The first fingers of dawn stretched across the horizon, scattering pale light over the twin moons as they slowly faded into the brightening sky. Mist clung low to the forest floor, rolling between roots and stones like restless ghosts. Wen Liang shifted where he sat against the rough bark of an ancient pine, wincing as his back protested the night spent half-slumped against it.
His fingers tightened around the embroidered pouch in his sleeve, the faint warmth of the spirit stones within giving him a strange comfort. Each time he touched them, his mind repeated the same thought: This is real. This world… is real.
But reality brought hunger, thirst, and danger. He rubbed his temples, forcing clarity.
I can't stay here. I need information. Food. Shelter. A place where I won't be killed for not knowing what the hell "Qi Gathering Realm" means. A city… there has to be one nearby.
When he finally pushed himself upright, his joints cracked. His robes—plain but serviceable—were rumpled, his hair unkempt. Hardly the image of an "Immortal Master." Still, he squared his shoulders and walked, forcing each step to carry the gravity of someone who belonged.
The dirt path out of the forest was uneven, dotted with stones and ruts left by countless cart wheels. It wound through fields of golden wheat and neat rows of vegetables, their leaves beaded with dew. Farmers bent at the waist, sickles glinting as they worked. The earthy smell of freshly turned soil filled the air.
Wen Liang drew curious glances as he passed. Some laborers paused mid-swing, eyes flicking to his robes, his bearing, his pouch hidden in his sleeve. But when his gaze brushed theirs, they quickly ducked their heads, muttering quietly among themselves.
They're wary, Wen Liang realized. Respectful, maybe. Or afraid.
The thought unsettled him, but he kept walking.
After nearly an hour, the path curved upward, and there it was: a city wall rising above the fields. Dark stone, weather-worn but sturdy, stretched in both directions. Flags hung from tall poles, embroidered with characters Wen Liang couldn't read. Guards with spears paced atop the battlements, their shadows long in the morning light.
His chest tightened. That's it. Civilization. Answers. But also… questions I can't afford to answer wrong.
The city gates yawned wide, tall enough for wagons piled with hay to pass easily through. But entry was no free matter. A line stretched out before the gates: merchants with carts, peasants carrying baskets, travelers with weary faces. A pair of guards in bronze lamellar armor stopped each one, checking papers, sometimes searching their goods.
Wen Liang slipped into line, heart pounding.
The queue crawled forward. Around him, conversations ebbed and flowed.
"Did you hear? The Jade Willow Sect's disciples passed through yesterday, heading north."
"Bah, trouble always follows sects. Best they keep to themselves."
"They say spirit beasts have been spotted near the river again. I won't let my children fetch water alone."
Each fragment reminded Wen Liang how alien this world was. Here, cultivation sects were not fantasy—they were politics, religion, law.
The line shortened. Soon, only a merchant and his laden cart stood before him. Wen Liang forced his breathing slow, recalling the youth's reaction the night before. If I act like an Immortal Master, they'll treat me like one. Just… keep calm.
"Papers?" one guard barked at the merchant. After a quick inspection and a small bribe slipped into his palm, the man was waved through.
Then the guard's gaze fell on Wen Liang.
"Papers?" the man repeated, tone flat but watchful.
Wen Liang froze. His mouth went dry. Papers? What papers? Of course they'd ask for identification. Damn it—
The second guard narrowed his eyes. "You're not from here, are you? What's your business in the city?"
For an instant, panic threatened to spill over. Then instinct kicked in. He drew his hand slowly from his sleeve, loosening the pouch's strings just enough for moonlight—and the faint glow within—to spill out.
Spirit stones.
The guards stiffened. The change was instant and absolute. Their stern faces softened, eyes widening as the light touched their skin.
"Ah—!" The first guard swallowed and straightened his back. His voice dropped to a deferential tone. "So honored Immortal Master is gracing our humble city. Forgive this one's insolence. We did not recognize your exalted status."
The second guard lowered his head hastily, even taking half a step back. "Please, Immortal Master, enter freely. No need for papers. The city is honored by your presence."
Around them, murmurs rippled through the waiting crowd. Peasants ducked their heads; merchants whispered nervously. A few children stared with wide eyes until their mothers pulled them close.
Wen Liang's stomach twisted, but his face remained calm. He nodded once, tucked the pouch back into his sleeve, and strode forward without another word. His steps were steady, measured, carrying the weight of someone accustomed to deference.
Behind him, he heard the guards muttering under their breath:
"Another cultivator…"
"Best not to offend him. Who knows what realm he's in?"
Wen Liang nearly stumbled but forced his back straight. Realm? I don't even know what realm means!
Inside, the city was alive.
Stone-paved streets stretched wide, bustling with vendors hawking goods from every corner. The air was thick with aromas—spiced wine, sizzling meat skewers, the sweetness of candied fruit. Carriages rumbled past, pulled by sturdy horses, their wheels clattering against stone.
Yet it was not just mortals. Among the crowd strode figures in flowing robes, their movements fluid, their presence magnetic. Swords hung at their waists, talismans jingled from their belts. Some exuded faint auras that made Wen Liang's skin prickle, like standing too close to a storm.
Cultivators. Real cultivators.
He slowed, eyes wide, taking it all in.
"Spirit apples! Just harvested from orchards infused with qi, three copper each!" shouted a vendor.
"Protective charms, hand-painted by an elder of the Azure Crane Sect! Wards against evil spirits!" cried another.
Wen Liang's stomach growled. The sight of skewered meat roasting over an open flame nearly undid him. But when his hand brushed the pouch of spirit stones, hesitation returned.
If I use these here, will it be like tossing gold bars at a food stall? People already think I'm rich and powerful. I can't afford to draw more attention.
So he walked on, observing instead.
Bookstores displayed titles like Foundations of Qi Refinement, Introduction to Alchemy, The Four Pillars of Cultivation. Apothecaries sold bundles of dried herbs and vials of glowing liquid. Children chased each other through the streets, swinging wooden swords and shouting sect names like battle cries.
Everywhere he looked, life was saturated with cultivation. It wasn't fantasy—it was infrastructure, culture, economy.
And though fear still gnawed at him, Wen Liang felt something else stir. A strange awe.
He had stepped into another world, one that pulsed with mystery at every corner.
At the edge of the market, he stopped. Sunlight streamed between the roofs, warming his face. The sounds of life filled his ears.
"This city…" he whispered to himself. "Maybe… this is where my path begins."
His grip tightened on the pouch of spirit stones. Behind him was a forest of danger and ignorance. Before him stretched a city of opportunity and peril.
And Wen Liang, a therapist turned so-called Immortal Master, stood at the threshold of it all.