Seven Years into the Cataclysm, I Reclaimed Livable Land with Flesh and Blood

In the seventh year of the cataclysm, dead soil has swallowed most of the world, leaving only a few patches of living earth, each no bigger than a palm. Chen Yan is the most useless person at the Qingyan Outpost. He can't carry stones or draw a crossbow, and everyone thinks he's a freeloader and a waste. No one knows that his right hand can bring dead soil back to life: when he presses his palm against it, the gray-white crust recedes, revealing black soil that can grow crops. The price is that each time he uses it, gray-white stone veins creep another inch up his arm. They can never be removed. Once they reach his heart, he'll be gone. The Ironstone Gang has dug its way to their doorstep, and Whitecastle's convoy is bearing down on the walls. What they want is something his mother took from Whitecastle seven years ago. His mother's last words were: “Yan'er, if one day wheat can grow on this land again...” She never finished. He will make those words take root.