Chapter 42

A Simple Meal

Light.

Jon's eyelids fluttered, consciousness seeping back like a slow tide. The familiar post-blackout haze enveloped him, a dance of disorientation he knew all too well. He kept his eyes shut, piecing together the fragments of memory.

Wait. Wasn't there supposed to be an explosion? A grand finale of qi gone wild? Instead, his ears caught the gentle pitter-patter of rain and the soft crackle of a fire. The aroma of tea tickled his nostrils, mingling with the earthy scent of wet soil, among other smells. And what was that wet sensation on his face?

Something was licking him. Great.

Jon's mind raced, recalling the old man. What was his name again? Old Man Han? Yeah, that's it. The grandpa with the "I could obliterate you with my pinky" vibes.

Keeping his eyes stubbornly closed, Jon hatched his master plan. Wake up, claim he forgot to eat, which, come to think of it, was actually true, hence the blackout, and if the old man got nosy? Deny, deny, deny. What could possi-

"I know you're awake."

The gravelly voice sliced through Jon's thoughts like a hot knife through butter. Still, he persisted in his stellar performance.

A beat passed. Then, "Open your eyes and come get some tea. It's warm."

Jon remained motionless, committed to his role with the dedication of a method actor. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the whimpering of a dog. Big Dawg? Was that him?

Jon could hear the soft patter of rain and the crackling fire.

Then, without warning, his stomach unleashed a sound that could only be described as a cross between a dying whale and a rusty gate. The growl echoed through the room, seeming to linger in the air even after it had faded.

In the brief, mortifying silence that followed, a single thought flashed through Jon's mind: Shit.

Old Man Han let out a long-suffering sigh. "There's food," he said. "You should eat."

His act not fooling anyone, Jon's eyes snapped open, his face flushing a vibrant shade of red.

He sat up quickly, embarrassment written all over his features. A mild fear crept in as he remembered the old man's potential cultivator status. Best to play it safe and avoid any accidental offense.

"Good evening, sir," Jon said, his voice a mix of sheepishness and forced politeness.

A wet nose nudged his hand, and Jon looked down to see Big Dawg, tail wagging furiously. The dog's tongue darted out, giving Jon's hand another enthusiastic lick.

"Hi, buddy," Jon said, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Where were you today? Had fun?"

Gathering his composure, Jon stood up slowly. He faced Old Man Han, bringing his fist to his palm in a respectful salute and offering a slight bow. "Thank you for getting me out of the rain when I fainted," he said, trying to inject as much sincerity as possible into his voice.

As he straightened, Jon took the opportunity to glance around the old man's dwelling. The house was modest but undeniably cozy.

Worn wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, supporting a thatched roof that somehow managed to keep the torrential rain at bay. Shelves lined the walls, filled with an eclectic mix of books and scrolls, jars of mysterious substances, and what looked suspiciously like children's drawings.

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A small fire crackled merrily in a stone hearth, casting dancing shadows across the room. Near it sat a low table, laden with steaming bowls of rice and meat that made Jon's treacherous stomach growl again, albeit more quietly this time.

Herbs hung in bunches from the rafters, filling the air with a complex blend of aromas that Jon couldn't quite place. In one corner, a simple pallet lay neatly made, while the other held a workbench covered in an assortment of tools and half-finished projects. A straw hat, it seemed.

"Jon Li, is it?" Old Man Han's gravelly voice cut through his reverie.

"Hmm?" Jon blinked, then hastily collected himself. "Ah, yes, I'm Jon Lee. Thank you for remembering my name, sir."

Immediately, Jon cringed inwardly. Thank you for remembering my name? What sort of weakling have I become? He resisted the urge to physically facepalm.

Han pointed to the spot across the table. "Sit."

Jon complied, lowering himself onto the worn cushion. He eyed the steaming food, his stomach threatening another embarrassing serenade, but held back, not wanting to appear rude.

As if reading his mind, Han spoke, "Eat up. It will get cold otherwise."

That did it. "Thank you," Jon said, relief evident in his voice as he grabbed the wooden chopsticks and dug in.

The meal was simple - meat, rice, and a few hard-boiled eggs on the side, with water and warm tea to drink. Yet somehow, it tasted better than any feast Jon could remember right then. They ate in comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft clink of chopsticks against bowls and the occasional sound of Han tossing a morsel to Big Dawg.

The dog sat with an almost regal posture, his eyes darting between Jon and Han. When Han offered him a piece of meat, Big Dawg accepted it with surprising grace, delicately taking the morsel from the old man's fingers. Jon felt a twinge of anxiety. Act normal, buddy, he thought desperately. Just be a regular, dumb dog for once.

Han seemed to notice Jon's gaze. "Quite the well-mannered companion you have," he remarked, scratching behind Big Dawg's ears. The dog leaned into the touch, his tail thumping against the floor in a steady rhythm.

"Ah, yes," Jon said, trying to keep his voice casual. "He's... very well-trained."

Han nodded, a glimmer of something unreadable in his eyes. "Indeed. It's rare to see such a bond between man and beast. Almost as if they share a deeper connection."

Jon nearly choked on his rice. He coughed, reaching for his tea. "Oh, you know," he said after recovering, "just lots of time spent together."

You're gonna blow up our cover acting like that, Dawg! Jon screamed internally.

As he sipped the last of his tea, his mind wandered to his exit strategy. He'd thank the old man, wish him good fortune selling wood at the market, and make a swift departure. Simple, polite, and-

"Are you still hungry?" Han's casual question cut through Jon's planning.

Jon smiled politely, "No, thank you, sir." A nagging feeling told him this innocent query was merely the prelude to something less... cordial.

Sure enough, Han set down his cup and fixed Jon with a penetrating gaze. "Good."

He leaned forward slightly, his eyes never leaving Jon's face. "I figured you would need to eat something since you were quite reckless to use your qi in such a manner during your fight against the Rising Dragon."

Jon's throat went dry, his thought process screeching to a halt. He gulped audibly, feeling as if the floor had suddenly disappeared beneath him.

Han continued, his voice calm but firm. "That is why you fainted. Channeling qi through your meridians without proper control is like trying to direct a raging river through a straw. It overwhelmed your body's capacity to handle the energy flow. And now, you are experiencing the aftermath."

The old man's words hit Jon like a physical blow.

Before he could formulate a response, Han pressed on. "Your technique is unrefined, your control lacking. It's a wonder you didn't cause yourself permanent damage."

He paused, taking a sip of his tea before fixing Jon with another piercing look. "Now, why don't you tell this old man what a young, wild cultivator and his charming spirit beast are doing in this humble village? It's not often we get visitors of your... particular talents."

The question hung in the air like a sword of Damocles. Jon's mind raced, a barrage of thoughts competing for attention. Damn. Am I screwed? It looks like I'm screwed. Play dumb or come clean? Oh god, he really was a super-powerful elder in disguise...

Outwardly, Jon maintained his composure, but his trembling grip on the teacup tightened ever so slightly. He met Han's gaze, searching for any hint of hostility or trickery. Finding none, he took a deep breath, weighing his options.

The old man's presence, while not overtly threatening, carried an undeniable weight. This wasn't someone to be trifled with, cultivator or not. Jon's instincts screamed at him to choose his next words very, very carefully.

"I..." Jon began, then paused, reconsidering. He glanced at Big Dawg, who looked back at him with what Jon could have sworn was an encouraging expression. 'Well,' Jon thought, here goes nothing.