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Chapter 3 - Chapter 3 - The Weight Of Dust

Lin Chen's body still trembled under the covers. Sweat soaked his crude hemp tunic as the lingering fear of reincarnation's memory began to fade, replaced by a strange sense of calm. Morning light seeped in through the cracks in the wooden roof of the hut. It was small, just one room, barely large enough for the three of them.

"Chen'er… you're awake."

A soft, weathered voice brought him back. His mother, Mei Xiu, knelt beside him, placing a calloused hand on his forehead. Her face was lean, her beauty faded by hardship, but her eyes still held the warmth of spring.

"You were murmuring in your sleep again," she whispered. "Another nightmare?"

Lin Chen's heart softened. In his past life, there was no such voice—no warmth, no care. He had been just another body breaking under labor, nameless and unloved. But now… even in poverty, he was wanted.

"I'm fine, Mother," he said, voice small but steady.

From the other end of the hut came the heavy clank of iron. His father, Lin Dazhong, emerged from the shed adjoining the hut. Broad-shouldered and scarred, he carried an axe on his back and wore a worn-out cloth belt.

"Good," his father grunted, wiping sweat from his brow. "Then you can come with me today. The mountain trees won't cut themselves."

His voice was stern, but Lin Chen caught it—pride. His father wanted him strong. Useful. Alive.

The Forest of Labor

That morning, Lin Chen followed his father to the mountains. The Forest of Dust Trees stretched endlessly into the distance, its bark grey like the ashes of dreams, yet strangely beautiful beneath the morning mist. Lin Dazhong chopped, while Lin Chen bundled branches and sorted logs.

Though his muscles ached, Lin Chen welcomed the pain. It means I'm alive. It means I can change everything.

At noon, his father rested, chewing on dry salted bread.

"Chen'er," he said suddenly. "You ever feel the trees… hum? Like they whisper, when the wind passes?"

Lin Chen paused.

He did feel something—soft vibrations under his feet, like pulses. Before, he would have thought it superstition. Now, he knew better.

"That's qi," Lin Chen whispered.

His father laughed. "Nonsense. That's just hunger talking. If you're not careful, you'll become one of those idiot cultivator-dreamers. No room in this world for people like us to chase the stars."

But Lin Chen's eyes narrowed. He wasn't dreaming. He was remembering.

The Dust Trees… they contained spiritual resonance. It wasn't strong, but enough to influence the body if used properly. If cut during the morning mist, their inner bark retained traces of ambient qi—barely perceptible, but valuable to someone with the Heavenly Dust Vein.

This is where I start, Lin Chen thought. Not with pills. Not with treasures. With labor. With trees. With dust itself.

The Whisper of the Dust Vein

That night, under the weak flicker of an oil lamp, Lin Chen sat cross-legged on the cold floor. He drew out a few fine shavings of Dust Tree bark from his cloth pouch. Slowly, he placed them under his tongue. Bitterness surged.

He closed his eyes.

Breathe. Focus. Become nothing.

His body did not erupt with light. No storm of power. No divine sign. Instead—silence.

Then, faintly, his chest warmed.

The Heavenly Dust Vein, hidden within him since birth, stirred.

A single speck of light—so small it could be mistaken for a trick of the eye—flickered into being inside his dantian. It was dull, gray, unimpressive.

But it was his.

He had started.

The First Step

A week passed. Then two.

Every night, Lin Chen consumed bark and meditated. Every day, he worked with his father in the forest. Slowly, his body hardened. His limbs felt lighter. His lungs stronger. And every time he meditated, the speck in his core grew a little brighter.

One night, as winter wind howled outside, the speck shivered—and split into two.

I've reached the First Layer of the Dust Vein Realm.

And just like that, Lin Chen had taken his first real step into cultivation.

He opened his eyes to find his mother watching from the doorway, holding a bowl of porridge.

"Why are you always sitting like that, Chen'er?" she asked.

He smiled. "Just breathing, Mother."

The Road Ahead

There were no miracles waiting for him.

He had no wealthy backers, no hidden master, no fateful encounter with a divine beast or ancient treasure.

He had trees.

He had bark.

He had sweat.

He had will.

And slowly, he had cultivation.

Chapter 3 Ends.

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