The original owner traveled across the many cities and towns of the Dali Mortal Country, his heart filled with excitement and his stomach with the finest foods he could afford. Although his pockets weren’t deep, he couldn’t resist indulging in the delicate local delicacies wherever he stopped.

In one city, the bustling riverside town of Lishui, he sat at a street-side food stall and wolfed down bowls of fragrant rice topped with crispy roasted duck glazed in sweet plum sauce. The chef even gave him a free bowl of herbal soup, claiming it was to thank an "Immortal Master" for blessing the town with his presence. Jiang Cheng, of course, kept his act going, nodding solemnly and saying, “You are welcome. A cultivator like me must uphold justice wherever I go.” Meanwhile, the real Jiang Cheng mocked him mercilessly in his mind. Justice? You’re just here for free food,

aren’t you?

In another lively trade hub called Qinghe City, he found himself marveling at the towering wooden bridges built over shimmering rivers. The markets here sold exotic wares, from glittering gemstones to fragrant medicinal herbs, and even some low-grade talismans and artifacts that casual cultivators could afford. The original Jiang Cheng had nearly cried laughing as the owner bought a suspicious-looking "spiritual talisman" for two spirit stones, only to find out later it was just a decorative piece of painted bark.

Along his journey, he made friends among the martial artists of the rivers and lakes—wandering swordsmen, mercenaries, and even a few petty thieves. These men and women admired his "mystical aura" and the vague yet grand way he spoke about cultivation. Over drinks in a dimly lit tavern in Fangyuan City,

The memory was absolutely priceless, a scene so ridiculous that Jiang Cheng almost fell off his bed laughing. It happened when the original owner was still a beginner, having barely reached the first level of Qi Refining. Back then, he had just started his journey and was already brimming with misplaced confidence, strutting around with his rusty sword like he was a celestial being descending to grace the mortal world.

One day, while passing through a bustling market square, he had joined a group of young swordsmen gathered around a street performance. They had been chatting about cultivation, martial arts, and daring adventures. Spotting the original owner’s tattered robes and slightly disheveled but “mysterious” appearance, one bold young swordsman couldn’t help but approach. Bowing respectfully, he asked, “Immortal Master, what realm have you reached?”

The original owner froze for a moment. A drop of cold sweat slid down his back. He was only at the first level of Qi Refining—not even strong enough to intimidate a group of angry chickens, let alone look like an "Immortal Master." But his pride couldn’t allow him to admit it. After all, he had just been enjoying the admiration of the crowd, and to reveal his real cultivation level would shatter the illusion entirely.

So, with the smooth confidence of a professional liar, he straightened his back, stroked his chin as if he were contemplating the mysteries of the cosmos, and said, “Oh, my realm? It’s not something mortals can easily comprehend.” He clasped his hands behind his back, tilted his head slightly to the sky, and added in a calm yet condescending tone, “But if you must know, I’ve just broken through to the… uh, eighth level of Qi Refining.”

Jiang Cheng, witnessing this memory, burst out laughing. *Eighth level of Qi Refining?! You’re barely out of the starting gate, and you’ve already promoted yourself seven levels?* He couldn’t believe how shameless the original owner was.

The young swordsman’s eyes widened in awe. “The eighth level?!” he exclaimed. “That’s incredible! No wonder you carry yourself with such confidence. Truly, an immortal among mortals!”

The original owner, emboldened by the flattery, waved his hand dismissively as though such praise was beneath him. “It’s nothing, really,” he said, his face as serene as an ancient sage, even though his heart was pounding like a war drum. “Cultivation is merely a path of perseverance. You too can achieve this level if you work hard… and have a bit of luck.”

The surrounding swordsmen nodded solemnly, completely buying into the act. “Immortal Master, you are truly an inspiration!”

The scene grew even more ridiculous when one of them begged him to demonstrate a divine technique. The original owner, panicking internally, quickly made an excuse. “Ah, unfortunately, this humble one’s divine arts are too profound for ordinary eyes. If I were to display them here, I fear it might disrupt the balance of the surrounding spiritual energy.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Jiang Cheng was dying at this point. *Disrupt the balance of spiritual energy? You’d be lucky to light a candle with the Qi in your body!*

As the original owner made a hasty escape, still basking in their praises, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, clearly thinking he had just pulled off the greatest performance of his life. Jiang Cheng, however, was laughing for entirely different reasons. *If shamelessness were a cultivation technique, this guy would’ve been a Grandmaster by now.

And while he was exploring the many cities of Dali, marveling at the scenery and savoring fine delicacies, he inevitably found his way into several brothels, justifying it in the most laughable way possible.

“Even cultivators must comprehend the myriad facets of human experience,” he had declared confidently the first time he crossed the red lantern-lit threshold of a high-end brothel in Lishui. Jiang Cheng, observing through his memories, nearly choked. Oh, so this is about comprehension, huh? You’re studying the Dao of Poor Decisions, I see.

The original owner always went in with a self-righteous air, pretending to pity the "poor, unfortunate girls" who worked in such places. “How tragic,” he’d murmur dramatically to himself, shaking his head as if mourning their plight. But within minutes of sitting down, he was grinning ear to ear, surrounded by a group of beautiful women pouring wine, laughing at his stories, and complimenting his “handsome” face and “otherworldly” bearing.

Jiang Cheng had to admit, though the original owner’s face was passable (his body did have an 90 point charm, after all), his tattered robes and secondhand sword weren’t exactly screaming "Immortal Master." Yet, to the brothel girls, he was a rare catch—an "immortal cultivator," even if he was barely hanging onto the first level of Qi Refining. And the original owner ate it all up, puffing out his chest with pride as if he were a revered elder of a major sect.

There was one particularly ridiculous moment in a brothel in Yanzhou City, where the girls referred to him as “Immortal Hero” after he bought a round of drinks for everyone. One of the younger women asked, “Immortal Master, what divine arts have you learned?”

The original owner coughed, stroked his chin thoughtfully (as if he even had a beard), and replied, “Ah, the arts I practice… are too profound for mortals to comprehend. But worry not, fair maidens! My path is one of righteousness.” Jiang Cheng couldn’t stop laughing as he watched the memory unfold. The only “path” you’re on right now is the one to bankruptcy, my guy.

Ah, the original owner’s visits to the brothels—those moments were both hilarious and baffling, leaving Jiang Cheng shaking his head in disbelief. The man truly thought of himself as some celestial benefactor, descending from the heavens to bless these poor girls with his "magnificent" presence. Every time he entered one of these establishments, he carried himself with the air of a saint on a divine mission.

Clad in his tattered, low-grade robe that barely made him look respectable, let alone immortal, he would walk in with his head high and a “serene” expression, as if he were gracing the establishment with something holy. In reality, the sight of him often caused the girls to exchange amused glances, trying not to giggle at this "immortal master" who smelled faintly of sweat and dust after his long travels.

“Ah, my presence here today is no coincidence,” he would say, stroking his chin as if he were solving the mysteries of the universe. “Fate must have brought me here to bring light to your lives. I am but a humble cultivator, here to share the blessings of my celestial Qi with you.”

The poor girls, trained to entertain even the most eccentric of customers, would nod enthusiastically. “Yes, Immortal Master,” they’d say, their voices dripping with fake reverence. “We are so honored that someone of your stature would grace us with your presence.”

Jiang Cheng, witnessing this memory, nearly fell over laughing. *Blessings? You’re barely able to bless yourself with a proper bath, let alone anyone else!*

As if things couldn’t get worse, the original owner would adopt an air of self-sacrifice, as if visiting these brothels was a noble act on his part. “Ah,” he’d sigh dramatically, “it pains me to see such beauty trapped in such a cruel world. But worry not—your Immortal Master is here. My presence will surely brighten your spirits.”

To make things even more absurd, he genuinely believed the girls were in awe of his “handsome and majestic” demeanor, despite the fact that his robes were patched in places, and his cultivation aura was weaker than the local tea merchant’s. He would sit there, pretending to be aloof, while the girls entertained him.

One particular scene left Jiang Cheng howling. The original owner had leaned back in his chair, waving his hand dismissively at a group of young women. “No need to thank me,” he said, even though no one had thanked him. “Your Immortal Master’s heart is broad and compassionate. I cannot bear to see suffering in this world. Consider my presence here today a gift.”

Jiang Cheng wiped tears from his eyes, laughing so hard his sides hurt. *Gift?! The only gift you’re giving them is a good story to laugh about later!*

The funniest part? The original owner was convinced he was leaving a lasting impression on the hearts of these women, believing they would remember him as a mysterious, otherworldly figure long after he left. In reality, they probably remembered him as “that weird, broke cultivator who couldn’t stop talking about his own greatness.”

The most absurd incident happened in Fangyuan City. The original owner had spent the evening enjoying the company of two charming sisters who worked in the brothel, basking in their praises and even reciting a few lines of poetry he’d stolen from some cheap book. As he was leaving, still drunk on compliments, he turned back dramatically and said, “If anyone dares to bully you, just shout my name—Jiang Cheng! I’ll appear like the wind and strike them down!”

Still, it wasn’t all just a joke. The girls seemed genuinely fond of the original owner, not because of his cultivation or his boasting, but because he treated them with kindness and respect. For all his foolishness, he never acted arrogantly or mistreated anyone. He had a way of bringing laughter wherever he went, even if it was often at his own expense.