Well, I made a friend.
Old Dao.
He wasn't much to look at—thin frame, clothes smelling like old herbs, a beard so messy it looked like it was constantly in the middle of falling off his face—but he had a calming presence. The kind of presence that came from surviving too long in a world that didn't make sense anymore.
Most of the time, I just wandered around town aimlessly. I didn't have a real plan—didn't need one. I was learning things here and there, figuring out the language better, watching people interact, and observing how this world worked. That's what I told myself, anyway. But if I was being honest?
I was just bored.
Old Dao found me sitting near the back of the so-called Martial Arts Academy's courtyard one day, watching some kid punch a log with all the grace of a drunk goose. The whole "academy" was more of a scam than anything. A glorified daycare for young people who wanted to feel important.
"You have the eyes of someone wasting potential," Old Dao said to me, his arms crossed behind his back.I raised an eyebrow. "You stalking me now, old man?"
He laughed. "No. But I know a lost cause when I see one. Come. If you're going to rot, you may as well rot in a useful way. Ever consider learning medicine?"
That was how it started.
I didn't have anything better to do, so I agreed. He handed me an armful of scrolls and pointed toward the back of the academy, where an abandoned shed was barely standing.
"Start there. If you manage to understand even half of what's in those, I'll brew you something better than the watery soup they serve at the local inns."
He didn't think I'd get through them.
I finished all of it by the evening.
In this body, memorizing was laughably easy. Perfect memory, rapid comprehension, and a body that never seemed to tire—it was like my brain was a living database. Words weren't just read; they were absorbed. Everything from common treatments to obscure ancient cures were now filed neatly in my head.
But even with all that, I still kept visiting Old Dao.
Because he talked.
Not like the others in this town—those whose sentences felt like they were rehearsed and stiff. He talked like someone who had seen too much and didn't care anymore.
And I liked listening.
"So, where are you from?" he asked me one afternoon, while we were drying herbs under the sun.
"The Eastern Continent," I said without thinking.
He nodded slowly. "Ah. Makes sense. The strange accent, the way you use your verbs. Thought you might be from one of those island states."
"You've met people from there?"
"A few. A long time ago. Most of them didn't last long in this part of the world. Sun's too cruel here."
I tilted my head. "Don't they revere the sun here?"
"Oh, they do. They call themselves Descendants of the Sun. It's poetic until you realize how many wars that phrase has started."
He squatted down, rummaging through a basket of roots. "Central Continent's mythology is a bit self-centered, if you ask me. Everything begins and ends with their Sun God. Created the earth, then the moon, then the stars, and finally people—because, apparently, light gets lonely."
"Sounds like the sun needs therapy," I muttered.
Old Dao wheezed a laugh. "Exactly!"
As days passed, we fell into a rhythm.
I read books. Helped organize scrolls. Brewed medicine. Listened to gossip. We talked. A lot.
Sometimes about ridiculous things.
"Did you know the Crown Prince got caught in a brothel?" he said one evening, over a steaming pot of medicinal tea.
I raised a brow. "The same prince who fled the capital after the queen died?"
"The very one. Tried disguising himself as a wandering monk. Got into a fight with a pig farmer. Lost."
"Damn. That's gotta bruise the royal ego."
"They dragged him back by the collar. Now he's under 'spiritual confinement,' which I think just means he's locked in a gold-plated room with too many guards and not enough wine."
I smirked. "Sounds like you've got spies."
He winked. "Let's just say the sick come to me, and they always talk when they're half-conscious."
Old Dao had a talent for making people talk.
He made me talk too.
Not about everything, of course. I never told him about the USB drive, or the strange gold-black ring that carried all my belongings, or the fact that I wasn't really from any continent on this world.
But I told him enough.
And I listened even more.
He once told me about how the so-called founder of the martial arts school—some lunatic with a beard like a mop—pretended to be a divine immortal and scammed half the town.
"If you see that man for more than one day," Old Dao said, "you'll lose all faith in martial arts. The only thing divine about him is his ability to lie without blinking."
"Sounds like a politician."
"I think he tried becoming one once. Failed. That's why he started this school."
The thing was, I wasn't just wasting time.
I was experimenting—slowly.
Testing my own limits.Trying to understand the full capabilities of my body and soul.Practicing strange breathing methods. Testing my heart rate. Using my memory to simulate processes. It wasn't flashy. But it felt like I was on the edge of something.
Maybe I'd create my own version of cultivation one day.
Who knows?
At night, I'd stare at the black USB drive. My "cheat." No flashy system screens. No glowing stats. Just… data. Silent, cold, deep.
But it was there.
Waiting.
Like a sleeping dragon inside my pocket.
One day, after helping the librarian reorganize some mislabeled scrolls, I noticed they kept handing me more work. Fixing indexes. Sorting files. Rewriting ancient labels. By the end of the month, they gave me a key.
"You're in charge now," they said, shrugging.
And just like that…
I became the owner of the academy's Great Library.
Old Dao smiled when I told him. "Well, look at you. From foreign vagrant to Lord of Dusty Scrolls. What an arc."
"I'm honored," I deadpanned.
Life was good.
No monsters.No ancient seals cracking open.No heroes destined to slay me.
Just scrolls.Tea.Quiet conversations.Gossip under the sun.And a friend who, despite everything, made this world feel less alien.
For the first time since I came here, I wasn't just surviving.
I was living.