20: Chapter 20 Poverty

"Cough, cough... Nothing, nothing... Cough, cough... Maybe it's just recently, um, the weather turned cold, and I accidentally caught a slight cold... Just a little, cough, cough... A slight cough. It’s fine, just a minor issue, I’ll be better in a few days."

His eyes flickered, daring not to look directly at his son.

"Is that so?" Li Wen's tone was calm, but his dark eyes were like a mirror that could see through people's hearts, clearly reflecting every trace of panic and the deliberate understatement on his father's face.

"Cough... Yes! Don't worry about me needlessly!" Li Hong's voice suddenly rose by half a pitch, carrying an almost commanding urgency,

"Hurry back to your room. The final exams are coming soon; Cultivation is what matters! Don't waste any more time!"

Saying that, he stood up, almost physically pushing Li Wen into the room.

Li Wen took a deep look at his father's sallow complexion, which betrayed his illness despite his forced composure, and the hard-to-hide tired redness around his eyes.

"Mhm... As long as there's no problem, that's good," Li Wen's voice carried no discernible emotion. "Then I'll go back to my room to Cultivate."

He finished speaking calmly and walked straight to his small room, gently closing the door.

Once the space of the living room was sealed off, Li Wen leaned against the cold door panel and slowly closed his eyes. His heart felt as if it were being fiercely squeezed by an invisible hand, making him feel suffocated.

His father's suppressed cough seemed to echo in his ears. The door panel blocked not only the sound but also the heavy worry that his father was unwilling to burden him with.

All distracting thoughts, his father's forced smile, his mother's deeply hidden fatigue—he forcibly stripped them away, compressed them, and sealed them in the deepest corner of his consciousness.

What his father was hiding must be an illness. What kind of illness? It didn't matter.

Because in this world, there was only one kind of illness—Poverty Sickness.

Poverty Sickness. This term stabbed into the core of his understanding like a steel needle quenched in fire.

In this era where Spiritual Energy catalyzed the growth of all things, physical ailments in ordinary people were theoretically no longer incurable.

Life Qi potions extracted from mutated plants, nano-level repair technology, or even certain high-level Martial Dao secret methods involving the Origin of Life... As long as resources were sufficient, even regenerating severed limbs was not an exaggeration.

But the prerequisite was money.

Enough, vast amounts of money.

His family did not have it.

It was already the limit for his parents to tighten their belts just to afford him Martial Dao training. Once the main pillar fell, the fragile economic balance would instantly collapse.

What was his father worried about? Not an incurable disease? It was the qi and blood potions and nutritional meals that would stop flowing once he lost his job; it was his own uncertain future as a third-year high school Martial Dao student; it was the tottering hope of this family.

Telling him? It would only add unnecessary trouble, and more likely, disrupt his state of mind for attacking the Martial Dao College Entrance Examination. His parents chose silence, swallowing the pressure and the pain alone, as if swallowing the bitterness of life.

Li Wen understood this bitterness clearly, even through the door panel.

He slowly took a breath. The surging emotions in his chest were replaced by something colder and harder.

Click. The door lock made a light sound, and he stepped into his own small space.

His gaze swept over the old, worn-smooth mat by the bed. He kicked off his slippers and stepped onto it barefoot. The cold touch of the mat shot straight up from the soles of his feet, instantly piercing his entire body and carrying away the last trace of hesitation.

Become stronger! The only way! The fastest way!

The thought flowed like molten lava, requiring no brewing, no hesitation. He slightly parted his legs, straightened his spine like a spear, and formed a hand seal in front of his chest. The familiar path of the Cultivation Technique instantly lit up in his consciousness.

"Activate—[Absolute Focus]!"

The silent command fell, and the world suddenly faded and simplified. The height of his consciousness was infinitely elevated, as if a deity were looking down upon himself.

The surging Qi and Blood roared and accelerated along the precise track of the [Splitting Edge Golden Fiend Method].

Each cycle was like the most precise forging hammer, refining his muscles, skin, and membranes more efficiently, even faintly touching the deeper level of marrow and blood.

The benefits brought by the improvement in the Cultivation Technique Realm were perfectly clear.

The Physical Body's hunger was temporarily filled by the high-speed strengthening. The subtle increase in strength was no longer a slow stream, but a gathering brook.

The body's greedy absorption of Spiritual Energy and the consumption during the circulation of Qi and Blood were gradually optimized and reduced under the control of the Minor Achievement Realm.

The shackles of the limit remained, but he had fiercely pushed them back by an inch.

One hour and three minutes—a precious three minutes more than yesterday!

When the sense of absolute control receded like a tide, intense emptiness and a wave of weakness that flooded his body instantly almost consumed him.

He was like a skin bag that had been wrung dry. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the ground.

His face was frighteningly pale, devoid of any color. The veins on his forehead twitched slightly, and sharp throbbing pain echoed from the depths of his brain, as if a warning from the excessive overdraft of his Mental Energy.

Having repeatedly endured this complete draining for three consecutive days, the pain remained, but the tearing sense of powerlessness seemed to have integrated into his muscle memory, becoming a normal state that he could endure by gritting his teeth and pushing past the initial impact.

He panted heavily, sweat drops splashing onto the old mat from his jaw, leaving dark, damp marks.

A few minutes later, gathering a sliver of meager strength, he dragged his nearly numb body toward the desk. His hand reached deep into the drawer where the last dark red potion was stored.

His fingertip touched the cool glass tube, he pulled out the stopper, tilted his head back, and finished it in one go.

The cold liquid of the level 1 qi and blood potion slid down his throat, instantly transforming into a gentle yet powerful warm current that rapidly rushed into his parched meridians and Bloodline, nourishing them silently.

A faint trace of Life Qi finally appeared on his pale face.

It was only eight o'clock. Time was precious.

After showering, washing away the stickiness and impurity from Cultivation and the bone-deep fatigue, he sat down at the desk.

Tomorrow's written subjects final exam would take up an entire day, meaning there wasn't a single gap to grind scholar experience.

He opened his book under the light. Immersing himself in study was also a proper way to accumulate experience.

Although his thinking was no longer as swift as lightning and as keen-eyed as during [Absolute Focus], the continuous, systematic absorption of knowledge was still effective. Words flowed past his eyes, and formulas were imprinted in his mind.

Two hours passed, and a line of text, visible only to him, quietly appeared:

[You diligently studied for two hours, scholar experience + 12]

[Profession: Scholar lv3 (217 → 229 / 400)]

The experience bar had advanced another small segment.

...

The next day, Li Wen was already awake when the first light of dawn appeared.

The house was silent.

Pushing open his door, the living room was empty. Only the faint, charred aroma of pan-fried dumplings drifted from the kitchen—breakfast left by his father.

Had Father 'rested' again? He looked silently at the plate of still-warm food, his fingertip tapping once on the wooden table, but ultimately he did not go to knock on the master bedroom door. What if he knew? It would only add worry at this moment.