Chapter 2: Leveling Up: Allocating Points
The three walked in silence toward a house glowing with firelight.
"Dad! You're back!"
A gaunt, sallow-faced boy of twelve or thirteen burst from the house and threw himself into Chen Guodong's arms—Chen Fan’s younger brother, Chen Chen.
The boy glanced around eagerly before asking, disappointment creeping into his voice, "Dad… no food this time?"
His stomach growled loudly before the words finished hanging in the air.
Chen Guodong flushed, stammering, "There was… an accident. Next time. I promise."
"But you said that last time too."
The boy blinked up at him with guileless eyes.
The woman hurriedly pulled him back. "Can’t you see your father’s hurt? Mind his injury!" She bit back the unspoken truth: This time, he nearly didn’t return at all.
"Huh?"
Following her pointed glance, the boy recoiled. "Dad! I-I’m sorry!"
"Not your fault." Chen Guodong ruffled the boy’s hair before turning to his wife. "Make some rice broth? Any coin left? I’ll trade for grain at Songjia Fort tomorrow."
"Gone. Even my wedding ring." She shook her head, retreating inside to scrape the last grains from the rice jar. At this rate, their meager stores would vanish within a week.
"Xiao Fan." Chen Guodong beckoned, studying his son. "How do you feel?"
"Fine now, Dad."
Chen Fan mirrored the original host’s cautious tone. Memories hinted at a son intimidated by his reticent father—a dynamic that now suited him perfectly.
Chen Guodong’s mouth opened, then closed. "Good," he finally said.
Dinner was watery gruel, the pot’s bottom barely dusted with rice. The family licked their bowls clean. As patriarch, Chen Guodong took a second serving of broth.
They retired early. Chen Fan shared the west room with his brother, the paper-thin walls carrying his parents’ whispers.
"Guodong…" His mother’s voice trembled. "Today I feared… feared you’d end up like the others."
"I’m here." His father’s reply held steady.
"And next time?"
Silence swallowed the room.
Chen Fan sighed. However dire their half-starved existence, many lacked even this hovel’s shelter. Reaching the cities? Between the journey’s perils and closed gates, ten lives wouldn’t suffice.
Only strength guaranteed survival.
He closed his eyes. A game-like interface materialized behind his eyelids:
Realm: None
Level: 1 (0/1)
Constitution: 8*
Strength: 7
Agility: 7
Spirit: 5
Skills: None
Potential Points: 1 (1/day)
*Average adult male: 10
A glaring + hovered by his level—new since the system’s activation 25 hours post-transmigration. Earlier, he’d dismissed the panel as delirium. Now, certainty thrummed in his veins.
Potential Points required. He focused on the plus. Heat erupted from his core, flooding every muscle and sinew.
Crack. Pop.
His body sang with renewal. When the surge faded, sweat-drenched clothes proved it real. Fists clenched—stronger.
The updated panel confirmed it:
Level: 2 (0/2)
Constitution: 8.8 (+10%)
Strength: 7.7
Agility: 7.7
Spirit: 5.5
Potential Points: 0
Adult baseline, barely. Hope flickered—then dimmed. One point daily? With famine looming…
His eyes dropped to Skills: None. Must learn combat. But who here knew martial arts? His schoolyard Tai Chi memories were laughable. Close combat meant bleeding out untreated.
Range weapons first. Archery. Spears. Staves. Swords last.
Iron bows were rare here; most hunters used spears. Guns? Mythically expensive. No matter—a wooden bow with beast tendons would suffice. Survival demanded self-reliance.
Exhaustion claimed him. Dawn broke to a scream.
