The night on the Red Shore was warm. The house smelled of tea and damp wood.
He woke to the soft rustle of pages. He lifted his head.
At the low table sat a woman, refined and graceful. She was young, but a sharp wisdom lived in her piercing eyes. Her black hair was gathered into a simple knot at the back of her head, not hiding the elegant line of her neck; a few strands loose at her temples gave her image a living simplicity. When she sat still, immersed in reading, it seemed as if time itself slowed down so as not to disturb her.
Strangely, he felt as if he had seen her somewhere before.
"If you're awake already, won't you greet your teacher?"
Frozen for a moment, Lin Yu came to his senses.
He rose slowly, his bare feet touching the cold floor, and bowed low.
"The disciple greets his teacher."
Master set the teapot on the table and poured two cups. She stayed silent for a while, then buried herself in the treatise again.
"Sit."
For some time she read; then the scroll seemed to vanish from her hand. Tilting her head, she ran an appraising gaze over him. Pure Blade reached for the newspaper Fan Rui had left behind and opened the "Artifact Market" section.
"Choose a gift."
He looked at the characters, then at her face, and smiled faintly.
"I can't read."
She raised her eyes. No surprise, no reproach — only a brief, quiet pause.
"Why did that sound so proud?" Pure Blade smirked.
Master turned the paper sideways and ran her finger down a line.
"This is the 'artifactory section of the Black Lake Sect.' Don't memorize the shapes, memorize how the gaze moves: top to bottom, left to right."
"You really are a savage, aren't you? Where did you come from? Tell your teacher about yourself."
He thought for a bit and said:
"I was born in this world very recently. In a forest… I was alone… I never saw those who brought me here… My body is unusual…"
For a while he told her about living near the village as a "forest spirit." Master listened attentively, without rushing him; sometimes she asked short clarifying questions.
"So you really did learn speech only recently. Your accent is strong," she stated calmly. "First of all, you need to be taught to read. Lu helped you break through to the first stage of qi condensation. But cultivating without a technique won't do." She frowned. "When you can read at least half of this page"—she tapped the paper—"you'll choose a gift again. By yourself. Then we'll pick a cultivation technique suited to your case. Min Xiao will teach you to read. I'll visit from time to time to check your progress. And don't sit idle: my residence is higher up the slope—ask the servant what you can help with."
He nodded. The night returned to its quiet breathing. Master asked a bit more about his arrival, then said:
"Don't you want to know anything? You seem indifferent to your own future."
"Master, I'm not indifferent, it's just that the few memories I have are tangled. Part of my personality was lost, but it will come back. I'm curious what I've forgotten. Aren't you afraid you've taken in a spy or an enemy of the sect?"
"Hm." Pure Blade's eyes narrowed slightly. "Even if you were plotting something, you'd hardly be able to fool me. In the end, I am head of the Sword Hall and a member of the Council of Grand Elders, and you are just a boy at the first stage of qi condensation."
"I'm not plotting anything," Lin Yu smiled. "I don't really know anything about this world. But I'm ready to follow you, since you accepted me."
The air grew heavy for a moment, then turned light again.
"This rain," Master said, "your first task is to learn not to wake it up for nothing. You say beasts don't shy away from you; perhaps look in at the Hall of Spirit Beasts. No rush — when you're stronger."
After a while he fell asleep again; outside, the rain grew stronger. Master stood there for some time, gazing thoughtfully at the sleeping boy. A gust of wind rattled the shutters — and her presence faded, as if no one had been there at all.
In the morning, Lin Yu went up the slope — to ask for work. A servant in a work robe handed him a broom and told him to sweep the path from the shore.
By day cheerful Min Xiao visited him. She brought dried plums "for little brother." Lin Yu knew perfectly well that in his soul he hadn't been a teenager for a long time, but he had nothing against sweets. Over the snack, Min Xiao taught him characters. Sometimes, laughing, she'd add:
"A couple more signs – and you'll officially no longer be a savage."
So the days flowed. Morning — with a broom. Day — characters with Min Xiao. Evening — by the water with a fishing rod. Senior Lu often came by, and they talked of lofty and simple things. Sometimes at night Master appeared; the fatigue showed on her face. Being head of the Sword Hall and an elder was a job without pause. They spoke of Dao and meanings. For some reason Pure Blade liked discussing the cycle of withering and other matters that seemed trifling to Lin Yu; yet through these talks he learned a great deal — about cultivation and about the world.
The thin pages of the newspaper rustled. He unfolded the "Artifactory" page and slowly ran his gaze down the columns.
"Model boats," he read aloud. "'Reading water. Quiet landing. Resistance to fog…'"
He stopped at one: pale hulls with fine silver veins; note: "limited run." The price was the highest.
"This one," he said.
Master nodded. No comments. Just a brief:
"Very well."
The next morning they went down to the pier. The fog lay in bands over the water. Master took a miniature boat from a case — the length of a palm, white wood, thin silver filaments along the side.
"Drip a drop of your blood on it. Then pour qi into the artifact."
He took it. The wood was warm. He bit his finger and smeared a dark spot along the rail. It flashed — and vanished. He exhaled qi toward the boat — it trembled and slipped from his hands; the water shivered, and at the edge, without a sound, a full-sized boat manifested. The same lines. The same pale gleam of the wood.
"Good. Try it," Master said.
He stepped barefoot onto the deck. The boat sank into the water by a palm's breadth and stilled. He inhaled — it leveled out; exhaled — it settled just a little, as if repeating the movement. No jerks, no rocking. Just breathing.
"It's listening to you," Master said. "Immerse your consciousness into it."
He nodded and sat on the bench. Pressed his palms to the side, closed his eyes and fell into a quiet space. The boat felt like a part of him.
Master stood on the pier for another heartbeat, then dissolved into the mist. Her voice caught up with him as if from afar:
"Tomorrow Xiao-ge will take you to choose a cultivation technique."
The boat stayed — quiet as a stone. A frog croaked in the reeds; with a soft splash the boat pushed away from the shore and, as if listening to his breath, slowly returned to the pier.
The next day Xiao-ge came.
"Let's go," he said curtly.
The master's pavilion higher up the slope was quiet. Inside — coolness, the smell of paper and lacquer. On the low table — four scrolls, each tied with a different cord. Xiao-ge tapped his knuckles against the tabletop.
"Listen and choose."
He pushed the first one toward him:
"Stone Root. Sensitivity to stone and toughness of body. Good for warriors; light, moderately fast cultivation."
The second — with a darker cord:
"Spine of the Ridge. Basic sword cultivator technique: focuses on power and endurance."
The third — light paper, a pale cord:
"Mist by the Water. Strengthens the water element: flexibility, stealth, soft circulation. Cultivation is complex, effect quick; good for fast, mobile styles."
The fourth he unfolded himself:
"Breath of the Mountain. Ancient and incomplete: works up to Foundation Establishment, after that you either switch… or look for its continuation. Cultivation is hard and not fast."
Xiao-ge looked him straight in the eye:
"Personally, I recommend Spine of the Ridge or Stone Root. Reliable and clear. Quick yield in combat and no surprises."
Lin Yu ran his finger along the edges of the scrolls. "Root" felt somehow one-sided. "Spine" — a bit dull. "Mist" — already more interesting. On the character for "mountain" his nail lay so naturally, as if there were a step hidden there.
"Breath of the Mountain," he said.
Xiao-ge gave a short nod:
"It'll go slowly. But if it goes — it'll be… entertaining. Remember it's incomplete: at Foundation Establishment you'll have to decide."
"I'll decide," Lin Yu nodded and pulled the scroll closer. The paper rustled softly.
The first week of cultivation began simply. He grasped the first breathing method at once — he was already standing at the first level, and they even released him from the broom: the weather was changing, cold wind moaned at night, and the maples had turned completely red. The name "Red Shore" started to live up to itself.
Morning — the pavilion under maple shade. He sat down, placed his hands on his knees, read the line aloud and breathed as written: not deeper, but heavier. The air entered and seemed to sink lower, to where it had been empty before. His back became straight without effort. His legs — like roots.
By evening his body "grew heavier" — not with burden, but with proper mass, like a stone under moss: it doesn't move because it already lies where it should.
On the third day he noticed his steps had become shorter and quieter — the boards didn't creak, the floor didn't answer him. On the fifth — that the fine drizzle came not from fatigue, but when everything fell into place. On the seventh — the air in his lower belly gathered into a warm knot on its own, as if someone had placed a small lantern there.
That evening he sat by the pavilion, looking at the water. He wasn't doing anything — just breathing. And at some moment the world clicked very softly, like a well-closed lid.
Inside became light and quiet.
He knew: the second level.