2: The last straw

The afternoon sun mercilessly scorched the earth, and even the cicadas' chirps sounded weak. Lin Ye, carrying two huge wooden buckets, stumbled along the rugged mountain path.

His shoulders were already chafed raw by the rough carrying pole, burning with pain, and the sweat soaking into the wounds brought waves of piercing agony. But he dared not stop, nor even slow down.

The afternoon task was to fill the enormous water reservoir behind the dining hall. This was originally a job for at least four Outer Sect Disciples, but Steward Zhang, citing "insufficient manpower," had dumped the entire task onto Lin Ye alone today.

"Lin Ye, I saw you were quite nimble chopping wood yesterday, so your strength must have grown. This water-carrying task is yours; you must fill it before sunset, otherwise..." Steward Zhang had said with a fake smile, his eyes holding undisguised malice, "Tonight's and tomorrow morning's meals will be skipped."

Lin Ye knew in his heart that this was retaliation for the faint defiance in his eyes yesterday. Steward Zhang wanted to use such methods to completely grind away his last bit of stubbornness, making him recognize his ant-like status.

The doubled workload, coupled with the threat of withheld meals, pressed down on him like two mountains, leaving him breathless.

One trip, two trips, three trips... From the mountain spring to the back of the dining hall, a round trip took at least half an hour. The heavy wooden buckets, once filled with water, pressed down so much that he couldn't even straighten his back. Each round trip was a test of his physical limits.

The energy provided by half a cold bun and a bowl of thin porridge in his stomach had long been depleted. Hunger burned in his stomach like wildfire, accompanied by bouts of dizziness. His lips were cracked and peeling, his throat felt as if it were filled with sand, and he didn't even have the strength to swallow his saliva.

His vision began to blur, and the scenery before him swayed slightly. His ears buzzed, and external sounds became distant and unreal. He moved his legs mechanically, relying solely on the will not to collapse.

"Look at that idiot Lin Ye, Steward Zhang is working him to death again."

"Tsk, how pathetic. Carrying so much water, he'll probably die of exhaustion on the mountain path."

"Serves him right. Who told him he had poor Aptitude and no sense, offending Steward Zhang."

Several passing Outer Sect Disciples cast glances of pity or schadenfreude, whispering among themselves, but not a single one stepped forward to help. In the Outer Sect, self-preservation was the top priority; sympathy was a luxury.

Lin Ye was deaf to it all; he didn't even have the Life Qi to be angry now. All his energy was used to fight against his body's fatigue and his crumbling will.

The setting sun finally reluctantly sank behind the western mountains, leaving only a last pale afterglow in the sky. The water level in the reservoir finally barely met the requirement.

Lin Ye put down the buckets, looking as if he had been pulled out of water, utterly exhausted, leaning against the cold pool wall, not even wanting to move a finger. He felt as if his body no longer belonged to him; every muscle cried out, every bone felt like it was about to fall apart.

However, the torment was not over.

Steward Zhang slowly strolled over with his hands behind his back, glanced at the pool, then kicked Lin Ye, who was slumped on the ground, with his toe, his tone icy: "So slow, it's already dark and you're just finishing! If you've delayed the dining hall's water-heating time, can you bear the responsibility? Hmph, seeing as you worked hard enough, tonight's meal is skipped. We'll see your performance tomorrow morning!"

After speaking, he snorted coldly and turned to leave, leaving Lin Ye immersed in the cold night and even colder despair.

Even tomorrow morning's meal became a dangling bait.

Hunger, fatigue, pain, humiliation... all these negative emotions gnawed at his heart like venomous snakes. He wanted to roar, to question this damned world, to grab Steward Zhang's collar and ask him why he treated him this way!

But he didn't even have the strength to stand up.

The night wind began to rise, carrying the chill of the mountains, blowing on his sweat-soaked clothes, making him shiver uncontrollably. Darkness surged like a tide, devouring everything around him, and also devouring the last glimmer of light in his heart.

"Is this how it ends?" A thought involuntarily surfaced.

To Transmigration here, suffer endless hardships, and finally, like an unloved stray dog, die of exhaustion and hunger in a corner of this foreign Sect? How ridiculous, how tragic!

The instinct to survive made him struggle to get up; he had to return to that dilapidated wooden hut, if only to escape the cold. He dragged his lead-filled legs, step by step, staggering towards the courtyard where the Outer Sect Disciples lived.

The night was deep, and the mountain path was indistinct. He walked unsteadily, almost tripping over stones several times. His consciousness became increasingly blurred, golden specks appeared in the darkness before his eyes, and the sound of the wind in his ears turned into an eerie hum.

He could feel that the last trace of energy in his body was rapidly draining away.

Finally, the outline of the row of low, dilapidated wooden huts appeared at the end of his vision. That faint light, at this moment, became all his hope.

As long as he returned there, lay down, perhaps... perhaps tomorrow there would be a turning point?

This thought sustained him, and with his last bit of strength, he lunged forward.

However, just as he was still a dozen steps away from his wooden hut, his legs gave out, and he completely lost his balance.

"Thud!"

His heavy body crashed onto the cold, hard ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

The carrying pole and buckets rolled aside, making a clanging sound that was particularly harsh in the silent night.

Intense pain came from his knees and elbows, but he could no longer feel it. Endless darkness enveloped him like a tangible entity, and his consciousness rapidly sank.

In the second before he completely lost consciousness, he seemed to see the dim yellow light at the door of the wooden hut, so close, yet so far. He seemed to hear the startled sounds of his fellow Disciples in the room, but everything became blurred.

The last thing that occupied his mind was not fear of death, but a sense of relief-like peace, and a bone-deep despair—

Perhaps, to just fall asleep like this and never wake up again would be a kind of happiness.

At least, he wouldn't have to face the endless toil of tomorrow, wouldn't have to endure Steward Zhang's bullying, and wouldn't have to painfully struggle for that distant path of Cultivation.

His fingers unconsciously curled up, as if wanting to grasp something, but ultimately released weakly.

The world completely fell into a dead silence of darkness.