The thought left a bitter taste.
Her fingers curled against the mat. The hunger gnawed again, sharper this time.
It was not the dramatic hunger of novels.
Not the kind that made people faint beautifully into someone's arms.
It was dull.
Persistent.
Ugly.
The kind that made thinking harder.
"If I follow the script," Zi'an said quietly, "I will die poor, nameless, and forgotten."
[…]
The system did not respond.
She laughed softly. There was no humor in it.
"Figures," she said. "Even fate thinks I am disposable."
She rolled onto her side and stared at the cracked basin near the wall. Her reflection wavered faintly in the shallow water.
Thin face.
Tired eyes.
A body that had never known abundance.
Yet her mind was clear.
Clear enough to be angry.
"No," Zi'an said after a moment. The word was firm. Anchored. "I refuse."
She pushed herself upright and sat cross-legged on the mat despite the ache in her bones.
"I did not survive one life just to be chewed up by another story," she continued. "If this world wants to treat me like trash, then I will recycle myself into something useful."
[…]
Still no response.
She took that silence and filled it with resolve.
Cracked beast cores were considered waste because cultivators had better options. That did not mean they were useless. It only meant they were beneath those with power.
Mortals did not have that luxury.
A trace of spiritual warmth could strengthen the body. Ease fatigue. Help wounds close faster. It might even stave off illness during winter.
Zi'an's eyes sharpened.
"Soup," she said softly. "Powder. Infused food. Cheap tonics."
She could already see it. A stall with small clay jars.
Strength for laborers. Relief for the sick. Energy for those who worked until their backs broke.
She looked down at the blue coin beside her.
Three copper coins.
Enough to buy one bowl of noodles if the vendor was kind.
Tomorrow, she would not eat noodles.
Tomorrow, she would invest.
Zi'an lay back down and closed her eyes, hunger still twisting in her stomach, but her mind no longer empty. …
"Sleep," she told herself. "Tomorrow, you start living."
And for the first time since waking up in this world, Zi'an felt something close to anticipation.
Zi'an did not sleep well.
The hunger made sure of that.
Her dreams were fractured and shallow, filled with half-remembered scenes from the novel and flashes of her past life.
When she finally woke, it was to the sound of carts rolling over stone and distant voices filtering through the alley.
Morning.
A pale strip of light crept through the crack in the door.
Zi'an sat up slowly, her joints stiff and stomach aching.
For a moment, she simply breathed and let herself adjust.
Complaining would not fill her belly.
Regret would not earn her money.
She reached for the blue coin and closed her fingers around it.
Three copper coins.
"Good morning to you too…" she muttered.
She stood, splashed water on her face from the basin, and tied her hair back with a frayed cord.
There was no mirror, but she did not need one. She wasn't the female lead, she didn't need a mirror to tell her she was ugly.
Before stepping out, she paused.
"Little Fortune," Zi'an said calmly. "One more thing."
[…]
"If I fail this task," she continued, "what is the punishment."
The pause this time was deliberate.
[Ranking downgrade. Resource restriction. Increased task difficulty.]
Zi'an nodded. "So no lightning strikes. No sudden death. Thank goodness.."
[…]
[Host should not be relieved.]
"I am," she replied lightly. "Fear is expensive. I cannot afford it."
She slipped the pouch around her waist and pushed the door open.
The town was already awake.
Smoke curled from food stalls. Vendors shouted greetings. Laborers moved in groups, their eyes dull but determined.
Cultivators passed through like they owned the road, their presence parting the crowd without effort.
Zi'an walked among them unnoticed.
Her destination was clear.
The market street from last night was alive now, packed tighter, louder, dirtier.
Coins clinked. Hands moved fast.
Arguments rose and fell like waves.
She scanned the area and chose a corner near the food stalls and not far from the apothecary.
Close enough to benefit from foot traffic, far enough not to be chased off immediately.
Now she needed a table.
Zi'an approached a thin old man stacking broken crates by the roadside.
"Uncle.." she said politely. "May I rent a crate for the day."
He squinted at her. "You selling?"
"Yes."
"With that face?" he scoffed. "Three copper."
She did not argue. She handed over the coin.
There went her entire net worth.
Zi'an dragged the crate to her chosen corner and flipped it over. The wood was rough and uneven, but it stood.
It was small and ugly, but a broke character like herself had no right to complain.
She sat behind it and opened the system inventory.
One hundred cracked beast cores, sat there waiting to be used.
She hesitated, then selected ten.
They appeared in her palm, dull and fractured, faint warmth pulsing like a dying ember.
Zi'an exhaled slowly.
Zi'an held a cracked beast core up between her fingers, letting the morning sun glint off its jagged edges.
"This little thing?" she said, voice loud enough for the small crowd to hear.
"A trace of spirit energy—barely enough to practice a minor technique. But it's better than nothing, isn't it?"
A cultivator in worn robes scowled.
"Better than nothing? Do you take me for a fool? This is barely worth a copper coin!"
Zi'an's smile widened, sharp and teasing. "Oh? You mean to say, you who can't even afford a proper core, are somehow above buying these?"
The cultivator stiffened. "I—It's not that I—"
"Exactly!" Zi'an cut him off, pacing slightly, her hands fluttering theatrically.
"You can't afford the proper cores, yet you look down on these? Pride without power is just… wind. Air that makes noise but does nothing!"