Cultivation made bringing in groceries far easier.

The amount of qi reinforcement a paper bag could take was negligible, but enough to prevent casual tearing. The strength and stamina enhancements meant carrying double armfuls was a breeze. The smooth footwork from years of training and practice meant Henry slid around the rest of the family grabbing bags with a quiet elegance. His fluid steps were silent compared to the plodding gate of the mortals.

Henry pondered about incorporating it into his planned training regimen. Maybe he’d fill some bags with sticks and rocks and make them come through the single doorframe to the garage to load and unload the vehicle over and over. The more he thought about it the more it appealed to him.

The training he was planning was the usual sort of thing. Meditation, stretches, katas, sparring. Maybe putting in more things they’d be familiar with was a good idea. Physical, frenetic things. High-impact sports. Racing. Group sparring.

Yes, the more he mulled it over the better the idea looked. Hells, it might even be better than some of the things he had planned. This wasn’t really a part of the world with many cliffs, after all.

These were the thoughts that occupied his mind as Henry actively avoided focusing on his impatience. Marilynn had bought far more than he’d sent her for. That’s why it’d taken her so long to get back.

But he couldn’t get angry.

Wasn’t allowed to get angry.

This was his mother.

HIS MOTHER.

The sound of water rushing was all he heard as he ran his head under the faucet in the kitchen. Qi Gathering was a low enough stage that the shock of the cold water brought Henry back to himself.

The family looked at him strangely as he stood and turned the water off.

“Sorry, it’s a little warm today,” he said with a fake smile, water dripping off of his head and down his back and shoulders. That excuse seemingly did little to assuage them, but they still shrugged and moved on.

Why did he get that angry? All that happened was she was a little later getting some items than he expected. Henry swallowed, tasting the rage in the back of his throat as his muscles untensed.

This required getting to the bottom of. He couldn’t have this kind of rage during training. Or his next breakthrough. That was almost certainly asking for qi deviation.

The rest of the bags were brought in with little fanfare. The countertops of the kitchen were covered in brown paper bags filled with all manner of foods. Not all were full to bursting, but each contained some new item.

It was another mild shock to the time traveler. He understood on a certain level that the abundance of his old world was incredible, but to truly see that in action was another thing entirely. His family was not one of the ruling elite of this nation, yet the variety of good on display would make even a provincial governor red-faced in envy.

“I am a frog in a well,” Henry murmured.

Lizabeth, who was standing next to him, heard the quote.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

Henry shook his head and turned to her. His younger sibling was wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts. As they were in the beginnings of summer it was an appropriate outfit even if his old man’s heart wanted to tell her to put some clothes on.

He knew that when he left this place the local fashions were something that he’d have to adjust to.

“I cannot see the immensity of the world,” he replied, “To say that I am a frog in a well is to accept and be aware that my understanding and experiences are limited. That there’s more to the world that what I know.”

His younger sister mulled his words over.

Their relationship had seemingly improved over his memories in the last few days. His shift in personality had brought an end to the petty sibling feuds that had comprised their youth together. She now considered him an adult, someone to be consulted about information she wanted to know.

It didn’t hurt that he had knowledge she was excited to learn. Her previously heated attitude towards him had cooled almost completely.

That was something that Henry had to change. He already had an idea that her root was going to be more fire-focused. To get the best out of her he was going to have to become the focus of strong emotions. He was going to have to spar against her a great deal in the future so that he’d stop being just her brother and become an obstacle that needs to be overcome.

Until then he’d enjoy the better relationship.

“So,” she finally let out, “It’s like saying you live under a rock?”

He grinned and patted her on the head.

“Yes.”

She frowned at the pat, but did not shy away.

The groceries were put away with practiced ease. Henry didn’t know where everything went, but his mother did. He’d pick an item up, look at her, and she’d point, usually with just a few words for additional clarification.

“Under the sink.”

“Top shelf pantry.”

“Crisper drawer.”

The last one had needed his sister to step in. That minor stumble aside everything ended up in it’s assigned place with an almost military precision.

All that was left was a single black plastic bag on the counter. It had the logo of the art supply store on it, a paintbrush and palette with a swirl of paint. Marilynn picked the bag up and reached into it.

“I didn’t know if this was what you wanted,” she started, “But when I asked for a calligraphy brush this is what the lady behind the counter gave me.”

Henry’s eyes widened as he watched his mother pull out a clear plastic container holding not one, but three calligraphy brushes. He took them from her gently, opening the package and pulling one the largest. His fingers lightly brushed along the handle, taking in the grain of the material.

“The handle’s bamboo,” he said, lifting the brush and sniffing the bristles, “There’s a strong chemical scent masking it, but the bristles are animal hair. Probably a mix of something like goat, wolf, and bear.”

The cultivator gifted his mother with a dazzling smile.

“These are far more than I hoped,” he complimented, “Thank you.”

Marilynn put on a crooked smile, still holding the bag.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” she cautioned, “That’s not all.”

She reached into the bag again.

“The lady working there told me that these are used all the time celebrating Chinese New Year.”

What came out of the bag was a bundle of paper. Yellow paper cut to long, thin rectangles.

Henry’s mood lifted even higher.

This was talisman paper.

Eagerly, he took it from her, placing it on the counter next to the brushes. The paper felt smooth and glossy, no doubt a result of the mechanical processes used to create it. He was sure it would function even better than the rough, traditionally-made paper he had used for decades. The nearly-unnoticeable imperfections in the regular talisman paper had ruined the talismans of many a young crafter.

“I hope it’s what you need,” Marilynn stated, “Because that bundle was twenty bucks. It’s supposed to be a hundred sheets.”

“Truly excellent,” Henry said with sincere appreciation, “Just in time for me to bestow gifts on the family.”

Lizabeth perked up at those words.

“What gifts?”

He looked over at his little sister’s excited eyes. Seemingly every day, to his eyes, she looked more and more like a proper cultivator.

“Later, later, my avaricious one,” he said teasingly, “This evening, after dinner. Gifts to help the family’s vitality and cultivation.”

Her pout was endearing. To push the point home that nothing would be coming until later, he picked up the brushes and papers.

“I’ll be in the basement until this evening.”

------------------------

Henry dove into his inner world.

A cultivator’s inner world was their most secure space, the inside of not just their mind but their soul and cultivation. To show this to another person was to trust that person to the utmost, beyond simple blood or friendship.

Henry had never shown his inner world to anyone.

Not that there was much to show. A black void, lit by dimly, floating lights connected by thin tendrils. The mist of qi that normally filled the area was almost entirely absent, just wisps clinging to his ankles as he floated in the darkness.

Beneath him in the darkness was a roiling ocean. Hidden in dense shadow, the ocean churned sluggishly, pushing the scent of iron to his nostrils.

He didn’t notice.

Henry was here for a deeper reason.

His eyes were trained on the lights and tendrils. They formed a massive network above him, stretching into the distance over the endless ocean.

This was his mind. These were his thoughts, his memories.

His emotions.

The irrational feelings he’d had earlier needed to be sorted out and this was the best way to get to the bottom of them. With the barest push of will his spectral being lifted higher, bringing the closest of the tendrils within the reach of his outstretched arm.

“God damn it.”

He grasped the thin string of consciousness.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

A wave of thought and bare emotion covered him, threatening to drown the cultivator in his own strong sentiments. Each stray thought become a screaming voice thundering in his ears. His spirit form splintered under the weight of it all, each bit of himself he carefully kept back.

Opportunities lay in the path of the experienced, though.

Henry clamped his will down. The torrent surged, attempted to flow between his fingers like physical water, the chorus of voices rising to a crescendo. Henry could feel the pounding of his heart in his ears even in this spirit form. A failure to restrain himself here would spell disaster.

The wave broke.

Every muscle in Henry’s body loosened as the swirling meaning surrounding him bowed to his effort, receding back until the untenable din was a more manageable susurrus. It would take his utmost focus to interpret anything manageable from this.

He took a deep, calming breath, and thrust his mind into the pathway of thought.

------------------------

He was angry.

He was lost.

He was in despair.

Why was he angry?

Anger at them.

Who?

People.

Why?

For being there.

FOR NOT BEING HERE.

Confusion about family.

Love for them?

…

…

…

…

No.

Too long, too dry.

Good feelings.

Weak.

So why anger?

WEAK.

Control is important.

Control is all.

Without control everything is meaningless.

Becoming bad again.

WE LOSE CONTROL WHEN WE ARE WEAK.

The weak are to be held in contempt.

Like me?

NO NO NO NO

I am strong.

I am the strongest.

Alone.

Together she’s strong.

We’re strong.

It’s okay, then.

Nonononono.

Not okay.

She/They/We were different.

Better.

Stronger.

They The Current Us The Together We.

We are weak.

The weak are not the oneagather.

That is not okokokagtdooo

-------------------------------

Henry came back, gasping, to himself on the couch.

The cultivator’s clothes were plastered to his body by the buckets of sweat he’d let out. His skin was cold, clammy, and his body felt hard to move. Like he wasn’t in direct control of it. The only thing he could truly feel was the pounding jackhammer of his heart in his chest. His wide eyes looked at the thin reflection in the sliding glass doors, barely visible in front of the shining summer sun.

This was not his face.

He turned away, eyes clenched tight. This was his body. This was his face. It just looked different than he was used to. This was his body.

I am me, he repeated to himself, This is me and I am this. This is all I will ever be.

Henry opened his eyes again. The walls of the basement still stood, gray and cold. His eyes flicked over to the reflection.

The eyes in the glass blinked back at him.

He sighed with relief, the feeling coming back to his limbs. After an interminable stretch of pins and needles, Henry stood up and shook out his arms and legs.

Forcing sense from nonsense took it’s toll. Even then, the answers he sought had been uncovered after all that.

The streams of nearly incoherent thought parsed out pretty easily.

He was angry at himself for being so weak that he had to cede control to his mother. The thought of relying on her outside of his range of control to obtain something that was essential for him was galling to the core because she was too weak.

Henry had given control of his actions to the Specters many times. He’d gone with them on foolish and pointless missions to provide support and a ready source of violence as needed.

That was easy since they were strong. They had to be, after all. They’d beaten him.

Marilynn Stroeder, though?

She was weak. A mortal. The merest gust of misaligned qi would kill her as readily as a sword, a runaway carriage, or simply the inevitable passage of time. Her living long enough to even gain the items he needed was basically a miracle, and completely out of his hands.

Loss of control had been an issue of his for a long time. Mags would probably have said it was one of his biggest. Luckily, he was not the same man as when they met.

He now understood why he was getting so angry. In this regard, his anger would no longer trouble him. To be able to calmly assess his own emotions was key to keeping them in check. All it took was understanding.

Henry shuffled over to the basement’s bathroom and turned on the sink’s faucet. With quick, efficient motions, he scrubbed his hands and face. After he was finished, he met the eyes of his reflection.

“It doesn’t matter.”

------------------------

Dinner, while tasty, was quickly forgotten by the rest of the family.

Their attention, instead, was drawn to the dining room table. Where just a moment ago had been dirty plates was cleared off, the eating utensils replaced with three simple glasses.

The cups themselves were unremarkable, three thick-bottom whiskey glasses that Roger kept in the back of the pantry. The liquid inside wasn’t particularly compelling, either, a transparent blue-green liquid.

Henry internally smiled at the disbelief on the faces of his relatives.

“You,” his little sister paused, “Made tea?”

With an open palm Henry gestured towards the table.

“Please help yourself,” he said, “This is Spirit Veined Jade Tea. It’s considered the poorest drink you can use to entertain practitioner guests and not lose face. If made well, it has a rich taste and can even strengthen one’s physique due to the small amount of qi it contains.”

The cultivator picked up each glass and handed it to a family member starting with the eldest, his father. Henry kept the last for himself, raising it in the traditional way for a toast with a slight bow of the head.

It was amusing to see them not take a drink until he did.

The tea was not his best work. He couldn’t find a decent tea kit in the house so a simple pot on the stove had to suffice. Still, the tea was eminently drinkable and the medicinal effects had not been diminished.

“Wow,” Marilynn blurted out after a sip, “This is really good!”

Henry mulled the taste over for a bit, letting the flavor roll over his tongue before swallowing. The taste was certainly nostalgic, but this tea didn’t have any particular attachment with him. The Specters had mostly stuck with Earth drinks like coffee and cocoa. He was the main proponent of drinks such as this, due to the benefits to cultivation from consuming them. His own supply of tea was a holdover from his younger years.

He’d come across a caravan being guarded by a few weaker disciples. After defeating them, he’d taking the covers off of the wagons to reveal case after case of tea leaves. Dozens of varieties, each neatly packaged with a small manual which described the tea, it’s effects, and the proper way to serve it.

Memorizing all of that information had been a pleasant distraction and the teas themselves had gone into his storage ring as cultivation materials.

“The taste is enhanced,” he commented, breaking out of his reverie, “By the qi present in the tea. A true cultivator would consider this a mediocre brew at best. You should consider yourself lucky, though.”

“Why’s that?” his father asked, already halfway done with his drink.

Henry tilted his head and smiled at them.

“If I hadn’t found the spirit grass to make this tea,” he explained, “Then what you would be drinking would taste like tar and given you horrible stomach trouble.”

His smile took on a malevolent edge.

“It’s also more beneficial for your cultivation, so I’m saving that for later.”

Marilynn and Roger shot him concerned looks while Lizabeth visibly blanched. Making people suffer with the excuse of self-improvement give him a fun electric tingle in the back of his head. Another thing to work on.

It doesn’t matter, Henry thought as he took another sip of his tea.

There really was nothing too deep to teaching, Henry had concluded after thinking it over. He just needed to make sure he held all the cards, and if they asked him a difficult question he’d give them a vague answer that led him to draw his own conclusion.

He paused at that thought. Was that what the few teachers he’d previously followed done to him? No, the cultivators who’d taken him in as a disciple over the years had leaned heavily towards more...physical training reinforcement.

The recuperative abilities of a cultivator were incredible.

He chuckled to himself as he finished his tea in one gulp. It was impolite to do so, but there were other things he needed to do tonight.

“Alright!” he declared, gently placing the glass back on the table before taking a seat, “Now I need each of you to come up to me one at a time so I can determine what kind of Spiritual Root you have.”

Looks of astonishment greeted him.

“We’re doing that now?” his mother asked.

Henry nodded, holding out a hand.

“Tonight’s a good night for it. You’re not cultivators yet, so I’ll be able to assess the Root clearly, especially highlighted by the qi from the Spirit Veined Jade Tea.”

“A lot of this stuff is called Spirit-something,” his sister noted, “Spirit grass, spirit root, spirit tea…” Her brow was furrowed as she moved to be the first in front of him.

Henry looked up as his younger sibling and shrugged while tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah, it’s pretty common,” he responded. “Spirit, Spiritual, that kind of thing. Other words you’re going to hear a lot are,” his eyes flicked back and forth as he thought about it, “Heavenly, Mystical, Profound, Virtuous, Dao, Jade, Immortal, and Supreme.”

Lizabeth still looked confused.

“But, why?” she asked.

While Henry thought over his answer he reached out and took her hand, holding it in both of his.

“Mostly arrogance and vanity,” he stated honestly, “What’s better, passing down an Improved Striking Martial Art or being the creator of the Heavenly Jade Fist of the Virtuous Immortal? Reputation is everything to powerful cultivators, and they get that reputation not by creating something simple and popular, but instead to forge some incredible mountain-shearing technique that only a chosen few can learn.” He held up her hand. “You may feel something when I do this. It won’t hurt, so don’t pull away.”

Henry let his eyes wander as he focus on moving his qi cleanly and precisely. None of them should feel pain from a simple Root check, but a clumsy hand could damage something precious.

Sure enough, she twitched when his qi entered her body, but didn’t pull away.

“A small lesson on qi,” he rambled on, “The foundation of qi control, and thus cultivation as a whole, are just two actions. Push and pull. During training you will pull qi in from your surroundings and push it though your meridians and pathways. Techniques involve pulling your qi out from your internal stores and pushing it into the world to enact your will.”

“Push, pull. Action, reaction. All cultivation, all life, boils down to these two things. Master them, and you master reality itself.”

Achieving the answer he sought, Henry looked up and his sister and smiled.

“You have a Base Spiritual Root with fire as your primary element,” he said positively, “As a fire primary myself I know several quality fire techniques which will certainly help you.”

Competing emotions fought on her face. If Henry had to guess she was happy he’d have techniques for her, but unhappy her root was nothing special.

“Remember this,” he quietly added before she could move to let their parents through, “Effort can make up for a lot. Work harder than anyone else and you’ll become the strongest.”

Finally smiling, she nodded at him and stepped aside.

Henry thought his mother would be next, but she pushed Roger forward.

“Oh no, not me,” Marilynn deflected, “I’m going to be the last one to go.”

Henry shrugged again.

“Makes no difference to me,” he said, jauntily holding both hands up to his father’s greater height.

“Would you kindly give me your hand, Father?” he asked in an accented falsetto. Marilynn and Lizabeth laughed while the father in question looked down at him with an expression that could be charitably compared with a glare, although less harsh. Henry snickered as his father sighed and held out one of his significantly larger hands.

This examination was done more quickly. Even with that, Henry reached into a pocket and withdrew a washrag he’d grabbed before dinner, dabbing at the sweat on his forehead.

“Whew,” he said, breathing out, “Alrighty, these are taking more out of me than I thought they would. You’ve got a Base Root with the primary element of metal. I have...some ideas what I can do to help you specifically, but I’ll need to do some real training to determine that.”

With the solid nature Henry came to expect, Roger simply nodded at the revelation. He then stepped aside and gestured his wife forward.

Marilynn daintily held out a hand for him, covering her smile with her other hand. Shaking his head, Henry took her hand with his and chuckled. This whole situation was rather silly, he supposed.

His examination shook him out of that mentality instantly. Her Root shone out to him as soon as his qi entered hers. His pulse quickened as he tightened his hold on her. Instinctively she tried to pull away from him, but his grip was iron.

Wide-eyed, he met his mother’s gaze, the exertion of three examinations in a row, as well as the agitation he was feeling at that moment, causing him to breathe heavily.

“Wait, what is it?!” Marilynn asked with concern.

Henry wetted his lips, taking a moment to gather himself.

“H-heavenly Spiritual Root of Water,” he said with a mix of awe, excitement, and concern.

“Shit.”