C1 Kong Qing

"Put some muscle into it, kid, or you'll go without dinner!"

In the vast expanse of the mine, millions toiled relentlessly, stripped of any rights, voiceless. Their only possession was the frigid iron pickaxe they wielded.

The sky, shrouded in dark clouds, wept a rain as gray as their plight, as if the heavens themselves mourned for them, lamenting their sorrow.

Origin Stone!

This was the energy ore they were compelled to excavate. Each person had a daily quota, and failure to meet it meant facing the pangs of hunger.

Branded on each face was the indelible mark of a pickaxe, a permanent testament to their enslavement, a badge of their lowly status.

"Hiss!"

Despite being accustomed to the lash, Kong Qing couldn't suppress a pained hiss.

Instinctively clutching his shoulder wound, he winced at the sharp pain before hurriedly grabbing his pickaxe and assuring his overseer with feigned eagerness, "Absolutely, I will dig diligently and fulfill today's quota."

"A slave is always a slave," the overseer sneered, stowing his whip. He was all too familiar with the likes of Kong Qing, their subservience amusing him as he walked away, hands clasped behind his back.

"Oh God, how much longer will you toy with me?" Kong Qing gazed skyward, his laughter tinged with bitterness.

Kong Qing, now eighteen, had been in this alien world for three years. Unknown to all, he hailed from a planet of azure hues, a truth no one would entertain.

Initially, Kong Qing had believed it all to be a dream, but the harsh reality hit when a sack was thrust over his head. The dream was so vivid, so tangible, that he contemplated suicide as an escape from its grip.

Kong Qing was aware that he had crossed into another world, yet unlike others who found adventures and treasures, who mastered mystical arts and possessed the power to soar through the skies, all he had been granted was an iron pickaxe. Without hard work, not even a simple steamed bun would grace his plate come nightfall.

Kong Qing ran his fingers over the brand on his face, the memory of the searing iron from three years ago still clear in his mind.

"Scram! What right do you have to grab me?"

"Smack!"

"You want to know why? This mark will tell you! Pin him down!"

Hiss!

"Ah!"

...

Kong Qing glanced at the three baskets behind him, wiped the sweat from his brow, and flung the iron pickaxe to the ground.

"Finally done. Time for some steamed buns," Kong Qing said with a relieved smile. Noticing the supervisor dozing off in the distance, he quickly ran over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Supervisor, I've finished," Kong Qing said with a wide grin.

"Finished?" The supervisor cracked open an eye and surveyed the three baskets in Kong Qing's work area.

"If you're finished, then go dig another basket!" the supervisor said without a hint of courtesy.

"I..." Kong Qing nearly let his saliva spray onto the supervisor's face upon hearing the command.

"Got a problem?" The supervisor, seeing Kong Qing's defiant expression, was clearly irritated and barked, "If there's a problem, make it two baskets!"

"No problem, no problem at all! I'll make sure the task is completed!" Kong Qing quickly plastered on a smile, knowing that angering the supervisor meant no rest for the entire night.

"If there's no problem, then get moving!" the supervisor bellowed.

"Right away, right away!" Kong Qing nodded hastily and dashed back to his work area to pick up the pickaxe and start digging energetically.

In reality, the mine's daily quota was three baskets, but the supervisor never stuck to this standard.

The more source stones they produced each month, the more benefits they received, which is why they squeezed every last drop of labor from the slaves.

In this mine, devoid of any human rights, countless slaves like Kong Qing dared not rebel. Any violation of the slavery rules meant facing even more brutal consequences.

There had been uprisings in the past, but they ended in utter tragedy. Clinging to life was preferable to a noble death, and Kong Qing now lacked the courage to openly defy the supervisor.

When Kong Qing first arrived at the mine, he staunchly resisted the supervisor's oppressive and unfair demands. But after three days without food, he resigned himself to the pickaxe.

Three years had flown by, and Kong Qing had become accustomed to life here. After a long day's work, the evening's steamed bun was always a welcome treat.

At eighteen, Kong Qing had built up a modest set of muscles from the labor. Back in his original world, he was confident he could take on seven or eight people with ease, if not ten.

"Steamed buns are ready! Everyone, bring your source stones to the rest area to collect your buns!"

Upon hearing the distant call, Kong Qing instantly dropped his iron pickaxe and scurried to the rest area, two baskets swinging in each hand.

Reaching the rest area, Kong Qing noticed only a handful of people outside. Young folks like him were rare, and given the poor quality of the food, most couldn't finish their tasks before mealtime.

"Two baskets and you expect to eat? Get back to digging!" The supervisor barked at an elderly man.

"Please, Supervisor, I'm old and can't dig much," the old man pleaded, dropping to his knees and clutching at the supervisor's legs.

"Smack!"

The supervisor had no pity for the old man. A lash of his whip sent the elder stumbling back in pain, silencing his pleas.

"Spit it out, you old coot, I'll starve you yet!" The supervisor spat on the man.

Kong Qing had witnessed such scenes often. Initially, he felt sympathy, but that only led to going hungry himself.

Over time, whether it was Kong Qing or anyone else, the focus shifted to one's own steamed bun. They were all in the same boat, with no concern for whether others got to eat.

"Kid, well done, you dug four baskets. You've earned an extra bun," the supervisor said, nodding in approval and gesturing to the large basket of buns.

"Thank you, Supervisor. I'll work even harder from now on," Kong Qing quickly expressed his gratitude.

"Move along, don't hold up the line," the supervisor said, his face stern once more.

Kong Qing swiftly snatched up three mantou and dashed into the rest area.

The rest area was essentially a large cave outfitted with numerous thin wooden planks serving as the slaves' beds, the place where they rested at night.

Filthy, cluttered, and foul-smelling, these were the hallmarks of the rest area's ambiance.

Initially, Kong Qing had been extremely averse to sleeping there, but after the supervisor had him mine Source Stones all night, the rest area transformed into Kong Qing's haven.

After an exhausting day, nothing was more delightful than a good night's sleep.

He picked out a relatively clean plank, plopped down on it, and began to devour the mantou with gusto.

"Young man, enjoying the bun?"

As Kong Qing savored his meal, a disheveled old man called out to him.

"Hmm? What do you want?" Kong Qing turned to look, and noticing the old man's sly grin, instinctively tucked the bun closer to his chest.

"Hehehe," the old man chuckled with a gleam in his eye, quickly approaching Kong Qing.

Kong Qing promptly stashed the bun away, his face hardening as he stated firmly, "I barely have enough for myself. Forget about it."

Kong Qing was aware that these older men lacked the strength to mine Source Stones effectively, leaving them without any mantou to eat. Naturally, they envied a young man like him who could afford to eat a few extra buns.

"Hey, don't rush me. I won't ask for your bun without giving something in return," the old man quickly clarified.

"Without giving anything in return?" Kong Qing paused, then scoffed, "As if you have other food to trade with me here."

"I don't have any other food," the old man admitted with an embarrassed smile.

"Then there's nothing to talk about," Kong Qing said dismissively, rolling his eyes and turning away to continue eating.

The old man scurried around to face Kong Qing again. "Hold on, let me share stories of the outside world with you. How about that for a bun?"

Kong Qing glanced at the old man's eager eyes fixed on the bun in his hand and sneered, "The outside world isn't much different from this place. What's the big deal?"

"Pfft, kids will be kids—short-sighted and inexperienced," the old man scoffed, his eyes spinning in their sockets with derision.

"Oh, so people outside don't have to mine? They get to feast on fine food every day?" Kong Qing retorted with a laugh, not bothering to conceal his skepticism.

The old man, however, nodded earnestly. "Exactly as you say!"

Kong Qing was taken aback. When he had arrived in this world, he found himself in a forest, and before long, his head was covered with a sack, leaving him clueless about everything else.

After his arrival, the other slaves informed Kong Qing that the outside world was no different from their own—all were bound to the mines. Initially, Kong Qing had his doubts, but as the consensus grew, so did his belief.

When a bunch of fools insists that chickens can fly in the sky, if you're the one who disagrees, then you're the fool!

To avoid being labeled as such, you have to join them in the belief that chickens can indeed soar among the clouds.