Chương 7: Chapter 6

The pressure over the market gradually began to ease. For several seconds, nobody moved. Then one merchant cautiously lifted his head. Another followed. The street slowly came back to life. People pushed themselves out of the mud. Someone began collecting overturned vegetables. The fishmonger stared hopelessly at the scattered remains of his inventory. A woman wiped spice powder from her child's face. Nobody spoke loudly at first.

Then, as the carriage disappeared deeper into the manor and immediate death became less likely, human nature returned. So did gossip.

"Bastards could've landed outside the city." Ling Tian remained behind the barrel, his ears sharpening. The speaker was an older vegetable vendor attempting to rescue several cabbages from the mud. He picked one up, stared at the footprint crushed into its side, and threw it angrily into a damaged basket.

"Look at that. Half the stock ruined because some sect brat can't walk thirty steps." Another merchant hissed at him.

"Keep your voice down, idiot."

"They're inside the manor."

"They have ears."

"They have cultivators," the cabbage seller corrected bitterly.

"Same problem, bigger range." A third merchant leaned across his damaged stall.

"Flying carriage symbol. That was Yan Clan." The first man spat into the mud.

"As if anyone else would make that much noise arriving for a family argument." Ling Tian stayed very still. Family argument. Interesting. The second merchant brushed red spice powder from his sleeves.

"Crimson Ember Sect people came with them. Saw the crest myself." The first merchant whistled quietly.

"That bad?"

"Engagement went bad." Several nearby vendors immediately leaned closer. Ling Tian almost admired the speed at which fear converted into entertainment.

"What happened?"

"You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Huo Jin." The name meant nothing to Ling Tian. Yet. The spice seller lowered his voice.

"Old Patriarch Huo Wei arranged the engagement years ago. His grandson and one of the Yan girls. Back when Jin was still the family genius."

"Still calling him that?"

"I said was." Someone chuckled, though there was no humor in it.

"Huo Jin used to be something, sure. Everyone knew it. Fastest cultivation progress in Hua City. Even Crimson Ember cultivators came to look at him."

"And now?"

"Now?" The merchant shrugged.

"Now my donkey has more spiritual potential." Several men laughed. Ling Tian did not. Pieces were beginning to assemble. The cabbage vendor continued.

"The kid stopped progressing years ago. Then started going backward. The family poured medicine into him, hired healers, brought in formation masters. Nothing worked."

"How far did he fall?"

"Far enough."

"And Yan Clan?"

"Why would they marry their daughter to dead weight?" Someone clicked their tongue.

"Engagement's being broken today?"

"Why else do you think they came with a sect elder and enough spectacle to scare half the market into the dirt?" Ling Tian's internal alarm system activated. Not metaphorically. His entire mind seemed to produce the spiritual equivalent of a fire siren. Former genius. Sudden unexplained decline. Humiliation. Powerful fiancée. Broken engagement. Arrogant upper-tier sect. Mysterious necklace secretly stealing cultivation. Twelve-year-old boy glaring at the world with barely contained rage.

Ling Tian slowly turned his head toward the closed manor gates. No. Absolutely not. He knew this. He had read this. Many times. Too many times. Back in his previous life, Aditya had consumed an embarrassing quantity of low-quality fantasy webnovels during late-night overtime, train rides, weekends, sick days, and periods of active procrastination. This situation was not merely familiar. It was legally distinct familiarity. Huo Jin was a protagonist.

Or, at minimum, an individual with an alarmingly high probability of developing protagonist symptoms. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. The evidence was overwhelming. Gifted young heir. Talent mysteriously disappears. Everyone mocks him. Engagement annulment. Powerful clan humiliates him publicly. Secret artifact. And inside that artifact, Ling Tian's eyes narrowed. Probably an old man. There was always an old man. Ancient alchemist.

Dead sword immortal. Former sect master. Dragon soul. Some impossibly powerful grandfather-shaped entity who had spent three thousand years sleeping inside a ring or necklace and would suddenly wake up at the exact emotional low point of the protagonist's life. Then the boy would recover. Then he would swear revenge. Then tournaments would happen. Then arrogant young masters would appear. Then clans would be destroyed. Then kingdoms. Possibly continents. Ling Tian stared at the manor.

To another transmigrator, this might have looked like opportunity. Approach Huo Jin now. Offer sympathy. Become his first true friend. Maybe reveal something about the necklace. Secure the gratitude of a future cultivation monster before he became powerful. Excellent investment. Potentially infinite return. Ling Tian rejected the proposal immediately. Terrible investment. Unacceptable risk profile. Protagonists did not generate stable returns. They generated explosions!

Every person around them eventually became one of four things: a loyal subordinate, a jealous enemy, a romantic interest, or collateral damage. Ling Tian qualified for none of the first three. That left option four. Unacceptable. Furthermore, protagonist friendships came with hidden obligations. The protagonist's enemy became your enemy. His clan war became your clan war. His tournament became your tournament. His quest for revenge somehow became your problem.

Before long, you were being chased across three provinces by a demonic sect because your friend had accidentally stolen an immortal flame from their ancestral tomb. No. Ling Tian had objectives. Eat. Sleep. Understand cultivation. Remain alive. Become strong enough that random aristocrats could not kill him because they disliked his face. None of those objectives required becoming the childhood friend of a narrative catastrophe. He mentally opened an imaginary form.

Narrative Opportunity Participation Request He selected: DECLINED. Reason: Catastrophic projected liability. Supporting documentation: Entire genre history. Ling Tian withdrew deeper into the alley. Huo Jin no longer existed. Not literally. Ling Tian wished him well. From far away. Preferably several mountain ranges away. The market recovered quickly. Mortals possessed impressive resilience when survival demanded it. Within minutes, sellers were rebuilding collapsed displays.

Someone had uprighted the fish barrels. The butcher resumed chopping. Customers returned to bargaining as if a flying carriage had not just destroyed part of the road. Ling Tian finally emerged from behind the cabbage barrel. Nobody noticed him. Perfect. He immediately resumed his shopping. The grain merchant attempted to charge him seven coppers for a small bag of rice. Ling Tian stared at him.

"Five."

"Seven."

"Half of it is husk."

"Six."

"There are stones in it."

"Those are free."

"Five." The merchant glared. Ling Tian began turning away.

"Fine. Five." The transaction concluded successfully. He used the remaining money to purchase several tough, bitter roots whose primary advantages appeared to be low price and resistance to spoilage. Not luxurious. Not enjoyable. But edible. Probably. By the time he finished, the parcel of dried meat, sack of coarse rice, and handful of roots represented nearly his entire economic portfolio. He held everything carefully. Then he left Hua City. Fast. Not running. Running attracted attention.

But his walking speed could reasonably be described as highly motivated. The city gate passed behind him. Only when the noise of the market had faded and the road began climbing toward Crimson Peak did Ling Tian allow himself to breathe normally. The afternoon sun had climbed high overhead. Heat pressed down against the mountain, and his thin clothes offered almost no protection. Within twenty minutes, sweat had soaked through his back. The return journey was substantially worse than the descent.

Gravity had switched departments. Earlier, it had been a useful employee. Now it was actively sabotaging productivity. Every switchback climbed higher. Dust coated his bare feet. Shrubs clawed at his calves. Loose stones slid beneath his weight. The muscles in his thighs began burning, and his breathing became heavier. In his previous life, Aditya had complained about commuting. Crowded trains. Traffic jams. Delayed buses. Motorcycle smoke. People standing in doorways for no identifiable reason.

He owed every transportation system in Java an apology. None of them had involved climbing a mountain barefoot while carrying rice. The old Ling Tian had done this regularly. That thought bothered him more than he expected. This body remembered hardship in places his mind did not. Calluses. Old bruises. The automatic way his feet searched for stable rocks. The unconscious habit of shifting weight to protect a weak ankle. A child had learned all of that because he had needed to. Ling Tian kept climbing.

Today, however, something was different. He cautiously opened his spiritual perception. Only slightly. The memory of his previous sensory overload remained extremely persuasive. No trees. No earth. No insects. No broad environmental scan. One variable only. Wind. The mountain breeze flowed irregularly through the slopes. Under ordinary senses, it was simply cooler air moving against his skin. Through Qi perception, he could feel something threaded inside it. A faint electric vibration. Light. Flexible.

Always moving. Wind Qi. He did not absorb it. Absolutely not. That would constitute unauthorized integration of unknown energy into his biological infrastructure. He had standards. Instead, Ling Tian observed the flow. The breeze strengthened. He felt it approaching before the leaves moved. He shifted his head slightly, and cool air struck his face. Ling Tian stopped. Interesting. Another current approached from the left. He anticipated it, turned, and let the breeze hit directly across his sweaty neck.

His mouth twitched. Primitive magical air conditioning. Excellent. He continued walking. By aligning himself with each current, he managed to catch far more of the breeze than he ordinarily would have. It did not reduce the climb. It did not restore his calories. It certainly did not repair his muscles. But the cooling effect helped. Marginal improvement. Low risk. No resource cost. Approved. Ling Tian climbed higher. The market disappeared far below, trees replaced buildings, and human voices vanished.

His breathing gradually became the loudest sound around him. He reviewed the day while walking. Awakened spiritual perception. Nearly suffered catastrophic sensory overload. Successfully implemented filtering. Sold Cloudmint. Secured food. Encountered aristocratic cultivators. Avoided aristocratic cultivators. Identified probable protagonist. Avoided probable protagonist. The final two items were perhaps the greatest successes. A tired smile appeared on his face. This world was insane. Flying carriages.

Dragon-shaped cloud. Sect politics. Ancient artifacts. Environmental energy. Potentially possessed jewelry. And somewhere behind the walls of Hua City, Huo Jin was probably experiencing the most humiliating afternoon of his life. Ling Tian sincerely wished him the best. He also sincerely hoped they never met. The path finally leveled, and his shack appeared through the trees. Calling it a house remained generous. The wooden walls leaned inward. The roof sagged badly near one corner.

Several patches of thatch had changed color from water damage. One moderately ambitious storm could probably reduce the entire structure into firewood. Ling Tian looked at it with exhausted relief. Home. Not impressive. Not safe by objective construction standards. Not comfortable. But isolated. That mattered. No Yan Clan. No Huo Family. No Crimson Ember Sect. No broken engagements. No ancient masters living inside decorative accessories. Just him, the mountain, and a roof that might collapse during heavy rain.

Manageable problems. Ling Tian pushed the door open. The hinges complained, and cool shade greeted him. He stepped inside, closed the door, and placed his groceries carefully on the splintered table. Rice. Roots. Dried meat. For perhaps the first time since awakening in this body, the collection looked almost like actual provisions. Almost. He removed the bloodstained book from inside his tunic. The Way of Natural Harmony. The cover looked harmless. Ling Tian knew better.

He placed it beside the food, then sat on the dirt floor with his legs crossed. The day had provided useful information. Qi existed. It could be sensed. Different environments carried different forms. His mind could filter those forms. Artifacts could manipulate energy. People could manipulate far more of it than he currently understood. And absorbing things blindly remained an excellent way to die. Good. Clear progress. Ling Tian placed both hands on his knees. He would proceed slowly. No heroic breakthroughs.

No "defying the heavens." No swallowing mysterious pills found in caves. No deliberately destroying his meridians because an ancient text promised rebirth. And absolutely no antagonizing young masters. He would test one variable at a time. Observe. Record mentally. Compare outcomes. Repeat. Cultivation did not need to be mystical. Mysticism was merely science with inadequate documentation. If Qi obeyed rules, those rules could be studied. If techniques produced repeatable outcomes, those outcomes could be measured.

If cultivators were capable of manipulating natural forces without exploding every time they tried, then somewhere beneath all the poetry, arrogance, secret inheritances, and unnecessarily dramatic terminology, there had to be a functional system. Ling Tian intended to find it. Carefully. Very carefully. He glanced toward the direction of Hua City. Somewhere down there, Huo Jin was likely beginning the opening chapter of a legendary rise. Ling Tian turned away. Let him.

One protagonist per region was already more than sufficient. Ling Tian had no desire to become part of anyone else's story. For now, surviving his own was difficult enough. He opened The Way of Natural Harmony. Phase two began.