The air crackled with a residue of stray Qi, a faint hum buzzing in my ears. Thankfully, it seemed my attempt at a cultivation lobotomy hadn't completely backfired. My meridians might be screaming in protest, but at least I hadn't spontaneously combusted into a cloud of glitter and regret.
Small victories, right?
Except the terrified maid staring at me with wide, panicked eyes was a stark reminder that "not exploding" was a pretty low bar for success in this world.
Her gaze darted between my contorted hand, still faintly glowing, and my face, as if trying to reconcile the image of harmless, good-for-nothing Jang Ku with whatever demonic entity she clearly thought had taken up residence in my body.
"I can totally explain," I blurted out, my voice cracking like a poorly tuned instrument that had friggin' snapped!
Why? Why did those words leave my mouth? Did I think a logical explanation would somehow soothe the situation? This wasn't some misunderstanding over a misplaced teacup. This was a world where people shot fireballs and moved mountains with a flick of their wrists. Explaining that my soul had been yoinked from another dimension and stuffed into the body of a cultivation delinquent wasn't exactly going to inspire calm reassurance- and it also made me look even more suspicious even if I said nothing!
As if to prove my point, the maid shrieked, a shrill, ear-splitting sound that would've made my old sound engineer proud. She scrambled back, tripping over her own feet in her haste to get as far away from me as possible.
"Help! Heavenly Demon! Young Master Jang Ku has been possessed by a Heavenly Demon!"
My stomach plummeted to my custom-made sneakers, which, by the way, were utterly useless in this situation. "Heavenly Demon"? Was that what they were calling identity theft these days?
This was bad. This was very, very bad.
If a simple maid reacted this way, I couldn't begin to imagine what my family, or worse, those creepy hooded guards who always seemed to lurk in the shadows, would do. They probably had techniques specifically designed for exorcising demonic DJs from the bodies of their useless sons.
I had to get out of here. Now.
Frantically, I dug through the junkyard of Jang Ku's memories, searching for anything remotely useful. I stumbled upon a technique, something about disguising one's appearance. Except it was so basic, so utterly pathetic, that it made my attempts at cooking ramen in college look like Michelin-star cuisine.
I needed something stronger. Something that could mask my Qi signature, my appearance, maybe even my scent. Something that would make me invisible to these cultivation crazies long enough for me to figure out a plan.
I needed an escape, a miracle, a—
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The world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of colors, the opulent chamber of Jang Ku's room melting like a picasso painting drank an entire bottle of absinthe. My stomach lurched, not from fear anymore, but from some bizarre, internal centrifuge set on high spin.
My hand, still frozen in that ridiculous five-fingered salute, felt like it was stuffed with cotton candy instead of bones. And then, as if directed by a deranged puppeteer, it plunged into…nothingness.
A beat of silence, then a triumphant, "Ha! Found it!" echoed in my mind, a voice strangely my own, yet distorted, as if filtered through a bag of autotuned rocks.
My fingers brushed against something cool and smooth. I pulled it out of… wherever it came from. A notebook, bound in what looked like what I thoughts dragon hide would like in an awesome dream, materialized in my hand. It throbbed with a faint, violet light.
My vision swam. For a fleeting moment, I saw my reflection in the polished surface of the notebook that wasn't reflective a second ago, but instead of my face, a grotesquely distorted bird-beak stared back, feathers sprouting from my cheeks.
"Gotta write it down, gotta write it down…" the voice in my head chanted, a manic urgency in its tone as the bird-face opened up and pretended speaking was natural.
As my bird-body separated from the blank thing I had left behind, I was airborne.
Not soaring gracefully, mind you, but flapping my newly acquired, and deeply unwelcome, wings with all the coordination of a drunken goose. The notebook, clutched in one feathery appendage, flapped wildly, pages rustling like a frantic heartbeat.
Scenery whizzed by in a dizzying blur. Lush bamboo forests gave way to towering, pagoda-laden mountains, then shifted again to a cityscape that looked like a cyberpunk fever dream mixed with a Chinese taco bell, how is that even possible! What even is my brain right now?!
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Behind me, I heard the distinct clang of metal on metal and a gruff voice bellowing, "Not so fast, you feathered fiend! Return the Sacred Scroll of Nasal Hair Braiding before I unleash the fury of a thousand sneezing monks!" followed by chanting things that were probably satanic to a tune of holy goddamn hymns!
Sacred Scroll of what?! Was that supposed to be me?! Did I steal something?! And why was sneezing considered a tactical advantage?!
I didn't have time to ponder these existential questions because the world decided to play a game of cosmic Tetris.
First, I was eight perfectly sliced pieces of pepperoni pizza, hurtling through the void. Each slice had a tiny, terrified face, screaming in unison, "We're too young to be toppings!"
Then, with a nauseating lurch, I was a propeller, spinning wildly, but utterly lacking a plane, or indeed, any sense of direction. A high-pitched voice, tinged with hysteria, shrieked from somewhere within the spinning metal, "Where's the manual?! Return the manual! How do you fly this thing? I'm getting dizzy!"
All the while, the chase continued.
A pack of snarling, vaguely canine creatures with glowing red eyes materialized from thin air, nipping at my heels (or whatever passed for heels in my current state). Their leader, a hulking brute with more teeth than seemed strictly necessary, barked, "Halt, thief! You cannot escape the wrath of the Fluffy Butts! We are sworn protectors of the Sacred Spatula of Doom! Bitch can't cook!"
"Seriously?" a disembodied voice groaned nearby. "The Spatula of Doom? Who comes up with this stuff?"
Another voice, this one smooth and menacing, purred, "Give it up, little bird. You can't outrun destiny. Especially not when you smell like a mix of desperation and bad life choices."
"COURTING DEATH'S AFTER-PARTY! Sign my stolen autograph, bro!" Another voice mixed with mine spoke as the feeling of twirling into outer space continued.
I landed flat on the ground, skipping the re-entry portion of the landing entirely!
I caught a glimpse of a figure wreathed in shadows, its eyes glowing with an eerie, emerald light. It moved with an unsettling grace, gliding through the space-air as effortlessly as I tripped over my own shoelaces in a previous life as I tried to stand and forgot I was wearing cultivation shoes that were slip-on shoes!
The figure approached, lowered its hood, revealing a taco with a mouth. “Moo.” it spoke, nodded, and walked away.
The scenery continued to shift, each transition more bizarre than the last. I was a sentient bonsai tree, arguing philosophy with a talking rock. I was a pair of enchanted slippers, tap-dancing my way through a field of singing mushrooms as other mushrooms clapped and cheered. I was…well, you get the idea, shit-cray!
And through it all, that voice in my head kept muttering, scribbling furiously in the notebook.
Finally, as abruptly as it began, the chaos ceased.
I found myself sprawled on the cold, hard ground, the notebook still clutched tightly in my hand. The violet light had faded, the pages now filled with what looked like gibberish written in a language I didn't recognize.
I lay there for a moment, chest heaving, trying to make sense of what had just transpired.
"Did…did we lose them?" I croaked, my voice hoarse.
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My eyes flickered open, met by the harsh glare of the morning sun. My head throbbed with a dull ache, a familiar sensation after a long night—except this time, I couldn’t blame it on tequila shots and questionable decision making.
Sitting up, I realized I was sprawled in the middle of what looked like a deserted marketplace. Stalls were shuttered, cobblestones slick with dew, and the only sound was the distant caw of a bird that sounded suspiciously like it was mocking my predicament.
“Well, that was… weird,” I mumbled, rubbing my gritty eyes.
The last thing I remembered was that kaleidoscope of color, the feeling of my body contorting in ways that defied both anatomy and good taste. Then… nothing. A blissful blackout, thankfully free of the usual post-party shame spiral.
Except now, judging by the faint but steady thrum of Qi coursing through my meridians, a whole lot of something had happened while I was out. My cultivation, which I’d so gracefully tried to dismantle earlier, was now humming along at the 1st level of Meridian Forging. It was like someone had taken a rusty wrench to a broken engine and somehow managed to hotwire the damn thing.
A flash of a memory, hazy and surreal, flickered through my mind. Me, or at least this body, contorting its face, channeling Qi in a way that seemed both instinctive and utterly insane.
“Kong Di Qing, was it?” a cheerful voice chirped from behind me.
I spun around, startled, to see a young man, barely older than Jang Ku's memories, told me I was, grinning down at me. He wore simple, travel-stained robes and had an air of easy confidence that screamed “Experienced Cultivator.”
"Hope we'll have a party like this another time!" He chuckled, giving a jaunty wave before leaping onto a nearby rooftop. With a flick of his wrist, he vanished in a blur of motion, leaving me staring after him, utterly bewildered.
“Uh- right. Another time,” I mumbled to the empty marketplace.
Apparently, ‘Kong Di Qing’ was this body’s new party trick – an alias, a persona that emerged during those psychedelic cultivation upgrades. And based on that guy’s casual demeanor, ‘Kong Di Qing’ threw one hell of a rager.
I approached a puddle, peering at my reflection. My face, once the spitting image of Jang Ku's arrogant sneer, was now… different. A bit more angular, the eyes slightly more almond-shaped. Subtle, but enough to make me less recognizable.
A wave of relief washed over me. Whatever else those chaotic trips accomplished, at least I looked less like a walking "Wanted" poster.
I remembered the notebook, the one that had materialized from thin air. Pulling it out, I flipped it open.
There, written in my own handwriting, in English no less, was a detailed description of a cultivation technique titled: "The Unremarkable Facade: A Guide to Blending In (Mostly and like a sexy beast!)."
It was a variation on the pitiful disguise technique I'd stumbled upon in Jang Ku's memories, but amplified, refined, and annotated with notes that made my engineer brain sing.
"Well, well, well," I muttered, a slow grin spreading across my face. "Looks like 'Kong Di Qing' has a knack for fixing shit.”
Let's go, Qing Kong!
For the first time since arriving in this crazy, cultivation-obsessed world, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, I could survive this dumpster fire after all.