The bell above the door jingled a welcome as I stepped inside, the scent of powdered jade and pungent herbs hitting me like a wall. It wasn't unpleasant, exactly, just- intense. Like someone had bottled the essence of a thousand herbal tea bags and decided to unleash them all at once in smell-form. It figured that even the air in a cultivation shop world would be extra.

The alchemy shop was smaller than I expected, crammed with shelves overflowing with jars, vials, and oddly shaped tools that wouldn't have looked out of place in a medieval torture chamber. A haze of smoke, tinged with a faint, almost ethereal green, wafted from the back of the shop, where a massive bronze cauldron bubbled ominously over a roaring fire.

Jang Ku's memories, disgusting and obnoxious as they were, had at least taught me that much: alchemists dealt in pills, not potions.Those were for herbalists and the other thing that seemed like hedge witches- whatever the equivalent was in this world. Alchemical pills, on the other hand, were serious business – concentrated bursts of Qi and medicinal properties that could mean the difference between a breakthrough and a cultivation meltdown.

Which, considering my recent track record, was exactly what I needed. I had five hours, give or take a cosmic hiccup that is responsible for what 99% of experts agree to be a trip and a half, to replenish my Qi reserves and figure out my next move.

“Excuse me, great sir?” I called out, hoping my voice didn’t betray the tremor of anxiety running through me.

No response.

The only sound was the steady bubbling of the cauldron and the crackle of the fire, like a dragon clearing its throat after a particularly spicy meal.

I cautiously approached the cauldron, my hand instinctively hovering over the notebook tucked inside my robes. Just in case I needed to whip up a diversionary explosion or something equally impractical but impressive.

Yeah, right.

The green smoke swirled as I got closer, revealing a figure hunched over the cauldron, their back to me. They were fiddling with an intricate network of pipes and valves that snaked around the cauldron's base, muttering to themselves in a low voice.

The alchemist, I presumed. Though with the amount of smoke and strange noises emanating from this place, they could just as easily be a retired stage magician with a penchant for theatrics.

Time to work on those social skills, Kong Di Qing.

"Excuse me, alchemist sir!" I tried again, injecting as much polite curiosity into my voice as possible.

And while I’m at it, work on getting a map, a bunch of other stuff for getting out of dodge, and maybe a self-help book on 'How to Survive Transmigration When the Universe Hates You.' But I figured I'd start with the essentials.

A loud clang, like a gong being struck by an angry blacksmith, reverberated through the shop. I yelped, leaping back as a hand, seemingly out of nowhere, slammed onto the lip of the cauldron.

The bubbling subsided instantly, the green smoke parting to reveal a man, seemingly middle-aged, with eyes that glowed with an unsettling, golden light. He didn't seem surprised to see me, which either meant he was incredibly perceptive, or I was even worse at noticing my surroundings than I thought.

With a flick of his wrist, the alchemist, because who else would be yanking things out of bubbling cauldrons at this exact moment and circumstance, snatched something from mid-air – a small, pulsating sphere of that same ethereal green light. It made a sound of things rolling down a surface as it vanished into a crystal vial with a repeated tac tac tac sound, the stopper then sealed shut as if by magic. Or maybe just really good craftsmanship.

“What can I do for you, Junior?” he asked, his voice surprisingly mild considering he'd just pulled off a magic trick that would make David Copperfield and the entire cast of Penn and Teller’s new show, weep with envy.

I fumbled for words, my carefully rehearsed greeting dissolving into a nervous stammer. This guy was radiating power like a supernova – the kind of power that could probably turn a wannabe escape artist into a cloud of vaguely musical vapor with a snap of his fingers.

Thankfully, my traitorously heroic mouth decided to take charge.

“Senior, this junior would appreciate the ability to purchase some Qi restoration pills,” I choked out, the words tumbling out in a torrent of overly formal courtesy, thanks to the helpful influence of my new-and-improved disguise technique. “I would prefer they be as pure as possible, as for my new technique’s foundation to remain as pristine as in which it was planted.”

Where the hell did that come from? I sounded like a walking fortune cookie, all cryptic pronouncements and flowery metaphors.

The alchemist raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement dancing in those unsettling golden eyes. "Indeed, Junior. That would be expensive. Are you sure you can afford such a thing?"

My heart sank faster than a lead balloon in a wind tunnel. Expensive? How expensive were we talking here? All I had was a handful of imaginary crumpled bills from my last gig at the club when I used to do those gigs and wasn’t invited to do massive concerts- and a vague sense that those wouldn't get me very far in a world where people used enchanted cauldrons to brew their morning pick-me-up.

As if on cue, I remembered the ring on my finger. Not one of my usual statement pieces, mind you, but a simple, silver-looking band that hummed with a faint energy. Jang Ku's storage ring.

My mind brushed against it, accessing the memories associated with the ring, and a wave of relief washed over me. It was a mess in there, like a hoarder's paradise for a spoiled teenager with more money than sense. But amidst the mountains of gold, silver were jeweled swords and other useless fancy junk. there was enough currency to make even a seasoned alchemist take notice.

"I indeed do believe I can," I heard myself say, my voice dripping with a confidence I definitely didn't feel.

Hell yeah, I did indeed do. I was just as goddamn rich now as I was before I got here.

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I staggered out of the alchemy shop, my arms laden with books, a cauldron that looked suspiciously like it might have once belonged to a particularly stylish witch, and a pouch considerably lighter than it had been just moments before.

“A good deal, he said,” I muttered under my breath, eyeing the haul with a mix of apprehension and begrudging respect for Jang Ku’s inner bargain hunter. ‘Those better be some damn good Qi restoration pills, because I just blew through my entire previous life’s savings worth of precious metals on enough reading material to put a scholar to shame and a drug addict to ask if I was sure I wanted those.’

Still, the alchemist – whose name, I’d managed to glean, was something like ‘Master Alchemist Huo’ or possibly his god-given alias ‘Dude With Glowing Eyes Who Could Probably Turn Me Into a Toad with a look’ – had been surprisingly amenable to my, admittedly bizarre, requests.

The book on alchemy, a weighty tome bound in what felt suspiciously like dragon hide, might as well have been written in a language invented by a committee of drunk squirrels. The herbalism guide, while slightly more comprehensible, mostly just made me miss my old garden back in LA. But the pills? Those, at least, I recognized.

I popped one into my mouth, savoring the cool, minty sensation as it dissolved on my tongue. A jolt of pure Qi surged through me, like downing a triple-shot espresso made with unicorn tears.

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. But it was definitely doing something, and right now, I’d take any advantage I could get.

Across the street, nestled between a butcher shop that seemed to specialize in creatures with too many eyes, and a teahouse emanating the aroma of suspiciously potent herbs, was a bookstore. My haven, my sanctuary, my potential source of much-needed information in this crazy, cultivation-crazed world.

I’d gleaned enough from Jang Ku's memories to know that libraries were rare outside of major cities, and even then, access wasn’t free. But a bookstore? That was a goldmine waiting to be plundered.

I shoved my purchases into the storage ring and entered.

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

An hour and a considerably lighter pouch later, I emerged, arms laden with scrolls, maps, and enough general knowledge tomes to make my head spin. My inner bookworm was doing a victory dance, while my practical side was wondering if spending this much money was wise.

I’d just managed to stuff the regional map- hand-drawn, thankfully, and surprisingly accurate- into my already overflowing spatial ring when a shadow fell over me.

“Well, well, well,” a voice snarled, dripping with a malice that would make a viper proud. “Look who crawled out from under their rock. And without your little bodyguard this time.”

I looked up to find a young man, his face contorted in a sneer that would make even Jang Ku proud, barring my way. He was taller than me, built like a brick outhouse, and radiating an aura of barely contained aggression – the kind that usually meant trouble with a capital ‘T’ and a side order of bruised ribs.

“That expert isn’t here to save you now, bastard!” he spat, his hand hovering near the hilt of a curved sword that glinted ominously in the morning light. He was a fourth-level Meridian Forging cultivator, a stark reminder that even in my temporary, upgraded state, I was still very much out of my depth.

“I don’t care if you started the party and are under Jun Li’s protection,” he continued, his voice laced with a venomous glee. “He isn’t here now!”

The words slipped out before I could even process the thought, propelled by a surge of reckless bravado that was either a side effect of the Qi pills or the growing sense of absurdity that seemed to follow me like a stray melody.

"And who, pray tell," I drawled, tilting my head slightly and channeling every ounce of arrogant disdain Jang Ku's memories could muster, "the fuck are you?"

It wasn't the most diplomatic response, especially considering the whole 'outmatched and outgunned' situation I was currently navigating. But something about the guy's smug expression, the way he seemed to relish my obvious discomfort, ignited a spark of defiance in my soul.

It was like that old saying: If you're going down, go down swinging. Or, in my case, with a well-placed insult delivered in the most impeccably polite tone I could manage.

The translation system, bless its little heart, seemed to agree. The timer on my disguise technique, which had been ticking down with alarming speed, suddenly went haywire. I felt a surge of replenished Qi, the six-hour limit momentarily replaced by a glorious, full tank of energy that would last a full day as I shoved a pill into my mouth.

Twenty-four hours. I could practically hear the angelic chorus singing.

Then, just as quickly, the timer recalibrated, settling at twenty-three hours. Apparently, even the universe believed in window shopping penalties.

The scowling cultivator, however, seemed less than impressed by my impeccable manners- or perhaps my lack thereof. His eyes narrowed to slits, and the hand on his sword hilt tightened.

The asshole who was about to kill me interrupted my overview.

The thoughts of my Qi-caffiene levels over the course of the time before and after the pill’s consumption was interrupted by mr. angry 4th level jerkbag over here.

"You…" he sputtered, his face turning a rather charming shade of puce. "You dare mock me? You pathetic waste of—"

I don't think I have time to think about the effects of pearl-shaped energy supplements anymore.

Internally, I was having a full-blown meltdown.

Okay, Kong Di Qing, what the hell was that? my inner voice shrieked. Playing it cool is one thing, but antagonizing someone who can probably turn you into a human pretzel is just plain stupid!

It’s the disguise, another part of me argued. It’s messing with my head. Making me say things I don't mean…

Or maybe, a third, more cynical voice chimed in, you're just a magnet for trouble, even in another dimension.

Yeah, that sounded about right.

The world tilted as my face seemingly decided to do a spontaneous combustion party-, my carefully crafted composure shattering like a dropped teacup- and my nose followed suit. One moment I was riding the high of reckless bravado, the next I was face-down in the cobblestones, the taste of dirt a surprisingly accurate representation of my current situation.

Pain, sharp and immediate, radiated from every point of impact as the cultivator’s blows rained down on me. Each strike hurt like shit-canned-essence-of-pain. Apparently this was evidence of the fact that in the grand hierarchy of ‘things not to do in a cultivation world,’ pissing off someone with significantly more Qi, power, and higher level than you ranked somewhere between 'publicly denouncing the existence of the Dao' and 'trying to pet a five-headed hydra with a first level of the Qi Forging realm cultivation.'

“Next time you call me a ‘liver-less ant without the knowledge of what a mountain is, let alone if Mt. Tai even existed,’” the cultivator roared, punctuating each word with a particularly vicious kick, “I might actually kill you!”

Right. Because 'accidental existential insult was actually totally accidental, really.' was totally a valid defense in a world where people could probably sneeze fire and split atoms with their pinky fingers. Not even gonna try.

I curled into a ball, trying to protect what few vital organs I could from the onslaught, silently cursing Jang Ku, the disguise technique, and whatever cosmic entity had decided that reincarnating me as a human punching bag was a hilarious karmic prank.

The beating, thankfully, didn’t last long. Probably because my attacker realized that pulverizing a defenseless- and increasingly fragrant-in-the-wrong-direction- pile of robes wasn’t exactly a good show of his cultivation prowess.

I heard the scrape of boots on cobblestone as they moved away, followed by the distinct sound of laughter - the kind that sent a shiver down my spine even as the throbbing in my ribs threatened to eclipse all other thoughts.

“Let that be a lesson to you, trash!” a voice called out, echoing off the buildings. “Some people aren’t meant to climb mountains. They’re meant to wallow in the mud.”

Then, as a final act of humiliation, I was picked up and unceremoniously dumped into something wet, smelly, and suspiciously warm.

I lay there for a moment in the smelly mud, too dazed and aching to even contemplate moving.

“Well,” I wheezed, my voice a raspy whisper, “at least it’s not cow dung.”

A beat of silence, then a soft snort from beside me. I turned my head, wincing as a fresh wave of pain shot through me, to find myself staring into the beady eyes of a rather large, and surprisingly unconcerned, pig.

"You think this is funny?" I croaked, attempting a glare that probably just made me look like a particularly pathetic woodland creature.

The pig, apparently unfazed by my existential despair, simply snorted again and went back to rooting through the muck.

Okay, Kong Di Qing, time for a situation assessment.

I was bruised, battered, and smelling like a combination of pig manure and existential dread. My disguise technique, while momentarily generous with its Qi reserves, was back to its original six-hour limit, and using it to change my appearance again would drain me faster than a marathon karaoke session with magical kung-fu fighting as the goal instead of singing.

I needed healing pills, and fast.

Then, I needed to get the hell out of this city. Like, yesterday.