My journey was a long one. Or at least, I'd left the village late enough in the day that it was clear I was going to be roughing it before I made it to the next town.

I was nervous, but I had a good amount of food, and when it was clear it was going to be a full moon, so I felt confident I could camp safely on the side of the road.

When I awoke the next morning, I felt better, my head clearer and tension surprisingly distant.

The amazing thing was the absolute fitness of my new body.

Hou spent a literal lifetime training. Honing every muscle and fiber of his being to the highest human standard and then went beyond with his cultivation. I wasn't in the best shape back home, so walking with literal mile after mile passing underneath me with barely more effort than it would take to circle the block left me awed. Even more so camping under a tree with nothing but a travel bag for a pillow would've been unthinkable.

Add in the fact my chest injury would've left me in a hospital for months with possible years of physical therapy with no guarantee I would get back to a normal level of mobility and I couldn't help but find myself respectfully terrified at the power Qi.

In fact, I was good enough to start doing the warmup exercises stamped, nailed, and riveted into Hou's muscle memory. Not easy or quickly, mind you.

My chest carried a throbbing tight edge with every stance I attempted. It wasn't hard to imagine a finger hovering above the painful 'Fuck Lee's day up' button if I pushed too hard, too fast.

I felt my legs shaking from the effort of staying slow and careful, as I went through the steps and positions. I closed my eyes and felt an odd sensation, like a strange force behind me, pushing me through my motions. I followed its guidance, closing my eyes and spiraled my Qi through my body just as slowly as I moved.

It was achingly slow to move. Mainly because I hadn't done it before and Hou's memories, while helpful, weren't a step-by-step guide. It took several false starts before I felt something actually working rather than imagining it. The technique was simple enough—a spiraling force through my body, activating each point of my internal organs in a specific way, sending Qi along the path, with the intention of clearing blocks.

It seemed to work. My leg muscles were stretched and sore, but there was no pain and I didn't feel nauseated or dizzy.

As I felt my Qi flow around my body in a wide pattern, I sensed something moving in me.

With an inhale, I slowly shifted my energy out my middle, through each of my organs, and even up to the corners of my mind. From belly, to heart, to brain, I coaxed the internal energy outward, expanding it ever so slightly through my limbs. When I reached the furthest edge to the tip of my toes and fingers, I steered it back down in reverse with each swell carefully pushed along my injured ribs.

With each wave of Qi, I felt a stab of pain in my injured ribs, prompting me to return it down its path just as carefully. As I exhaled, I directed the warmth in a slow spiral, up around my chest and spine before it settled back in my core.

By the time I’d finished my warmup, I was moving through it with a cautious casualness that had never been part of Hou’s laser beam focus.

A comfortable silence where a person could be lost to contemplative wanderings. I blinked and let out a sigh of relief.

After a quick breakfast of tangy jerky, I found I didn't have to go very far. I was able to reach the next town over long before it got to midday even at the hobbling pace I made.

On top of that, it was large enough and it took me no time at all to find an archive.

Dongting was a small town with only three 'main' streets, but it was relatively large enough to have government office, and by association, a small archive room.

That was the benefit of The Golden Talon archivist system, information was always available in one location.

Hou's memories told me it wasn't as big and nowhere near as extensive as one near the capital, but he was thinking in terms of rare information whereas I was looking for common stuff.

I was reminded of the local library back home; the quiet was so familiar as I strolled in, shutting the door behind me and the noises of the town.

The man at the front desk took one look at me and sniffed, thin mustache twitching. He spoke without preamble. "5 coppers to peruse the shelves. A pair of silvers to buy."

I put the five coins down without hesitation. The coppers alone would've been half a day's wage for the average person. I decided not to comment and watched as the set down the ink brush and scooped the coins up.

The collection was humble, but I was able to find what I was looking for quickly.

A map and a guide on where the most Qi rich areas could be found.

I looked from each as I set them down and began to read. From the way it was written, the guide was for any no-name cultivator to find the best places to cultivate and possibly find spirit beasts. It was old, too and a cursory look around didn't show any newer 'editions', if they existed.

The first thing I learned was a lot of the areas richest in Qi were claimed by sects which pretty much tracked with my own expectations. I was lucky enough to have Hou's memories and my own plain ol' life experience told me areas like that weren't just left for anyone to use.

No way were the cultivator sects going to share, after all. Qi rich areas were much like oil fields, rich coal mines, or even gold deposits in the ancient world back home. They were resources which enriched your rivals and enemies. Plus, with the map itself ten years out of date and it was less about finding the best place to cultivate, and more about finding somewhere to avoid the biggest spirit beast pests and most disputed territory.

I found what I was looking for quickly.

The destination called the Tortoise Crescent was to the southeast, an area practically void of Qi and a tiny cultivator/sect presence.

Best of all, it was away from the glade where Hou had gotten all kind of crap beaten out of him and was as far from the capital, Crystal Orchard City, as one could get. Which was off the mainland.

On top of that, I found a route to take to avoid the most trouble. With the capital practically right in the center of the continent, pretty much every direct road took me there.

All roads lead to Rome, after all. Or in this case Crystal Orchard. I was going to have to trek along the edges and take as many detours as possible, adding weeks on the trip.

I put up the guide, paid the price for the map, and then went to the nearest general store for ink, paper, and a brush.

"Hey, I was wondering," I was halfway out before I thought of something and stopped, getting the clerk's attention. "Would you by any chance be willing to buy books?"

My question seemed to confuse him, so I went on.

"Such as if I were to write or have a book that you'd never seen before would you or any of your fellow scholars purchased them off me?"

He sniffed, looking me up and down with judgmental eyes, a barely hidden sneer twitching the millipede of a mustache on his lip. "There's no law against it. But it's not like we're going to pay for something someone else has already written."

Well, up yours too. Still, he went on. "This archive as well as others will buy any books or scrolls deemed significant or rare." His already pinched face pinched further into a glare I imagined others found suitably intimidating. Me? You look death in the face once and an aggravated pencil pusher comes off as rather... Small and easy to ignore.

What he said next though, while spoken with the even bored tone of a man saying this for the millionth time, certainly wasn't anything to brush off. "Any attempt to sell cultivation techniques, sect secrets, or government documents of any kind will be punished to the fullest extent of the Emperor's law."

Now that wasn't surprising at all. Sects and cultivators alike were notorious for keeping their techniques secret. The sharing of information for the betterment of all was not a belief among the superpowered, silk wearing, stuck ups around here.

A quick search through Hou's memories made me wince at the result. When he was young there had been a 'apparently' rogue cultivator who attempted to sneak into Bronze Throne's inner sanctum. When he was caught red-handed with one of the sacred texts, he was detained and the entire sect, from young masters to outer disciples, were gathered to witness a brutal execution.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

What shook Hou, now me, the most was how the condemned never screamed. His mouth was wide open and every limb thrashing in agony but his pain was silent.

He found out later that it was probably by design.

Due to the sect's closeness to the Imperial court, an attack on the Bronze Throne was considered just shy of treason and anyone caught doing so would have been thoroughly interrogated.

The rumors were the man was sent by rival sect and was silenced in a way to keep him from betraying his masters.

Okay, there's an object lesson. Don't screw with Bronze Throne. I wasn't planning on it but damn, if it wasn't a good reminder.

Hou was an outer disciple anyway so wasn't like I had secrets to sell...

I shook away the memory of skin sloughing off and liquid metal and focused back on the scholar. "And what about stories? Novels or folktales and the like?"

This time the weaselly little man didn't even try to hide his contempt. "You can try," he scoffed, rolling his eyes, "but I can assure you I spent enough time among you people to hear every kind of half-drunk babbling."

As he spoke, he'd taken up the brush he was writing with, dipped it in the ink pot, and went back to his writing. A dismissal if I'd ever seen one.

I'm pretty sure this would've been the moment where I could've smacked the weasel upside the head for such disrespect to 'this expert' but I got what I needed.

"I'll be back." I promised.

I was halfway to the general store, which happened to be right across the street and emblazoned with a hanging sign which characters read 'Fireclaw Goods', I noticed a few people shooting glances my way. I was used to being stared at when I walked into town on foot but this was different.

They weren't just staring. Several of them were pointing and murmuring to each other in low voices.

was getting the side-eye from almost every direction. Not unfriendly looks but wary ones. I guess I looked a bit rough around the edges and, brushing my hair out of my face, orange hair definitely stood out.

Deciding to play it cool, I smiled at most of them, and a few smiled back awkwardly. Only when I waved to a stern-faced town guard and caught the glistening of my sleeve did it dawn on me.

While I'd ripped off the patches that allowed anyone to identify me as part of the sect, the Bronze Throne robes themselves were still clearly expensive and clearly meant for a cultivator. The fabric was made of a soft velvety silk, and the intricate embroidered trimming was something not many but nobles could afford.

I was betting my road weary appearance wasn't quite lining up with the quality of my attire.

I brushed my hair out of my eyes once more. Then again, it could be this orange mane I got.

I sighed and quickened my steps, already regretting my hasty decision to come here. I should've known better than to wear something so ridiculously flashy in a rural village.

I sighed; this was not the statement I wanted to make. I was going to need some new clothes.

I sniffed myself on the way and frowned. Yeah, I needed a bath as well.

I shrugged and continued on toward the general store, trying not to think about it.

Soon I was in a fresh set of clothes, after a soothing bath in the local inn, when I found myself back in a very familiar place.

Staring at a blank page in frustration.

At first, my staring at blank sheets of paper like I had back home was because I was swept away by the sheer options of what I could write. Only when I made up made up my mind to go for some Mother Goose and Aesop, I was slowed down by my tools of all things.

Let me tell you, calligraphy has been an art for a reason. Every stroke was an effort and I ended up wasting 10 pages before I got the hang of the brush.

The problem wasn't I couldn't do it or didn't know how. Hou's muscle memory had transferred over to me, basic combat forms included. The bigger issue was my own. I kept falling back into writing like I was using a pen or pencil. It was practically a paintbrush. It didn't glide across the paper like a normal pen.

Press too hard and the bristles would spread, smudging the precise shape of the characters to illegible blots. Too light and it didn't leave an impression.

As a consequence, I ended up smearing the ink with the side of my hand or a sleeve. The ink was also a pain in the ass to use. I had to dip the brush into the ink pot every couple of characters.

Two pages ripped because the ink wasn't quick drying and thus soaked through the paper when I put too many sentences down on both sides.

I tried to make up for it by speed-writing but it wound up being worse, scrawl turning into a splotchy mess.

After an hour I was pretty much done for. I was exhausted, my mind was screaming at me, and I'd written half a readable page.

I took a breather and stared down at the desk, wishing for my old laptop. 'Hell, a typewriter, please? My earthly soul for a pencil.' I pondered and set my hands on my knees, palms up. The tips of my fingers were stained black with ink, like I'd dipped them into a pot of tar. A couple black droplets trickled down the sides of my fingers before I wiped them.

The hassle with the brush aside, I found the act of writing to be soothing. I actually felt like I could relax.

I could sense the ink and how the brush would move to form the characters...

...the brush would move to form the characters...

Huh.

I reached into my core and, picking up the brush, began the slow cycling of my Qi. Like a scientist with a pipette, I began squeezing the barest drips of energy into the brush, then into the ink on the brush, and finally, into the paper.

The effect was instant. The ink didn't smear nor soak, and I was able to write in a rhythm which put even my typing to shame.

My brushstrokes began to move of its own accord, gracefully gliding from one character to the next. The paper scarcely seemed to notice, as if it were absorbing whatever I could offer.

As enthusiastic as I was though I knew I had to be careful. Pushing too much energy into something that couldn't handle it off and ended up with explosive results and if Hou's lessons were anything to go by, I was doing something right by bringing my Qi back into myself.

The principles were simple. The harder an object was the more Qi it could take right away. Steel wouldn't blow up like wood when it was near its limit.

However, strangely enough wood was more 'flexible' than steel. It couldn't take a ton of energy right away but if one pushed in a little at a time over a period of time, it would... stretch to accommodate more like a balloon.

In short, if I tried to force it, the balloon would pop. If I was patient though and added Qi bit by bit, I could knead it.

With this understanding came the kind of Zen most writers only dream about. Where words just flowed onto the page one after another. I could feel the ink drying, the paper solidifying, and the brush smoothing.

The sensation of writing like this, for me, was strangely addictive. It was like a form of meditation, a way to calmly wash away all the previous stresses of the day and just take solace in.

Even the amount of edits and tweaks I need to get the stories to fit in this more fantasy-oriented world took only a few seconds pondering.

Yes, I could definitely get used to this. I settled on making a few scrolls containing a dozen stories: Aesop's Fable of the Wise Hare and the Foolish Turtle, Aesop's Fable of the Scorpion and the Frog, and two Mother Goose rhymes (The Three Little Kittens and The Sheep and the Wolves).

It took about 3 hours to finish and a full night for the archive to open the next morning, but it was worth it when I left the building not so cash negative as before.

Outside again, I walked down the street towards the inn in town for one more night to actually get some sleep. Just as I reached it, I heard a voice.

"Hey, isn't that Master Chen's apprentice?" Hearing the name of Hou's master was enough to make my shoulders tense up.

I turned to see a bunch of men in leather armor coming my way, each carrying a wooden staff.

Each with golden bricks sewn into the collar.

It took everything in me not to freeze like a deer in the headlights.

They couldn't have found me already. Christ, the very idea I'd lost my head start so quickly was enough to twist my stomach into knots.

Then again, these guys weren't peasants. Their armor was polished and their weapons were sharp. They bore the unmistakable look of mercenaries.

I decided to play it cool while I considered my options.

But then Salvation.

I don't know if it was the hair, the simple clothes, or maybe my demeanor and the lack of presence I was putting out into the world, but as the three got closer, the one in the lead blinked, frowned, and shook his head.

"That's no disciple of the sect." He said, frowning at me as if I was suddenly wasting his time. The group peeled off, heading to the main gate out of town.

I waited until they were out of earshot before looking around for someone to ask for directions to the nearest caravan.

"Aren't you a cultivator?"

I glanced behind me to the traveling merchant who was seated in his cart and holding on for dear life as I sprinted for everything, I'm worth. It wasn't easy, I did have his horse across my shoulders.

The looming yet narrow form of the monster chasing us, a sort of mix between angry barbed wire and a praying mantis, was growing more distant by the second but in my opinion still way too close for comfort.

Like that was a whole lot of nope that came skittering out of the forest and a whole lot a nope that shouldn't be anywhere near the Tortoise Crescent.

"I am, what of it?" I hope I didn't sound as unfriendly as I think I do. I couldn't exactly hide it now. This was Sort of an act without thinking situation.

This road was smooth enough to allow me to pull the cart at this speed without too much jostling. "A-aren't you going to fight it?"

"Nope," I blinked at him then focused back on the road, "I have to stop to do that. I'm thinking you'd like me to get away from the big stabby monster more than watching me fight the big stabby monster. Plus, there's a good chance there could be more than one."

The merchant yelped as his cart bounced over a particularly deep rut and I heard him flopping all over his goods. I think I got my answer.

A rather thick pair of trees sheared cleanly at their bases sailed overhead and I yanked the cart closer to me to make it a smaller target as they crashed a good 50 yards to the left of the road. It was throwing things now.

If this monster was smart, it would begin trying to train its aim and if it started doing that I was going to have to stop and fight. I frowned and considered my options.

'Besides, as core crazy as cultivators were there was bound to be one on the way to-'

Before I even got to finish my thought, a green streak zipped overhead and went right for the monster. I followed it, just in time to see a woman with a motif so green I could smell the herbs from here, brandishing a large spear the fighter plunged right into the monster and began hacking away.

I didn't stop running though. I poured on the speed, even though my chest began to ache.

A monster I could deal with, a cultivator wasn't worth the trouble.