My power increases 100 Jin a Day

The shouting reaches him before the smoke does.

“Jiang Shi, something’s wrong! The fields—you have to come!”

He drops the hoe, wipes cracked earth from his palms, and follows the boy down the narrow path. The air stinks of trampled stalks and demon musk. Two days ago these rows were green with promise; now they lie crushed and claw-marked, another offering to a world that has forgotten mercy.

This is the tail end of a collapsing dynasty: banners of rival warlords on every horizon, villages swallowed overnight, things with too many teeth prowling the roads after dark. Jiang Shi doesn’t belong to any of it. He woke up here one morning, ripped from his own time and thrown into a history lesson gone rabid.

His only advantage is something he never earned.

Every dawn, as the first light scrapes over the ruined walls, his body grows heavier with strength—one hundred jin added to his raw power, day after day, whether he trains or not, whether he understands cultivation or can’t even name the realms the others whisper about.

So he keeps his head down. He plants, repairs, counts sacks of grain. He lets the warlords posture and the sect disciples posture even harder. Quietly, cautiously, he collects each day’s invisible weight, hiding it under loose sleeves and a farmer’s clumsy gait.

But in a land where demons smell blood and generals smell advantage, a man who only wants to protect a handful of fields will eventually have to step out of the furrows. When he does, the world that treats human lives like straw may finally discover what it means to face strength that never stops climbing.