“You can calm the fire veins,” Lian said.

  “You can stand against the devil wind,” Mu added.

  “And you look nice while moving things around,” Hua chimed in.

  That last one was definitely from him.

  I clenched my teeth, slung the pickaxe over my back, and climbed down the cliff—also carrying the sack of “mountain-stabilizing powder” Lian told me not to forget. Apparently, we were saving the village and doing laundry duty.

  Below, the terrain looked like the gods had taken a bite out of it. Jagged rocks piled high, the ground still hot enough to blister feet, and the cracks in the cliffside hissed with heat. Several strong men were already working under Mu’s direction, clearing the stones that had blocked the spring. Some of the rocks were scorched black—warm like fresh-baked iron biscuits.

  “Slow down.” Mu crouched beside the fissure, studying the stone layers. “The mud here is soft. One more foot down and you’ll hit a crack.”

  I raised a brow. “Aren’t you the chief here? Why are you doing the heavy work yourself?”

  He smiled faintly, brushing the sweat from his brow. “The fire vein has burned for fifty years. If it ends today and I don’t lend a hand, who would believe it’s truly done?”

  “…Truly a hands-on leader,” I muttered. “Inspirational. Slightly insane.”

  Lian wasn’t idle either. He stood above the ridge, watching how the wind moved through the gaps. Out of nowhere, he produced a length of wind-string and began tracing invisible currents, then instructed a few villagers to set up bamboo ducts along the cliff cracks. Using hemp cords, they tied down every loose rock with the precision of surgeons.

  “Steady,” he said calmly. “The west vent is still leaking heat.”

  “Already padded it twice with hemp mats!” one man shouted. “If we pile one more stone, the wind’ll choke.”

  “Then change it,” Lian ordered, pointing. “Narrower slot, slower wind, half a stone weight to press the corner.”

  “Hua , how’s the pressure?”

  “Stable,” came the lazy reply from the rock edge. He was squatting there fanning himself. “Though the smell’s atrocious. My fan’s about to melt.”

  I dropped my pickaxe. “I’ll help check the wind pressure!”

  “Keep holding your pickaxe,” Hua said without even glancing up. “Blessed man shouldn’t slack.”

  I picked the damn thing back up. Dignity? Long gone.

  Soon, most of the spring mouth was cleared, revealing a layer of bluish-gray stone. Lian watched for a moment, then flicked a bamboo stick into the hole. A sharp hiss answered—white steam shot out, heat rolling like the breath of an angry dragon.

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  “Still sealed below,” he said. “We’ll need two more inches cut, let the cold spring run through. That’ll tame the fire.”

  Mu nodded. “Three more feet west. Stop when you feel damp.”

  The villagers rolled up their sleeves and set to work. Pickaxes struck like thunder. I was ordered to fetch water, move rocks, carry charms, and—somehow—be “moral support.” I didn’t even have time to breathe.

  Then came a sharp crack. The edge of the spring caved half a foot, and a dense gust of sulfur blew out. Everyone jumped back.

  “Wait,” Lian raised a hand. “Don’t flood it yet. The veins aren’t stable. Feed it slowly—thin water first, cold water later.”

  He sprinkled lime into the crevice. It turned yellow, bubbled, and hissed like frying dough.

  “The ground fire’s agitated,” he said. “If we rush the water, the whole chamber could burst.”

  He had them lay down crushed stones, sand, and bamboo chips to steady the pressure. Then he mixed a handful of fine white powder into the cracks and called for two men to lower a large sealing stone onto the opening—carefully, layer by layer.

  “Gently,” he warned. “Don’t block the breath.”

  The stone settled. A moment later, steam puffed up in a white plume. The grass nearby curled under the heat—but then, miraculously, the vapor softened, spreading through the grooves like a sigh.

  “It’s open,” Lian said simply.

  I gaped. “That’s it? No incense? No chanting? Just a rock and some fancy dirt?”

  “Repairing a spring is hardly divine work,” he said coolly. “You thought you needed to kneel for three days to calm a fire vein?”

  Mu turned. “Two wind vents remain. They’ll carry the cool air down.”

  So we dug more openings along the cliffs, fitted them with wooden pipes, sealed the edges, and used cloth sails up top to coax the wind through.

  “I’ll handle the fan,” Hua yawned, twirling his fingers. The white cloth flared obediently.

  “And me?” I asked Lian, almost pleading.

  He gave me a look. “Go sit on the fire-sealing stone.”

  “…Sit?”

  “Yes. Sit. On top.”

  I stared. “…”

  And that’s how I—once the heir of the grand Nan Gong family, now a proud ‘Paused BL Protagonist’—ended up sitting cross-legged on a red-hot rock, sweating through my last remaining dignity.

  “You could just offer me to the mountain gods,” I muttered.

  “Patience,” Hua fanned himself lazily. “If the divine tree doesn’t crack tonight, you’ll go down in history as this village’s greatest good-luck charm.”

  “Or its first roast chicken.”

  Wind rose. Water trickled. The stones cooled.

  Half a stick of incense later, a thin wisp of steam rose from the spring—no longer harsh, but cool and fragrant. The mist spread softly across the cliff.

  Lian’s eyes softened. “It’s calm.”

  Mu straightened. “The fire vein sleeps, the spring breathes again. This year, no need for sacrifices.”

  I collapsed backward, hands on the dirt. “Thank heaven, I’m not getting married after all!”

  That got a few chuckles from the villagers.

  The mountain exhaled. The fire went quiet.

  That night, for the first time in forever, I dreamed in peace.

  I was reclining on a golden bed, silk robes flowing three yards wide, a cup of pear-blossom wine in one hand, and a soft, perfumed someone in the other.

  “Congratulations, Host,” my system purred, voice dripping with flattery.

  [Achievement unlocked: Divine Fire Extinguished!]

  [Reward: Ten Beautiful Companions Package—approved!]

  My eyes lit up. “Alright, what are the specs?”

  [#1: Leg massage, top-tier technique.]

  [#2: Tea service, temperature calibrated, mood matched.]

  [#3: Shoulder kneads, precise and firm.]

  [#4: Singer class, soft tone, three-day echo.]

  [#5: Dessert feeder—praises your chewing form, wipes your mouth.]

  [#6—]

  “Enough, enough! Freestyle the rest!” I laughed, sprawling back as the beauties gathered—fans, songs, laughter, wine—heaven itself.

  Then—boom.

  The roof shattered.

  A literal ton of stone came crashing down, burying me and the golden bed in one go.

  “HELP! System, you useless scrap—”

  I woke up screaming, drenched in sweat.

  Thia damn dream…

  The rock beneath me was burning hot, the sun overhead blinding. My mouth was dry, my legs numb. I’d been steamed alive.

  So much for being a “blessed man.”