Time ceased to have meaning.
The pain came in relentless waves. They rose, crashed and receded. Only to gather strength and break over him again.
The intervals between them became the only measure of time he possessed, and even those dissolved into something meaningless. Minutes and seconds no longer existed. There was only the next wave.
More than once, he convinced himself the worst had finally passed.
He was wrong. Every time, every single time.
At one point, he became certain he was dying. Sometime later, he wasn’t entirely sure dying would be worse than enduring another wave.
Then, through the haze of agony, another thought surfaced.
’Sacha.’
What would happen if she came home and found him like this?
The image cut through the pain with startling clarity, anchoring him just enough to keep his mind from slipping away.
Other faces followed.
’Sophie.’
’Maya.’
’Mia.’
’Amelia.’
’Sarah.’
They didn’t come as memories or conversations, only fleeting impressions, faces he wanted to see again, people he refused to leave behind.
Each became another reason to endure. So he endured. Gradually...
Almost imperceptibly at first... The waves began to weaken. The intervals stretched longer.
The peaks lost their impossible height.
The fire consuming his skeleton eased from molten agony to blistering heat.
From blistering heat to a deep, lingering warmth.
Then to the strange, exhausted ache of a body that had survived something it had never been meant to experience.
His fingers twitched. For a moment, the movement confused him. He had forgotten he even had fingers.
A breath later, feeling returned to his right arm. Then his left. His neck. His jaw.
The paralysis loosened its grip piece by piece until, with immense effort, he managed to turn his head a fraction against the pillow.
The movement was almost laughably small.
Yet in that moment, it felt like the greatest victory of his life. The pain... Was gone.
’Finally’ he sighed as he lay motionless, drenched in sweat, drawing slow, careful breaths as his body gradually accepted that the torment had finally ended.
Silence settled over the room. Then he noticed something else.
Energy. It flowed through him in a quiet, unhurried current. Not the violent, crackling force of the pill reshaping his body.
This was different. Gentle. Steady.
Like a calm river winding through every corner of his being.
He felt it in his arms. His legs. His chest. Along the length of his spine.
And most distinctly, gathering in slow, rhythmic currents within his lower abdomen.
Yet... Something wasn’t right.
The energy flowed effortlessly through his body, nourishing every limb, every muscle, every bone that had just been reforged.
But whenever it reached his lower abdomen, it seemed to... hesitate. As though it had arrived before a sealed gate. It gathered there, pressing gently against an invisible barrier.
Searching. Waiting. Unable to move any farther.
A strange sense of blockage settled over him. Not painful, but uncomfortable and incomplete.
Like a river that had found its destination, only to discover the entrance sealed shut.
...
Stan let out a long, slow breath.
Then he sat up. The motion was effortless. Far too effortless.
His body felt... new. Not larger. Not visibly stronger.
Simply new, as though every joint, muscle, tendon, and bone had been quietly dismantled, refined, and rebuilt while he had endured the storm.
He slowly clenched his right hand into a fist. It closed with perfect precision.
As he stared at it, he became aware of something he had never experienced before.
He could feel his bones. Not pain nor discomfort, Just pure awareness.
A quiet, instinctive understanding of the framework beneath his flesh, the way a master swordsman understood the balance of his blade without needing to think about it.
His skeleton no longer felt like something hidden inside him.
It felt like an extension of his consciousness.
He flexed his fingers. Rotated his wrist. Rolled his shoulders. Turned his neck from side to side.
Every movement carried the same unmistakable impression.
Strength.
Not swollen muscles or explosive power. Structural strength. The kind that began with the skeleton itself. He couldn’t see any visible difference.
Yet his body knew. His bones had become denser. Harder. More resilient.
If he had to estimate, they were now roughly five times stronger than they had been only three hours earlier.
"What..." he murmured, staring at his hand.
"What is this power?" His gaze drifted toward his abdomen. "And what is this energy I’m feeling?"
His thoughts returned to the ancient book. More specifically... The words Qi.
He quietly tested the word. "Qi."
The moment it left his lips, it felt... correct.
As though his body recognized the name before his mind did. He stood there in silence. If the current flowing through him truly was Qi...
If the Divine Bronze Bone-Tempering Pill had done more than strengthen his skeleton, if it had awakened within him the very energy the ancient text claimed had all but disappeared from Earth...
Then he possessed something that almost no one alive in the modern world should have. The implications were staggering.
He deliberately pushed them aside. There would be time to investigate later.
For now... He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood.
His balance was flawless. No lingering weakness. No soreness. No stiffness.
It was as though his body had forgotten it had spent three hours being torn apart and reforged.
His eyes drifted to the clock on the bedside table. He froze. His brows slowly lifted.
He had swallowed the pill at roughly eleven fifteen that morning.
The digital clock now displayed 2:30 PM.
Three hours.
"...Damn." He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "It’s been three hours."
The number felt absurd. Inside the experience, it had stretched into what felt like days.
Outside it... It had occupied only a single afternoon. A quiet respect for himself surfaced.
He had remained conscious through three uninterrupted hours of body-rewriting agony.
No blackouts. No surrender. He had endured every second. Perhaps his tolerance for pain had always been greater than he’d believed.
Or perhaps sheer stubbornness had carried him where endurance alone could not.
His gaze shifted to the bed. The bedsheets were soaked.
Dark patches of sweat marked nearly every inch where his body had lain, with faint white traces of drying salt already beginning to appear where the moisture had evaporated.
The pillow was no better.
The room carried the faint metallic scent of a body pushed far beyond ordinary physical limits.
Stan sighed. ’Well... That’s going to need washing.’
He stripped the bedding off in one smooth motion, bundled it under one arm, and carried it to the laundry room.
After loading the washing machine, he selected the longest hot-water cycle before returning to his bedroom.
His clothes were no better than the sheets. Sweat clung to every thread.
He peeled them off, dropped them into a second laundry basket, then picked up the jade vial from where he had left it.
With the Jade Purity Elixir resting in his hand, he walked toward the bathroom.
Whatever came next... He had a feeling it wasn’t going to be as simple as taking a shower.