《A New Beginning》 Chapter 1: A new place, a new beginning Fan Yiyao raised his hand to wipe the sheen of sweat on his face. It was a mild afternoon; for the most part, that was how the sect had set up its array constellations. The weather inside the sect grounds was maintained to a comforting sunny year round unless there were other circumstances at play, in which case, the outside clime would seep in. Not like that was a significant hurdle for cultivators. Unless the weather was thunderous or some spirit storm, cultivators could wade through any weather. Even with the weather inside breezy, the constant sweeping under the sun got him sweating. It was not a torture, though. It was rather peaceful, with the cozy wind caressing his face as it playfully flew by. And with the vast and lofty sprawling of hills as far as the eye could see complementing the view, he felt refreshed. The mountain tops would even peek at him every once in a while whilst hidden behind the clouds. It was a surreal sight to behold. Streams of clear water gently weaved their way through the mountains into the vast forests below. The cacophony of nature beamed at their presence, dancing with them in rhythm. Yet, hidden under all the exquisite beauty and glamour of nature was a sense of ever-present tension and peril, invisible to the untrained eye, which only scraped the surface. It was him. He was the untrained eye. Previously, he was a modern mind submerged in convenience. Presently, he was a fallen prince in a declining sect. Fortunately, he was disowned and denounced by the royal family. Fortunately, he did not have talent. Fortunately, he could live peacefully to the end of his days as a handyperson in this sect. At least, that was how it was supposed to be. Don¡¯t get him wrong. He was not a prince anymore, for which he could not be more grateful. He also did not have an ounce of talent for cultivation, for which he was even more grateful. It was the last fortunate point that was worrying him a little. You see, he had something. He could see these words hanging in the air. They burned themselves out into existence the first time he saw his reflection in the water. And since then, they were always there, accompanying him. Endless Ocean Of Yore Tune in? Y/ N. And he did not completely understand what these meant or what would happen if he chose either yes or no. He was worried that it would upend his current peaceful lifestyle. He was not fond of fighting. He was rather laid-back. Sure, he could watch fights, but being a part of them was a no-go. It was not his cup of tea. He felt grateful for this new life. It was pleasant, barring all the cultivator stuff happening around. It was a fresh chance, a new beginning. And since he wasn¡¯t talented, he was not part of that world. The one thing that stood out in stark contrast from the memories he merged with was that the cultivation world was not a kind one. And that was saying something because even the previous one was not kind. If he had to fight for resources, techniques, and more to reach a higher level, only to repeat the same to progress, he had rather not. You fought for resources. You used said resources to gain power. You used gained power to gain resources. You used gained resources to gain power. You used...you get the point. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. It was a never-ending, vicious, pointless cycle he didn¡¯t want any part of. And in most cases, what one was served at the end was a painful death. Those few that managed to survive in some form or another were usually blistering in revenge. Even if he had to die, he would die in peace and not writhing in pain. He appreciated being a former prince. It allowed him access to a knowledge otherwise kept secret. The commons were not privy to many matters; they were a churning mill of rumours. And while he could try to separate the wheat from the chafe from within those rumours, it was not a worthwhile endeavour. Thus, his knowledge helped him make better, informed decisions. Being a prince meant being in extreme privilege. And privilege usually meant higher, more promising starts and futures. In the cultivation world, to be alive was to err; to be privileged, divine. Even a talentless prince like him had eaten more resources in regular meals. Something the mundane could only dream of. Talent in the cultivation world could make one a valuable commodity. Privilege, on the other hand, was authority itself. Combine both, and one gets a legatee. Talent was seen as the entrance ticket to power. Not a determinant but a highly sought-after reality. Privilege was having a background of power. A more enormous fist meant a more immense weight awarded to one¡¯s words. Blessed be the heavens; he was away from all of that. Well, relatively away. He was in a sect, after all. But to be far away from the palace¡¯s conspiring and scheming walls or the core disciples¡¯ internal politics was a boon. The handyperson dwellings he was in might not be lavish, but they were far more sleep-facilitating. No one was going to poison or stab him here. The one spirit stone with some other bits and pieces of pills and the like he should get every month, he never got. The handyperson hall elder pocketed them. It was not special treatment for him; it was the case for most of them. Only a few comparatively talented, even in the handyperson hall, got their share. The hall elder was not stupid. The elder, more like a manager, knew whom to keep a good relationship with and whom to ignore. There was a competition held every year to keep disciples hopeful of promotion. Handyperson became outer sect disciples, and outer sect disciples became inner sect disciples. There was a more rigorous process to become a core disciple. Those the elder felt were likely to climb into the outer sect he appeared amiable with. Years of experience made him a professional. And unless a handyperson got some top opportunity, which was next to zero, they could not mount a comeback. Handypersons hardly went outside the sect, and if there was an opportunity in the sect, it was likely already taken. Thus, their chance of cultivating enough to thrash the elder was only lower than zero. Because he didn¡¯t make a fuss, he wasn¡¯t troubled either. He expected to get bullied, but other than disdainful glances at first, what followed was an absolute lack of attention. To his much-welcome surprise, he was left to himself. No one had time for someone who was demoted and lacking in talent and resources. Some did come; however, after not getting a reaction from him, those people also got bored and left. He found it childish and did not even take it to heart. They could not get resources from him because he didn¡¯t have any. And they wouldn¡¯t get any entertainment from him either. The struggle in the handyperson hall was intense. Rarely would one find easygoing people like him. There were so many bigger fishes to fry; what would a meatless mosquito like him matter? The conclusion, he was ignored. This was what he wanted. He would lead a fulfilling, slow and satisfying life in relative obscurity. What. A. Life! Even if he did get the one spirit stone and no one snatched it, he didn¡¯t think he could cultivate. It¡¯s not that he didn¡¯t know how. It¡¯s that he lacked focus. His amount of focus was paltry compared to the hours, days, weeks, months and years that were needed. A modern mind bred on sensory stimulation, information overload and momentary distraction was not the best match for cultivation. Attention and focus became the core currencies. He could lie all day to dream and watch the clouds float by but to cultivate meant to focus on channelling techniques to absorb or refine spirit energy for extended periods, which was beyond his current capabilities. That kind of devotion to cultivation was something only someone raised in a cultivation world could emanate. What he was going to do was cultivate in a consistent way for a minimum of five minutes a day. Yes, it sounded like a joke. What were five minutes a day? Yet, he didn¡¯t care. It was a start. He would be gradual in his increase of time. He had to keep the process sustainable lest he toss it aside for a year after having cultivated at a stretch for an entire night only once. The merging of memories had altered his disposition. Unique perspectives from two different worlds gave him a great vantage point. He had more clarity in what he should and should not do. He would go about it at a careful and deliberate pace. The one thing that still stumped him was the words in the air. Luckily, they worked with his intent. Vanishing as he wished, appearing as he wanted. He felt he couldn¡¯t delay a choice any longer. He was much too curious about it. Hopefully, curiosity would not kill the cat that was him. Sighing, he decided he would make a choice when sweeping in a secluded spot in the early hours of the morning. He could try it out within a crowd, but he didn¡¯t know if it would cause a commotion. He wanted to remain low-key. Some might argue attracting attention attracted more resources, but great danger and risk were also drawn. People watching your every move, plotting your downfall at every step. It was only a matter of time till one got caught in a trap and eliminated. While trying it out in a secluded place would garner more attention if the thing did cause a ruckus, he might get time to slip away. Yet, cultivators and their means could never be underestimated. He could only hope he was making the correct choice and then take things as they came. Options were debated in hindsight, but life didn¡¯t work that way. One had to make a choice and move with it. Either it works out, or it doesn¡¯t. And if it doesn¡¯t, you make a new choice. Delving into the unknown was a simple facet of life. So delve he shall; come morning, he would be ready with an answer. Chapter 2: Why abstruse and cultivators-an odd bunch A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Chapter 3: Fact or Myth Fan Yiyao was currently in his quarters in the handyperson courtyard, inspecting the abstruse umbrella. The umbrella had a worn-out wood stem, and its canopy was similarly worn-out, faded, azure fabric. It felt sturdy. Examining it closely brought him to the highly dull-looking inscriptions snaking their way around the umbrella. He tried to clean the umbrella to better look at the inscriptions, but it wasn''t dirty in the first place and did not get any cleaner. It could be a spirit tool, but he didn''t have the spiritual energy to try it out. He was not going to ask anyone to help with it. He could use it as an umbrella when he wanted to, but how would he prove where he got it from. Seeing that he wasn''t getting any closer to solving the mystery, he could only let it rot in the spatial storage he had connected with recently. Soon, it would be time for him to sweep again. The whole cultivation world was settling in. The flowing robes, surreal sights, intricate ancient architecture, and everyday superhuman feats were breathtaking. He had seen beasts who had teeth more significant in size than him. He had maintained distance to maintain safety. Only to realize later that the space he kept might have worked with a lion from his previous world but not the current one. So he had stepped back even farther. Fan Yiyao''s actions would have mattered if he had been anywhere near the beast in the first place. He had only looked at it from afar and felt it was too close for comfort. No matter, Fan Yiyao would adapt in time. What mattered now were the astute observations he had made. He felt they were astute, but anyone would realize the difference had they been in his place instead. Questionable statement number 1. Did cultivators get more beautiful as they progressed to higher realms in cultivation? Was it a fact, or was it a myth? Well, it was a bit of both: part fact and part myth. Yes, they did get more beautiful, but not in the traditional sense, not in the ''beauty standards prevalent in his old world'' kind of way. Cultivators did not obtain six-pack abs or jade-like bodies as they progressed to higher ranks. Having sharp jawlines or abs resulted from toning and shaping of the body. Some techniques could change body, bone and muscle structure, but that was a function of the techniques and the methods employed and not the result of a high level of cultivation itself. Some techniques geared towards seduction, glamour and the like made the party affected see an illusion of their ideal wants based on their biases and perceptions of the world. It did not change the cultivator itself; instead, people''s perceptions of them became twisted to their individual preferences. People also did not get more attractive as they levelled in cultivation. Their influence on the world around them increased from their now-stronger aura. Skin whiteness did not mean the body was devoid of waste or the black gunk so widely believed. There were too many races to count, and intermixing was prevalent. Cultivators would get together to create better, stronger, and more powerful progeny. So a darker colour, fat body, etcetera, did not imply waste in the body or an unattractive body. Some bodies changed as a result of the cultivation manual employed. Many fat people had more energy reserves and dominated in battle. Cultivators didn''t have a concept of being overweight or underweight, and assuming such things could lead to alarming outcomes. Being of a particular shape, height or size would get you nowhere. Power of self or background were the only things that swayed cultivators. Gender and sexuality were fluid for a reason. A cultivator looking like a child could be older than entire lineages. Thus, cultivators gave nary a care for gender and sexuality. They cared for face and power. Might was right in the most literal sense. Powerful old cultivators were revered so much that the listeners took any nonsense they spoke as sacred words. At the same time, the listeners mocked these old ones as fools inside their hearts. It was a fascinating contrast; to see them both revere and mock those they aspired to be. It was not difficult to understand why they were ridiculed. A lot of cultivators had no substance backing their words. Add on top of it, acting like wise sages, speaking big words, repeating the same old things, and the general spite other cultivators had for them. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Questionable statement number 2. Sects were destroyed and looted all the time. Was it a fact, or was it a myth? Again, it was a bit of both: part fact and part myth. The fact was sects were destroyed all the time. Smaller ones that got decimated were aplenty, a dime a dozen. Most smaller ones paid tribute to the larger ones. But that was not a guarantee in and of itself; it was a straightforward compulsion. Either you pay and stay relatively safe or get destroyed by not paying. Even then, the larger ones did not care about sects under them warring as long as balance was maintained. The balance where they sat firmly on top of those below them. Thus, two sects which were enemies of one another could fight and damage each other, and the larger sect would turn a blind eye to it. Why would they stop these fools from weakening themselves? Their weakness meant more resources could be exploited out of them. Sometimes, the larger sect planted seeds of opposition to keep any power under it from getting too stronger. And sometimes, sects were destroyed due to internal squabbles. The best outcome was splintering into even smaller sects; the worst was either assimilation by another or complete annihilation. The myth was that sects were plundered of their wealth all the time. Hardly was this the case. Most believed, if not mine, then not yours either. And they would definitely obliterate all they had collected if they had no option. Let the resources turn to ashes instead of being used by the enemy. It did not work like how protagonists did in the stories of his previous life. It required dedicated professionals to steal anything from a sect treasury without raising alarms, alerting or getting caught. You couldn''t just smash and take. But there were enough dare-to-do foolish people around who wanted to make a name for themselves. Questionable statement number 3. The weight of face in a cultivator''s spirit. Was it a fact, or was it a myth? Likewise, it was a bit of both: part fact and part myth. Cultivators went to war for face. They could stand indomitably in front of indisputable power and utter ruin for the ideals that anchored their heart. They could go out smiling at times like these. Their boldness and resolve had to be applauded. But they subverted all the respect they earned in his heart in the face of great enough benefits. The one surefire way to move a cultivator was to increase the benefits they were served. Have enough benefits, and entire sects, clans and kingdoms would move. To go against the heavens was their will and to fight for more resources was their way. The one other thing that was surefire was that most cultivators barring a few exceptions, would not betray their Dao heart, a set of beliefs and ideals they had faith in. To stand firm in the way of obstacles was their way and to survive to fight another day was their will. Whether that be by persisting in fighting another day by themselves or by passing on the torch. It was a much engrossing contrast they possessed. Questionable statement number 4. The premise of all-powerful physiques, techniques and arts. Was it a fact, or was it a myth? An asinine myth. There was no all-powerful art or physique or bloodline. All those novels talking about the protagonist having the strongest physique type, the strongest technique, the super-strong-ultra-ultimate manual, etcetera, were banal. To a cultivator, only the heavens who rained down tribulations and punishments, who judged them of ascension, were all-powerful. After respecting and admiring such power, they had developed ways to temporarily cheat past them. Impermanence was in the nature of such methods, and their costs were too high, yet they were designed even if only as a temporary measure. Then, how could they believe in a technique that was the be-all and end-all in all of cultivation? The thought was a narrow and foolish absurdity at best. A cultivator was known for one thing besides power and fear. And that was versatility. To be able to deal with whatever in whatever circumstances. That was a cultivator. One thing he had to commend them for. They did have the will and courage. Honour, maybe, depending on interests and benefits involved, but will and courage they did have. Cultivators were a complex and complicated creature, similar to the people in his previous life. Fact was, the sheer presence of such ludicrous misconceptions would remain an eternal mystery to him. And to find their source of origination would take him back to his previous world, which he was not keen on, regardless of the possibility of being able to go back. On the other hand, a mystery he was keen to work on was the power he had been given. It seemed too good to be true. What excited him was not the things he would gain but rather the act of gaining stuff out of thin air itself. Whether he would end up tuning into the rhythm of trouble or tranquillity, only time would tell. For now, his broom called for him. He had a job to do, and he would do it well. Chapter 4: A mortals wrath Fan Yiyao woke up with a start, his breathing laboured and heavy and his clothes drenched in sweat. He tried to steady his shivering hands, straining to do even this much. His attempts at slowing his breathing were proving difficult. It was the first time he had had a nightmare since he had been in this world. And he knew what was in that nightmare. He was beginning to understand the workings behind this power of his. Taking a deep breath, he laid down again and recalled what had happened the previous morning. One of the strange things he didn''t count yesterday, perhaps the strangest, most peculiar of them all, was the visions after having tuned in. He watched on as a giant turtle, a size so magnificent in magnitude that his tiny brain had trouble comprehending, moved with an elegance that made it seem effortless and betrayed its size. He had never felt this small. He felt like curling into a ball, his head to his knees, covered by his arms. But he froze. His mind went blank, and he stood there frozen. The turtle hadn''t noticed him; if it did, it showed no such indication. He watched as the turtle swam without displacing any water, even with its sheer size. Could a turtle swim through the air, through the skies? Because this one was doing so. And it was mesmerising. The contrast between his own insignificance and the turtle had a desire in him kindling. A desire to move like the turtle did, be free like a floating cloud, not at the mercy of the winds or any other force, to become freedom itself. The vision shifted to a melancholic one. Fan Yiyao was now underground, standing between the gigantic bones resembling a turtle. This was a graveyard, a graveyard of monumental scales. He could feel a kind of sadness he had not felt before. And even more fear. Because what could take a turtle that immense out like that and leave nothing but bones. All of a sudden, as quickly as he had found himself in that other place, he found himself back at the pond''s shore. Looking at the sun, it was at the same place as before he had left. He felt like he hadn''t really gone anywhere, at least not in the physical sense. Whatever he saw was mayhaps something that happened in his mind and the passing of time, well there was none; time was flowing as usual as far as he could understand. But he could be sure more time had passed there even if he couldn''t see any such effect here. It was like watching a movie, not from outside the screen, but as a spectator immersed in the screen. He needed time to process everything, and sweeping would help him calm down. Nothing like doing a mundane chore and losing yourself in thinking while at it. The one big question from many others was what it took to leave that turtle in the state he saw. Turning back to glimpse the pond, he again noted its size. The pond was huge. He chalked the reason to cultivators and their shenanigans before, and while a valid reason, maybe there was a different explanation for this one. He walked back to the pond and observed it as if his gaze could pierce through the surface to reveal what was at the bottom of the water. After a few seconds of uneventful, unfruitful staring, he went back to continue sweeping away. This was where the strange ended. If there was more, then Fan Yiyao failed to recall, and any more ''strange'' escaping him at the moment was not his concern. He had no desire to get up from the cot to begin a chase in the night. He had received more than enough shocks for the day. Only one thing was occurring to him concerning the cause of death of that turtle. The Era of Carnage. It was said, long ago, before the current Era of Desolation, when the world was booming, cultivators were aplenty, spiritual qi was rich, and everything was growing; news of the spread of a plague made its way to the ears of cultivators from a small sect. The cultivators scoffed it off. Such epidemics ensued on the regular. They kept watch of the mortals under them, taking care of beasts and other troubles the mortals faced but only if they deemed it worthy. After all, they couldn''t go at the mortals'' every beck and call now, could they? And mortals conceived posthaste. To the cultivators, the numbers of lives and deaths pertaining to mortals were only statistics. As long as the overall number remains healthy, it wasn''t a significant cause for concern. Plus, the plague was developing at a slow pace, and not many mortals were affected, which only made them feel their judgement and decision were right. Oh, how naive they had been. If only. But regret was no medicine and would not save anyone. What had been a ''slow-to-spread and develop'' plague turned into a monstrous evil overnight. They had been lax, but they hadn''t done anything different to be thought of as lax. They had only behaved as they always did. But it was, without doubt, a grave error on the cultivators'' part, something cultivators had trouble acknowledging. They had been negligent in their handling of the plague, having not taken it seriously before, which was again a behaviour no different than usual. But this time, the plague was not the same. And it came, it came after them. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. For some reason, the plague was still slow on the mortals or even entirely ineffective on some. Why would a malady affect cultivators more than mortals? As baffling a notion as it might be, it was the truth. And the more qi they used, the swifter the affliction unfurled. Most cultivators had the habit of having their qi covering and layering their entire bodies. The fine control was developed through countless battles and honed through practice, becoming instinct itself. Now they had to consciously work to abandon what was gained through sweat and blood. It was on this day they were reminded how mortal they were. It felt like the plague was spreading through spiritual energy. That was a revelation that gave them trouble breathing. On top of that, none of their existing pills worked. Some even exacerbated the flaring. Early symptoms were weakness and lethargy in the body, something cultivators had forgotten about altogether. What followed was the atrophying of the body at alarming rates. All the while, they were afflicted with excruciating agony and pain. But the pain was not what hurt the most. Cultivators could live through pain; however, watching themselves weakening, their powers waning, and their hard-earned bodies withering was a far more aching blow. Most higher-ranked cultivators had left behind nothing but husks and legacies of their glorious past. Even their bones had not been spared. Those extreme few that did survive were nothing but bones encased in skin. Their skin clung to bones harder than cultivators clung to face and power, which was saying something. Essentially, they were nought but a bag of bones. Beholding their lives change course from heaven-bound to earth-bound was pure torment. What travails had they not faced? And yet, here they were, helpless and hopeless. The plague was the beginning of a domino falling. Cultivators were already a selfish bunch, caring for little else other than their continued survival. With deaths from the plague came fear. A fear spreading faster than the plague itself. Desperation started to seep in. A confrontation with their very own, very frail mortality made the cultivators far more unstable. And one unstable person with power was a danger to all others. But what about uncountable unstable persons with power? That was the beginning of a carnage seen only when more savage times were the way of the world. Thus began the decline. After many more deaths and much blood, with the smell of death pervading the air, a peace was brokered by the prevailing parties. It was a silence the world had not seen. A devastation more commonplace than the common populace, abandoned dolls children played with lying on the roads, howling echos made by the sound of winds passing through empty homes the only sound for miles, and the sight of bones every few steps. The world would take time to recuperate from destruction of such scale. Every step people took was laden heavily with exhaustion and sadness. Tears had dried out, and sobs and wails had left throats torn. It was a slow walk to recovery. Conspiracists were abound with their conspiracies. Two explanations for the plague had the most attention. One, the plague was like any other, a force of nature. Two, it was created by some evil sect. No one knew the truth; if they did, they did not speak of it. But Fan Yiyao knew. Being a prince had its perks. He had read it in the Royal Repository, and were it to be revealed, he would be hunted down by every cultivator out there. It was of that big a scandalous nature. It had made the prince gasp the first time he read it. The plague had been birthed by a mortal. A ''pathetic and miserable'' mortal. How was that possible? The record in the Royal Repository had painted the mortal in a demonized light. But after Fan Yiyao merged with the memories, he could catch there was more to it. But there were no more records after that. If there were, they were hidden even more discreetly. What was noted was the place the plague first made its appearance. And some other relevant details. How the plague was solved, he didn''t know. The solution was also kept undisclosed. The fact that the plague was spread by a mortal was also only attained through divination. Many would suppose seeing the power difference between a cultivator and a mortal that divining more would have been not difficult at all. But fate worked in mysterious ways. And someone who had taken the lives of cultivators uncountable, that someone being a mortal, spoke for a lot. Many had faced tremendous backlashes and lost their lives trying to divine more. Those who stopped after knowing it was a mortal stopped divining more. Not because they wanted to but because they had already faced backlash for their actions and survived by the skin of their teeth. They were prudent and knew when to stop. Even high-rank cultivators were wary of fate. But the fact that it was a mortal was something that many cultivators in the know were not able to accept. Some had their qi deviating outright, either becoming abominations that had to be put down or bursting on the spot. To accept being driven to such disastrous states by a mortal was one thing, but to announce the same was something else wholly. This information couldn''t be let out and thus sealed it was. The plague was simply stated as a never before seen spirit plague, which was true for the most part. Again, it was not that spirit plagues were uncommon; it was that this was not the same. What was thought to be a simple mortal plague was a reminder to everyone to this date, and yet, in cultivation and their long lives, cultivators often tend to forget; the lessons of the past and their mournful state; returning to their previous arrogant ways, not respecting yore only to suffer again.