Jon's eyes fluttered open, his body sinking into the unfamiliar yet surprisingly comfortable bed. It wasn't quite what he was used to - a simple wooden platform with a thin mattress and a quilted blanket - but after days of fitful sleep, it felt like heaven. It was a bit short for his frame, his feet dangling off the edge, but it had done the job.

He glanced around the small house Han had given him, one of three the old man had supposedly built with his bare hands. After witnessing Han turn rice grains into deadly projectiles, Jon wasn't about to question the claim.

As he stretched, a deep, rumbling bark cut through the morning air. It was Big Dawg, no doubt. The dog's voice carried a bass note that reminded Jon of those gym bros who'd chug protein shakes and grunt with every bicep curl.

Curiosity piqued, Jon stepped outside.

The world glistened, freshly washed by last night's rain. A rainbow arched across the sky, nature's own Instagram filter. The air hit his lungs like a mint-flavored slap, crisp and invigorating. It carried scents he'd never noticed before - damp earth, pine resin, and something floral that tickled his nose. The mountain breeze wrapped around him, neither hot nor cold, just... perfect.

Amidst this picturesque scene, Jon spotted Big Dawg... and Han's donkey. They stood facing each other, barely ten feet apart, locked in what could only be described as an animal kingdom standoff. Neither of them moved a muscle, their gazes fixed on each other with an intensity that could melt steel.

Jon's curiosity got the better of him as he watched the intense standoff. He called out to the dog, but Big Dawg remained unnaturally still, not even a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

Intrigued, Jon sat down on a nearby rock to observe. His mind raced with possibilities. He never really confirmed it, but could Big Dawg really be a spirit beasts? And Han, being such a powerful cultivator, surely his donkey wasn't just an ordinary animal either. Maybe it was some mythical creature in disguise, able to change form at will?

For a moment, Jon considered intervening, but curiosity won out. He wanted to see what would happen, what could possibly give a small Shiba Inu – not even larger than average – the audacity to challenge a donkey, mythical or not.

"I'll stop them if it goes too far," Jon muttered to himself, settling in to watch the show.

The standoff continued, tension thick in the air.

Suddenly, Big Dawg sprang into action. He darted left, then right, circling the donkey. Jon's eyes widened. "Holy shi- since when can Shibas move like that?"

The donkey, unfazed, simply pivoted in place, always facing its tiny opponent. Big Dawg lunged, aiming for a leg, but the donkey side-stepped with surprising grace.

Big Dawg growled, frustration evident in his stance. He feinted left, then charged right, but one of the donkey's hind legs whipped out, catching him mid-leap. The dog tumbled, rolling through a patch of dewy grass.

"Ouch," Jon winced. "That's gotta hurt."

Undeterred, Big Dawg shook himself off and crouched low, muscles coiled. He launched himself high, aiming for the donkey's back. For a moment, Jon thought he might make it.

But the donkey simply ducked, leaving Big Dawg to sail over his head and crash into a nearby bush. Leaves and twigs exploded outward, accompanied by a yelp of surprise.

As Big Dawg emerged, twigs stuck in his fur, the donkey let out a series of brays that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Jon couldn't help but chuckle. "Sorry, dawg," he called out to the defeated dog, "but I think you bit off more than you could chew this time."

Big Dawg shook himself, dislodging the debris, and trotted over to Jon with as much dignity as he could muster. The donkey, still braying its amusement, turned and sauntered away, its tail swishing victoriously.

As Big Dawg rested his head on Jon's thigh, whining pitifully, Jon couldn't help but be taken aback. "Are you crying, dawg?" he asked incredulously.

The dog barked in protest, as if offended by the suggestion.

Jon's eyes widened. "You really can understand me, can't you?"

The concept of having a full-on conversation with an animal felt surreal. Sure, back home, Jon had chatted with his neighbor's golden retriever and even his girlfriend's grumpy cat. But those one-sided conversations were more about the comfort of speaking out loud than any expectation of comprehension. The animals might recognize a few words like "walk" or "treat," but their responses were always distinctly... well, animal.

It wasn't like those viral videos he'd seen, where dogs seemed to press buttons to "talk" or parrots mimicked human speech. Those were cool, but still a far cry from genuine understanding.

But Big Dawg? The way he reacted, the almost human-like expressions, and that fight just now – it all pointed to something far beyond normal canine behavior.

Jon shook his head, a mix of awe and disbelief washing over him. "I guess I really need to start believing in the impossible around here," he muttered, scratching behind Big Dawg's ears. "Alright, buddy. If you can understand me, how about we make a deal? No more picking fights with donkeys, and I'll see if I can snag you some extra treats. Deal?"

Big Dawg's tail wagged furiously, and he let out a happy bark that sounded suspiciously like agreement.

As Jon and Big Dawg were bonding, a sudden whoosh filled the air, followed by a thunderous crash right in front of them. Jon instinctively recoiled, a string of curses escaping his lips before he realized the dust cloud was clearing to reveal... Han.

"Gramps?" Jon sputtered, blinking in disbelief. "Uh... good morning? You usually just come from the sky like that?"

Han looked at him with his usual calm demeanor, seemingly oblivious to the dramatic entrance he'd just made. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, as if dropping from the heavens was a perfectly normal way to start a conversation.

"Yes, I did," Jon replied, still a bit dazed. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Han dismissed the gratitude with a casual wave of his hand. It was then that Jon noticed the enormous stack of dead wood on the old man's back, easily twice the size of Han himself.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Seeing Jon's surprised stare, Han explained matter-of-factly, "I was gathering some wood."

Jon's eyes darted between Han's slight frame and the towering pile of lumber. "I can see that..." he managed, wondering if he'd ever get used to the casual displays of impossible feats in this world.

Jon got up and hefted a log from Han's impossibly large pile, his muscles straining under the unexpected weight. As he set it down, his mind raced back to the previous night's conversation.

The words had poured out of him then, a dam of pent-up experiences finally breaking. His old life, the bizarre kidnapping, the harrowing time with the demonic cult – he'd laid it all bare.

Han had listened with the patience of a mountain, his wrinkled face betraying no judgment, only understanding. The formalities had melted away as Jon spoke, 'sir' becoming 'gramps' without either of them really noticing.

Now, in the clear light of morning, the questions Jon had been too exhausted to ask last night bubbled to the surface. He grabbed another log, using the task to steel his nerves.

"Say, gramps," Jon began, trying to keep his voice casual. He paused, the weight of the question hanging between them. Han's eyes met Jon's.

Jon took a deep breath. "About my question last night..." He hesitated, then pushed forward. "Am I... am I in danger?"

The words hung in the air, as heavy as the logs they were stacking. Jon watched Han's face, searching for any flicker of emotion that might betray the gravity of the situation. The old man's expression remained as unreadable then shifted to one of casual contemplation. "Hmm, it's complicated but yes, you might die in your current condition."

Jon froze, his hand still on a log. He waited for the punchline, but Han's face remained impassive. The old man had dropped this bombshell with all the gravity of announcing he was out of tea leaves.

"Right," Jon drawled as he shook his head, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. "Care to clarify that little detail, gramps? Like, are we talking 'might die' as in 'everyone dies eventually', or more of a 'start planning your funeral' situation?"

Han sighed, his eyes distant. "Later, boy. There's much to explain."

Jon felt a flicker of irritation ignite in his chest. "Later? You can't just tell a guy he might die and then go all mysterious fortune cookie on him. What's going on with me?"

Han looked at Jon, his gaze softening. "Even I do not fully understand what's happening with you. In all my years, I've never encountered anything quite like this."

Jon stared at Han, confusion etched across his face. He blinked once, twice, then burst out laughing. It wasn't entirely humorous – there was an edge of hysteria to it.

As his laughter faded, Jon fell silent, his gaze drifting to the misty peaks. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on him, a constant, gnawing ache. Not knowing what was happening to him – it was slowly consuming his thoughts, leaving him adrift in a sea of questions.

Han observed Jon's inner turmoil with a measured gaze. After a moment, he spoke, his voice gentle but firm. "I know you seek answers, young one..."

Jon turned back to Han, hope and apprehension mingling in his expression. "Can you... can you tell me what's happening to me? Please, I need to understand."

Han observed Jon's inner turmoil with a measured gaze. With a deep sigh, he lowered himself onto one of the logs. "Listen carefully," he began, his voice steady and somber. "In the realm of cultivation, absolute knowledge eludes even the most venerable masters. I am no exception."

Han's eyes narrowed slightly, his tone clinical and detached. "Your lower dantian, the foundation of a cultivator's essence, is shattered. Not merely damaged, but splintered into innumerable fragments. By all known principles of qi cultivation, this alone should have extinguished your life force."

Jon's breath caught, but Han continued, his expression unchanged. "Yet, this fragmentation is not the most striking aspect. Your shattered dantian has become a nexus of ceaseless consumption. It draws in ambient qi with an insatiable hunger and shows no sign of abating."

Han paused briefly, allowing the information to sink in. "Now, here lies the true anomaly. Despite this relentless influx, your middle and upper dantian remain not only intact but have adapted in unprecedented ways. They've developed intricate circulation patterns that defy conventional understanding. Your meridians, too, have undergone significant alteration. They've expanded and reconfigured, forming complex networks that distribute the overwhelming qi influx with remarkable efficiency."

Jon's mind reeled, trying to grasp the implications. Han's eyes met his, conveying a mix of curiosity and cautious concern.

"Your physical form, young one, has become a living paradox. Every aspect of your being appears to have undergone a transformation to accommodate this ceaseless flow of qi. Your flesh has grown more resilient, your bones denser, your very essence more concentrated. You've become a vessel capable of channeling immense power, yet perpetually teetering on the brink of collapse."

Han's voice remained steady, but a hint of tension crept in. "It's a state both fascinating and deeply concerning. Your body maintains a precarious equilibrium, constantly balancing between potential transcendence and imminent destruction. The slightest disruption could lead to... unpredictable and likely catastrophic consequences."

Han stroked his long beard, his brow furrowed in contemplation. "This old man has seen many wonders in his years, but your condition... it's truly baffling."

He continued, his eyes narrowing as he examined Jon's qi flow. "Your body's adaptation defies all logic. With a shattered dantian, you should be nothing more than a cold corpse. Yet here you sit, breathing the mountain air."

Jon's hand unconsciously moved to his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "But how is that possible? How did my body adapt?"

Han shook his head, sighing. "This old man cannot say for certain. But listen well, boy – you must exercise extreme caution. That qi surge yesterday could have torn you apart. Your body barely maintained balance."

A chill ran down Jon's spine, remembering the rush of power he'd felt. "I... I see."

"Hmph," Han grunted. "Right now, your body contains qi that would take a cultivator of your realm a decade to amass. But with your shattered dantian, you can't process it normally."

Jon's eyes widened. He was about to ask a question.

Han held up a hand, silencing him. "This old man doesn't know how you should proceed. Your body struggles for balance. Qi flows into you ceaselessly. But one thing is clear – you must strengthen your mortal shell and learn proper qi control, or your days are numbered."

Jon nodded, determination replacing fear in his eyes. "I understand. So what I have to do is find a way to-"

"Careful, boy," Han warned. "Despite the vast qi within you, rushing will only lead to ruin. You must learn to tame this power, to coax it into harmony with your transformed body. This will take time and willpower. Perhaps even more that the conventional cultivator's path."

Han rose from the log with a groan. He brushed pine needles from his robes and fixed Jon with a penetrating gaze. "That's all this old man can discern from observing your qi flow. There's much more to unravel about your condition before I can say more."

Jon's brow furrowed, curiosity and concern etched on his face. He stood as well, absently patting Big Dawg's head as the dog stirred at his feet. "Old man, how long do I have? Before my body can't sustain this qi influx anymore?"

The old cultivator's expression darkened, his eyes distant as if peering into an uncertain future. "This old man cannot say. Your body is the most unique I've ever encountered, or even heard whispers of in ancient texts."

A cool breeze rustled through the clearing, carrying the scent of pine and distant wildflowers. Han's long beard swayed gently as he turned to face Jon fully. "Usually, young cultivators can find records or tales of others who've treaded similar roads. But you, boy..." He shook his head slowly. "You're the first to walk this path. You'll have to forge your own way forward."

Jon's mind raced, analyzing the situation with a newfound clarity. He knew nothing of cultivation, of the intricate dance of qi that Han spoke of. Yet here before him stood a wellspring of knowledge, a master with centuries of experience. If he could learn even the basics, perhaps he could adapt, could find a way to survive this impossible condition.

Taking a deep breath, Jon pressed his fist against his palm in a gesture of respect. "Master Han, I-"

But before he could continue, Han's expression soured, his brow furrowing deeply for the first time that morning as he looked down the mountain. Jon faltered, thrown off by the sudden shift in the old man's demeanor. Still, he steeled himself, determined to ask for guidance.

Just as Jon opened his mouth to speak again, a sound echoed through the mountain air. He turned towards the source, the same direction Han was looking at. Their conversation forgotten in an instant.

The deep, resonant tone of a horn carried up from the direction of the village below, reminiscent of the medieval fanfares Jon had heard in old movies.

Han's eyes narrowed, his voice low. "Imperial soldiers."