I stood in the center of my backyard, dressed in flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt, sipping a cup of coffee. The morning air was crisp, but inside the perimeter of my garden, it was warm.
My sanctuary had changed.
The Heavenly Bamboo wall was now a solid curtain of green iron, impenetrable to anything short of a tank. Along the base of the wall, the Heavenly Moss (Grade 2) grew in clumps. It pulsed with an amber light. It passively pumped 0.4 Qi per hour into the air, turning my backyard into a hyper-oxygenated greenhouse.
Buried near the gate were my sentries: Heavenly Mandrakes. They looked like wrinkled, ugly turnips, but if a squirrel got too close, they emitted a low-frequency psychic hum that sent the rodent stumbling away.
I set my coffee down on the patio table and picked up my sword.
It was crafted from a stalk of Heavenly Bamboo, shaved down to a razor edge. I moved through the forms of Basic Swordsmanship (Level 5).
Step. Pivot. Slash.
The air hissed. My movements weren't clumsy anymore. They were crisp. Efficient.
Thrust. Parry. Recover.
I finished the set and checked my internal status.
[Foundation: Foundation (Step 3)]
[Qi Capacity: 20/20 (Soft Cap Reached)]
I was stuck. I had hit the ceiling of what my current garden could provide.
I sheathed the sword and picked up my coffee again. A month ago, I had been terrified. I had envied the rock man at the store and the super soldiers on TV. I had felt like a weakling with a watering can.
Now?
I realized my Path was completely broken.
I didn't need to fight for resources. I didn't need to loot stores. I could just sit here, water my plants, eat my magic tomatoes, and slowly garden my way to godhood. I was a self-sustaining ecosystem of power.
I went inside, wiped my feet, and turned on the TV.
The news was slicker now. The shaky cell phone videos were gone, replaced by high definition press conferences.
"...Government forces have successfully stabilized High Impact Zones across the Midwest," a spokesperson in a suit said. "Supply chains are being restored in urban centers. We urge all citizens in rural areas to relocate to the nearest Safe Zone for processing."
I narrowed my eyes.
The response was too fast. The specialized units, the coordinated messaging, the logistical hubs. They had to have known. They must have prepared the cities and left the suburbs to fend for themselves until they were ready to expand.
"Safe Zones," I muttered.
I needed to upgrade my soil. That was the only way to break my Qi cap.
[Upgrade Requires: 3 Monster Cores, 6 Mortal Minerals, 20 Qi.]
I had the Qi. I didn't have the Cores or the Minerals. And I couldn't grow rocks.
I checked my gas gauge on the way to the kitchen window. The car was running on fumes. I couldn't stay in my bubble forever. If I wanted to progress, I had to enter the new world.
"Alright," I said to the empty room. "Field trip."
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
I spent the next hour packing. I wasn't taking chances.
I went to my armory—aka the shed—and geared up.
I strapped on the Heavenly Bamboo Armor. It was a masterpiece of weaving, interlocking strips of iron hard bamboo that covered my chest, shins, and forearms. It was light as plastic but harder than riot gear. I slung the shield over my back, belted the sword to my hip, and grabbed the spear.
Then came the goods. I packed a duffel bag with everything I had harvested.
- A sack of Heavenly Tubers.
- Two dozen Heavenly Tomatoes (Grade 2).
- Six Heavenly Cucumbers.
I walked to the perimeter and kicked the dirt near the Mandrakes. "Sentry Mode: Lethal," I commanded.
The turnips shuddered. If anyone tried to climb my wall now, their brains would likely melt.
I got in the car.
The drive to the highway was lonely. The suburbs were a graveyard of abandoned cars and overgrown lawns. But once I hit the on ramp for Detroit, the scenery changed.
Concrete barriers funneled the road down to a single lane. Military vehicles—Humvees painted a matte black—were parked on the shoulder.
I pulled up to a checkpoint. A soldier stepped out.
He wore a sleek, dark grey uniform.
He tapped on my window.
"Destination?"
"Detroit," I said. "Need supplies."
The officer, whose nametag read Tatum, looked me over. He eyed the bamboo armor.
"Name and Path?"
"Kaz. Heavenly Gardener."
Tatum paused. His eyes went to the spear in the back seat, then back to me. Amusement crossed his face.
"Gardener," he repeated. "Alright. Stay on the main roads. Curfew is 2200 hours. Move along."
He waved me through.
I drove into the city.
I found a festival.
Downtown Detroit was booming. The streetlights were on. People were walking on the sidewalks—families, couples, groups of teenagers. There was a line out the door for a burger joint. A digital billboard flashed a public service announcement about "Qi Safety."
It was jarring. It was too normal.
I slowed down, watching a patrol of security guards walk by. They were wearing the exact same grey uniforms as Tatum. And—I realized with a jolt—the exact same uniforms the security guards at Pro Depot had worn a month ago.
The pieces clicked into place.
The government didn't have control. They had created an illusion of control. They had pulled all their resources, all their cultivators, back to the major cities and the surrounding suburbs to create these bubbles of order. The small city suburbs, the rural towns, the country? They were surrendered territory. The law only existed where they had the manpower to stand on a corner and enforce it.
It was a terrifying thought. The moment people realized the bubble was thin, it would pop.
I pulled into a gas station near Greektown. I needed fuel to get home.
I swiped my card at the pump.
[DECLINED]
I tried again.
[NETWORK ERROR]
"Great," I sighed.
I walked inside. The cashier, a guy named Brady who looked like he hadn't slept in a week, was reading a comic book.
"Pump two isn't working," I said.
"Pumps work fine," Brady mumbled, not looking up. "The network is dead. Cards are plastic scrap."
"I have cash," I said, pulling out a twenty.
Brady looked up. He laughed. "Man, where have you been? Under a rock? Paper is for wiping your ass. We don't take dollars."
I frowned. "So how do I pay?"
"Spirit Stones," Brady said.
"Spirit Stones," I repeated.
"Crystallized Qi," Brady explained, leaning back. "It's the new gold standard. Cultivators use 'em to power up, so they have actual value. That's the currency now."
I stared at him. "I don't have those."
Brady shrugged. "Then you're walking."
I looked out at my car. I was stranded in the city unless I got gas.
"How do I get Stones?" I asked.
"Join the army." Brady responded.
"Without joining the army." I said back.
Brady looked me up and down, noting the bamboo armor. "You got goods? Go to the Auction House. Drane's. It's behind City Hall. Opened a week ago. They buy anything useful. You sell, get Stones, come back, get gas."
"Drane's," I said. "Behind City Hall."
"Yeah. Good luck, bamboo man."
I walked back to my car.
If this city was running on a scarcity economy, I suspected I was sitting on a fortune
I started the car and drove toward City Hall. The city lights reflected in my eyes. It was time to see what a Heavenly Tomato was actually worth.