he scoffed at the floating text. “At least I have a cultivation technique. Without that, I’d be total trash.”

He had expected this. What kind of heaven-defying talent could a thirty-five-year-old nobody possess? He was stuck at the second layer of Qi Refining, the bottom feeder of the cultivation world.

His eyes locked onto one line.

[Lifespan: 35/102 Years]

“Thirty-five is my current age,” he murmured, doing the mental math. “One hundred and two is the limit.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. A spark of genuine joy cut through the gloom.

Breaking a hundred was rare even on Earth. Here? In this ancient, filth-ridden world where mortals dropped dead at forty? It was a miracle.

“Mortals don’t live this long,” he realized. “It’s the cultivation. Even at Layer 2, I’m different.”

He scrolled down.

[Cultivation Technique: Mystic Sun Mantra (Novice): 82/100]

The name rang a bell. The original owner had scavenged the manual from a cave years ago—the lucky break that dragged him out of the mud and onto the path of immortality.

“Novice level,” Qin Lu mused. “Eighty-two points. Does it Breakthrough at a hundred?”

He rubbed the stubble on his chin.

“But how do I grind the proficiency?”

He stared at the numbers, willing them to change. Nothing. After a long silence, he shook his head and moved on.

“Let’s see what else you can do.”

He spent the next twenty minutes mentally poking and prodding the interface. He tried voice commands, mental gestures, and intense staring.

Finally, he slumped back against the wall, defeated.

Aside from the display, the cheat was unresponsive. No shop. No inventory. Just data.

It looked like a corrupted save file. The interface hovering before his eyes displayed a bare-bones attribute panel and absolutely nothing else.

No lottery wheel, no daily login bonuses, no cash shop, and definitely no helpful AI fairy to guide him.

What is the point of this junk?

Qin Lu sighed, swiping his hand through the intangible projection. Clearly, this golden finger was not the invincible cheat code he had fantasized about.

Gurgle.

A thunderous protest erupted from his midsection, vibrating through his ribs. Qin Lu looked down, patted his flat stomach, and swung his legs off the bed.

Hunger. It was a primal, gnawing sensation.

Contrary to the legends back on Earth, low-level cultivators could not survive on wind and dew. As a cultivator at the second layer of Qi Refining, he was still very much mortal. He needed three square meals a day, and thanks to the metabolic demands of processing Qi, his appetite rivaled that of a starving wolf.

He had spent the last two days analyzing his new reality. While his body now harbored spiritual energy, his physical constitution wasn’t godlike. He was roughly as fit as a gold-medal athlete from his previous life—impressive for a civilian, perhaps, but likely trash compared to the monsters of this world.

Skipping meals is a sin against the Dao. Time to feed the engine.

Qin Lu muttered the self-deprecating pep talk to the empty air, stood up, and shuffled toward the kitchen.

His dwelling was a cramped shack, consisting of a single bedroom and a main hall squeezed into maybe six hundred square feet. Debris and clutter littered the floor. The previous owner of this body clearly hadn’t subscribed to the philosophy of cleanliness.

To the right of the main hall stood a crude clay stove that looked like it belonged in a history museum. Qin Lu approached the rice vat in the corner and lifted the heavy wooden lid.

Inside lay a mound of translucent, pearl-like grains.

Spirit Rice.

He estimated there were about twenty-five pounds left. It was a fortune in a box. According to his fragmented memories, Spirit Rice was exorbitantly expensive. It wasn’t just food; it was fuel. The grains contained trace amounts of Qi that accelerated cultivation, making it a necessity for anyone trying to climb out of the gutter.

He scrubbed the grime off a pot, scooped out a portion of the precious grain, and rinsed it. Water, rice, stove. Simple enough.

Qin Lu crouched before the dark maw of the hearth, eyeing the small pile of dry kindling.

If I remember correctly, starting a fire goes something like this…

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, focusing his intent.

Fwoosh.

A soft sound broke the silence as a crimson wisp of flame snapped into existence between his fingers.

It actually works.

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. In his past life, this would have been a magic trick requiring hidden gadgets and sleight of hand. Here, it was as natural as breathing.

The Ignition Technique. It was the bottom-of-the-barrel skill for cultivators, the kind of trick even a child could master. No chanting, no complex hand seals. It required only a tiny nudge of the spiritual energy circulating within his meridians.

With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent the ember drifting from his fingertips onto the prepared wood.

The kindling caught instantly. A wave of scorching heat washed over his face, illuminating the dingy room with a warm, flickering glow.

Qin Lu nodded in satisfaction. He retreated to the edge of his bed, settling in to wait for the Spirit Rice to steam.

At least I’m still a cultivator. I can use small spells. That’s infinitely better than transmigrating as a powerless commoner…

He exhaled a long breath, forcing the lingering gloom from his chest. The situation was dire, but it hadn’t reached the absolute worst-case scenario yet.

With time to kill, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.

Fwoosh.

A small flame danced between his digits. He extinguished it, then snapped his fingers again. The Ignition Technique flared and died, flared and died.

To a modern soul, the sensation of wielding magic was intoxicating. It was a novelty that didn’t seem to wear off.

However, the spiritual reservoir of a second-layer Qi Refining cultivator was pitifully shallow. After casting the spell a dozen times, the well ran dry.

A wave of nausea crashed over him. His limbs turned to lead and his mind grew sluggish, as if he had just sprinted six miles without stopping.

Spiritual overdraft.

Realizing he was pushing his limits for no reason, he ceased the pointless activity.

With a thought, he summoned the interface again.

[Name: Qin Lu]

[Lifespan: 35/102 years]

[Cultivation: Qi Refining Layer 2: 60/100]

[Cultivation Technique:]

Mystic Sun Mantra (Novice): 82/100

[Skills:]

Spell: Ignition Technique (Novice): 11/100

[Talents: None]

Huh?

Qin Lu raised an eyebrow, genuine surprise flashing across his face.

The previously sparse status panel had changed. A new line of text now shimmered beneath his cultivation technique.

Ignition Technique?!