Three days into the Restart Sect's improbable existence, Chen Yuan decided that spiritual millet was a lie perpetuated by sadists who enjoyed watching old men fail at cooking. His latest attempt at congee had achieved the texture of wet cement and the flavor of disappointment. Lin Mei ate it anyway, making those same solemn "this is good" faces that reminded him of his daughter trying to spare his feelings after his first attempt at her birthday cake.
"Master," she said, scraping the last lumpy spoonful from her wooden bowl, "the qi in the morning mist is thicker today. It feels... expectant."
Chen Yuan squinted at the empty air where his System interface lived. The Sect Harmony had crept up to 28/100, and he'd unlocked a new passive called "Patient Soil" that made plants grow 10% faster within sect grounds. Useful, if he'd had any actual plants beyond weeds and existential dread.
"Expectant, huh?" He grunted, his engineer's brain translating mystical bullshit into practical terms. "Probably means something's coming. In my experience, when the weather feels 'expectant,' it either means rain or relatives."
It was neither. It was a boy.
They found him at the base of the mountain path, collapsed across a makeshift stretcher made from tree branches and torn cloth. He was maybe sixteen, with the kind of lean, wiry build that came from years of hard labor, not cultivation. His clothes were little more than burlap sacks stitched together, and his hands—when Chen Yuan checked his pulse—were calloused in ways that spoke of carrying heavy things for people who didn't care.
"Still alive," Chen Yuan muttered. "Barely. Lin Mei, help me get him inside."
Between the two of them, they managed to haul the unconscious boy up the mountain path. The kid was light, all bone and sinew, but Chen Yuan's sixty-year-old back still lodged a formal complaint. They laid him on the least-damp pile of cushions in the main hall, and Chen Yuan sent Lin Mei to fetch water from the stream.
The System pinged as soon as the boy's head touched the cushion.
[Disciple Candidate Detected: Name Unknown]
[Condition: Severe Qi Exhaustion, Malnutrition, Minor Spirit Poisoning]
[Talent: Initially Negligible]
[Potential: Unknown (Hidden)]
[Compatibility: 89% with Sect Philosophy]
[Special Trait Detected: "Mountain's Burden" - Can carry weight far beyond physical limits, but drains spiritual energy rapidly.]
"Spirit poisoning?" Chen Yuan frowned, examining the boy's arms. Faint black veins traced patterns under his skin, like ink spilled in water. "Someone's been feeding him spirit herbs without teaching him how to process them. Using him as a pack mule for their cultivation supplies."
His jaw tightened. He'd seen this before, back on Earth—companies using temp workers without safety training, pushing them until they broke. The thought of doing that to a kid made his hands curl into fists.
Lin Mei returned with water, and they managed to get a few drops down the boy's throat. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open to reveal irises so dark they were almost black. Panic flared immediately, his body tensing to flee despite his weakness.
"Easy," Chen Yuan said, using that same soft tone that worked on injured animals and terrified interns. "You're safe. I'm Chen Yuan, Sect Master of the Restart Sect. This is Lin Mei. We don't hurt people here."
The boy's gaze darted between them, his breathing ragged. "Where's... where's the master? The one who owns the mountain?"
"You're looking at him, kiddo."
Confusion warred with exhaustion on the boy's face. "But you're... old. And you don't feel like a cultivator."
"Observant. I like that." Chen Yuan helped him sit up, supporting his back. "I can't cultivate. Neither can Lin Mei, not in the traditional sense. But we're building something different here. What's your name?"
"Zhang Wei." The name came out like a confession. "I was a porter for the Iron Fist Sect. They said I had good shoulders for carrying spirit stones. Didn't need talent for that."
"How long?"
"Four years. Since I was twelve." Zhang Wei's voice was flat, the kind of tone that came from repeating trauma until it became just another fact. "They fed me spirit herbs to keep me strong. Didn't tell me they'd poison me if I didn't cycle the energy. I couldn't cycle it. I don't have the talent."
Chen Yuan exchanged a glance with Lin Mei. She was holding her gardening trowel, her knuckles white. He could see the anger in her eyes, the recognition of a kindred spirit who'd been told they were worthless.
"Zhang Wei," Chen Yuan said, his voice taking on the same firm tone he'd used when telling apprentices that "good enough" wasn't good enough. "The Iron Fist Sect was wrong. You don't lack talent. You lack teachers who could see what you actually are."
He stood, wincing at the ache in his knees, and retrieved the Four Foundations scrolls. "In most sects, they'd test your spirit roots, tell you you're trash, and send you to the mines. We don't do that here."
He unrolled the "Body of Stone" scroll. "You spent four years carrying things that would break normal people. Your body is already stronger than most disciples who've been pampered since birth. We just need to teach it how to work *with* you instead of against you."
Zhang Wei stared at the scroll like it might bite him. "I can't read."
"Then I'll read it to you." Chen Yuan sat beside him, ignoring his own protesting joints. "Lesson one: the horse stance. But we're modifying it. Lin Mei, show him yours."
Lin Mei demonstrated, her form still wobbly but improved from three days of practice. Zhang Wei watched, his body unconsciously mimicking the posture. His version was lower, more stable, his legs taking the weight with practiced ease.
"Good," Chen Yuan said. "Now, Zhang Wei, I want you to imagine you're carrying a basket of spirit stones. Feel that weight?"
The boy's shoulders hunched automatically, his body remembering years of burden.
"Now imagine the weight is part of you. Not something you're carrying, but something you *are*. The ground is the basket, and you're the stone. Stable. Unmoving."
Zhang Wei's breathing changed. The black veins on his arms seemed to pulse, then fade slightly. The System pinged.
[Disciple Zhang Wei: Body Tempering Initiated]
[Spirit Poisoning: -5%]
[Progress: 1% of Foundation Stage]
[Host receives 5 Sect Points]
"See?" Chen Yuan clapped him on the shoulder. "Your body knows what to do. It just needed permission to do it differently."
They spent the afternoon in the courtyard, Chen Yuan rotating between Lin Mei's qi breathing and Zhang Wei's stance work. The boy's natural endurance was incredible—he held the horse stance for nearly twenty minutes before his legs shook, and even then, he didn't collapse. He simply eased out of it with a control that spoke of years of knowing exactly how far he could push before breaking.
"Master," Lin Mei said during a water break, her voice thoughtful. "The qi I gather... it feels like it's waiting for something. Like it wants to be used."
"Good observation." Chen Yuan had been thinking about this. "In normal cultivation, they force qi through meridians to build power. But you're not a pipe, you're a garden. The qi is rain. It collects, it nourishes, and when the time is right, it helps things grow."
He gestured to Zhang Wei. "He's the soil right now. You're learning to be the rain. Eventually, you'll work together."
The System seemed to approve. A new notification appeared:
[Sect Teaching Method "Symbiotic Growth" Unlocked]
[Disciples can share qi resonance during group training]
[Sect Harmony +10]
"Fancy," Chen Yuan muttered. "The System's learning as much as we are."
That evening, as the sun set behind the mountains, Chen Yuan attempted cooking again. This time, he had Lin Mei use her trowel to grind the millet into finer grains while Zhang Wei used his stance training to keep a steady fire going—turning the act of feeding sticks into a meditation on control and patience.
The result was still lumpy, but edible. They ate together in the main hall, the patched roof holding back most of the evening dew, and for the first time, it felt like a family dinner rather than two refugees and their confused grandfather.
"Master," Zhang Wei said, his voice hesitant. "The Iron Fist Sect... they might come looking for me. I was their best porter. They don't let assets go."
Chen Yuan set down his bowl. "Let them come. By the time they do, you'll be strong enough that they won't recognize you. And if they try to take you by force?" He smiled, and for the first time, there was steel in his grandfatherly eyes. "They'll learn that the Restart Sect protects its own."
Lin Mei nodded fiercely, her hand on her trowel. Zhang Wei looked between them, his exhausted face slowly relaxing into something that might have been hope.
That night, Chen Yuan lay awake listening to his two disciples breathing in the darkness—Lin Mei's soft, steady rhythm, Zhang Wei's deeper, more ragged but improving pattern. The System showed him their progress bars, slowly filling, and his own "Mortal Caretaker" realm at 8%.
He thought of his granddaughter, of the kids he'd mentored, of all the people who'd told him he was too soft, too patient, too willing to believe in lost causes.
"Fuck 'em," he whispered to the stars visible through the roof. "Softness is just another kind of strength. And patience outlasts power every time."
The mountain was quiet, but in the ruins of the Restart Sect, three people who'd been told they were worthless had found a home.
And somewhere in the spiritual energy of the world, a new philosophy was taking root—not through force, but through the simple, revolutionary idea that kindness could be a cultivation path.
The System chimed softly, almost fondly:
[Sect Harmony: 45/100]
[The mountain remembers what it means to be a home.]