Chapter 16

The Dog

As the first rays of dawn snuck through the slits of the bamboo window, Jon begrudgingly greeted the day. The unfamiliar ceiling loomed above as he sat up, noticing the dog sprawled beside him, blissfully ignorant of their predicament. "Haaa... I'm still here, huh?" he sighed, the reality settling in like a heavy fog.

Part of him—a rather optimistic part—had hoped he'd awaken back in his king bed, with this entire episode revealed as nothing more than a peculiar dream. Just yesterday, well, three days ago now, he'd been on his way to celebrate the grand opening of his business and his mom's birthday later on. "Man, I missed it," he lamented softly, his heart sinking with the realization.

As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, a troubling thought resurfaced. The nightmare—the vivid, recurring nightmare about a xianxia battlefield that had haunted him for weeks before his abrupt transportation to this world. "Oh no... it was related. It has to be," he mumbled to himself, piecing together the eerie connections. The figure standing atop a mountain of corpses in his dreams bore an unsettling resemblance to the antagonists he now faced in this reality.

"That... that was him," Jon murmured, the sickening realization creeping over him like a lurking shadow. "The big bad lurking behind the scenes here."

He glanced over at the dog, its chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm of undisturbed slumber. How Jon envied that blessed oblivion in this moment. A shudder traced his spine as he recalled the sinister aura exuded by the figure.

"So it wasn't just some random nightmare after all..." Jon swallowed hard against a lump of visceral dread welling in his throat.

For a long moment, he simply stared at nothing in particular, his mind reeling as he tried and failed to rationalize away the eerie parallels. To convince himself that his overly-active imagination was merely drawing connections where none existed.

A soft whine from the dreaming dog finally snapped Jon from his trance-like reverie. He sucked in a fortifying breath and willed his turbulent thoughts into an uneasy calm.

"Okay, get a grip," he muttered under his breath. "Just because that psychopath made a cameo in your feverish night terrors doesn't automatically make it some grand prophetic vision."

Jon shot the obliviously snoozing dog a sidelong glance and managed a rueful smirk. "I swear I heard you full-on speaking to me in a deep Morgan Freeman voice last night too. So clearly that fever cooked my brain into one hell of a bizarre dreamscape."

Gathering his bearings, Jon swung his legs off the straw mat and onto the cold dirt floor. The dog, sensing movement, cracked open one eye but decided whatever was happening wasn't worth forfeiting sleep over. Jon tried to laugh it off, still not feeling good. "C'mon, it was just a dream, right? I shouldn't take it too seriously... right?" The dog simply yawned back at him.

But the more Jon rationalized, the more unnervingly plausible his nightmare seemed. "To hell with logic," he grumbled as he stood up, "None of the things I've experienced so far are logical, so, at this point, anything could happen. Even nightmares coming true." The thought was enough to make him gulp, a shiver tracing down his spine.

He walked towards the small clay pot to splash some water on his face, pondering the surrealness of his current life.

After drinking from the fresh water first, Jon splashed another handful of water on his face. As the droplets trickled down his cheeks, he ventured a cautious touch to his previously broken nose. To his surprise, the expected jolt of pain was muted, more an echo than the sharp one he had braced for. Curiosity piqued, he peered into the reflection offered by the water in the pot.

His nose, which should have been an exhibit in a medical textbook on nasal trauma, looked... almost normal. Jon had a rather extensive history with broken noses—two courtesy of high school misadventures and one memorable incident during the self-defense classes his mother insisted he attend. None of those experiences had featured such a swift and painless recovery.

"This is definitely not how a broken nose is supposed to look like," Jon said aloud, quite impressed. He rotated his shoulder, testing the clavicle that had also been subject to Yulian’s forceful care. Sure, there was still pain, but it was more like a 'don't lift heavy objects' sort of pain rather than a 'one wrong twitch and you're a goner' one. The familiar sensation of qi swirling through his body, a feeling he was still getting accustomed to, seemed the likely culprit behind his rapid healing.

"Thank God for small mercies... and mystical qi powers." He said.

With a deep, satisfied inhale, Jon savored the strange but invigorating sensation pulsing through his body. An almost electrical warmth thrummed beneath his skin—not uncomfortable, but undeniably potent and unfamiliar. He placed a hand over his abdomen, his brow furrowing as he tried to locate the epicenter of this weird energy.

It seemed to coalesce and churn in his core, more than ever before, like a bubbling wellspring ready to burst forth. Yet at the same time, something about it felt...off. Unnatural in a manner he couldn't quite put his finger on.

His mind, however, felt utterly clear. Sharp. Refreshed in a way Jon had seldom experienced, as if the fevered delirium had burned away all mental clutter, leaving only laser-focused clarity.

Jon flexed his arms experimentally, almost surprised by how buoyant and sturdy his muscles felt—like they'd been secretly recharging overnight, topped up with some mystical Energizer Bunny juice.

"Okay, I've got admit," he murmured, shooting the still-snoozing dog a conspiratorial glance. "This whole situation is starting to feel very 'Protagonist Discovers His Secret Powers' right about now."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Grinning rakishly, Jon fixed his gaze on the small clay water pot across the room. Holding out one hand with an overdramatic flourish, he narrowed his eyes and channeled every ounce of concentration, envisioning the pot rising through the air towards him like some Jedi mind trick.

"Uunnnghhh.... Leeevvvitaaate!" he grunted with exaggerated effort, fingers straining as if he could physically grasp the invisible telekinetic force and hurl it at the pot.

The dog cracked one lazy eye open, fixing Jon with a decidedly unimpressed look.

"What?" Jon shrugged, hand still outstretched. "Had to at least try for the easy stuff first."

Allowing his arm to drop, he eyed the pot speculatively. A thought crossed his mind—what if focusing this weird inner power took actual...well, focus?

"Okay, let's get serious here," he muttered, assuming a low horse stance. Closing his eyes, Jon focused every fiber of his being on that swirling maelstrom of energy coiled in his abdomen.

Muscles tensing, he inhaled deeply and tried to mentally grasp that elusive power, to shape and guide it according to his will. He could almost sense it responding, like an ember flaring briefly in his core before fading again.

"Ka..." Jon grunted harshly, sweat beading on his forehead as he extended both hands forward, fingers splayed. "Me..."

The dog cocked its head curiously, ears perking up.

Every facet of Jon's consciousness channeled toward that faint, flickering spark deep within, coaxing and stoking it with the intensity of a thousand suns.

"Ha... Me..." His voice strained with monumental effort, palms funneling forward as if guiding the energy's torrent.

HAAAAA!" Jon bellowed with every ounce of lung power, his whole being striving to unleash...

...Absolutely nothing. Not a flicker, not a puff of smoke, not even a few lackadaisical sparkles dribbled from his outstretched hands. Just the residual echo of his overexerted shout fading into awkward silence.

Jon blinked, then looked down at his decidedly spark-free palms with an expression of profound disappointment—like a kid who just got socks for Christmas.

"Wow," he deadpanned at last, dropping his hands with a self-deprecating chuckle. "I really hyped myself up for a second there, didn't I?"

The dog, having witnessed the entire melodramatic spectacle, simply snorted and rolled over to resume napping, clearly unimpressed with Jon's attempt at mystical pyrotechnics.

"Yeah, yeah," Jon grinned ruefully, giving his furry companion a gentle nudge with his foot. "Save the applause for when I actually do something impressive, ya jerk."

Then Jon shuffled toward his clothes strewn across the straw mat, appreciating that his back felt surprisingly unsore despite the night's primitive sleeping arrangement. His hand reached for the pile, sifting through to find his phone—his little slice of the familiar in a world that seemed bent on rewriting all the rules.

"Wait..." he murmured, skepticism and a bit of hope coloring his tone as he pressed the power button, to his genuine astonishment and relief, the screen flickered to life. A grin spread across his face as the reality set in—his phone worked!

There was no signal, no Wi-Fi icon winking back at him, but the simple fact that it powered on was good enough. He tapped into his gallery and as the thumbnails loaded, Jon's eyes were immediately drawn to the albums labeled 'Family' and 'Mom.'

Opening the album, a series of photos came onto the screen, each a frozen moment in time that now seemed both incredibly distant and intimately close. The images of his mom—from their last weekend outing, her laughing at a joke he barely remembered making, to the quiet moments shared over morning coffee—flooded him with a bittersweet longing.

It had only been five days since he'd seen her last, yet the whirlwind of events had stretched that time into what felt like years. Jon swiped through the photos, each swipe providing comfort and a piercing reminder of how much he missed her.

Jon continued scrolling through his gallery. He chuckled as he came across a series of pictures featuring Eddy, his right-hand man since their middle school days of vigilante justice on the playground. Eddy had moved on to serve as a Marine, while Jon carved out a niche as an engineer. When Jon pitched the idea of his new business, Eddy didn't hesitate; he came back after being discharged and jumped aboard.

Jon couldn’t help but feel reassured knowing that Eddy was back home, undoubtedly looking after his mother in his absence.

The comforting thought was abruptly interrupted by a photo that appeared out of sequence—a picture of Daeun, his ex. They had parted ways on stormy terms, and Jon had thought he deleted all traces of her from his life. Staring at the photo, he sighed heavily, "Ah, the ghost of girlfriends past, always popping up when least expected."

He quipped to the dog, who looked up with a quizzical tilt of its head, "See, dude? This is why I'm swearing off love. Nothing but trouble and unexpected photo bombs." With a decisive tap, Jon deleted the photo, erasing the last digital footprint of a chapter he preferred to keep closed.

But the practical matter soon dawned on him—the battery icon on his phone. "No power outlets in Xianxialand," he muttered. The prospect of losing his digital link to home was daunting. Not one to dwell on problems without seeking solutions, Jon mused aloud, "Looks like I'll have to make a charger myself."

While Jon was in his thoughts, the village was already stirring, sounds of daily routines and early risers heading to the fields reaching his ears. Today's agenda was clear: meet the chief, as Qingshan had suggested, and dive into the mysteries of his unintended adventure.

First rule of Transmigration Club: Don't talk about Transmigration Club, Jon thought to himself, recalling Huo Zheng's alarmed reaction when the subject of other worlds came up. Best keep that bit under wraps.

Then there was the pressing need to find a way back to his own world. Libraries, if they had them here, would be a good start. That, or any wise old man willing to trade wisdom for an odd job or two.

As Jon pondered his next steps, his gaze fell on the dog, still lounging in the soft light of morning. The dog needed a name. 'Buddy' was too generic, too temporary for a companion who seemed poised to become a more permanent fixture in his bizarre new life.

"What do you think of 'Scooby-Doo' as your new name?" Jon suggested, glancing down at the dog for any sign of approval. No reaction came.

"Not feeling that one, huh?" Jon chuckled. He tried again, the gears turning in his head, "What about 'Aristo-dog'? You do have a noble vibe when you're not drooling in your sleep." The dog gave him a brief glance, then returned its focus to a particularly soft spot on the mat.

"Okay, tough crowd this morning," Jon muttered, a smile tugging at his lips.

Then his mind drifted to a favourite xianxia novel, Beware of Chicken, where the protagonist had named his mighty cock—yes, the bird—'Big D'. Inspired, he tested the name out loud. "...Big Dawg?" he ventured in English.

The dog opened one eye, then the other, and did something Jon hadn't expected—it nodded. Not just any nod, but the kind of affirmative nod you'd expect in a cool, silent agreement between bros.

"Did you just nod?" Jon asked, bewildered. To his surprise, the dog nodded again, its expression holding a measure of canine sagacity that was unnervingly human.

"Holy shi-! Y-you can understand me?" Jon's eyes widened. The dog merely looked at him, its head tilting slightly, a universal sign of 'I'm listening.'

Jon scratched his head, puzzling over this unexpected development. In Beware of Chicken, Big D had gained a form of consciousness from qi-infused food. But Jon hadn't fed the dog anything remotely magical—unless...

"Ah, the elixirs!" Jon exclaimed, snapping his fingers.