The room smelled of bitter herbs and smoke.
Ifabola—no, Xiao‑lan—lay on the hard pallet, blinking up at a ceiling of rough wooden beams. Faded talismans hung from them, inked with curling characters that wriggled at the edge of her new sight.
Her new mother hovered at the bedside, clutching a damp cloth.
"Don't move too much," she urged. "The fever only just broke."
Ifabola's body agreed. Every limb felt like it had been pounded with pestles. Her chest burned when she drew too deep a breath.
But her mind was sharp.
The System's translucent panel hovered just beyond the corner of her eye, waiting like a patient bird.
[BASIC DIAGNOSTIC]
Vessel: Lin Xiao‑lan
Age: 5
Realm: Mortal (Unawakened)
Qi‑Channels: Partially Congenital‑Blocked
Spirit‑Sea: Micro‑Fractured
Foreign Name‑Thread: IFABOLA (STABLE)
Risk of Immediate Collapse: 17% (decreasing)
"What are you staring at?" her mother—Lin Mei—asked anxiously, misreading the direction of her gaze. "Can you see me clearly? How many fingers am I holding?"
She waggled three in front of Ifabola's face.
The girl focused, parsing the new language's sounds and the old meaning under them.
"Three, Mother," she croaked.
Relief flooded Lin Mei's face. Tears spilled over.
"Little Orchid," she whispered, using the old pet name again. "I thought the ancestors had closed their ears."
Ifabola's throat tightened unexpectedly.
This was not her mother.
And yet, some echo in this body reached toward the woman with bone‑deep familiarity. Memories not her own stirred: being carried on this woman's back to the village well, of warm hands wrapping an extra cloth around too‑thin shoulders in winter, of lullabies hummed off‑key.
Her mother's songs and hands were different.
But loss recognized loss.
"I'm…still here," Ifabola managed.
Lin Mei smoothed damp hair from her forehead.
"Master Yun said there was little hope," she murmured. "Your meridians were too weak, your spirit‑sea cracked from the cold qi they forced into you. He told us…to prepare. But now look—you've opened your eyes." She pressed her forehead to Xiao‑lan's hand. "Maybe the heavens sent an immortal to chase death away."
Something like that, Ifabola thought.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Come in, quickly," Lin Mei called, straightening and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
The door slid aside with a wooden rasp.
An old man entered, leaning on a staff. His beard was thin but long, his hair pulled into a high knot secured with a plain wooden pin. A faint herbal scent clung to him. Behind him, a younger man followed carrying a lacquered box.
"Master Yun," Lin Mei said, bowing awkwardly. "Thank you for coming again."
The healer grunted, setting his staff aside.
"Couldn't ignore your shouting," he said. "Half the village will be gossiping already. 'Miracle child wakes.' Hmph." He shuffled closer, peering down at Ifabola. His eyes were sharp, the irises a faded brown like old tea.
"Lin Xiao‑lan," he said. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Good. Follow my finger."
He moved one in front of her face, slow and deliberate. She obeyed.
[SCAN: MASTER YUN]
Realm: Qi‑Gathering (3rd Layer)
Qi Affinity: Wood / Minor Water
Occupational Path: Physician‑Cultivator (Low Tier)
Attitude Toward Host: Concerned / Professional / Mildly Superstitious
Threat Level: Low.
The information flowed across her vision in a single blink, the System's cold assessments oddly comforting. Qi‑Gathering—so that was one of their early realms. The healer wasn't strong compared to the sword‑fliers from the goddess's images, but he was already past ordinary men.
Master Yun pressed two fingers lightly to the inside of her wrist.
His qi probed, cool and cautious.
Ifabola felt it as a faint pressure, like someone pressing against paper from the other side. Her own inner rivers twitched sluggishly in response.
The System chimed.
EXTERNAL QI CONTACT DETECTED.
Analyzing…
Local Qi Type: WOOD‑DOMINANT / HEALER‑TUNED.
Host Channels Response: 37% receptive, 63% resistant.
Master Yun's brows drew together.
"Strange," he murmured. "Her pulse is…not what it was yesterday."
"Worse?" Lin Mei asked quickly.
"Different," he said. "The scattered cold qi has…settled. The cracks in her spirit‑sea feel…smoothed." He shook his head, muttering. "As if someone poured warm water into frozen clay just before it shattered and remolded it."
He withdrew his hand slowly.
"Who visited last night?" he asked sharply. "Did any wandering cultivator come by? Any talisman sellers?"
"No." Lin Mei shook her head. "Only family and neighbors. We burned incense at the ancestral tablet, but the elders did that, not us."
"Mm." He frowned.
The young assistant—Yun's grandson, judging by the similar nose—shifted, clutching his box.
"Grandfather, maybe the sect ancestor blessed her?" he ventured. "We offered that jade token last month, remember—"
"Don't put every strange thing at the ancestor's feet," Master Yun snapped. "He's been dead a hundred years. If he had time to meddle, he'd start by smacking that lazy outer disciple who keeps sleeping on the eastern watchtower."
His grandson flushed.
Lin Mei winced. "Then…what does it mean, honored master?"
The old healer sighed.
"It means," he said slowly, "that your daughter has tripped over a fate larger than our little village's. For good or ill, I cannot yet say."
He tapped his staff once on the floor.
"Her meridians are still weak," he continued, more gently. "Her body is malnourished. But the underlying cracks I felt before are…covered. If you feed her well and keep her from running wild, she may live to see ten, perhaps even twenty. Longer, if heaven is generous."
Lin Mei's breath hitched.
"That is…more than he said last time," the grandson whispered.
"Hush," Master Yun muttered.
He turned back to Lin Mei.
"Listen," he said. "The sect will hold its Spirit‑Root Awakening in three months. You had given up hope of sending this one; her root was too damaged. But now…" He hesitated. "If you can gather the fee, you might try. Even if her root is weak, a single wisp of awakened qi could at least let her strengthen her body with basic exercises."
Lin Mei's eyes widened with a mixture of hope and fear.
"The fee…" she whispered. "We spent most of our savings on the cold‑qi pills that almost killed her."
Yun snorted. "Blame that charlatan from Graypeak, not me. I told your husband those pills were snake oil carved prettily."
He shook his head.
"If fate wants her to attend, it will find a path," he said. "In the meantime, simple things: bone broth, rest, no more experiments with cheap pills. And no one," his gaze swept the room, hard, "tries secret techniques on her. I don't care if some traveling cultivator offers you golden talismans; you send for me first."
Lin Mei nodded fervently.
After he left, with many more admonitions and a conveniently "forgotten" packet of strengthening herbs quietly slipped into Lin Mei's hand, the house fell into a strained quiet.
Ifabola stared at the ceiling again.
Spirit‑Root Awakening.
A ceremony, three months away, that would judge how much of this world's qi would answer her call. Her System whispered that the local law already tagged this body's root as "weak, water‑tinted." Trash, in other words.
But she was no longer only Lin Xiao‑lan.
She was also Ifabola, name‑weaver, river‑marked, hunger‑touched.
Her path could not be that simple.
NEW QUEST: "BREATHE THIS SKY (STAGE 1)"
Objective: Sense local qi unaided for at least 3 continuous breaths.
Difficulty: F (for natives) / C (for you).
Reward: Unlock [Qi‑Perception Lv.1]; minor stabilization of Spirit‑Sea.
Warning: Premature qi intake without guidance may worsen existing damage. System will intervene if thresholds exceeded.
A ghost of a smile tugged at her mouth.
"Bossy," she whispered.
The panel flickered serenely, as if unbothered by insult.
Lin Mei misheard the murmur as discomfort and fussed with her blanket.
"Rest, Little Orchid," she said. "We will talk of ceremonies and roots later. For now, just stay."
Stay.
Ifabola obeyed—for a time.
She let her eyes close, listening to the new sounds of this place: distant goat bleats, the drip of water in a basin, the hum of insects outside. Under it all, like a barely audible song, the faint buzz of qi in the air.
Her body began to relax.
Her mind did not.
Breathe this sky, she told herself.
She followed the System's gentle prompts as they unfolded in her thoughts.
Step 1: Ground.
Feel contact points between vessel and surface. (Back, heels, back of head.)
Confirm?
Confirmed, she thought wryly.
Step 2: Breath.
Inhale for count of 4. Hold for 2. Exhale for 6. Repeat calmly until racing thoughts slow.
She obeyed.
Slowly, the edges of her panic softened.
The ache of grief did not vanish, but it settled in a corner of her chest instead of flooding everything.
Step 3: Sense.
On next inhale, imagine drawing in not only air, but the faint shimmering between particles—qi. Do not force. Do not tug. Just notice.
Ifabola inhaled.
At first, she felt only air.
Cool against her tongue, scratchy in her dry throat.
Then…something else.
A thread of other, slipping in with the breath like a tiny fish in a stream.
Her inner rivers twitched.
The System chimed softly.
Qi Contact Achieved. Stability: 14%.
Maintain for 3 breaths.
She tried.
By the second breath, the qi‑thread began to snag on old hurts.
She felt it scrape against rough places in her chest, like a finger passing over scar tissue.
Pain pricked.
Her new body's instinct was to flinch.
The System overlaid a ghostly diagram in her mind's eye: thin channels winding through limbs and torso, some bright, some dim, some bulged where damage lay.
Do NOT push deeper, it warned.
Let it slide along surface channels only. Think of water skimming over stone, not digging in.
She adjusted her imagining.
The qi‑thread eased, gliding instead of boring.
One breath.
Two.
Three.
On the fourth, her control wavered.
The thread snagged again, harder this time.
Her chest spasmed.
She coughed, body jolting, qi scattering like startled birds.
"Xiao‑lan?" Lin Mei rushed back to the bedside. "Does it hurt? Should I—"
"I'm fine," Ifabola wheezed. "Just…tickle in the throat."
A lie.
Her chest throbbed.
But beneath the discomfort, something else glowed—the faintest warmth in the center of her sternum, where the river‑spiral on her palm seemed to echo from within.
The System pinged.
Quest Partial Success: 3 continuous breaths of sensed qi achieved.
Reward: [Qi‑Perception Lv.1] unlocked.
Spirit‑Sea Stability: +3%.
A tiny vertical bar appeared at the edge of her inner vision, faintly blue, filled only a fingernail's width.
Her first "stat bar," she realized with a strange mix of amusement and awe.
One small step into this sky.
"Hmph. You made a face like you ate a sour plum," Lin Mei muttered, still worried.
"It was…" Ifabola searched the new language for a gentle lie, "…a funny dream."
Her mother snorted, unconvinced but too tired to press.
"Rest," she said again. "Tomorrow we can see if you can sit up without toppling like a drunk chicken."
She moved away to bank the small fire in the corner.
Ifabola stared up at the ceiling.
Funny dream, indeed.
On the third night, under this foreign sky, she dreamed for real.
Not of rivers or shrines.
Of Baba.
He stood on a ridge of red stone, cloak snapping in a dry wind. The cracked staff was in his hand, the new fragment‑tooth at his belt. His face looked older than she remembered, lined by grief and determination.
"Father," she tried to shout.
Her voice emerged as a whisper, snatched by the wind.
He did not hear.
But he stiffened.
Hand going to his chest.
"Did you feel that?" Ogunremi's voice asked from somewhere off‑frame.
Baba nodded slowly.
"Like…someone tugged my name," he said. "From a very long way."
He looked up at a sky that was not his.
For a heartbeat, their gazes met across bowls.
His eyes widened.
"Ifa…bola?" he whispered, stumbling over the foreign distance.
The dream shuddered.
The hunger's laugh slithered in the background.
Even across skies, you cling, it sneered. How touching.
The image blurred.
The System cut in, lines of script slamming down between her and the hungry sound like falling shutters.
UNSANCTIONED ANCHOR CONTACT DETECTED.
Shielding…
Darkness fell.
When she woke, her pillow was damp with tears.
Her chest hurt with a different ache.
But she smiled, just a little.
He had felt her.
That was enough for now.
Days in Spirit‑Root Village blurred.
Ifabola—quickly learning to answer to Xiao‑lan without flinching—measured them not in sunrises but in tiny increments on her inner bars.
Each evening, if her body wasn't too exhausted from simply being upright and eating, she followed the System's guided breathing. She coaxed thin threads of qi along the safest channels, never forcing, always stopping when pain sharpened.
Her [Qi‑Perception] crept from Lv.1 to Lv.2.
Her Spirit‑Sea Stability climbed from "Fragile" to "Merely Cracked."
Lin Mei marveled at how quickly color returned to her cheeks.
"If I didn't see you coughing blood myself last month, I'd think you were tricking me," she muttered one morning as Xiao‑lan managed to totter to the doorframe and peer outside.
The village beyond was small: a handful of wooden houses clustered along a dirt path, terraced fields climbing the nearby slopes, a narrow stream sparkling in the weak sun. Farther upslope, a single tall stone stele marked the boundary of some ward; beyond it, dark pines rose, cloaking the mountain's flank.
From here, Ifabola could see, faintly, pale lines crisscrossing the sky—veins of qi, the System whispered, connecting distant nodes. Under Ayetoro's sky she had never seen such things. Power here was not just in shrines and gods; it soaked the air, the earth, the water.
[WORLD INFO – BASIC]
Heavenly Nine‑Fold Realm – a layered cultivation world.
Local Structure:
– Mortal Realm (below Qi‑Gathering)
– Qi‑Gathering / Meridian‑Opening / Foundation / Core‑Condensation / Nascent‑Soul / etc. (Data incomplete; expand by observation.)
Regional Power: Azure Sky Sword Sect (oversees Qingriver Prefecture); minor branches: Spirit‑Root Village, others.
"See that?" Lin Mei pointed toward the uphill stele. "That mark is where the Azure Sky Sword Sect's protective formation ends. Beyond that, beasts roam. You are never to cross it alone, do you hear? Not even when you are older."
"Yes, Mother," Ifabola said dutifully.
"Also," Lin Mei added, "if the sect scouts come down, speak politely. Bow properly. Do not stare at their swords. Do not call them 'goat‑faces' even if they are."
Ifabola blinked.
"My old… I mean, I would never," she said.
Lin Mei snorted. "You learned the word 'goat‑face' before you learned your own name," she muttered. "Near death doesn't erase the past."
So Xiao‑lan had been mouthy.
Good to know.
Three weeks passed.
Her body strengthened enough that she could shuffle around the small yard outside their house. Her arms no longer trembled when she lifted a bowl.
Her System bars, in turn, crept upward with frustrating slowness.
[STATUS – IFABOLA / LIN XIAO‑LAN]
Realm: Mortal (Unawakened)
Physical: 3/10
Qi‑Perception: Lv.2
Spirit‑Sea: 43% stabilized
Unique Traits:
– External Name‑Thread (Ifabola)
– Hunger‑Fragment (Sealed 37%)
– River‑Counter‑Spiral (Active)
– System Anchor (Hidden)
The "Hunger‑Fragment" entry pulsed occasionally, usually when her emotions spiked—anger at whispers about "sick little Xiao‑lan," sharp grief when she saw a sibling leading a younger one by the hand, fleeting joy when she managed to feel three or four little qi‑threads at once.
Each time it stirred, the river‑spiral over it tightened, the System flashing a warning.
Do not feed devouring impulses.
Suggested Practice: Compassion Meditation / Boundary Visualization.
"Even my soul has homework," she grumbled one evening, staring at the panel.
"Talking to yourself again?" Lin Mei called from the cookfire, frying flatbread.
"Yes," Ifabola muttered. Better than talking to the thing under my skin, she added silently.
The first outsiders she saw were not sect scouts.
They were merchants.
A caravan rattled into the village one morning: three ox‑carts piled high with sacks and crates, escorted by a few bored men in leather armor. Children rushed to the road, pointing and shouting. Women came to doorways, wiping their hands on aprons. Even Master Yun emerged from his hut, eyes squinting against the dust.
Ifabola watched from their small yard, clutching the fence for balance.
The System overlaid faint labels over some of the items piled high: [Rice – mediocre], [Dried Fish – low quality], [Yellow Spirit Beans – trace qi, negligible].
Then it hovered a question mark over a small, locked chest at the back of the third cart.
Unknown Item. Qi Signature: Distorted / Residual Hunger.
Recommendation: Avoid. Or Purify. Not yet.
She frowned.
"Mother," she said, tugging Lin Mei's sleeve. "What are they selling besides food?"
"Oh, trinkets," Lin Mei said, distracted. "Fabric from the town, low‑grade talismans, sometimes second‑hand weapons. We can't afford most of it."
Ifabola's eyes stayed on the chest.
A thin wisp of familiar wrongness curled from its seams, quickly swallowed by the bright morning qi.
An anchor splinter? she wondered. Or just some cursed relic from their own foolishness?
The hunger‑fragment in her palm pulsed faintly, like a dog perking up at a distant scent.
The river‑spiral squeezed it back down.
Do not nibble, the System warned drily. Your teeth will break.
She huffed.
"Let me at least look," she muttered under her breath.
"You can look at fruit," Lin Mei said idly, mishearing. "If they brought any that isn't half‑rotten, perhaps we can buy two."
Ifabola bit back a sigh.
World‑devouring horrors and we still have to worry about rotten fruit, she thought. Some things never change.
That night, she got her first glimpse of how this world cultivated.
A commotion near the uphill stele drew half the village out under the stars. Lin Mei took Ifabola by the hand, dragging her along despite protests.
"The sect overseer is here," she said. "If we do not at least show our faces, people will talk. And you need to see what you're aspiring to, neh?"
"I thought we were saving for the Awakening first," Ifabola muttered.
"Seeing is free," Lin Mei said.
They joined the small crowd at the boundary stone.
A man in azure robes stood just beyond it, hands clasped behind his back. He looked perhaps thirty, though Ifabola had already learned that meant little here; cultivators could stretch their youth like taffy. His hair was bound with a silver crown, a sword at his hip. A faint aura shimmered around him like heat over rock.
[SCAN: SECT OVERSEER – LIAN FENG]
Realm: Foundation Establishment (Late Stage)
Qi Affinity: Wind / Minor Lightning
Attitude Toward Village: Indifferent / Dutiful.
Beside him, three younger disciples in simpler blue stood with tablets, making notes as he spoke with the village headman and Master Yun.
"…Spirit‑Root Awakening will proceed in three months as usual," Lian Feng was saying, his tone bored. "Our sect elder in charge has decreed any child between five and nine with minimal health may attend. Fee remains three low‑grade spirit stones or equivalent goods."
Murmurs rippled through the villagers.
Three low‑grade stones were more than many families saw in a year.
The overseer waved a hand dismissively.
"Exceptions may be petitioned if the child shows unusual signs," he added, clearly meaning it as a concession. "Strange dreams, natural qi attraction, that sort of thing. But do not waste the elder's time with every brat who can carry water without panting."
Master Yun cleared his throat.
"There is…one such child this year," he said. "Lin Xiao‑lan. She—"
"If you are about to tell me another story about your favorite little patient, spare me," Lian Feng cut in. "You send someone every year telling tales of hidden dragons in chicken coops. The elder will test their roots himself. If she is special, he will see. If not, our time is wasted and you owe us three stones."
Yun's mouth thinned.
He bowed anyway.
"As you say, Overseer," he said.
Ifabola's cheeks burned—not from shame, but anger on the old man's behalf.
The hunger‑fragment twitched.
Devouring Impulse Detected.
Suggested Response: Judgment Observation, not Immediate Consumption.
Her lips quirked despite herself.
Even her System had a sense of drama.
The overseer concluded his instructions and mounted a small cloud—literally. Qi swirled under his boots, lifting him a man's height into the air. With a lazy gesture, he drifted upslope, his disciples trotting on foot behind him, their own qi‑clouds still thin and more decorative than functional.
Gasps followed him.
Children pointed.
"Mother," Ifabola whispered, eyes tracking the drifting figure, "why don't we have anyone like that in the village?"
"Because we plant yams and chase chickens," Lin Mei said dryly. "Not everyone gets to float on clouds and swing glowing swords. Come, before the soup burns."
As they walked home, Ifabola's mind churned.
Foundation Establishment.
Above Qi‑Gathering. A realm where one's qi was solid enough to literally lift you.
Her own status hovered stubbornly at Mortal.
The System pulsed.
NEW LONG‑TERM QUEST: "ASCEND PATH OF NINE‑FOLD SKY."
Objective: Reach at least Core‑Condensation Realm.
Bonus Objective: Survive. Seal all known Hunger Anchors.
Reward: ???
Penalty for Failure: See previous.
She rolled her eyes.
"At least you are consistent," she murmured.
That night, the hunger reached for her again.
Not through dreams.
Through the stone in Ajani's hands.
Far away, under Ayetoro's gentler sky, the bitter man in the abandoned hut pressed both palms to the half‑circle anchor and screamed his frustration at the world.
"Burn them!" he raged. "Burn their shrines, their palaces, everything! If the gods will not protect us, then let them fall too!"
The stone drank his emotion eagerly.
The hunger's attention snapped fully to that point.
Yes, it purred. I taste you. Angry child. You wish to flip the board? Let us play, then.
Power—raw, unfiltered—poured through the cracked anchor.
The hut's walls blackened.
Ajani's followers retched or collapsed as something vast brushed their tiny sparks.
In Xiao‑lan's new body, across worlds, Ifabola's hand burned.
The river‑spiral clenched.
The System exploded with alerts.
CROSS‑WORLD ANCHOR SURGE DETECTED.
Reinforcing Seals…
WARNING: Proxy Doorway Forming in Local Region.
"Proxy—what?" she gasped, jerking upright in bed.
Lin Mei snored softly on the pallet across the room, oblivious.
Ifabola's vision doubled.
For a heartbeat, she saw both huts:
—Ajani's, in Ayetoro, walls glowing faint red from inside, shadows writhing.
—A storage shed at the edge of Spirit‑Root Village, its thatch roof sagging, a neglected talisman on the door flickering weakly.
A thin, dark thread pulsed between the two, crossing the void.
The hunger's glee slithered along it.
Two bowls, it crooned. One crack.
Ifabola's heart hammered.
"What is it doing?" she whispered, clutching her head.
Attempting to piggyback on overlapping resentment and similar anchor fragments, the System replied, clinical even in crisis. If not checked, it may manifest a lesser avatar in your vicinity.
"Avatar," she repeated. "A…piece of itself."
"Yes," the System said—then corrected itself. Affirmative.
"And 'lesser' still means 'can eat villages,' right?" she snapped.
Correct.
She cursed in both Yoruba and this world's tongue.
"What do I do?" she hissed.
Immediate Options:
Ignore. (Outcome: High probability of local catastrophe. Not Recommended.)Alert locals. (Outcome: Panic; minimal effective response due to ignorance of cross‑world nature.)Intervene using System Anchor and River‑Spiral. (Outcome: High personal risk; potential containment.)
She didn't hesitate.
"Three," she said. "Always three with you."
Acknowledged.
NEW EMERGENCY QUEST: "PATCH THE LEAK."
Objective: Stabilize forming Proxy Doorway in Spirit‑Root Village.
Time Limit: Before local midnight (2 hours).
Reward: Retain existence. Small Name‑Weaver EXP.
Penalty: Localized Devouring Event. Death of ~63% village population (projected).
She was already on her feet.
Her legs wobbled; her body protested.
She ignored it.
Lin Mei stirred. "Xiao‑lan? Where are you—"
"Bathroom," Ifabola lied, voice high. "I'll be back!"
Before her mother could fully wake, she slipped out into the cool night, bare feet slapping the packed earth.
The village lay quiet under a hard scatter of unfamiliar stars.
Dogs twitched in their sleep.
Crickets sang.
At the far edge, by an old shed half‑swallowed by weeds, a faint darkness pulsed—not shadow, not absence of light, but more of it, thickening air around a small, cracked warding talisman.
Ifabola's hand burned like a coal.
Target Located, the System said. Commencing Analysis.
Her breath hitched.
Five years old.
Two worlds.
A hungry god chewing on the border.
And only one bratty priest's daughter armed with half a cultivation technique and a stolen System standing in its way.
She grinned, sudden and wild, despite the fear.
"Batshit," she whispered in her old tongue. "Let's see how crazy this sky can get."