"Okay, Janson," I muttered to myself, surveying the pile of buzzsaw-laden boar carcass with a mix of apprehension and hunger, "time to channel your inner Bear Grylls. Or, you know, at least that one time you tried to make s'mores in your backyard and almost set the fence on fire."

Survival skills, it seemed, were not included in the 'Kong Di Qing Starter Pack'. And Jang Ku, curse and damn his spoiled, pampered, rotten-ass soul, had probably never even seen a tree that wasn't part of a meticulously manicured garden.

So here I was, a famous DJ turned accidental cultivator, trying to figure out how to turn a monstrous boar into an edible meal using nothing but my wits, a few scavenged branches, and a flint stone that looked suspiciously like it might have been used as a doorstop in a previous life.

'Right, fire,' I thought, surveying the pathetic pile of twigs I'd managed to gather. Fire. The fundamental element of civilization, the cornerstone of human progress, the bane of clumsy idiots like me who can't tell the difference between tinder and kindling.

My attempts at fire-starting were… less than impressive. The flint stone, stubborn as a mule and about as cooperative as a toddler on a sugar rush, refused to spark. The twigs, damp from the morning dew, seemed determined to smother any flicker of flame before it could even take hold. My hands, calloused from years of manipulating turntables and MIDI controllers, were now blistered and sore from trying to coax a fire out of these uncooperative forest offerings.

"Come on, you stupid sticks," I growled, frustration mounting with each failed attempt. "Just do what fire is supposed to goddamn do! Burn!"

It was official: I was a disgrace to boy scouts everywhere.

After what felt like an eternity of futile effort, I managed to coax a pathetic little flame into existence. It flickered weakly, threatening to extinguish itself with every gust of wind that dared to blow through my makeshift fire pit.

"Don't you dare die on me, you tiny spark of dying hope!" I hissed, shielding the fragile flame with my body. "I swear, if I have to resort to eating raw buzzsaw-face boar, I'm blaming you."

With the fire somewhat under control- or at least not actively trying to commit suicide, I turned my attention to the boar.

'Okay, now what?' I thought, eyeing the massive carcass with a mix of trepidation and hunger. Butchering? Roasting? Is there a 'How to Prepare Buzzsaw-mouth-beathing idiot Boar for Dummies' guide somewhere in this goddamn notebook?'

I flipped through the pages, finding nothing remotely helpful. There were diagrams of Qi meridians, a recipe for something called "Soul-Nourishing Dew of the Immortal Crane" which sounded suspiciously like something you'd find at a hipster coffee shop, and a rather detailed drawing of a unicorn that appeared to be wearing sunglasses.

'This is hopeless,' I groaned, dropping the notebook onto the ground. 'I'm going to starve to death in a forest full of edible monsters, surrounded by a library of useless knowledge. Irony, thy name is Janson.'

But I had come this far, I couldn't give up now.

I pulled out a knife from my spatial ring. It was more of a decorative piece than a practical tool, its hilt adorned with jewels that probably cost more than my entire sound system back on Earth.

'This is going to be messy,' I thought, steeling myself for the task ahead. But hey, at least I have an unlimited supply of napkins. Or, you know, whatever passes for napkins in a cultivation world.

With a deep breath and a silent apology to every butcher who'd ever graced this world with their skill, I began the arduous task of turning buzzsaw boar into dinner.

The boar-meat lay before me, a hulking pile of evidence of my newfound buzzsaw-ass-kicking abilities. But as I stared at the mountain of meat, my stomach rumbled with more than just hunger. A wave of nausea washed over me, a visceral reaction to the sheer rawness of it all.

'Okay, Janson, think,' I muttered to myself, pacing around the carcass like a culinary detective trying to solve a case of "How the hell do I not die from food poisoning?" You've eaten your fair share of gourmet meals, Michelin-star restaurants, backstage catering spreads that would make a king jealous. But none of them involved... this.

This was primal. This was survival. This was a far cry from the perfectly plated, meticulously sourced cuisine I was used to.

Then, a faint memory flickered in the depths of my mind. A documentary, probably something I'd half-watched while scrolling through my phone, about wilderness survival. They'd mentioned gutting the animal, draining the blood...

Right. Gutting.

I eyed the boar's belly, a landscape of bristly hide and questionable stains, with a mix of apprehension and determination.

It's just like mixing a track, I told myself, trying to channel my inner DJ into this bizarre situation. Isolate the elements, remove the unwanted noise, and create something beautiful from the chaos.

Except instead of beats and melodies, I was dealing with intestines and organs. And instead of a Grammy, the prize was a meal that wouldn’t send me on a one-way trip to food-poisoning hell.

With a deep breath and a silent apology to every vegetarian I'd ever met, I pulled out the jewel-encrusted knife from my spatial ring. It was time to get my hands dirty.

The gutting process was, as expected, messy. And smelly. And a lot more complicated than those survival experts made it look on TV. But after what felt like an eternity of slicing, tugging, and suppressing the urge to gag, I managed to remove the boar's innards, leaving behind a surprisingly clean cavity.

I propped the carcass up on a makeshift rack of branches, allowing the blood to drain into the soil.

Three hours, they'd said, I thought, watching the crimson liquid seep into the earth. Three hours to let the meat... rest. Or maybe that was for wine. Shit, I don't know. It's been three hours already, though. Is the meat bad now?

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Doubt gnawed at me, but hunger won out. I decided an hour of extra draining time was a reasonable compromise between food safety and my growling stomach.

Next came the pelt. I hacked away at it with my fancy knife, my technique more akin to a lumberjack trying to sculpt a ballerina than a skilled hunter preparing a trophy. The pelt ended up looking more like a shredded tapestry than a pristine hide, but at least the meat beneath it looked promising.

I carved thick slabs of boar flesh, marveling at the transformation. Just a few hours ago, this creature had been a buzzsaw-wielding nightmare. Now, it was a pile of potential pork chops, ready for the grill.

The fire, thankfully, was still going strong. I arranged the makeshift chops over the glowing embers on skewers and a couple on rocks, the scent of roasting meat filled the air soon after. It was a primal aroma, both comforting and slightly different than anything I had ever eaten.

As the moon began to reach its zenith, painting the sky in multicolored stars, I sat back, watching the flames dance and listening to the gentle sizzle of cooking meat. It wasn't the glamorous life I was used to, but there was a certain satisfaction in knowing I'd managed to survive, at least for now.

'Not bad for a mix-master who can't tell the difference between a cleaver and a butter knife,' I thought, a weary smile spreading across my face.

This world might be full of dangers and deceptions, but damn if it didn't know how to cook a good boar.

Despite my bad technique and lack of seasoning, this is legitimately the best thing I had ever tasted.

I savored the last bite of boar, wiping my grease-stained fingers on my admittedly less blood-stained now robes. Even with my rudimentary cooking skills and lack of seasoning, the meat was incredible. It was tender, juicy, and bursting with flavor—a symphony of savory goodness that made me question everything I thought I knew about wilderness cuisine.

How is this even possible? I wondered, my mind struggling to reconcile the culinary masterpiece before me with the disastrous cooking process that had led to it. It's like the forest itself imbued this boar with magical flavor-enhancing properties.

Maybe it was the lingering effects of the Qi pills, or the strange energy of this world, but that buzzsaw-faced boar had just provided me with the most satisfying meal of my life.

And then the energy hit.

It wasn't a sudden surge, like the jolt I got from touching those supercharged Qi pills. It was a slow, steady warmth that spread through my limbs, a feeling of fullness and power that seemed to emanate from deep within my core. My meridians hummed with energy, and my senses felt heightened, as if the forest itself was whispering secrets to me.

I checked my cultivation level, and my jaw dropped. I'd broken through to the 5th level of Meridian Forging! Just from eating a damn boar!

'Well, that's convenient,' I thought, a wave of exhaustion washing over me. Apparently, cooking a magically delicious monster was a viable cultivation strategy in this world. Who knew?

The exhaustion wasn’t just from the day’s events. It was a deep, bone-weary tiredness that seemed to seep into my very core. The combination of the potion, the Qi surge, and the sheer amount of meat I’d consumed had taken its toll. My eyelids felt heavy, and the world around me was starting to blur at the edges.

'Time for a nap,' I decided, my voice slurring slightly. 'Maybe if I sleep long enough, this whole "Heavenly Demon" situation will magically resolve itself. Or maybe a giant eagle will swoop down and carry me to safety. Or...'

My thoughts trailed off as sleep claimed me, pulling me into a dreamless abyss of exhaustion. I vaguely remembered securing myself to a sturdy tree trunk with a length of rope from my spatial ring – a precaution against wandering off in my sleep or becoming a midnight snack for whatever other culinary delights this forest had to offer.

As darkness enveloped me, I couldn’t help but wonder what new adventures, or misadventures, awaited me when I woke up.

blinked, my eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light filtering through the dense canopy above. My body ached, a dull throb that radiated from muscles I hadn't even known existed until I'd been forced to use them in a desperate battle against a buzzsaw-faced boar in this white void.

Wait a minute... white void?

'This isn't right,' I thought, a wave of disorientation washing over me. I didn't fall asleep in white void. I tied myself to a tree in a forest.

My gaze darted around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The trees were gone, replaced by a smooth, metallic surface that curved upwards, forming a dome-like structure overhead surrounded in all directions by absolute white nothingness. The air was still, strangely devoid of the natural sounds I'd grown accustomed to during my brief foray into wilderness survival.

And then I saw it.

In front of me, perched on a raised platform, was a console that looked like it had been ripped straight out of a retro sci-fi movie. A circular screen, flickering with a pale green light, displayed a series of indecipherable symbols that seemed to shift and morph with every blink. Below the screen was a panel of buttons, each one glowing with a soft, pulsating light.

Except there were hundreds of buttons, but I could only see four of them. It was like my vision had been narrowed, focused on these four specific options while the rest remained shrouded in a hazy blur.

I leaned closer, squinting at the buttons, trying to make sense of the labels etched beneath them. They weren’t words, exactly, but more like impressions, concepts that resonated in my mind rather than being translated into language.

"Full Rest," I murmured, my voice echoing strangely in the silent chamber.

The button beneath those words pulsed with a warm, inviting green light. It felt like a promise, a guarantee of complete restoration, a chance to erase the exhaustion that had been weighing me down.

My gaze shifted to the next button.

"25% Power Upgrade Trip," I read aloud, a shiver running down my spine.

The button pulsed with an electric blue light, a vibrant, almost chaotic energy that both intrigued and terrified me.

"50% Power Upgrade Trip."

This one glowed a fiery orange, a sensation of intense heat and raw power radiating from it.

And finally, the last button.

"100% Power Upgrade Trip."

A blinding white light emanated from this button, so intense I had to shield my eyes. It felt like staring into the heart of a supernova, a power so vast and incomprehensible it threatened to overwhelm my senses.

I hesitated, torn between the promise of rest and the allure of power. One part of me, the exhausted, battered part that just wanted a decent night's sleep, longed to press that green button and sink into oblivion. But another part of me, the part that craved adventure, that wanted to unravel the mysteries of this crazy cultivation world, couldn't resist the pull of those blue, orange, and white lights.

I mean, come on. Power upgrade trip? It sounded like something out of a sci-fi novel, a chance to level up my cultivation in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

But I instinctively knew those trips were chaotic, unpredictable.

I glanced at the 'Full Rest' button again. It was tempting, so very tempting.

'Fuck it,' I thought, my finger hovering over the '25% Power Upgrade Trip' button. Let's see what this thing can do.

I pressed the button, bracing myself for whatever insanity awaited me on the other side.