Ryker sat cross-legged in the courtyard, his back was straight and his hands were resting on his knees in a meditative posture. Morning mist clung to the stone tiles, and somewhere distant, a bell chimed the hour.
He closed his eyes, reaching inward for his qi.
Nothing happened.
He adjusted his posture, rolling his shoulders back, and tried again. Consciousness diving down toward his dantian the way the inherited memories suggested—except those memories were fragmented, useless, like trying to remember a dream three days later. He knew the dantian existed somewhere below his navel. He knew his qi should respond to intent. The novels made it sound simple: focus, sense energy, circulate through meridians, breakthrough.
Five minutes passed. His legs started cramping.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered, his eyes still closed. "The protagonists just... do it. They sit down and qi responds."
Zyx materialized on his knee, its shell catching dawn light. "The protagonists in your little stories have convenient authorial assistance. You have crippled meridians and the cultivation talent of a particularly stupid rock."
"Then teach me." Ryker opened his eyes, meeting the beetle's compound gaze. "You said you've trained forty-seven legends. This should be basic."
"Oh, it is basic. For people who've spent their entire lives in cultivation worlds." Zyx scuttled up to his shoulder "You're a salaryman who died saving a cat. Your soul spent twenty-six years in a world without qi. You wouldn't know spiritual energy if it materialized and danced naked in front of you."
"Then start from the beginning."
"Beginning lessons are tedious."
"I don't care."
The beetle sighed, a sound like wind through distant caves. "Fine. But later we're still visiting that merchant. Consider this your foundation so you don't embarrass us both." One leg tapped Ryker's temple. "Close your eyes. Don't reach inward yet—you're forcing it like trying to grab water with a fist."
Ryker obeyed, darkness settling behind his eyelids. His analytical mind wanted to categorize, systematize, but every attempt to grasp his internal energy slipped away like smoke.
"Breathe," Zyx instructed, its voice losing some of its lecherous edge. "Four counts in. Hold two. Six counts out. Your previous world called this mindfulness meditation. Here it serves a dual purpose—calms the monkey brain and attunes spiritual senses."
Ryker's chest rose and fell steady, each breath deliberate. The cramping in his legs faded to background noise, easily ignored once he stopped fighting it.
"Good. Now stop trying to find qi. Let awareness expand instead. Your dantian isn't a thing to grab—it's a space you inhabit."
That... actually made sense. Ryker softened his focus, letting consciousness drift rather than dive. And there—faint, so faint he almost missed it—a warmth below his navel. Not physical heat, something else. A presence that pulsed with his heartbeat.
"I feel something."
"Don't get excited, you'll lose it." Zyx's voice came softer now, instructive. "That's your dantian. Spiritual core. In a healthy cultivator, it resembles a vast ocean churning with power. In you? A stagnant pond full of mud and regret."
The warmth flickered, and Ryker caught a glimpse—not visual but somehow perceived—of exactly what Zyx described. A murky space choked with debris, qi trickling through blockages like water through a clogged pipe. His meridians, the channels that should carry energy through his body, felt calcified. Rigid.
"This is bad."
"Catastrophic," Zyx agreed cheerfully. "But fixable. The novels you read got one thing right: willpower matters. The issue is your will keeps trying to force cultivation down paths that don't work for you."
Ryker opened his eyes, breaking the meditation. Sweat beaded his forehead despite the cool morning air. "So what's the solution? And don't say flirting with men."
"I'm saying forge connections that shatter your rigid worldview." The beetle's shell flashed a warning orange. "Your meridians reflect your soul's architecture—twenty-six years building walls, categorizing everything into neat boxes. Safe. Controlled. Dead."
"I wasn't dead. I was functional."
"You died saving a cat because your brain said 'helpless creature' as 'worth more than my life' without hesitation." Zyx's mandibles clicked contemplatively. "That selfless impulse? That's the crack in your armor. The part of you willing to transcend self-interest. We need to expand that crack."
Ryker stood, legs protesting the movement after sitting too long. He paced the courtyard, thoughts churning.
"The merchant," he said finally, voice flat. "This isn't about attraction. It's about breaking categories."
"Finally catching on." Zyx sounded pleased. "Gender, status, expectation—all arbitrary lines drawn by scared mortals. You compliment that boy's aura not because you want him, but because you're willing to see beyond comfortable boundaries. Your meridians feel that willingness and respond."
"And if I refuse?"
"Fifteen years to maybe reach Foundation Establishment. The Academy trials in two weeks will chew you up and spit you out. Your father disowns you. You fade into obscurity and die forgotten." The beetle preened its shell. "Or you trust me, endure some temporary embarrassment, and become a legend. Your choice."
The choice wasn't really a choice. Ryker recognized that with the same cold clarity that had carried him through corporate hell. Pride was expensive indeed.
"Fine." He straightened his robes, the gray fabric settling neat. "We go to the marketplace. I'll... approach the merchant. Say whatever you tell me to say."
"Now you're thinking like a protagonist."
"I'm thinking like someone who wants to live."
"Same thing."
The marketplace sprawled across the lower district like an organized chaos, hundreds of stalls crammed into narrow streets that twisted according to no logical pattern. Vendors shouted over each other, advertising spirit herbs, cultivation pills, food with dubious authenticity. The air smelled of incense, roasted meat, and something astringent Ryker couldn't identify.
He walked through the crowd wearing his best approximation of cold indifference—a face neutral, posture relaxed, movements efficient. The mask of someone who'd transcended petty concerns. In the novels, protagonists moved through mortal crowds like wolves through sheep, presence alone creating space.
In practice, he got elbowed twice by merchants carrying crates and nearly stepped in something that smelled terrible.
"Majestic," Zyx commented from inside his collar. "Truly the bearing of legends."
"Shut up." Ryker sidestepped a woman hauling a cart of squawking chickens. "Where's this merchant?"
"Three stalls down.The pretty one."
Ryker scanned ahead, Three stalls down, to the left side—a young man arranged glass vials on a wooden table, each filled with luminous liquid that pulsed faint colors. The merchant looked maybe nineteen, with a slender build draped in simple green robes, silver hair catching the light in ways that seemed almost deliberate. Delicate features, determining his gender was difficult at first glance.
And yes, objectively attractive. He could acknowledge aesthetic appeal the same way he'd admire a well-designed building.
"That's him?"
"Lian Silverbrook. Elf-touched bloodline, hence the hair. His Yin affinity is immense, he has wood element specialization." Zyx's voice carried approval. "Perfect resonance for your yang blockage. One genuine compliment, and watch your meridians shiver."
Ryker stopped five paces from the stall, suddenly aware of his complete lack of social skills. In Tokyo he'd mastered corporate politeness—the bowing, the formal language, the careful navigation of hierarchy. But that was scripted. Predictable.
This required improvisation.
"Go on," Zyx urged. "Remember Speak from observation."
"I don't know what to say."
"Then don't plan. Let words emerge naturally."
"That's terrible advice."
"Trust the process."
Ryker breathed deep, centering himself the way Zyx taught. Emotions were tools, not obstacles. He would approach this transaction with cold efficiency—identify the target, deliver the necessary social interaction, extract cultivation benefits. Simple.
He stepped forward.
The merchant looked up, green eyes meeting his with polite curiosity. "Can I help you?" the voice soft, like honey.
Ryker opened his mouth. His mind went completely blank.
The novels made this look easy. Protagonists delivered perfectly calibrated compliments, seduced the informants, manipulated enemies with verbal finesse. They never froze like malfunctioning robots, desperately searching for words that wouldn't make them sound insane.
"I..." He swallowed. "Your... the energy around you. It's—"
"It's what?" Lian tilted his head, the expression shifting toward concern. "Are you alright? You look ill."
"No, I'm—" Ryker forced his breathing steady, reaching for that cold protagonist mask."I cultivate detection arts. Your spiritual aura is unusual. Harmonious."
Not terrible. The merchant's expression shifted to surprise, then cautious pride.
Wh-what?" Lian glanced down at his vials. "Oh… jeez, thanks i uh…"
"It shows." Ryker latched onto the opening, his mind finally engaging. "The way energy settles around you—balanced. Like... like twilight where day meets night."
Where the hell did that come from? He didn't plan that metaphor. It just emerged, and now the merchant was staring at him with an expression Ryker couldn't quite parse.
"That's..." Lian blinked several times. "No one's ever described it that way. Thank you."
Warmth exploded in Ryker's belly.
His meridians moved, energy flowing where stagnation had ruled for years. The sensation felt like stretching cramped muscles, painful and relieving simultaneously.
Zyx purred with smug satisfaction against his collarbone. "And there it is.Just like I promised."
Ryker stood frozen, half his attention on the beautiful merchant still watching him expectantly, the other half on the unprecedented sensation of qi actually circulating through his body for the first time in this life.
"I should..." He cleared his throat. "Do you sell basic cultivation aids? Pills, perhaps?"
Exit strategy.
Lian nodded, reaching for a lacquered box. "I have Qi Condensing Pills, freshly refined. Two silver each." even the movements of the beautiful cutie were well.. cute.
Ryker's inherited memories supplied the answer immediately: he had exactly zero silver. His father controlled the family funds, and Ryker's allowance had been suspended after his "embarrassing" failures.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
"I'll return tomorrow," he managed, already backing away. "With payment."
He turned and walked fast through the crowd, not quite running but close. Behind him, Zyx's laughter echoed through their mental link, delighted and merciless.
The worst part? His meridians still thrummed with newfound energy, proof that the insane beetle's method actually worked.
Dignity died. Power lived.
Ryker wasn't sure that was a fair trade.