Chương 19: Just Trust Me, It’s "Normal"

After hours of carrying boulders and uprooting trees, we stop at a stream to rest and eat. The water rushes past, cold and clear, carrying the sound of the mountain with it. I find a flat rock and sit, watching as Ling'er settles on the bank. I give her two Qi Condensation pills, double her usual dose, and watch as she meditates. The effect is immediate. I can see it, feel it, sense it with every spiritual sense I possess.

Qi floods her meridians like water through a broken dam, circulating faster than should be possible, settling into her dantian with an efficiency that defies explanation. The Gaze shows me what's happening beneath her skin: Ling'er - Qi Circulation Enhanced Meridian Capacity: 8/8 primary, 3/8 secondary opening Dantian Saturation: 45% (normal for her stage is 20%) Verdict: Her Dragon blood is accelerating circulation by 300%. The Sacred Cosmic bone is preventing meridian damage.

At current rate, she'll reach Qi Condensation 2nd Stage within 2 weeks. 3rd Stage within 1 month. I've never seen anything like it. Forty years in this body. Forty years of watching disciples struggle, stagnate, fail. Forty years of knowing what "normal" looks like. This isn't normal. This isn't even exceptional. It's something else entirely. She opens her eyes, and for a half-second they're pure gold; vertical pupils, ancient and aware. Then she blinks and they're brown again, just a child looking up at me.

"Sect Leader..." Her voice is small, uncertain.

"I feel strange. Like there's too much inside me. Like I'm going to burst."

"That's normal." I keep my voice calm, matter-of-fact.

"Your body is adapting to having more qi than it's ever held. The feeling will pass. In a few days, you won't even notice it." She nods, accepting this. I pause, considering. Then: "Ling'er. Do you remember what we talked about? The cultivation realms?" She thinks for a moment.

"Yes. But only their names. Qi Condensation. Foundation Establishment. Core Formation. Nascent Soul. Something after that." She hesitates.

"I don't really know what they mean. What it's like at each stage. What to avoid."

"Then listen. This is important." I sit on a rock by the stream. She settles cross-legged before me on the grass, attentive as always, her small hands resting on her knees. The water rushes past, a gentle background to my words.

"There are five known realms in the Lower Realm. Above that are realms we can only guess at—in the Upper Realm. Stories say that those who reach the peak of Soul Transformation can ascend, leave this world behind, and seek immortality among the stars. But for now, focus on these." I hold up one finger.

"Qi Condensation. That's where you are now. The foundation of everything. You gather qi into your body, open meridians, strengthen your dantian. At this stage, you're learning to sense energy, to circulate it, to make it part of yourself. Most cultivators spend their entire lives here. Those who reach the peak have a chance at breakthrough—if they're lucky, if they have resources, if heaven smiles on them." Two fingers.

"Foundation Establishment. Where I am. You condense your qi into a solid foundation; a base for everything that comes after. It took me forty years to reach this point. Some never do. A Foundation Establishment cultivator can live two hundred years, their body strengthened by qi, their senses sharpened beyond mortal limits." I pause, an internal wince hidden behind my calm expression. In truth, most top sect disciples reach Foundation Establishment at half my age.

Twenty-year-olds with talent and resources and proper training. But she doesn't need to know that. Let her think I'm impressive. Let her believe her sect leader is someone worth following. Three fingers.

"Core Formation. The realm of true power. You compress your foundation into a golden core, a self-sustaining source of qi that transforms everything about you. Your body becomes stronger, your techniques more powerful, your lifespan extends to five hundred years. Core Formation experts can lead sects, command armies, shape the world around them. Most sect leaders in this region, the ones who matter, the ones with real influence, are Core Formation." Four fingers.

"Nascent Soul. The realm of legends. Your golden core cracks and gives birth to a nascent soul; a second self, a spirit form that can leave your body, survive death, perceive the laws of heaven directly. Nascent Soul cultivators are powers that shape nations. They live a thousand years or more. This is where sect leaders of major sects reside—the Violet Sky Sect, our regional overlords, has a Nascent Soul at its head. And some truly prodigious talents have reached it before the age of fifty."

I hold up all five fingers.

"Soul Transformation. The peak of the Lower Realm. Your nascent soul transforms into something beyond mortal understanding: a soul that can exist independently of body, that can perceive the fundamental truths of existence, that can begin to grasp what lies beyond. Soul Transformation cultivators are figures of myth. They rarely appear, rarely interfere, and are said to be preparing for ascension to the Upper Realm. I've never met one. I've never even heard of one visiting this region.

They exist in stories, in ancient records, in the journals of Nascent Souls who glimpsed them from afar." I lower my hand.

"Above that? No one knows. Maybe they exist. Maybe they're just stories we tell ourselves to justify the struggle." She absorbs this silently, eyes wide, processing. The Sacred Cosmic Bone is working, I can tell—filing away information, connecting dots, building understanding.

"How long does it take?" she asks finally.

"Normally. For normal people."

"Normal cultivators, the ones in minor sects, with mediocre talent—take decades to reach Qi Condensation peak. A lifetime to reach Foundation, if ever." I let that settle.

"Talented geniuses, the ones major sects recruit and fight over? They reach Core Formation at twenty to thirty years old. Some prodigies reach Nascent Soul before fifty. Those are the ones who shape history. The ones whose names appear in records centuries later." Her brow furrows.

"Before fifty? That's... fast?" Oh. Oh. I see that she's already getting quite uppity for her age. Fast. She questions whether reaching Nascent Soul before fifty is "fast." As if it's a matter of pace rather than impossibility. As if she's already calculating how much faster she'll be. I keep my face calm, but internally I'm gnashing my teeth at the heaven-defying child before me. To her, these impossible achievements are just numbers. Benchmarks to exceed. Records to break.

"... That's impossibly fast to someone like me." My voice is dry.

"To the rest of the world, those are the people destined for greatness. The ones who will lead sects, command armies, maybe even ascend. The rest of us just exist. We fill the spaces between legends." I look at her directly.

"You, Ling'er, have the potential to be faster than any of them. The True Dragon Bloodline and Sacred Cosmic Bone together? There's no record of anyone like you in all of history. If you're diligent—if you work as hard as you have been—you could reach Foundation Establishment within weeks. Core Formation within a year. Nascent Soul before twenty. And beyond." She stares at me.

"Soul Transformation? Before... before I'm old? Before I'm missing teeth like Old Chen?"

"Yes. Well, if you reach Nascent Soul, you shouldn't have to worry about missing teeth ever." Silence stretches between us, filled only by the sound of the stream. Her eyes are wide, processing, struggling to comprehend what I've just told her. She's twelve. She's been cultivating for less than a month. And I'm telling her she could surpass legends before she's old enough to drink. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Then, softly: "Sect Leader…

why does the world keep giving me things I don't deserve? I'm just an orphan." The question catches me off guard. Not why me, but why does the world keep giving. A subtle difference, but important. She's questioning the unfairness of a universe that starved her for twelve years and now floods her with gifts. I consider my answer carefully.

"Maybe the world was saving up," I say finally.

"Maybe it knew you'd need everything it had, all at once, for something bigger than any of us can imagine. Or maybe there's no reason at all. Maybe the heavens just spin and we're all caught in their wake." I pause.

"But I know this: you have a gift beyond anything I've ever seen. And I'm going to help you use it. Not because the world gave it to you—but because you're the one holding it." She blinks at me, processing. I reach out and ruffle her hair. She startles—clearly not expecting that—then smiles.

"Thank you, Sect Leader."

"Call me Lu. Or Master, if you prefer. We're past formalities." She tests the words silently, lips moving. Then: "Master Lu." A pause.

"I like that. It sounds like... like I belong to someone. Like I'm not just floating."

"You belong to this sect. To yourself most of all." I stand, offering her a hand.

"Now let's keep moving. We have a city to reach." She takes my hand and lets me pull her up. For a moment, she's just a child again. Small hand in mine, dirt on her face, hair a mess from my ruffling. Then she straightens, and the disciple returns. The mask slides back into place. The concealment wraps around her like a second skin. We walk on. We walk through the afternoon.

I push her constantly; concealment checks every few minutes, sudden strength tests when she least expects them, sprints up hills, qi circulation exercises while maintaining a fast walking pace. She does it all without complaint, without visible fatigue, without ever breaking her perfect mask. The sun arcs overhead and begins its descent. The landscape changes: forest gives way to farmland, which gives way to scattered settlements, which finally gives way to the first signs of civilization. Roads widen.

Traffic increases. Merchants with carts, farmers with produce, travelers on foot and horseback. By evening, we've covered thirty miles. The city walls are visible on the horizon, dark against the setting sun—massive stone fortifications that dwarf anything in Greenstone Town. We camp in a small grove outside the city, far enough from the road to avoid notice. I set a basic alert array while Ling'er meditates, her jade pendant glowing faintly in the darkness as she works through her evening exercises.

I sit against a tree, watching her. The Gaze flickers, providing data automatically. Ling'er - Evening Status Cultivation: Qi Condensation (1st Stage) - 60% to 2nd Stage Concealment Mastery: 85% - Can maintain under physical stress, still falters during emotional spikes Strength Improvement: +15% from body refinement training Speed Improvement: +10% Qi Control: Improving rapidly, now able to circulate pills without conscious effort Bloodline Awakening: 0. 01% → 0. 015% Sacred Cosmic Bone: 1% → 1.

2% I lie awake that night, listening to her breathe. A child sleeps ten feet away, curled on a bed of leaves, dreaming of dragons and cosmic threads. In a year, maybe less, she'll surpass me (and in a multitude of ways, she already has). In five, she'll be untouchable. In ten, she might reshape the world. And I'll be there. Watching. Guiding. Protecting. For the first time in forty years, I'm excited about tomorrow. The city of Greenstone sprawls before us as the sun rises.

Named for the quarries that built it, just like the town near our sect: though this city shares only a name with that small settlement. Massive walls of pale stone encircle thousands of buildings. Towers rise at intervals, manned by guards who scan the approaches. Gates stand open, welcoming the morning traffic of merchants and farmers and travelers. Twenty thousand people live within these walls. Merchants from across the region. Farmers selling produce. Laborers seeking work.

And cultivators—dozens of them, maybe hundreds—passing through on business. Three sects have compounds here, maintaining a presence in the region's largest city. The Violet Sky Sect, our regional overlords, keeps an office for collecting tribute and monitoring minor sects like mine. And somewhere in those crowded streets, opportunities wait. Ling'er stands beside me, eyes wide.

"Master Lu..." Her voice is small, almost reverent.

"It's so big."

"You'll see bigger. Much bigger, someday." I keep my voice calm, but I remember my first city—this body's memories, decades ago, of walking through gates just like these. The overwhelm. The noise. The sheer scale of civilization.

"But for now, we have business." I turn to her.

"Concealment?" She closes her eyes for a brief moment, checking internally. When she opens them, they're perfectly ordinary—brown, guileless, the eyes of a servant girl with nothing special about her.

"Perfect, Master."

"Good. Stay close. Watch everything. Learn everything. And if anyone asks, you're my servant girl, here to carry packages. Understood?"

"Yes, Master." We walk through the gates. The city swallows us. Noise floods in from every direction. Merchants hawking wares, children running through streets, carts rumbling over cobblestones, arguments and laughter and the endless murmur of twenty thousand lives. Smells assault the nose; cooking food, animal waste, incense from temples, perfumes from passing nobles. Colors overwhelm the eyes, bright banners, painted storefronts, robes of every shade and quality.

Ling'er presses close to my side, her eyes wide but recording everything. I can practically feel the Sacred Cosmic Bone working, cataloging faces and buildings and patterns, building understanding from chaos. We walk slowly through the main thoroughfare, letting her adjust. I point out landmarks, explain functions, identify the types of people we pass.

"First lesson." My voice is low, meant only for her.

"Watch the cultivators. Not just their techniques—their bearing, their breathing, the way they move through crowds. Everyone thinks cultivation is about power. It's actually about observation. The ones who watch longest live longest." She nods, already watching. A Foundation Establishment cultivator passes on the other side of the street: middle-aged, confident, wearing the robes of a minor sect. He moves through the crowd like water through rocks, never slowing, never colliding.

Ling'er tracks him until he disappears around a corner. I walk past them all—the cultivation supplies shops with their gleaming pills, the weapon smiths with their qi-infused blades, the information brokers with their whispered secrets. Each one tugs at me, promising opportunities, resources, leads. The strategist in me wants to dive straight in, to maximize every moment in this city. But I glance at Ling'er.

She's been walking for hours, maintaining perfect concealment through crowds and noise and the constant press of spiritual signatures. She's carried herself with quiet dignity, observed everything I told her to observe, never once complained about my orders. Her small feet must ache. Her mind must be swimming with new information. And still she walks beside me, attentive and ready. I pivot.

A restaurant catches my eye; three stories of carved wood and hanging lanterns, with fragrant steam drifting from its kitchen windows. The kind of place I never would have imagined being able to eat at just months ago. The kind of place where a single dish cost more than my sect used to spend in a month.

"Come," I say, guiding her toward the entrance.

"We're eating here." Her eyes widen.

"Master, this place looks... expensive."

"It is. That's the point." We're greeted at the door by a host in fine robes, who takes in my sect leader's attire and Ling'er's servant's cloak with practiced neutrality. He leads us to a table near a window—not the best seats, but respectable. I sit. Ling'er remains standing, uncertain.

"Sit." She hesitates.

"Master, servants don't—""You're not a servant right now. You're my disciple. Sit." She sits. I adjust my robes, suddenly self-conscious. This body has eaten in places like this before: decades ago, when the previous sect leader was alive and the sect had more resources. But for me, for the part of me that's still a twenty-year-old gamer:, this is new. Fancy. The kind of experience my past self could never afford. I check my hair, smooth my robes, try to look like I belong here.

A server arrives with menus: actual menus, written on silk-bound cards. I scan the offerings, and my mouth waters. Dishes I've never heard of, made with ingredients I can only guess at. Spirit beast meat. Mountain herbs. Fruits that glow faintly in the dim light. I order widely. Extravagantly. Anything that catches my fancy; a fusion between what I remember from my past life and what this world offers. Braised phoenix-tail fish. Stir-fried cloud mushrooms. Rice steamed in spiritual broth.

A small pot of aged spirit wine. When the server turns to Ling'er, I speak before she can demur.

"She'll order too. Whatever she wants." Ling'er stares at me, then at the menu, then back at me.

"Master, I don't know what any of this is. I've never—""Then pick something that sounds good. That's how you learn." She bites her lip, studies the menu with the same intensity she brings to cultivation techniques, and orders a noodle dish with spiced meat. Simple. Safe. A start. The server leaves. Ling'er looks at me across the table.

"Master... why?"

"Tomorrow, we begin our real work. Information gathering. Cultivation business." I lean back in my chair.

"But tonight, you've worked harder than any disciple I've ever trained. You've earned rest. You've earned good food." The first dishes arrive. Steam rises. Aromas fill the air. I take my chopsticks, select a piece of the braised fish, and lift it to my mouth. The flavor explodes. Savory and sweet and something else, something that tingles on my tongue like tiny sparks. Braised Phoenix-Tail Fish - Grade: Medium Effect: Delicious. Slightly restorative to qi. Mostly just delicious. Verdict: You made a good choice.

Eat up. I almost laugh. Even the Gaze approves. I look across the table. Ling'er has her noodles, her face buried in the bowl, making small sounds of pleasure with each bite. For a moment, everything is simple. A sect leader and his disciple, sharing a meal in a nice restaurant, enjoying food that tastes like heaven.