Equipment Slots

[Forgetfulness]

[After working for a long time at a job with little connection to what you had learned, the knowledge accumulated over sixteen years has gradually been sealed away in the depths of your memory. The levels and proficiency of all related knowledge-based skills have decreased.]

[Inflexibility]

[After working for a long time at a mechanical, repetitive job lacking in creativity, your mental agility and creative instincts have been continually suppressed and worn down by your environment. Proficiency gain for all skills involving comprehension, inspiration, or creative thinking is significantly reduced; conversely, proficiency gain increases slightly when practicing cultivation methods that require repetition.]

Every time Qing He Miao saw these two negative statuses he had carried since birth,

he couldn't help wanting to cover his face in embarrassment.

Just look at other transmigrator protagonists. Even if they didn't start out with an innate Dao body or peerless aptitude, they at least had average talent and a blank slate.

What about him?

Well, he had landed with two glaring "debuffs" already attached. He'd been thrown straight into the deep end at birth.

After all, in his previous life, he had properly tested his way into college and received a systematic higher education.

Qing He Miao figured that his original [General Literature], [General History], and [Fundamentals of Science] were the three abilities that roughly covered the bulk of what he had learned.

Before he transmigrated, the system's evaluation of all three should have reached the "minor mastery" level.

It was only because of the [Forgetfulness] status that they had fallen to their current "proficient" level.

So, looking at it the other way around,

once he reached his final year of high school and ground those three abilities back up to "minor mastery,"

the [Forgetfulness] status might disappear on its own.

That gave him something of a clue toward solving it.

But the [Inflexibility] status was a bit more troublesome.

It directly affected how efficiently he learned skills that required flashes of insight and comprehension, such as certain profound supernatural arts and variations of cultivation techniques he had to develop himself.

Still, it did have some benefits.

It was as if, while closing a door, it had reluctantly left him a little window for air.

Next, his gaze shifted to another ability on the list: [Spreadsheet Planning (Proficient)].

According to the eight levels his previous life's game had used,

the first five, relatively easy-to-reach levels were beginner, proficient, mastery, minor mastery, and expert, in that order.

He figured this [Spreadsheet Planning] ability had been honed in his previous life as a corporate drone, dealing with Excel, PowerPoint, and all kinds of reports all day long.

It seemed unaffected by [Forgetfulness] and had retained its pre-transmigration level.

"Only 'proficient,' huh..."

Qing He Miao muttered to himself, feeling a little ashamed.

Apparently, his work skills in his previous life really hadn't been outstanding. No wonder he'd never gotten promoted.

In a way, that evaluation stung him more than the two negative statuses, a little stab from his "past life."

Too young to know the taste of sorrow, he spent another day in the haze of "idling."

When the school bell rang, Qing He Miao unobtrusively recalled [Red Hot Chili Pepper], which he had hidden in the classroom wiring.

He could feel that the electrical energy stored inside the Stand had grown richer by another imperceptible sliver.

He'd managed to fleece the school for another day.

Back home, he ate, helped with a few odd chores as usual, and then practiced the "Soldier-Assisting Art" without fail before finally climbing onto the kang to sleep.

His parents in this life inevitably carried the various habits of people born and raised in the countryside, and their horizons were limited by the life they led here.

Fortunately, they had no particular bad habits. Though the family they had formed wasn't wealthy, they lived with something to look forward to.

They worked their fields from dawn to dusk without complaint, and the old couple's greatest hope was to support their son Qing He Miao through school and help him make his way out.

They wanted him to leave the countryside and work in an office someday, so he wouldn't have to spend his life with his face to the yellow earth and his back to the sky.

For that reason, they rarely let Qing He Miao touch the dirtiest, most exhausting heavy work at home.

Whenever he thought about it, Qing He Miao, who had experienced later times, felt conflicted.

He hardly dared imagine what would happen when they reached the point later in his previous life when academic qualifications had rapidly depreciated.

What would become of the painstaking efforts of ordinary parents like these?

Fortunately, this time it was him.

Although he had little interest in following the usual path of studying and taking entrance exams,

his maturity, far beyond that of his peers, and the "half-immortal" skills he had learned later

had at least brought his parents plenty of respect in the village for now.

That pride was real.

It was also a small, insignificant return he had made to these plain, honest parents, repaying the blood he owed this body.

Late at night, all was still.

Just as Qing He Miao closed his eyes, his consciousness on the verge of sinking into a muddled dream, a soft click suddenly came from the direction of the old wooden cabinet against the wall above his head.

Chapter 8: Equipment Slots

The sound wasn't loud; it was even somewhat muffled.

But in the relative quiet of the late night, it stood out.

[Red Hot Chili Pepper]

Qing He Miao frowned. In a flash of thought, he sent out a Stand, letting it float above his blankets.

Using the shared vision of his remote Stand, which turned into a flash of electricity, he carefully "scanned" the cabinet from top to bottom, side to side, inside and out, as well as the cracks in the wall and the roof rafters, inch by inch, several times over.

Yet he found nothing.

There was no gathering of yin energy, no lingering spirit, no scurrying mouse, no crawling insects or ants.

Even the traces of the wood's normal release of stress from changes in temperature and humidity didn't match the timing of the soft click.

This wasn't really anything unusual.

In his previous life, where there were no supernatural powers, many people had experienced the same thing.

At night, as soon as the lights went out and they lay down, at that hazy threshold between waking and sleep, the cabinet or some other piece of furniture would often make a similar sound.

It wasn't loud, and it didn't continue. It sounded just once, at precisely the right moment, as if it were deliberately waiting for its chance.

In his previous life, when Qing He Miao had still been a pure materialist, there had been a few times when he was in a bad mood and had deliberately gotten up, turned the lights back on, and searched with wide eyes for the source of the sound.

He had even taken everything out of the cabinet to check, only to find nothing.

He hadn't expected that, even after transmigrating and gaining supernatural Stand abilities, he still wouldn't be able to find the exact cause of the sound.

This led Qing He Miao to quietly make a decision:

Once he had succeeded in his cultivation in this world—not necessarily becoming an immortal and attaining the Dao, but at least reaching the Old Celestial Master's level, with only one above him—

he would definitely try again, to see whether such a soft sound would still occur before he went to sleep and what exactly caused it!

Was it like a bug in the world, or was it purely psychological?

Of course, it certainly wasn't a big deal.

But across two lifetimes, he was simply very curious.

After his Stand confirmed that nothing was amiss, he could only set his doubts aside, put the Stand away with a single command through the system, and steady his breathing again, forcing himself to relax and obediently drift off to sleep.

Time flowed like the stream by the village, neither hurried nor slow.

In the blink of an eye, his day off arrived, coinciding with one of the township's market days, held a few times each month.

As Mother Qing cleared away the bowls and chopsticks, she spoke to Qing He Miao, who was getting ready to return to his room:

"Don't stay cooped up in your room all the time. Young people need to get out more, see people, and soak up some life. It's market day today, so it'll be lively. Go have a look, and maybe buy yourself some snacks."

Qing He Miao, who had been stealing a little time to meditate amid his busy schedule, didn't think there was anything good about interacting with "people."

The hardest job in the world was dealing with people.

But it occurred to him that he could also stop by to check on how his master had been doing lately, so he nodded and agreed.

"Okay, I'll go out for a walk."

The township market was one of the liveliest sights on this land, full of the bustle of everyday life.

Before he even got close, a wave of noise swept over him.

Vendors crowded both sides of the long street beneath colorful sunshades.

Stalls selling farm tools, seeds, pots and pans, and cheap clothes, shoes, and socks stood shoulder to shoulder.

The air held a complex mixture of earth, livestock, cooked food, fruit, and the sweat of the crowd.

Vendors hawked their wares, customers haggled, acquaintances exchanged greetings, laughter, and curses, children played noisily, and bicycle bells rang... It was an old-fashioned scene, full of rough, vigorous vitality.

Qing He Miao moved slowly with the crowd, his gaze sweeping over the dazzling array of goods.

First, he stopped at an old-fashioned pastry stall that looked quite clean and bought two packages of peach-kernel cookies and baked lu guo biscuits, wrapped in oiled paper.

Next, he had half a jin of fragrant roasted melon seeds and half a jin of crunchy peanuts weighed out.

As he passed a meat stall, he saw some homemade farmhouse smoked meat, deep red and glistening with oil, and had a small piece cut off.

Finally, he stopped at a tobacco, liquor, and sundries shop. After a moment's hesitation, he bought a bottle of locally produced bulk baijiu.

The money he spent was pocket money he had earned when people from his village or neighboring villages occasionally invited him to look into matters for them.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to buy these snacks and odds and ends.

Otherwise, how had he earned the name "Half-Immortal Qing"?

Still, it had to be said that even in the world of "The Outcast," where supernatural powers did exist, many things in daily life were mostly still "psychological."

At least, ever since he'd started "taking jobs," he had rarely run into a truly "tough case" that required him to use a Stand or qi.

Most of the time, he relied on his way with words and his knack for bluffing.

One could only say that you had to believe in science.

Thinking this, Qing He Miao turned and found a secluded corner nearby where no one was around, then stood with his back against a drab gray concrete utility pole.

He summoned the system panel with a thought and switched the Stand currently equipped in the Stand equipment slots from [Cream] to [Red Hot Chili Pepper].

The instant the switch was complete, a distinctly different energy sensation became closely linked to him.

It should be explained here that the system had nine equipment slots in total.