After practicing shifting between templates a few more times, North finally sat down on the bed.

The earlier stress, which had been coiling inside him like a tightly wound spring, suddenly hit all at once, leaving a deep exhaustion settling in his bones. He took a long breath, then slowly exhaled. That was when he noticed it. The dried red stains on his hands, on his shoulder—and worse, on his clothes. His nose scrunched up immediately, and he couldn’t help but swallow a curse.

He had just bought these robes this morning. And by evening, they were already ruined.

For a moment, he just sat there, staring at the dark splotches of blood, debating whether to be frustrated or just accept the tragedy. No need to cry about it… With a resigned sigh, he got up and made his way to the small kitchen. There, he set a pot of water to boil over a wood stove, the flickering fire casting long shadows against the dim walls.

Luckily, his robes were black, so the stains weren’t immediately noticeable, but still—it hurt. It physically pained him to see his newly bought clothes ruined so soon. When the water was hot enough, he carried it to the washroom, grabbing a small wooden bucket and pouring the steaming water inside. Then, he rolled up his sleeves and started scrubbing. It was a tedious, slow process. The plant-based cleaning powder he had picked up earlier foamed slightly when mixed with water, but it was a far cry from detergent. No washing machine, no stain remover—just manual labor.

As he worked, he found himself missing the common luxuries of home.

Even something as simple as baking soda would have made a huge difference. In fact, he needed to check if common chemical substances like that even existed in this world yet. If they didn’t? Well, he wasn’t about to waste time playing ancient world scientist just to make his laundry routine easier. Not now. Not when staying alive took priority. When he had enough power to actually protect himself, when he wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder, then maybe he could indulge in something as trivial as reinventing basic chemistry. For now? He just had to get the damn blood out of his clothes.

After an hour of washing and scrubbing clothes, North sat quietly on the bed, utterly drained. His eyes drifted to the corner where he'd left his market purchases—some manuals and boundary soil still wrapped in their packages, waiting to be used. But his limbs felt too heavy to move, weighted down by the day's events.

Through the window, the bright moon hung in a clear sky. Spring's gentle night seemed to mock the chaos of his situation with its pleasantness. Finally surrendering to exhaustion, North let his body fall back onto the bed. His eyes closed instantly, consciousness slipping into the mercy of sleep.

...

The next day arrived with deceptive peace. His rented house, tucked three streets away from the main road, enjoyed a quiet that would have been pleasant under different circumstances. Without any modern alarms—another comfort he'd taken for granted—North slept well past dawn.

When he finally rolled over, the sun was high enough to fill his room with golden light. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, wincing at the soreness in his muscles. The bed, little more than a wooden frame with a thin mattress, had done his back no favors. Add 'better bed' to the growing list of necessities, he thought, sitting up with a groan.

The next hour became a comedy of errors as he attempted to establish some semblance of normal routine. Washing up meant dealing with a hand water pump and basin instead of modern plumbing. Changing clothes reminded him he needed to buy more—preferably some that would fit both his body. But breakfast proved to be his greatest challenge. Back on Earth, he'd prided himself on his bachelor cooking skills—instant ramen, decent omelets, reliable peanut butter sandwiches. Now he stood before a crude stove, surrounded by unfamiliar ingredients, trying to create something edible.

The results were... disappointing. The bread came out charred on the outside, somehow still doughy within. His attempt at soup contained enough salt to preserve meat for winter. As he choked down his creation, memories of Earth's conveniences hit hard again—his gaming setup, his phone, his microwave. Even his worst 3 AM instant noodles were gourmet compared to this.

I can switch between forms at will, he thought bitterly, but I can't make a decent breakfast. Some Visionary I'm turning out to be.

…

After everything was done, North forced himself to swallow down his disastrous breakfast, his stomach begrudgingly accepting the charred bread and overly salty soup. Food was food. Even if it tasted like suffering. With his stomach full enough to last the day, it was almost time to step outside. But not yet. There were no newspapers in this world, no morning broadcasts, no digital feeds updating the latest events. News traveled through gossip, word of mouth, and unofficial channels.

He needed to find out if Li Yi and Fatty had discovered the body.

Had they tried to hide it?

Had the clan authorities taken action?

Was there an investigation?

Perhaps he would learn everything once he stepped into the city. But for now, he stayed inside. He sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, pulling out the manuals he had bought the previous day in the Festival of the Sessions before everything went chaos.

The Decade Boundary Expansion Soil was on the right, but North resisted the urge to use it immediately. For once, he thought, I should actually read the manual before attempting anything.

He opened "Ten Methods for Imaginary Island Enhancement Through Environmental Optimization," finding himself faced with the author's name in flowing green script: Shouguo Lianghao Jiaoyu, Rank 5 Visionary. The first three pages contained the author's humble commentary about wanting to aid fellow Visionaries in the Southern Wilderness Continent.

The author's writing style proved surprisingly engaging. He approached complex concepts through simple metaphors that even North, with his limited experience, could grasp.

The Imaginary Island wasn't just a space—it was a farm, and the Visionary its farmer.

"Like any farmer must tend their crops with regular water and care," the text read, "a Visionary must nurture their Imaginary Island. Both will reap what they sow."

But it was the section on foundational Images that caught North's full attention. According to Shouguo, a Visionary's first Image was like the first seed planted in virgin soil—it fundamentally altered the entire environment. He provided examples:

* Water-type foundation: Creates natural pools, eventually leading to lakes or oceans

* Fire-type foundation: Warms the soil, potentially creating volcanic features

* Plant-type foundation: Enriches the earth, encouraging natural growth

* Metal-type foundation: Hardens the ground, possibly forming mineral veins

* Concept-type foundation: More abstract changes based on the concept's nature

The text warned against over-specialization."Just as a farmer does not plant the same crop every season, a Visionary should not fill their Imaginary Island with only one type of Image. A healthy balance creates a strong, adaptable environment."

North tapped his fingers against the page, absorbing the information.

For example: Pure water-type Image might create a lake , but at the cost of any solid ground for other developments. Pure fire might turn the Island into an uninhabitable inferno.

Shouguo provided detailed charts showing compatible and conflicting Image types:

* Water nourished Wood but weakened Fire

* Fire strengthened Earth but destroyed Wood

* Metal conducted Lightning but dispersed Wind

* Concept-types varied based on their nature

"However," the text emphasized, "these are guidelines, not laws. Some of the most powerful Visionaries deliberately break these conventions, accepting the difficulties for unique advantages."

North thought about his own situation—a Borrowed Might Image that manifested as flowing water, and now this composite template that could change his very form. How do those interact with my Imaginary Island? What changes have they already caused that I haven't noticed?

He turned the page, finding detailed diagrams of various Imaginary Island configurations. Each showed how different Image combinations could create unique environments—floating islands above seas, crystal forests growing from metallic soil, conceptual spaces that defied normal physics.

I need to understand this properly, he decided. Before I start throwing resources at my Island, I need to know exactly what I'm building toward.

North moved on to the second and third books, which focused on Image care and maintenance. Written by the same author (he was very face in the community), they continued the farming metaphors that made complex concepts digestible. Images weren't just power sources—they were like seeds a farmer planted, each requiring specific care to flourish.

The author explained how an Image's rank affected its potential: higher-ranked Images were like premium seeds, yielding better harvests. Rare Images opened doors beyond mere power—they could attract powerful connections, private contracts, and resources that even Rain coins couldn't buy.

I designed Images as power sources, North thought, but they've become the foundation of an entire economic system. The text detailed practical applications that surprised even him. Sunflowers, for example, couldn't grow in an Imaginary Island's default state due to lack of sunlight. But pair them with a Sunlight Image? Suddenly you had a thriving spirit herb garden. Every Image could transform a barren Island into something unique and valuable.

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To test the theory, North again turned his attention back to his Borrowed Might Image—It was quietly swirling within the small soil bowl where he had placed it. The liquid moved in an endless loop, neither expanding nor contracting, simply maintaining its steady flow. He observed it closely and the surroundings, looking for any changes. Nothing. Perhaps the changes were too subtle to detect right away. Or maybe, as Shouguo’s book had suggested, Images responded to environmental influences over time, like a plant adjusting to new soil. North rubbed his chin, contemplating. It would be reckless to assume instant results. Progression in this world was a process, not a quick-fix system.

He sat back, exhaling. "Maybe it just needs more time," he reasoned, his mind already cataloging what steps to take next. For now, he would wait and observe.

Next, as he opened the catalog he'd bought on impulse, but his confidence faltered as he read. He'd created maybe two or three hundred Images for his game, feeling quite proud of that number. But the catalog contained thousands, each with detailed descriptions of their requirements: Optimal environmental conditions. Feeding schedules and compatible foods. Growth patterns and evolution paths. Compatibility with other Images. Known variations and mutations By afternoon, his head throbbed from information overload. Do they really make students memorize all this? he wondered, imagining children reciting Image types like multiplication tables.

Finally, he turned to the Decade Boundary Expansion Soil. The white, bone-like powder was the lowest grade available—he remembered seeing vendors selling Two-Decade and Three-Decade varieties at higher prices.

Where do they get this stuff? he wondered, examining the powder. Are there Visionaries mass-producing it in their Islands? Or some natural source I never programmed?

After all his reading, one thing was clear: rushing in without proper understanding was a fast way to waste resources—or worse.

North shifted his consciousness into his Imaginary Island, finding the grassy space unchanged since his last visit. What drew his attention was the hole in the ground, filled with softly glowing violet Nether Essence.

The scholar's manual had been particularly detailed about this phenomenon, explaining how Nether Essence represented the accumulation of a person's life experience, soul, and ambitions. Everyone had different quantities based on these fundamental factors.

North studied his pool thoughtfully. It was more than half full, placing him in what the manual called the "acceptable potential" range.

The quantity of Nether Essence, the manual had explained, played a crucial role in determining a Visionary's potential. Those with barely a liter were considered failed talents, unlikely to ever progress beyond Rank 1. The relationship worked both ways—Imaginary Islands generated Nether Essence, and Nether Essence in turn helped Imaginary Islands grow. It was a cycle of power feeding power.

According to the texts, the measurements for Rank 1 potential were precisely calculated.

* 1 Liter: Minimal talent, likely stuck at Rank 1, (Not Future)

* 2-3 Liters: Low potential, difficult progression, (Barely Acceptable)

* 4-6 Liters: Average talent, some growth possible, (Somewhat Chance)

* 7-9 Liters: Above average, good advancement speed, (Real Promise)

* 10-12 Liters: Premium talent, rapid advancement, represented the highest grade of Imaginary Island possible at Rank 1.

When a Visionary finally broke through to Rank 2, both their Island's size and its ability to produce Nether Essence increased dramatically. This led to even more Images under their control and longer durations of power usage. Studying his own pool, North estimated his Island's capacity at around seven liters of Nether Essence. It wasn't terrible, but it wasn't particularly impressive either. And the implications were sobering.

At this capacity, natural progression without any outside resources would take: Rank 2: 5-7 years with steady advancement, Rank 3: 15-20 years of dedicated practice, Rank 4: Barely possible to achieve by late life, Rank 5: Virtually impossible through any means. The manual suggested he shouldn't even entertain such thoughts.

The manual also stressed that these were natural progression rates. Extraordinary encounters, special resources, or unique opportunities could accelerate growth. But the base capacity of one's Nether Essence pool set hard limits on what was possible without external intervention. North watched the violet liquid ripple in its pool. Seven liters meant he wasn't hopeless, but also wasn't destined for greatness. How ironic that he, the world's creator, had manifested with merely above-average potential.

…

“Let’s first try to reach Rank 3 and then worry about the rest.” North consoled himself.

Finally pushing aside his latest setback—it seemed every six hours brought him a new crisis—North focused on measuring his Imaginary Island.

And the final space measured exactly 25 square meters, enough room to move around but hardly impressive. With methodical care, he began spreading the Decade Boundary Expansion Soil across the grass. The hawker's words echoed in his mind: it would take nearly a day for the soil to be fully absorbed and the changes to manifest. With time to kill, he exited his imaginary space.

Back in the physical world, North examined his young master robes with disappointment. Just one washing had stripped them of their luster, the fabric already showing signs of wear. Cheap materials trying to look expensive, he thought sourly.

Another lesson in this world—spend wisely on quality or waste money repeatedly on appearances.

…

The clothing store's bell chimed as he entered, determined to build a proper wardrobe. The young master selections were straightforward enough—he selected a dozen different robes of varying styles and genuine quality. But then came the awkward part. Women's clothing occupied the store's other half, and the prices made him wince. Each piece cost significantly more than its male counterpart, the materials finer and more intricate. The young ladies manning the store watched him with poorly concealed interest as he browsed through feminine attire. Their whispers weren't quite quiet enough:

"A young master shopping for women's clothes..."

"Maybe he has... unique tastes? Don't judge."

"Should we offer to help him?"

North's face burned as he selected three dresses similar to Yue Linxi's style. The Tragic Beauty template had shaped his alternate form to match her proportions exactly, though thankfully with his own facial features. If I'm going to play the role of a jade beauty, he reasoned, I can't do it in male robes. The pile at the counter grew embarrassingly large: undergarments, jewelry, accessories, and all the mysterious items that apparently went into creating a proper feminine appearance. Thirty Nether coins vanished into the transaction, making his wallet significantly lighter.

"It's for my wife," he blurted out as the young lady processed his payment. "She's been ill and can’t walk. But she likes to wear new things."

"Oh!" The lady behind the counter expression softened immediately. "You're a thoughtful husband. There aren't many of those left in this world." Something in her voice carried old pain, making North hurry to finish the transaction. She even returned two Nether coins as a discount.

He practically fled the store, packages clutched to his chest. Why couldn't templates come with their own wardrobes? he wondered. Or at least let me go commando in either form?

After depositing his purchases at home and changing into a fresh set of properly expensive robes, North steeled himself for his next task. The City Power Ranking Pavilion awaited, and he needed to understand exactly what he was getting into before making any moves.

At least buying clothes only hurt my pride and wallet, he thought grimly. The Ranking Pavilion might hurt a lot more than that.

North stepped back onto the streets, his legs already protesting. In just two days, he'd walked more than an entire month back on Earth, and his body was making its complaints known. The Power Ranking Pavilion wasn't far—just thirty minutes on foot—but every step reminded him how sedentary his previous life had been.

He cast longing glances at the spirit beast transport stations he passed. Giant toads waited patiently for passengers, their warty skin gleaming with spiritual energy. The fare was reasonable—one Nether coin could take you anywhere within the inner city. He watched as a young disciple leaped onto a toad's back, laughing with delight as the beast launched them both high into the air. Soon, he promised himself, patting his coin purse. If he could win even one match at the Power Rankings, he'd treat himself to a ride. The thought of soaring above the city on toad-back, feeling that momentary freedom... it was good motivation.

The Power Ranking Pavilion finally came into view—a massive structure that somehow managed to look both imposing and inviting. Visionaries streamed in and out continuously, some looking triumphant, others nursing wounds and wounded pride.

North observed the traffic patterns as he approached. People in pristine robes entered confidently through the main doors. Those who looked less certain used side entrances. Servants and message runners darted in and out of smaller doors, carrying news of victories and defeats to waiting patrons. The main hall opened before him, grand and echoing with the laughs and shouts. Matches must have been ongoing somewhere inside—occasional tremors shook the floor, and the air was filled with noises.

North approached the nearest clerk, maintaining his young master bearing. The man's eyes flicked over North's expensive robes, making a quick assessment of his status and worth.

"I'd like to take part in the rankings," North spoke with practiced calm, channeling his young master persona.

The clerk didn't even look up from his papers. "Is this your first time?"

"Yes."

"What Rank are you?"

"Rank 1."

The scratch of brush on paper filled the brief silence. North noticed how the clerk's eyes flicked to his chest, searching for a clan insignia—those carved tokens that served as both identification and rank proof for official clan members. Finding none, he simply recorded North's verbal declaration.

The clerk pushed forward a densely written document. North began reading, his eyebrows rising with each clause. The prohibition against killing seemed reasonable enough, until he reached the exception clause: both parties could agree to a life-and-death duel by mutual consent.

Who would actually sign up for that? North wondered. It's literally agreeing to your own potential death.

The document grew more ominous as it continued. Loss of limbs? Not their problem. Permanent, non-reversible damage? Visionaries' own responsibility. The bold phrase "FORBIDS ANY THOUGHTS OF GRUDGE & REVENGE AGAINST THE ORGANIZATION" stood out in stark black characters, practically shouting from the page.

North clicked his tongue, suppressing a chuckle. Even in a world of immortal cultivation, bureaucracy and liability waivers reign supreme. Some things never change.

The registration fee cost him five Nether coins. As he watched them disappear into the clerk's collection box, he wondered if he was paying for the privilege of losing an arm or just the paperwork to make it official. The jade token he received in return felt too light for something that might cost him so much. Beyond the inner doors, the sounds of combat echoed through the halls. Someone was already testing their luck in the arena. Soon enough, it would be his turn to do the same.

At least they're honest about the dangers, he thought. Even if they're charging us for the privilege of facing them.