“Is it me who’s got the problem, or you?”

Annoyance pricked like a thorn; Nana Toki studied Blue Magpie’s guileless smile, clear as a winter pond. Then her mouth twitched. She looked away and asked, “Have you run into this before?”

“Yep.” Blue Magpie answered quick, like a sparrow hopping on a branch. Excitement flushed her cheeks rose-red, bright as dawn. “When I played on the back ridge, I met this a lot. I just wouldn’t let them in.”

“Why not let them in?” Warmth first, then motion; Nana Toki sat on the bed’s edge, smoothing messy hair like combing wet silk. Her voice fell soft as mist.

“Because once those things come into me, I want to sleep. I don’t want to sleep, so I don’t let them in.”

Her gestures bloomed wide like wings; her voice painted scenes like ink on rice paper. Sitting there, Nana Toki felt a smile curl, light as a crescent moon on water. She hadn’t even noticed it.

If she guessed right, those “things” were the Spirit Energy blanketing the back of Majestic Peak, thick as morning fog. For beginners, guiding it and running cycles is a long, dull grind, like a millstone. Blue Magpie was the exception; the river ran itself in her body, a current drawing breath on its own. It turned by itself and pushed her through barriers like spring flood. But that meant she cultivated unconsciously, like sleepwalking in a storm; the mind took the weight like a bowed bough. Sudden fatigue was only natural.

My silly little sister is no small fry; the thought rose like fireflies in dusk. In all the worlds I’ve crashed through, this setup is either the OP lead or the final boss, thunder under velvet. Yet she’s neither, and that stink of fish is off. We even bumped into the Nesting Phoenix, yet its hidden quest still won’t surface, quiet as a pond with no ripples. Too many odd notes; caution had to tighten like a drawn bow.

“Magpie, listen. That’s called Spirit Energy. It’s a good thing that makes you stronger,” Nana Toki said, voice steady as a lantern in night wind. If it were dangerous, she’d have blown up yesterday when she leapt from mortal straight to Foundation Establishment, like lightning crossing a dry sky. “If you want to train, I can teach you lots of powerful arts.”

“But why does Sister want me to get strong?”

Her eyes lifted, deep and bright as polished black jade; one look hooked the heart like a moon over dark water.

“Because strength keeps bullies off you and makes others respect you,” Nana Toki said, palm landing on her head like a summer breeze. “In this world, only the strong live happy.”

Confusion still misted her face like light rain, but she nodded hard, earnest as a sapling in spring. “Then I’ll train hard, so Sister can live a happy life too.”

A child’s kindness shows plainly, like clear spring through stone. Nana Toki looked at her sweet, silly girl; warmth ebbed, then she drew back her hand and left the room, steps light as drifting petals.

Blue Magpie becoming a cultivator sat outside her plans, yet the tide still ran in their favor. Six days from now, at the sect’s arena, she’d meant for Blue Magpie to fill a slot. She and the System would bulldoze the bracket like a cart through soft mud. Now it seemed Magpie didn’t need to forfeit at all.

A wicked itch rose like spark to tinder; Nana suddenly wanted to see the Protagonist Lord’s face after losing to her sister. An Immortal Realm bigshot who seized a body to roar back onto the stage, toppled by the sect’s famous silly girl? Just picturing it sent a thrill through her like drums before a storm.

“Perfect. You lazy-bum System, since you’re here, go register your disciple identity,” she said as she stepped out, flicking a wooden token through the air like a flying leaf. The System lounged outside, fishing for time at a stone table. “I told you about the bout. You parachuted in without status. If we don’t fix that now, we’ll stir up trouble later. It happens to be recruitment days.”

“Ugh… that sounds like a pain,” the System said, face scrunched like a cat in rain, a fruit half-eaten in her hand.

Silence fell cold as shade.

“So your hide’s itching?” The smile on Nana Toki’s face sharpened, a crescent turned blade. “Listen up, you mangy mutt of a System. I’m giving you half a day. If you don’t bring back a proper identity by then—heh—watch me take you apart like firewood.”

She pressed her fingers till they cracked, crisp as kindling; her grin grew wolfish, dusk gathering at its edges. Murderous air rolled out like winter frost. The System’s limbs went cold, like a lizard under a hawk’s shadow.

No doubt about it, the killing intent was heavy; the System folded like grass in wind.

Nana Toki had registered the System under the name Ningyi at Boundless Peak. So when the System took the wooden token down the mountain to sign up, Ningyi it was.

By the way, her “open recruitment” was only half true. The Heavenly Ascent Sect wasn’t opening its true gates; it was sweeping locals, like raking leaves, for labor disciples. Anyone above the Fifth Level of Qi Refinement passed like a stone tossed over a low wall. Unless luck brought an eighth or ninth level, or a wandering Foundation Establishment, these folks were bound for the outer sect as labor, piling chores like firewood.

The System waited outside for half a day; the sun bled toward the ridge like spilled cinnabar.

“Next, Two-Nine-Zero-One, Ningyi!”

“Two-Nine-Zero-One, Ningyi, are you here?”

The steward held a voice-amplifying talisman, calling like a bell over a market. No one came up. He figured the person got bored and left, and he moved to skip her.

“Next, Two-Nine-Zero—”

“I’m here!” piped a tender voice, crisp as a birdcall after rain.

The steward squinted at the crowd like a fisherman peering into fog. He saw no owner for that voice until our System, patience snapped like a twig, clawed up a corner of the stage. She had to grab the edge and scramble like a kitten onto a table, feet kicking. Then she glared and snapped, “Are you nuts? You built this stage sky-high with no steps. Are you all short on brains?”

The steward’s face froze like iced tea. In his head: You being that short isn’t my fault.

“You’re Two-Nine-Zero-One, Ningyi?” He eyed the tiny loli with the talisman still in hand, doubt thick as clouds. “It says you’re sixteen. Why do you look six?”

Laughter rolled through the onlookers like wind through reeds; a few snorts popped like bubbles.

The System’s hackles rose like a cat with its tail stepped on. Her host could bully her, fine; but a gate-watching disciple too? How was she supposed to enjoy this rare chance at being human?

“Are you holding a spot for your big sister? If so, fetch your adult,” the steward said, already turning like a weather vane. “Kids don’t meddle here.” He called the next number, mercy shown only because the loli was painfully cute, sugar on snow. Otherwise, he’d have tossed her out without ceremony.

The System stared, flat as a winter lake.

“Hey, brother,” she said, tugging his sleeve like a breeze catching a banner, still unwilling to quit. “You think I’m not qualified to sign up?”

The steward had a decent temper. He worked while answering, voice like a patient elder. “It’s not that you can’t. But you’re so small. As a labor disciple, some folks bully. Take my advice and stay home with your family. It’s safer and—”

Boom!

He didn’t finish. The cute loli before him set her right foot down, light as a tap. The world replied like a drum. Sound cracked, and stone answered like ice in thaw. From her sole, a spiderweb of fissures shot across the stage, jagged as lightning. The two-meter-high stone platform slumped half a meter, like bread fallen in the oven.

“Do you still think a little one like me will get bullied?” The System smiled with lips, not eyes; it was moonlight on a knife.

Silence fell, thick as snow. Stares stuck to her like burrs. Shock filled their eyes like a sudden tide; confusion blinked behind it like startled fish.

That strength at that age was brutish, a pine bending the storm. If her body-refining was this fierce now, what road would she stride later?

The stewards were gaping, mouths open like carp. Fingers lifted, dropped, words jammed like rice in a reed flute. After a long swallow, one stepped aside and gestured, sweat cold as dew on his neck. “Please… let’s speak inside the sect.”