Chapter 17
Blending In
Jon rushed to his pile of clothes, looking for the oversized robe he had inherited from the unfortunate old man. As he fished through the deep pockets, he found the elixirs intact, but the green herbs were missing. So that's what Big Dawg had eaten, he realized, his eyes widening.
He turned to look at Big Dawg, who was now sitting upright, panting happily with its tongue lolling out. "You little..." he couldn't help but sigh. It seemed last night's restlessness wasn't just typical convalescing behavior; the dog had been processing the magical herbs.
It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. At least he had someone from his world who could understand him now, and having a spirit beast was a common trope in xianxia worlds.
Though, it would be best to hide that too, Jon thought. Since he was now a cultivator, with a dantian, super strength and all the other perks, and he didn't exactly know the general opinion of non-cultivators regarding such matters, it was safer to keep it under wraps.
"Listen, Big Dawg," Jon said, crouching down to meet the dog's gaze. "You must not show too much intelligence in front of people. Like the nodding you just did—might get us in trouble, understood?"
Big Dawg gave a soft 'Arf!', which Jon took as a positive response. "Attaboy."
Now, onto more pressing matters. "Let me see your leg. Is it healed?"
Big Dawg obediently got up and padded over to Jon, offering his leg. For a moment, Jon held the paw, examining it with a clinical eye. There was no sign of limping, no whining—a stark contrast to the dog's condition just a day ago. It seemed the herbs had done their work remarkably well.
Jon shook his head in disbelief, still struggling to accept that he was having a full-blown conversation with a dog—and not just any dog, but a potential spirit beast, at that. He wasn't crazy. At least, he hoped he wasn't.
"Looks like you're all set, buddy," Jon said, gently placing Big Dawg's paw down. The dog responded with a wag of its tail and a pleased bark, clearly enjoying the newfound attention and perhaps understanding more than Jon could have hoped for.
As Jon stood up, brushing off his hands, he looked at the door. With the village stirring around them and his need to meet the village chief looming, discretion was key. "We're going to keep a low profile, okay? No magic dog tricks," he instructed.
Big Dawg seemed to understand, his eyes locking with Jon's as if to reassure him of his cooperation. Or maybe I’m just reading too much into dog expressions now, Jon thought.
Then he sifted through the assortment of books he had pulled from the leather bag, the ones he got along with everything else. The first book he picked up was titled in old mandarin "Understanding the Dao of Air," authored by a guy named Xuan Fengzi. The cover was worn, the pages yellowed with age and it smelled exactly how you'd expect an old book to smell like, smoky and earthy.
The next book was more martial in its orientation, bound in a rugged, dark leather cover with an intricate depiction of a sword etched across the front.
The title read "Celestial Sword Dance: First Formation Of The Heavenly Sword by Jian Shen." Jon raised an eyebrow, "Now that’s a name that compensates for something." He imagined a cultivator dramatically unsheathing a sword, the name of the technique echoing off the mountains. "If I shouted that in a fight, I’d die of embarrassment before the first swing."
His eyes then caught a particularly ornate title, "Stealth Techniques of the Silent Masters". Jon snorted with laughter, talking to Big Dawg. "Now, that’s my style. Why yell about your deadly move when you can sneak up and... well, you know."
Big Dawg seemed to agree.
As he dug deeper, another book caught his eye, this one on qi, simply called "Fundamentals of Qi: Harnessing the Inner Storm." No author was listed.
He then picked up another old book, this time on alchemy, just titled "Alchemy." No author either. Jon flipped through the pages, noting the detailed illustrations of herbs and cauldrons.
In total, there were at least fifteen books, ranging from martial arts, spiritual cultivation, to the esoteric arts of alchemy. Jon laid them out before him, his excitement growing with each title. It felt like he had stumbled upon a treasure trove that could potentially elevate him from a mere transmigrator to a formidable cultivator in this world.
Yet, as he gazed upon the collection, a sobering thought crossed his mind. While the boy he once was would have been overjoyed at such a discovery, the man he had become still yearned for a way back home. Little me would have been elated, he mused wistfully.
Determined to find any clues that might hint at a way to return to his own world, Jon made a mental note to read each book thoroughly. But for now, his priority was to gain a better understanding of this world's culture and expectations—especially since he was about to meet the village chief and possibly other key figures who could influence his stay here.
He sighed, setting the books aside for a moment to stretch. Big Dawg watched him with a look that seemed to say, Are you getting this, or what?
"Yeah, dawg," Jon responded, scratching behind the dog’s ears, "We're in deep, aren't we?"
Big Dawg yawned, seemingly agreeing with Jon's sentiment, or perhaps just tired from the morning's revelations.
"First, we learn what we can," Jon decided, his voice firm with resolve. "Then, we find our way home. Deal?"
Big Dawg’s tail thumped against the floor, its small agreement enough for Jon.
Jon stepped outside after getting ready, the scene before him more breathtaking than he'd remembered the day before, with his enhanced senses, he was experiencing the place in an beautiful way. Everything felt more alive today.
The village, cradled by towering mountains, was bathed in the golden light of dawn. The quality of the air was remarkable, crisp and clean, filled with the earthy and fruity scent of damp soil and wet flowers. Very different from the stuffy atmosphere of Chicago.
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, smelling a hint of woodsmoke from the morning fires. Nearby, the sound of a river flowed steadily, blending with the chirping of birds in the trees.
Around him, villagers were already on the move. Men and women headed towards the rice fields, tools in hand, ready for the day’s work. The fields themselves sparkled with morning dew.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
In the background, the crowing of a rooster added a rustic charm, marking the start of the day. Bulls hitched to carts ambled by.
Everything about this place made it feel like stepping into a painting.
As Jon looked around, his gaze landed on Qingshan among a group of villagers setting out for the fields. Eager to connect, Jon raised his hand high and shouted, "Qingshan!" His voice carried clearly across, drawing the attention of the group.
Qingshan, deep in conversation with his peers, turned towards the sound. His face lit up with a broad smile upon seeing Jon. He waved enthusiastically and gestured for Jon to join them.
Big Dawg seemed more interested by the squirrels searching for nuts nearby the trees and took his leave.
As Jon approached, he gave a slight bow to the villagers, clasping his fist against his open palm in greeting. "Greetings, everyone," he said, echoing their traditional salute.
The villagers returned the gesture, nodding and murmuring their greetings. One man, with a curious and friendly demeanor, stepped forward. "Qiu Qingshan, is this the newcomer you mentioned?" he asked.
"Oh yes, brother Li Xin, his name is Jon Li," Qingshan introduced. Li Xin extended his hand with a robust laugh, "Nice to finally meet you, Jon Li! Brother Qingshan has been talking about you and your sword all day yesterday. You're even taller than I thought! Hahaha!"
Jon glanced at Qingshan, who gave an awkward chuckle, clearly embarrassed by the enthusiasm his stories had sparked. Jon mentally noted the quick spread of news in the village and decided he'd need to be more mindful of his actions and words around these folks.
With a good-natured laugh, he replied to Li Xin, "Nice to meet you, is that so? Haha, actually, the sword was my grandfather’s!"
Li Xin continued. "Oh! So he was a warrior! Was he..." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice as if to shield the conversation from prying ears, though his attempt was futile given their public setting. "...a cultivator?"
Jon felt the intensity of the villagers' gazes, each pair of eyes sharp with anticipation. He chose his next words carefully, aware of the atmosphere thickening around him. He had anticipated such questions and was ready with his response. "Oh no, he was good with swords but was primarily a merchant. In fact, I myself am a merchant who, sadly, lost my family to the demonic cult and am looking to restart."
Jon's fabricated typical xianxia MC backstory had clearly taken the villagers by surprise, casting a brief chill over the morning's warmth. As the weight of his words settled among the group, a woman nudged Li Xin, giving him a pointed look that screamed 'change the subject.'
"What?" Li Xin blurted out before catching the woman's discreet head tilt. Clearing his throat, he shifted awkwardly. "Oh, I—it's a tragedy indeed. I apologize for stirring up such memories."
Jon could barely keep a straight face, amused by the villagers' sudden switch to detective mode. Take this, Columbo, he thought, but he maintained a solemn expression. "Not at all, please. I have made peace with it. Thank you for your consideration."
One by one, the villagers approached Jon, each expressing their sympathies with genuine warmth. They introduced themselves with simple nods and brief handshakes, their names and faces blurring together in a friendly procession.
As Jon broached the topic of meeting the village chief, Qingshan's expression turned thoughtful. "The village chief went hunting yesterday. He should be back sometime today," Qingshan explained, then suggested with a concerned tone, "Why don’t you go back to rest? You’re still recovering from your wounds."
Jon waved off the suggestion. "No, thank you. I'd actually love to see how you all work. I’ve always been curious about rice farming." The villagers' faces lit up at his words, their smiles broadening, and some even straightened their backs a bit, clearly pleased.
In the background, a couple of them exchanged proud glances and nods. One older man, attempting to show off, eagerly grabbed a hoe and demonstrated his technique with such enthusiasm that he nearly lost his balance, earning a hearty laugh from his peers.
Another villager, a middle-aged woman with a bright smile, beckoned Jon over. "Come, come, I'll show you how to plant the seedlings properly," she said, practically dragging him towards a small plot ready for planting.
Jon followed, his grin barely contained. Hehe, gotcha, he thought to himself.
In his readings of xianxia tales, commoners—often referred to pejoratively as mortals—were usually depicted at the bottom of the societal hierarchy, subject to the whims of powerful cultivators. By expressing genuine interest in their lives, Jon hoped to bridge the gap between them, making it easier to gather information and learn about this world.
As he knelt by the rice paddy, the cool mud squishing between his fingers, Jon listened intently as the woman explained the spacing needed between seedlings. The other villagers, seeing his earnest participation, started sharing their own tips and tricks.
*****
A few hours later...
With the midday sun warming his back and a light sheen of sweat on his brow, Jon felt surprisingly spry. His body, powered by the subtle yet profound energies of qi, wasn't showing the usual signs of fatigue one might expect after a morning's labor in the fields. He marveled at the resilience and strength he felt coursing through him—a far cry from his pre-transmigration days.
As he lifted a water bucket with ease, a thought tickled his mind. I bet I could punch holes in trees now. And definitely lift more than 170 kg.
The idea was both thrilling and absurd, the kind of thought that might cross a kid's mind after reading too many superhero comics. Jon filed the idea away for a late-night experiment; it wasn't something he wanted to showcase in broad daylight, especially not when he was still earning the villagers' trust.
Just then, one of the older farmers, riding a donkey, announced it was time for a break. The villagers began to gather their tools and head towards a shaded area where they typically shared drinks and stories during their midday rest.
Qinshan approached Jon with a friendly slap on the back. "Come Li, let's go to the market. We’ll grab some drinks for everyone. It’s my treat, but I could use your help carrying them back," he chuckled.
Jon, ignoring how Qingshan just called him, nodded eagerly, happy to be included.
As they walked towards the village market, he observed the hustle and bustle of village life. The market was vibrant with colors and sounds: vendors shouting the virtues of their fresh produce, children running between stalls, and the sweet aroma of ripe fruits mixing with the earthy scent of vegetables.
At the market, Qingshan led the way, greeting every vendor like an old friend. He picked up a variety of drinks—some Jon recognized as local versions of tea, and others were entirely alien concoctions that Qingshan promised would "put vigor back in their bodies."
As they kept meandering through the market, Qingshan was enthusiastically detailing the virtues of a special drink concocted by Yulian. "You wouldn't believe it, Li! His drink, it's like it's been kissed by winter itself—chills you right to the bone in the best way possible on a hot day like this. I swear, it’s some kind of magic how he does it."
Jon pondered the concept. A refrigerated drink, huh?
The idea tickled him; in a world where he'd seen qi heal bones and a dog possibly turning into a spirit beast, cooling a drink seemed almost mundane. Yet Qinshan's excitement suggested it was anything but common here.
His first thought was of some Ice qi technique - after all, manipulating temperature would fit right in with the other mystical abilities he'd encountered. But something about Qinshan's reaction made him wonder if there was more to it.
Could she be like me? A transmigrator, maybe? The thought flitted through Jon's mind, a less likely but intriguing possibility. Yulian's mysterious demeanor and her apparent technological edge were compelling clues. Perhaps she too was navigating this world with the knowledge of another.
Jon shook his head, amused by his own imagination. Whether it was qi or something more familiar to him, it was clear there was still much to learn about this world and its inhabitants.
Lost in thought, Jon barely registered the weight of Qingshan's hand as it landed on his shoulder, pulling him back to the present.
It was then that he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, like the stare of unseen eyes trying to bore into his thoughts. Turning around, his gaze met that of an old man seated at a nearby stall.
With a donkey besides him and a pile of dry wood stacked neatly for sale beside him. His intense gaze fixed on Jon as if trying to unravel him from afar.
Jon couldn't help but feel a flicker of unease. What’s with that guy?
The man’s stare didn't waver as villagers walked around him, his presence almost like a still point in the turning world of the market. Jon noted the deep lines etched into his face.
Qingshan, following Jon’s gaze, chuckled softly. "Ah, that’s Old Man Han. He's an elder here. Don’t mind him; he's known for his stern looks, but he sells the best firewood around. Probably just curious about the new face."
Jon nodded, offering a cautious wave towards the man, who responded with a slight nod as well.
Reassured by Qingshan’s explanation, Jon turned back to the discussion of magical cold drinks, but the seed of curiosity about Yulian’s potential origins remained planted firmly in his mind.