Maksym Pachesiuk
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Moon Cultivation - Chapter 2: Interface Activation
🕑 Added 2025-03-10 11:10:38 +0000 UTCThe cold against my neck turned to warmth—then a sharp sting flared and shot straight into my temple.
“Bloody hell!” I blurted out, jerking instinctively, but the doctor’s grip tightened on my shoulder.
“Do not move!” he barked. “This is a standard synchronisation process. If it works, the interface should activate in a few seconds.”
The pain faded just as suddenly, leaving only a faint tingling sensation. The doctor tilted his head, eyes fixed on his scanner, but before I could even ask what he saw, a wave of dizziness hit me.
A moment later, something like static rippled through my body.
I opened my mouth to ask if that was normal, but before I could speak, a loud hissing sound filled the room.
One of the pods—the one with the tattooed girl—began to shift into a standing position.
The doctor sighed in irritation, tearing his attention away from his magic pen just as the pod clicked open.
“I told you to wait! What, is your interface broken too?” he asked.
Without hesitation, the girl pushed herself off the inclined wall and stepped forward.
“Seems to be working fine,” she replied, blinking at the empty air.
Like me, she was completely naked—except for the tattoos.
The dragon coiling around her neck wasn’t the only creature decorating her rather intriguing canvas. Someone had gathered quite the mythical menagerie across her skin, complete with mountains, waterfalls, and a rather impressive sky. The style wasn’t entirely Asian, either…
"Where do you think you're staring?" she snapped, finally noticing me.
“At your tits,” I answered without thinking. The artwork twisted in fascinating ways over the curves.
“Pervert!”
“You don’t like it?”
“Of course not!”
“Then why are you flashing them at me? You could turn around.”
Her mouth opened in outrage—then she flushed red and spun away.
“Nice arse, too,” I added. Flowers and birds were inked across her lower back.
Her fists clenched, and she whirled around furiously—only for the doctor to whack me on the forehead with his magic pen.
“Ow!”
“Both of you, shut up!” the doctor snapped, and for the first time, there was real anger in his voice. “You have far more important things to worry about than your childish bickering! Get your bloody hormones under control!”
He pointed to the wall behind the girl, and a hidden compartment slid open, revealing neatly folded hospital clothes. With a curt nod, he gestured for her to take them.
“Get dressed. You’ll have plenty of time to argue later.”
She grabbed the clothes without breaking eye contact, silently warning me that our conversation wasn’t over yet. But even that wasn’t enough for her.
“Say one more thing,” she hissed.
“What, compliments aren’t in fashion anymore?” I muttered, though this time, I kept my voice low—no need to provoke the doctor and his iron grip of justice.
The girl pulled on a loose grey jumpsuit while the doctor turned back to me, rolling his pen-like device between his fingers in a clear warning.
I sighed, lifted my right hand, and mimed locking my lips and throwing away the key.
“Good,” he said, raising the scanner to my neck again.
This time, the pain was duller, but a strange sensation took its place—like rusty gears grinding inside my brain.
And then—a flash. Semi-transparent windows blinked into existence before my eyes, hovering in mid-air.
“What the…” I recoiled, bumping into the pod behind me.
Was this… LitRPG? Or had I just hit my head way harder than I thought?
“The interface seems to be working?” the doctor asked, eyeing me like a tired parent trying to convince a toddler to eat their vegetables.
“Something’s working… I guess…”
“Then look at it,” he instructed, his voice laced with exhaustion.
The text flickered, shifting as my gaze moved. A window suddenly popped forward, filling my vision. And what I saw nearly made me choke.
Lifespan: 18/60 years.
“What the… What does this mean?” I asked the doctor, pointing at the text.
“One moment,” he said, stepping over to the black screen on the wall.
This time, it displayed a copy of my interface.
“You can see this?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Eighteen out of sixty? Why so low?”
The question applied to both numbers. I was definitely older than eighteen, but that number didn’t bother me as much as the other one. Sixty? That seemed… a bit short.
“According to your medical records, you’ve already lost a significant portion of your potential lifespan. Your body underwent intensive treatment that shortened your natural life cycle.”
“So sixty, and that’s it? I just drop dead?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, though my pulse was racing.
“Sixty years is only the projected lifespan—if you take no action. There is a way to extend it.”
“And what’s that?”
I really hoped they weren’t about to demand the millions they’d just promised me.
“Cultivation,” he said.
“…What?”
“Cultivate your internal energy. If you reach the next stage—Foundation—you can extend your life by forty or fifty years.”
I stopped, trying to process his words.
“Cultivation…” I muttered.
Xianxia? I’d landed in a bloody sci-fi xianxia world… Oh, and with an interface, too. So it was LitRPG xianxia.
Brilliant. Which idiot thought this was a good idea?
The doctor seemed to realise I needed a moment to absorb this information, so he turned to the girl.
“Your turn,” he said, gesturing for her to lean against the pod.
She complied without hesitation, though her gaze kept flicking back to me—as if just waiting for the perfect moment to get even.
“Tilt your head slightly. Yes, keep it steady,” the doctor instructed, moving his device along her neck and temple.
I pushed off the pod and took another look around the room.
Cold walls. Rows of pods. It all still felt surreal. What the hell is this place? Why am I here?
Fully sinking into my thoughts was proving difficult—mostly because of the constant discomfort of being stark naked.
I wasn’t cold, but the sheer awareness of my nudity was starting to get on my nerves, and covering myself with my hands wasn’t helping.
“Can I get some clothes?” I finally asked, realising the doctor wasn’t even looking my way.
“In a moment,” he muttered, eyes glued to his scanner. He kept glancing at the display, where different interface windows were shifting.
One of them looked just like mine, except its lifespan read 18/95.
Damn, is Painted this healthy?
No—there was a separate bar for that. Health: 100/100.
Mine was 99/100.
The doctor paused briefly, then gestured towards the same wall where he had retrieved the girl’s clothes earlier. Another panel slid open, revealing a similar jumpsuit and a pair of slippers. Both were simple but soft to the touch.
Balancing awkwardly, I pulled on the jumpsuit and slipped into the slippers. Then I glanced back at the doctor and the girl.
He had finished scanning her, and they were now speaking in hushed voices. Her expression was focused, his was calm—but I noticed he kept glancing at me. Apparently, my condition worried him more than it worried me. And honestly… that was worrying.
My reaction to all this—it didn’t feel natural.
I had woken up naked in a pod. Then I found out this body wasn’t mine, that I was a “lucky” eighteen-year-old with a capped lifespan of sixty. I had massive memory loss—literally the only thing I remembered was that whistle of incoming shell and an impact. And yet, instead of panicking, I was cracking jokes and admiring tattoos.
Speaking of which… I liked the artwork a lot more than the canvas.
What the hell is wrong with me?!
I tried to analyse myself.
Yes, she was only eighteen, yes, I was disoriented. Yes, my thoughts kept jumping around, as if scrambling for something familiar.
But overall… I felt too in control.
I had been able to argue with the girl, joke about her tattoos, and now here I was—calmly assessing my situation, thinking about my next steps.
I sat down on the floor and tried to dig deeper.
Something in my mind felt dull. Like there was an invisible wall between me and my emotions. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t me.
“Something wrong?”
The doctor’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
He stood a few steps away, having finished with the girl. She now stood silently by the door, arms crossed.
“Something’s wrong with me,” I said, a bit slower than usual. “Why am I… reacting like this?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, studying my face closely.
“I have a massive memory gap… but I’m way too calm about it.” I gestured vaguely. “This whole circus—pods, cultivation, neuro-interface, a set lifespan—why am I not panicking? Why am I not banging my head against the wall? This isn’t normal.”
The doctor was silent for a few seconds.
Then he nodded, as if he had just remembered something obvious.
“That’s entirely natural in your case,” he said. “Your system is still under the influence of the medication. After awakening in the pod, we administer sedatives and stabilisers. It’s standard procedure to prevent shock.”
“So, I’m… drugged right now?”
“There are residual traces of stabilisers in your bloodstream,” the doctor confirmed. “They reduce emotional distress and help with the awakening process.”
I nodded slowly, though his answer didn’t exactly put me at ease.
“Hear that?” I said to the girl. “I’m not a jerk, blame the drugs.”
“I’m drugged too,” she scoffed. “You’re just an arse.”
"Hmm… Could be. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t know that, thanks to the memory gap. Or maybe it’s just that you’re a bitch?"
“Nope. I’m definitely a sweetheart,” she retorted.
“Go to the waiting room,” the doctor ordered, nodding towards the door. Then, turning to me, he added, “Focus!”
“Alright, fine. How long does this last?”
“Depends on your metabolism,” the doctor replied. “Typically, the effects wear off in a few minutes. You’ll start feeling more... yourself, though it might be unpleasant.”
“Unpleasant?”
“Some patients describe it as an ‘emotional crash’. Your mind will start processing reality without the filter of medication. You may become especially stubborn or aggressive. If you already feel disoriented, it may intensify once the effects fully dissipate.”
“Well, that’s fantastic,” I muttered sarcastically, though anxiety stirred inside me.
The doctor stepped closer, his gaze serious.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m monitoring everything. If anything goes wrong, we have methods to stabilise you again.”
“Goes wrong?” I echoed. “That’s reassuring—especially since it’s already going wrong.”
He didn’t respond, only glanced at the girl, who appeared to be listening to our conversation with mild interest.
“Out!” he barked at her. “We’re done with you for today.”
She shot him a brief look, then glanced at me as if she wanted to say something—but simply waved a hand and left.
“So, we’re just waiting for this ‘emotional crash’, then?” I asked.
“No new memories?” he inquired, holding his scanner pen to my temple while watching the monitor.
“Nothing!” I replied.
Maybe that shell impact was just a dream?
I still couldn’t remember anything before it—just a consuming void where there should have been a mountain of memories.
Maybe this was my real life?
“Are you familiar with the term isekai?” I asked.
“No. Is it from an ancient language?”
“What about xianxia? LitRPG?”
“No. What are they?”
“They seem like literary genres. I think… I used to enjoy reading.”
“There you go! You’re remembering!” he said, sounding oddly pleased. “Though I must admit, I’ve never heard of such genres.”
