"Oh, great," I muttered under my breath, my concentration unbroken. "I’ve gone from a modern IDE to digging through bytecode with a toothpick." For a moment, I paused and added internally, if my team could see me now, they’d either laugh their heads off or start a GoFundMe to get me better coding tools.
Programming at this level required incredible focus, creativity, and above all, a mind capable of juggling countless variables simultaneously. Before I could even code my first ‘Hello World’, I could feel the strain already. It was taking a kind of mental gymnastics that made me wonder, is this how all those ‘Cultivator Fanboys’ feel when they talk about ‘reaching enlightenment’? Because I’m pretty sure enlightenment comes with fewer migraines.
Without access to an IDE, external tools or even the nanite equivalent to notepad, I had to rely entirely on my mental organization skills. It was like juggling twenty balls at once while solving a Rubik’s cube; slow, exacting, and unforgiving. Each line of code had to be constructed meticulously, byte by byte, and tested mentally before execution.
Despite the challenge, I found myself fascinated. I spent hours ‘conversing’ with the nanites, issuing basic commands and analyzing their responses. I discovered that the API exposed by their AI wasn’t designed for high-level tasks but could execute simple instructions flawlessly, just like machine code running directly on the chip. By chaining these instructions together, I began to create rudimentary programs.
This really isn’t too far off from machine language, I mused. Millions of byte codes and no assembler to help. Just raw input and sheer willpower.
As I worked, my disdain for what I once called ‘cultivator fanboys’ began to wane. If this was how they ‘programmed’, their achievements were far more impressive than I’d given them credit for. The development environment was laughably rudimentary, yet they’d managed to create powerful techniques through sheer persistence and ingenuity. There was a kind of artistry to it, a connection between technology and the mind that felt oddly poetic.
I began crafting a basic program to test my understanding. The goal was simple: instruct the nanites to create a low-level camouflage field by ignoring any request from a cultivator, there by obscuring an object from QI detection. It was something I’d theorized after hearing how the villagers tried to physically hide some of their tools from the magistrate’s men, only for cultivators to easily find and destroy them. They had no way to shield their tools from a cultivator’s scrutiny and the nanite network, or QI field as it is called in the code. It had been luck on the village’s part that the Provincial Magistrate or his subordinates hadn’t caught an inkling that the irrigation pump system even existed. Had they suspected, any cultivator could have queried the QI surrounding the village and easily discovered the pumps.
If I can pull this off, it might be the edge the village needs to avoid disaster. It’s not just about proving my skills—it’s about survival, I told myself as I got to work.
I picked up a rock the size of a hen’s egg and told it, “You’ll do”. Then I placed it on the ground between my legs. I hoped that if the rock displayed any unexpected effects, my legs and body would shield it from the view of any apprentices that just happened to wake up and look this way.
My head throbbed from the effort and the SYSTEM gifted me with another message.
NEW TASK UNLOCKED: Create your first QI skill.
I sighed. Leveling system, you are on borrowed time, I said to myself.
I’d lost track of time, and each failed attempt gnawed at my patience. The first iteration simply failed to execute, the nanites returning an error message that translated to something like "Invalid command structure." On my second attempt, the stone I was testing glowed a faint green instead of disappearing. The third attempt produced a ripple effect around the object, like a heat haze, but it was far from invisible.
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This was programming stripped of every convenience, and it was maddening. The nanites’ feedback was limited, forcing me to piece together their responses like a detective solving a cryptic puzzle. It seemed simple on the surface, just have all the QI in the object refuse the nanite version of a ‘Ping’.
This is why most programmers go bald by their thirties. If someone had told me two weeks ago, I’d be debugging in my head while half-starved in a post-apocalyptic world, I’d have laughed them out of the room. Now, it’s just … Tuesday.
Each failure, though frustrating, taught me something. I learned how the nanites handled edge cases and discovered quirks in their programming logic. By the fifth attempt, I felt I was finally beginning to understand their ‘language’.
Eventually, I was done.
"Let’s see if this works," I murmured, issuing the final command.
The program executed, and I felt the hum of the nanites shift subtly. They responded, not with the smooth efficiency of modern software but with a raw, mechanical determination. I opened my eyes and focused on a small stone I’d placed on the bed before starting. I extended my QI perception, a skill I was still honing, and found... nothing. The stone had vanished from my QI senses.
I leaned back, a grin spreading across my face. "It’s crude, but it works."
TASK COMPLETED: +50 XP
As I stood to stretch, I noticed a faint glow in my peripheral vision. I glanced at the controller interface and saw a new entry in the menu: QI Camouflage Skill (Basic). The SYSTEM had recognized my efforts and formalized the program as a skill. I smirked, a flicker of satisfaction lighting up my tired features.
I picked up the "invisible" rock and slipped it into my pocket. "Not bad for a night’s work," I muttered, rubbing my temples. Still, I wasn’t satisfied. One test wasn’t enough.
I grabbed a rusted metal bolt from the pile of scrap I’d scavenged earlier and focused on it. Could the program handle a more complex object? I issued the command and watched as the bolt shimmered faintly before fading from my QI perception. Success.
But when I tried to extend the effect to a larger object—a piece of broken machinery—the nanites faltered. A message appeared in my vision: "Energy capacity exceeded." I frowned. The skill was effective but limited. If the villagers needed to hide something significant, like the pump system, I’d have to refine the program further.
On that thought, I got the idea to open the IDE build in the QI controller. Let’s see how those machine language abilities look like when decompiled by the IDE. It only took me a few seconds to realize … all that code that I had dismissed as ‘third-grade code’ was actually code originally written the same way as I created QI camouflage skill.
I don’t care how difficult it was to craft, that leveling system still has to go!
The limitations of the skill nagged at me as I sat back on the bed. The villagers were living on borrowed time. Their ingenuity had kept them alive, but it wouldn’t be enough if the magistrate decided to escalate his scrutiny. I could probably greatly increase its range if I rewrote it in a higher-level language in the IDE. It might be the first step in giving them a fighting chance, but it wasn’t enough on its own.
As I pondered, another thought struck me: the cultivators relied on their QI perception, but what if I could disrupt that? Not just hide objects but actively interfere with their ability to sense QI? The idea was ambitious, bordering on reckless, but it sparked a new sense of purpose.
But that is for another day, I thought. Tomorrow, I’ve got a lathe to work on.
For now, I needed sleep. My body ached, and my mind was a tangled mess of variables and commands. As I lay down, I allowed myself a small smile. In a world where survival was uncertain, I’d created something new—something that might make a difference.
Before sleep claimed me, I mentally outlined my next steps as a cultivator. First, I’d refine the camouflage program to extend its range and efficiency. Then, I’d experiment with disrupting QI perception. I’d also need to consider how to teach the villagers to use these skills. They couldn’t rely on me forever.
The SYSTEM mentally nudged me, almost as if it chimed softly inside my head, a notification popped up: "QI Control Level: Initiate (Stage 2)"
I chuckled. "Wow, even the leveling system thinks I’m getting better"
As I closed my eyes, the stone in my pocket felt like a small victory—a reminder that even in a world gone mad, ingenuity and determination could still shine through. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, but tonight, I’d sleep knowing I’d taken the first step toward making things better.