The Perfect Donor. Caravan

“Don’t sell your Ki,” her mother whispered, growing paler with every breath. “Anything but—don’t sell it…”

I remembered her words and recalled them every day, but after her death I lasted only a short while—just six months. What was I supposed to do? Who needs a skinny, incompetent teenager with a worthless talent?

I had only one thing left—to sell my energy, my Ki. The poor usually sell Ki only as side work or when they need money once. I was only trying to delay starvation. If I held on a little longer, then after selling Ki I wouldn’t be able to survive, because I’d be too weak.