BTTH: The Virus That Eats Dou Qi (3)

 Chapter 3 - Sucidal Technique

The blue glow expanded, filling his vision with diagrams: a ghostly outline of his body, its internal pathways glowing faintly. What he saw made his head pain.

His meridians were a chaotic mess: splintered lines, blockages, and unstable intersections, while whole segments were sealed by scar tissue.

He stared at it for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled.

"Ugly," he said. "But fixable."

Zui Zian drew a long breath. "Eternal Blue — initiate controlled self-breach."

The glow sharpened.

[Command received.]

[Engaging Internal Access.]

The pain hit him like a storm.

Every nerve in his body screamed as the blue light raced through his channels, tracing the old wounds, burning away the obstructions like molten fire eating through glass. His body convulsed. He bit down hard, blood filling his mouth, refusing to scream.

The light pulsed once — twice — then dimmed.

When it was over, he lay on the floor, shaking and soaked in sweat. The air smelled faintly of ozone.

[Self-Breach Completed.]

[Damage repaired: 12%.]

[New Structure Detected: Partial Optimization Layer.

Result: Improved efficiency in Dou Qi circulation by an additional +18%.

Zui Zian forced himself to breathe, his vision still blurry. A faint, real smile worked its way onto his face despite the pain.

"Eighteen percent," he whispered. "Not bad… for a virus."

He didn't know how long he'd lain there. When his breathing finally steadied and the blue glow faded, he felt a subtle difference-not stronger, exactly, but the dull, grinding ache that had always accompanied his circulation was gone. The faint hum of Dou Qi in his meridians no longer stuttered. It flowed. Unevenly, yes, but it flowed.

His stomach growled. Loudly.

"Right," he muttered. "Body repair doesn't include a meal plan."

He pushed himself upright, wincing as his legs protested. The sun was sliding toward the horizon. The market would still be open. He brushed the dust from his clothes, straightened his collar, and started back toward the city.

The smells hit first — roasted meat, cheap wine, sweat, smoke. The kind of chaos that belonged only to Wu Tan's outer streets. He traded two copper coins for a skewer of grilled boar and leaned against a wall, chewing slowly as his mind replayed flashes of the pain.

Twelve percent repaired. Eighteen percent efficiency gain. The numbers were small, but they were proof that it worked.

He took another bite — and froze.

The crowd was moving strangely, parting in waves. Whispers started.

On the far side of the street, the people from Yun Lan Sect appeared from the direction of the Xiao Clan, their distinctive robes catching the low light.

Zui Zian's heart skipped a beat. Of all the alleys in this city…

He ducked slightly, turning his face toward the wall, but curiosity got the better of him. He looked.

Their formation was the same: Elder Ge Ye at the lead, the second disciple a step behind. The air around them was different, though-the kind of tension that clung to people who just humiliated a clan in public.

And at the center, Nalan Yanran.

She walked with measured steps, posture still perfect, but her face was pale beneath the evening light. Not shaken — she wasn't the type — but not as composed as before, either. Her brows were drawn, her mouth set in a thin line.

So it's done, thought Zui Zian: the engagement is broken.

The crowd parted around them, averted heads. A few whispered too loudly.

"Did you see Xiao Yan's father's face?

"Yun Lan Sect, huh? Think they overdid it?"

Zui Zian's system pulsed faintly, sensing the rise in his attention. Blue lines ghosted across his vision, outlining the Dou Qi networks of the trio. Immediately, he suppressed the energy, forcing the breach routines to remain dormant. He didn't need another energy crash.

But he still caught fragments. Elder Ge Ye's Qi flow spiked unevenly — agitation. The other disciple's was steady, disciplined. Nalan Yanran's, though… it flickered. Controlled, but strained.

Zui Zian didn't know what was on her mind, but she looked like someone who'd just burned a bridge she wasn't certain needed burning.

Their eyes met.

Just for a second.

He hadn't meant to stare-but she noticed him anyway, the "local guide" from earlier. Her gaze paused; faint recognition flickered in her eyes. No anger, just brief surprise, then the faintest trace of… discomfort?

Maybe she remembered his name, maybe not.

Either way, she looked away first.

The crowd parted before them like water, whispering louder now, feeding on rumour and spectacle.

Zui Zian watched them go until they turned a corner and vanished from sight. Only then did he release the breath he'd been holding.

He looked down at his half-eaten skewer and gave a short, tired laugh. "Guess even a virus gets déjà vu."

He tossed the last bit to a stray dog, shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned the other way — toward the darker streets where the city lights thinned.

Three years.

That's how long until Xiao Yan started to rise. Until the main plot really began.

Zui Zian clenched his jaw. He wasn't planning on playing background character that long.

He whispered, "System, show me breach logs."

Blue light shimmered faintly across his eyes.

[Data Log: Nalan Yanran – Par

tial Profile Found ]

[Vulnerability Scan: Incomplete – Core Type: Wind/Ice

- Problem: Unstable Emotions Detected

Zui Zian blinked. "Unstable…?"

The text faded before he could ask again.

Sighing, he shook his head. "Whatever that means, I'm staying far away from her."

But even as he said this, some quiet part of him knew, in the story of this world, "far away" was never far enough.

Transfer the 'main' branch to the previous commit using git reset -- hard 'main ' 'main '.

He reached the edge of Wu Tan City as the last shred of sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a bruised purple. The air was cleaner here, carrying the scent of dry wild grass rather than spices and sweat. The abandoned watchtower sat on a low, rocky knoll overlooking the surrounding plain-a short, squat cylinder of ancient, wind-battered stone. It looked exactly as useless as the original Zui Zian's memory had made it out to be.

He gained entry through a fallen archway. The interior was a single, dusty, circular chamber; save for the scattered debris of time, it was void—piles of crumbled mortar and the continual rustling noise of a small animal that now scurried away.

Zui Zian slid down the cold stone wall until he was sitting on the floor, settling into a meditative pose out of pure habit.

Now for the hard part, he thought: cultivation.

He closed his eyes and tried to follow the motions outlined in the low-grade cultivation manual he had inherited. It was slow, tedious, and profoundly frustrating. Even with the 18% efficiency gain from the system's initial patch, the process was like trying to draw water through a sieve clogged with gravel.

After fifteen minutes, he felt no different, and the amount of Dou Qi that he had managed to coax from the surrounding atmosphere was laughably small—less than a single drop. He opened his eyes, a grimace twisting his mouth.

"System. Show me the optimal path for my current manual." The blue interface snapped into focus, overlaying the dim chamber with a complex, glowing diagram. The diagram displayed his internal meridians, and a pulsing bright-blue line traced the flow of the cheap technique.

The flow was appalling.

The technique forced the minimal Dou Qi he gathered to travel through the most damaged, constricted, and unstable pathways, repeatedly grinding against the scar tissue.

This was why the former owner of this body had been in constant, dull pain, why his meridians had become so damaged. "This skill was indeed created for self-injury," Zui Zian muttered in a flat voice.