Seeking Survival

1912, the first day of the seventh lunar month, Linhe County.

The sky was just beginning to brighten, and a greyish-white mist shrouded the county town.

Funeral Street, which specialized in business for the dead, was especially silent; in this street, no living soul would be seen until the sun was well above the horizon.

Inside Deliverance Studio, the oil lamp had long since burned out, leaving only a wisp of smoke rising from the wick.

Chen Mo sat cross-legged on the simple bed in the inner room, slowly opening his eyes.

His complexion was slightly pale, but his eyes were startlingly bright.

Though he hadn't slept all night, he felt no drowsiness; instead, his mind possessed a clarity as if he had broken free from invisible shackles.

"A touch of spiritual resonance, observing the minute to see the whole, spirit and qi in harmony, the Paper Puppet gains sentience."

He silently recited the description of the third level from the manual, and the furrow that had been etched into his brow finally smoothed out just a fraction.

The renewal of his mental state was clearly palpable, his five senses seemingly washed by invisible water, becoming exceptionally keen.

Just last night, he had finally practiced the ancestral Nether Paper-Crafting Art to the third level.

"At last, I have a means of self-preservation."

Chen Mo looked at the half-meter-tall paper figure standing in the corner of the room, his thoughts shifting slightly.

A thread of extremely subtle perception extended from between his brows, like an invisible silk thread, gently resting upon the paper figure.

"Rise," he thought silently.

The paper figure in the corner trembled slightly and clumsily took a small step forward.

One step, two steps.

It slowly walked to a small table at the other end of the room.

On the table sat a coarse pottery kettle and a cup.

The paper figure extended its flat palm, grasped the handle of the kettle, and slowly lifted it, pouring clear water into the cup—not too much, not too little, exactly eighty percent full.

Then, it held the cup with both hands, turned around, and walked step by step back to the bedside, offering the cup to Chen Mo.

The entire process was silent, save for the faint friction of paper feet against the floor.

Chen Mo took the cup, which still held a hint of warmth; the water slid down his throat, dispelling a trace of chill and fatigue.

"The third level, Paper Puppet Sentience, is indeed vastly different. Not only can it be driven by spiritual sense, but it can also execute simple commands; the first stirrings of intelligence have appeared."

Chen Mo mused, "It's just that the drain on mental energy is significant. At my current level, I could probably only maintain such a paper figure performing precise movements for half an hour at most. Moreover, this is only the most basic white-paper servant; its combat power is practically non-existent."

"The manual mentions that after the third level, one can attempt to use special materials combined with blood-pact secret arts to craft paper puppets with different traits, or even imbue them with a certain degree of sapience."

But all of that required special materials, and even more so, money.

After his father, Chen Dachuan, went missing, the meager savings in the shop had quickly hit rock bottom.

For the past three months, Chen Mo had only been able to scrape by on the simplest paper-crafting jobs, secretly exploring his cultivation all the while, not daring to be the least bit conspicuous.

"Being a corporate slave in my past life was bad enough; I didn't expect my situation to be even tougher after transmigrating."

"I have to find a way to make money, otherwise, even eating will become a problem."

He looked at the bare yellow mud walls surrounding the room and sighed silently.

Chen Mo was actually an emergency room doctor from the twenty-first century.

After fainting from a thirty-six-hour shift at the hospital, when he opened his eyes again, his identity had become that of this nineteen-year-old paper-crafter.

Coincidentally, the original owner's name was also Chen Mo.

His mother had passed away early, and his father had gone missing without a trace.

When he transmigrated, the original owner had just breathed his last.

He had been beaten to death simply because he couldn't pay the so-called management fees to the local gangs...

Chen Mo slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, suppressing the complex emotions surging in his heart.

"Gurgle..." A sound came from his abdomen.

He touched his stomach; having not eaten all night, he was indeed hungry.

He pushed the door open and stepped out of the room.

The morning air carried the distinct, fishy scent of Blackwater Shore, and a faint mist still lingered in the courtyard.

Chen Mo walked to the kitchen—though calling it a kitchen was a stretch; it was merely a makeshift stove set up in the southeast corner, covered by a few wooden planks and oil paper to keep out the rain.

He lifted the wooden board covering the rice jar.

At the bottom of the jar remained only a thin layer of greyish, coarse rice, with a few weevils mixed in among the chaff.

Chen Mo stared down for a moment, then used a gourd ladle to scrape a circle along the bottom of the jar, scooping up just enough rice to cover the bottom of the ladle.

He started a fire and washed the rice.

The firewood was a bit damp, and smoke billowed up before the flames, making him turn his head and cough stiflingly.

The fire finally licked the bottom of the pot, its dancing light illuminating his bloodless face.

There were no vegetables, only half a block of hardened coarse salt in the corner.

The porridge began to bubble in the pot, the thin rice water frothing, the grains floating within sparse enough to count.

He ladled a full bowl of the scalding rice water and squatted at the kitchen doorway.

The steam clung to his face, carrying a faint, pathetic hint of rice fragrance, though it was mostly the stale, musty smell of old grain.

Chen Mo blew on it, carefully taking a sip.

The boiling liquid slid down his throat and into his stomach, bringing a fleeting warmth, yet his limbs remained permeated with weakness.

The bowl was soon empty, with only a few grains of rice clinging to its sides.

With something in his stomach to cushion it, his thoughts seemed to clear.

What weighed even more heavily on his heart was another life-threatening matter.

"Display body data."

As Chen Mo called out in his mind, a gray, dusty mirror hidden within his sea of consciousness manifested.

The surface of the mirror rippled like water, slowly revealing several lines of clear text:

[Moonlight Treasure Mirror · Holder Status]

[Name: Chen Mo]

[Bone Age: Nineteen years and four months]

[Remaining Lifespan: Approximately 362 days]

[Aptitude: Grade C, Low-tier (Weak Yin Meridian Affinity)]

[Spirit: Grade B, Mid-tier]

[Vitality: Deficient (Source damaged, Sha energy invading the body)]

[Cultivation Method: Nether Paper-Crafting Art - Incomplete Level 3] (Can be deduced and completed, requires Moonlight Spiritual Essence > 1)

[Moonlight Spiritual Essence: 0]

Looking at the pathetic 362 in the lifespan column, Chen Mo's fingers tightened unconsciously around the empty bowl.

Three hundred and sixty-two days.

One year.

Or rather, if the situation worsened, perhaps even less than a year.

"It seems that breaking through the levels of the Nether Paper-Crafting Art cannot increase my lifespan."

Chen Mo felt a touch of disappointment; the mental clarity brought by reaching the third level of the Paper-Crafting Art had elevated his perception of his own body to a new level.

Previously, he had only felt a vague sense of discomfort, but now, as he calmed his mind to look inward, the state of the Sha energy invading his body became exceptionally clear.

A cold, alien energy, like a maggot on a bone, was coiled around his heart meridian and Dantian, eroding his vitality and consuming the little essence and spirit he had left.

The brutal beating from the Black Tiger Gang might have just been the trigger.

What truly caused the original owner's death must have been that Sha energy.

It was just that after he transmigrated, some of his memories were severely fragmented, leaving Chen Mo completely confused and unable to determine if it was man-made or a natural disaster.

"Sigh..."

With a long sigh, Chen Mo carefully licked the bowl clean and rinsed the pot with clear water.

Only after finishing these tasks did he cross the courtyard and walk into the storefront facing the street.