Yu Xuan took a deep breath, his first true breath as a cultivator and his monstrous talent didn’t disappoint.
The spiritual energy in the air surged toward him like metal attracted to a magnet, drawn in by his every inhalation.
It was pure, vibrant, and full of life, and yet—
The moment he completed the first breath, his expression changed.
He fought the urge to react too strongly, exhaling slowly with control. But even then, his shoulders trembled... and then —
He burst into laughter, a sharp, wild sound that echoed through the lonely mountain like a madman’s cackle. It lasted nearly a full minute.
Luckily, no one was around, or he might’ve been publicly declared insane.
He wiped the tear threatening to slide from the corner of his eye, sighing as if his body had just survived an emotional ambush.
His first reflection was raw and honest:
"Why is cultivation so weird...?"
During the technique he used the "Primordial Breath" — the spiritual energy didn’t just enter his body... it barged into his lungs, like couple reuniting from a long distance relationship.
That’s where the problem started.
As the spiritual energy infiltrated his lungs, it didn’t feel painful, but it was odd.
At first, it was a gentle prickling, almost ticklish, but it soon escalated into a bizarre internal sensation — like a thousand tiny invisible fingers tapping against the insides of his lungs.
It reminded him of an exhausted adult using their last ounce of sanity to tickle a baby for a laugh, while the baby, overwhelmed and unable to defend itself, could only laugh helplessly.
He, unfortunately, was the baby in this scenario.
The spiritual energy had become a mischievous imp, tickling him not on the skin, but directly inside his lungs — the breath he took felt like an invasion of tickles.
He had no choice but to laugh until he was out of breath.
But now, that ticklish storm had settled. He felt... clearer. Lighter.
Like that, until evening, Yu Xuan continued practicing his new breathing technique — immersing himself in the unfamiliar rhythm of inhaling spiritual energy and guiding it through his slowly awakening meridians.
He was getting more used to the sensation of the qi brushing against his internal channels.
It tickled sometimes, burned faintly at others, and every once in a while, it settled with a warm hum in his dantian. Not enough to call a breakthrough, but enough to say: something was happening.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and crimson, Yu Xuan finally stopped.
Sweat clung to his back. His breathing was smoother now, steadier. But just as he was admiring this quiet progress —
His stomach roared in protest.
"I’m really hungry," he muttered dryly, placing a hand on his abdomen.
He glanced around. There was no one — no sect steward, no senior disciple, no maid or automaton to deliver food.
Just him, the trees, a few butterflies... and an ominously curious squirrel watching him like prey.
"I’m not eating that," he said aloud, pointing at the squirrel, which promptly turned and scurried away.
With no other option, Yu Xuan began the long, twenty-minute walk back to his humble residence.
Upon entering, he moved straight into the kitchen.
It was still pristine, untouched except for some minor dust. From his space ring, he retrieved the canned food the clan had given him upon departure — enough to provide nutrition, but bland.
He placed a cooking utensil onto the makeshift stove.
At its center sat a small orange spirit-stone with a carved ignition rune.
He pressed the rune like a button, and with a quiet fwoosh, flame flickered to life.
He emptied the can, which had various nuts — gold almond, tiger-heart walnut, flameberry seed, and something purple he couldn’t identify.
They sizzled gently in the pan. The aroma wasn’t unpleasant.
Taking the warmed nuts outside, Yu Xuan sat on the edge of the porch, admiring the view of the elemental peak bathed in twilight glow.
He slowly munched on hot nuts, letting silence settle around him.
"...Did I really reincarnate into a cultivation world?" he wondered aloud, gazing at the fading sun.
Clearly, this was not the path the novels promised.
No face-slapping arrogant young masters.
(well, he was technically a young master).
No pretending to be a pig to eat the tiger.
No fox spirits turning into devastatingly beautiful women.
No hidden stalkers watching from rooftops.
No scheming girls fighting to serve tea and warm his bed.
No rich young lady offering soft rice because of his looks.
No good dreams — ONLY bad dreams. BAD. BAD. DREAMS.
That last one hit hard.
And the pace of life?
He sighed. "If this continues, I could write a novel ’My Slow Cultivation Life in 10,000 B.C.E (Before Cultivation Era), Special Lazy Edition.’"
He remembered that tomorrow, he needed to face his biggest challenge yet: asking his master where, exactly, food supplies came from.
There was no grocery store. No farming puppet. No sect kitchen delivery.
He took another bite of the nuts. They were slightly bitter, but warm. Comforting.
In the cultivation world, elders acted young, and the young were sent to train or die.
Peace was but a beast tide away from collapsing.
Strength was the only truth. But shortcuts led to hidden curses, evil inheritances, or becoming someone’s body double.
He even questioned the system once: ’Am I your puppet?’
The system gave no reply.
He stuffed that thought, deep in his mental box labeled [DO NOT OPEN UNTIL POWERFUL].
"I suppose this is why sages say, Willpower is the foundation of cultivation," he murmured.
Boredom, he realized, was its own kind of inner demon.
Still, he remained positive.
Now night had fully arrived. The moon hung high, Stars glittered above like tiny spirit beads cast across velvet skies. He’d been staring into the air for who knows how long.
"Cultivation is a long journey... I should at least keep myself entertained," he said, standing up and stretching.
That was enough thinking for today. Enough philosophy. Enough nuts.
Tomorrow, he’d seek answers, from his master, from the world, and from the mysterious life he’d been thrown into.
With one last breath, Yu Xuan stepped inside.
His bed looked far too inviting. He sank into it like falling into a soft cloud.
And with a whisper, "Today was short... yet long," he let his consciousness fade into sleep.
Hoping he would not have a bad dream.