Zhao woke to the sound of rain pounding against wood.

A strong medicinal odor reminiscent of several herbs permeated his surroundings, and he had a splitting headache that reached a crescendo as lighting struck nearby.

Wrapped in a scratchy towel, and apparently bandages underneath that, Zhao struggled to move his aching body. When he finally managed to, his movement disturbed the snoring giant seated against the wall across from him, causing Tai Yang to stretch out with a yawn.

“Finally up?” he asked sleepily. “You picked the worst time to black out. You should have seen the look on Li’s face as he got reprimanded!”

Zhao clutched his throbbing head as he prodded the man for more information. “Reprimanded?” he echoed before clarifying his question, “What happened?”

Tai Yang grew serious as he summarized, “The noble Young Master of the Li clan activated a lifesaving treasure. Forced the senior disciple to step in- otherwise you’d be dead.”

The large man indicated a pile of eviscerated fabric against the floor with a tilt of his head to show what was apparently all that was left of Zhao’s robe.

With an expression of schadenfreude the explanation continued, “The Li clan lost a lot of face and have decided that Li Tingfey will undergo ‘secluded training’ with the Li Patriarch until the tournament.”

A wicked grin split Tai Yang’s face. “Serves the bastard for how he treated us,” he grumbled, adding, “Wish I could have been the one to break his nose! Ha.”

Zhao almost lost control of himself for a moment at hearing Tai Yang brag about starting a fight with a young master of all people but managed to restrain himself. Instead of giving him a tongue lashing, Zhao laid back in his bed and closed his eyes in thought.

He considering again why exactly he had tried to step in between two individuals clearly identified in his head as 'important characters', and how his plan of giving an even fight ending with his defeat had devolved to the point that a life saving treasure was used.

Zhao wasn’t given long to ponder before the door creaked open, and Ming Fe entered dressed in the standard Prussian blue robes of the Medicinal Pavilion .

A tray rested between her dexterous hands, steaming tea and a modest meal prepared for Zhao alongside an unfamiliar medallion that shone menacingly.

“I’m glad you’re awake,” she said grimly. “This was the worst I’ve seen you. By far.”

The young woman glanced at Tai Yang. “It might be the worst I’ve seen either of you, and that would be saying something,” she teased. The target of her jab gave a goofy smile as he rubbed the back of his bald head with a guilty expression.

Ming Fe stepped over Tai Yang on the floor and wove past a number of cabinets to reach Zhao’s bed through the tight space and set his rice and tea down. “Here; eat, drink, and sleep,” she instructed.

“You’ll need your strength for this,” she said, waving the unknown medallion through the air with distaste while holding it as if the item were cursed.

When Tai Yang shot her an inquisitive look Ming Fe tossed the charm to him, causing him to tilt his head in confusion. “For the tournament?” he probed. “Where did you get this? How did you get this?”

Ming Fe sighed deeply. “It was dropped off by the Li clan to be delivered to Zhao Mi. They secured his entry and paid the fee.” Silence took the room briefly as the two men digested the words.

“I guess,” Tai Yang started, “that you’ll get to thrash Li Tingfey a second time.”

Zhao shook his head slowly before holding it in his hands. “I need some time to think. Can I have some privacy?” he pleaded.

There was an awkward pause before Ming Fe gestured to Tai Yang with her thumb, “Let’s give him space,” she commanded sternly.

Tai Yang hesitated a moment before rising and following her out, only pausing before closing the door to offer Zhao sparring practice for his rematch.

Once he was alone Zhao punched the crude bed in frustration.

He had broken the Golden Rule he established after his transmigration, and now he would seriously pay for it.

Interacting with even minor important characters would inevitably lead to death. Zhao had known and done it anyway.

Assuming that teaching Tai Yang, obviously a side character of the ‘battle maniac’ archetype, various exercises and sparring with him wouldn’t lead to entanglement had been a mistake.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Stepping in between Tai Yang and Li Tingfey had been a worse misstep.

Now he was in the crosshairs of a young master and his clan, a situation that would lead to any no-name character’s death in any of the xianxia novels he had binged on Earth.

All because he was lonely and enjoyed training with the one person in the sect who didn’t care about face.

Zhao didn’t want to admit it, but his action wasn’t an unlucky accident. It was a failure of discipline.

In his former life he had struggled with anxiety, and the bile in his throat reminded him that it had been a passenger in his transmigration.

Fortunately, cultivators had a secret for steadying their minds when faced with emotion: meditation. Zhao had known the basics even before waking up in his current body, but the practice held a much greater depth thanks to the existence of Qi.

Focusing on breathing was always the best way to start. Thoughts came and were to be acknowledged, then released.

On Earth the residual stimulation from electronics had made achieving serenity elusive. The more time he spent in Jianghu, the less of a problem that was.

Soon Zhao reached a state of dispassionate observation.

He could feel his lungs expand and contract. The steady beat of his heart. How moist the air felt against his face.

Then came an awareness of a mysterious energy in the room with Zhao. Qi. The differentiating factor that separated the immortals of his new world from the people of Earth.

At the moment, the environmental Qi leaned towards an affinity to water and wind in response to the squall outside.

That was perfect for Zhao, as the Misty Cradle Sect’s foundational texts revolved around those two attuned forms of Qi.

His even breaths hitched, taking on a rhythm as prescribed by an ancient master long forgotten.

Around him the wild Qi quivered, water and wind flowing into Zhao lazily.

If Zhao were of a lower cultivation level he may have focused on the particulars of his sect’s standard cultivation manual, but he had long since completed all the necessary steps.

Stagnating at the 9th stage of Qi Condensation was common amongst Inner Disciples like Zhao.

Rather than attempt to shore up his cultivation base, Zhao just let the Qi infuse his body. A crude method closer to bodily cultivation than spiritual cultivation, but one he found enjoyable.

Untethered Qi seeped not only into his wounds but also his psyche, snuffing out the butterflies in his stomach and the ringing in his ears.

The feeling sent euphoric tingles down Zhao’s spine, though he knew it had not been appreciated as such before the transmigration.

Though far from an expert on the topic, Zhao suspected the pleasurable reaction to Qi might stem from an inherent difference in his soul compared to the native residents of this world.

Qi cycled and cycled, each circuit drawing away a sliver of negativity and replacing it with a building sense of tranquility.

The feeling would recede soon after he stopped actively cultivating, but it was enough for Zhao.

Letting out a final breath slowly, he released his hold on the surrounding Qi. It wriggled as if alive, disappointed that he had cut the intense connection they shared.

Even after recentering his mind, Zhao still struggled to think of a way to match Li Tingfey or otherwise escape the boot of the Li clan.

Tai Yang’s offer of training might help, but it wouldn’t allow him to match the progress of an heir being trained personally by his clan’s patriarch for the months leading up to the tournament.

There was a real possibility that Li Tingfey would emerge having broken through into Foundation Establishment.

While Tai Yang’s offer appeared to be the only lifeline available, it was simultaneously possibly the best method to further his entanglement with an important character in a race to end up in an inescapable situation without plot armor to save him.

Taken in light of how tactless and prone to violence Tai Yang was, relying on the volunteered sparring to save him was unthinkable.

The observation brought his train of thought to a halt, as a counterintuitive idea crossed his mind.

Zhao realized that the possible effects of Tai Yang’s offer paled in comparison to direct contact with a ‘main character’ level cultivator.

Engaging with one would inevitably lead to greater danger over the long term, however Zhao might be able to harness their immense luck more immediately to extricate himself from the current situation.

When the time came to pay the debt and face a person, force, or event that he was unprepared for, Zhao could always run.

He wavered, as cowards usually ended up dead in the novels written on Earth.

Perhaps he could replay his trick on the world by befriending a new important character every time he found himself in dire straits.

If he was careful, Zhao could wield the absurd heavenly favor of a stupidly blessed cultivator, or maybe a number of them, to his advantage.

It would be risky, as after the tournament he would undoubtedly fail to disentangle himself from their lives. But the Li clan was not known for their magnanimity, and the only way to force them to keep their moves discrete after the tournament would be the support of the sect.

That meant he had to beat Li Tingfey cleanly to demonstrate his value.

So Zhao would rely on Tai Yang to shore up his proficiency in combat and find a so-called main character in the hopes of their reality distorting auras rubbing off on him.

When summarized in his head, it became clear that the plan was unrefined. Zhao couldn’t simply spend time around important characters and pray for a fortuitous occurrence.

A targeted approach would be necessary. Finding individuals who enjoyed circumstances that Zhao could leverage to better his position.

A self made genius with no idea how to share their inborn talent wouldn’t be of use. Zhao needed spiritual arts, cultivation manuals, alchemical pills, heavenly treasures, or even a spiritual beast to artificially tip the scales. Preferably all of the above.

Decision made, Zhao donned the fresh set of royal blue robes that had been left for him sitting at the foot of the bed and raced through the storm without touching his dinner.

He would make himself the nexus of a web of sons and daughters of heaven, relying on their overlapping fortune to keep him safe... or die trying.