The folding chair dug into Arthur's back as he slouched, watching his classmates stumble through what passed for dancing. The gymnasium smelled like a mixture of cheap punch, cheaper cologne, and the lingering scent of floor wax. Balloons in the school colors—blue and gold—hung in sad clusters from the basketball hoops. Someone had tried to class up the place with streamers, but they drooped in the summer humidity.

  "Yo, Art!" Jason Parker dropped into the chair next to him, sloshing red punch dangerously close to Arthur's rented tux. "We fucking did it, man."

  Arthur Morris nodded, feeling the strange limbo of graduation. Eighteen years old today, high school finally behind him. "Yeah. Weird, right?"

  "Weird doesn't cover it." Jason leaned back, his tie already loosened and hanging like a dead snake around his neck. "Four years of this shit, and now what? Real life?"

  "Cornell in the fall," Arthur said, the words still feeling strange in his mouth. He'd been accepted to the engineering program, a combination of decent grades, his science fair wins, and the essay he'd sweated over for weeks. "Still can't believe I got in."

  "That's because you're a fucking genius." Jason punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Those science fair robots weren't going to build themselves."

  Arthur snorted. "Says the guy who got into NYU."

  "Pure luck. Plus my dad knows someone." Jason's face suddenly shifted, the smile dropping away. "Listen, about this weekend..."

  Arthur already knew what was coming. "You're bailing on the camping trip."

  "I'm sorry, man. My mom sprung this family thing on me. Some cousin's wedding in Jersey. Total bullshit, but she's playing the 'last summer before college' card." Jason looked genuinely disappointed. "I know it was supposed to be our big graduation thing."

  Arthur shrugged, hiding his disappointment. They'd been planning the Catskills camping trip for months. Just the two of them, three days in the mountains before they went their separate ways for college. "It's cool. We'll do something when you get back."

  "You should still go," Jason said. "You've got all the gear already packed."

  "By myself?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

  "Why not? You've been camping before. And you said the spot was amazing—that lake view and all that. Take some books, chill out. Better than sitting at home playing Xbox all weekend."

  Arthur considered it. His parents wouldn't care—they'd be at their own thing, some fundraiser in the city. The campsite was already reserved, the gear packed in his car. And something about being alone in the mountains on his birthday weekend had a certain appeal. A chance to think about the future, about what Cornell might bring.

  "Maybe I will," he said finally.

  "That's my man." Jason grinned. "Just don't get eaten by a bear or anything. I'd feel like shit."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

  "Speaking of confidence..." Jason nodded toward the dance floor, where Melissa Chen was dancing with her friends. "Last chance, Romeo. We're officially not in high school anymore."

  Arthur felt the familiar twist in his stomach. He'd had a thing for Melissa since sophomore year but had never worked up the nerve to do anything about it. "Not happening."

  "Coward." Jason stood up. "I'm getting more punch. Want some?"

  "I'm good."

  As Jason wandered off toward the refreshment table, Arthur watched his classmates with a strange detachment. People he'd known for four years, some longer, all of them about to scatter to different colleges, different lives. The familiar faces suddenly seemed like strangers.

  He pulled out his phone, checking the weather for the Catskills. Clear skies predicted all weekend. Maybe Jason was right. Maybe a solo camping trip was exactly what he needed.

  The Catskill Mountains stretched before him, bathed in late afternoon sunlight. Arthur rolled down the window of his 2025 Toyota Corolla, letting the fresh mountain air replace the air conditioning. The GPS on his dashboard showed another three miles to the campsite turnoff.

  The drive from Westchester County had taken longer than expected, Friday traffic clogging the highways until he'd finally broken free onto the quieter mountain roads. Now, with the sun sinking toward the horizon, he felt the tension of the past few weeks—finals, graduation, the constant questions about his future—begin to fade.

  He turned onto a gravel road, the car bouncing over ruts and potholes. The campsite was one Jason had found online, a bit off the beaten path but supposedly with an amazing view of a small lake. The website had promised privacy, with sites spaced far enough apart that you wouldn't have to listen to other campers' music or conversations.

  Perfect for what Arthur needed: solitude, quiet, a chance to think.

  The campsite didn't disappoint. Set on a small ridge overlooking a crystal-clear lake, it offered a flat area for his tent and a stone-ringed fire pit. Arthur parked the car and spent the next hour setting up camp, the familiar routine calming his mind. Tent pitched, sleeping bag unrolled, cooler positioned in the shade. He'd brought his camping stove but decided to build a fire instead, gathering dry wood from the surrounding forest.

  As darkness fell, Arthur sat by the crackling fire, a can of beer in hand. Technically illegal at eighteen, but who was going to check up here? The stars emerged overhead, far more visible than they ever were back home, a dazzling carpet of light against the black sky.

  He thought about Cornell, about the engineering program he'd be starting in just a few months. Robotics had always been his thing—the science fair projects Jason had mentioned were autonomous drones he'd designed and built himself. Nothing revolutionary, but enough to impress the judges and secure his spot at Cornell.

  What would college be like? New people, new challenges. A chance to reinvent himself, maybe. Not that there was anything wrong with who he was now. Average height, average build, decent at football but not star material. Smart but not brilliant. Well-liked but not popular. Arthur Morris: thoroughly unremarkable.

  But Cornell could change that. He could focus entirely on robotics, find people who shared his interests, maybe even make something of himself. The thought both excited and terrified him.

  His phone buzzed. A text from his mom: Happy birthday, sweetheart. Hope the camping trip is fun. Call when you get back. Love you.

  He texted back a quick thanks, then put the phone away. Another beer, another hour watching the fire, and Arthur finally felt ready for sleep. He doused the fire carefully, making sure every ember was extinguished, then crawled into his tent.

  The sleeping bag was comfortable enough, though he could feel every rock and root beneath the tent floor. Arthur zipped himself in, listening to the night sounds of the forest—the rustle of leaves, the occasional hoot of an owl, the distant splash of something in the lake.

  His last thought before drifting off was that he should have brought Jason's fishing gear. Maybe he'd try to catch something tomorrow...

  And then he was falling.

  No, not falling. There was no sensation of movement at all. One moment he was in his sleeping bag, the familiar nylon against his skin, and the next…

  Nothing.

  Then everything.

  Arthur gasped, his lungs filling with air that smelled nothing like the pine-scented forest he'd fallen asleep in. His body felt wrong. Exposed. Cold.

  He opened his eyes to blinding sunlight and unfamiliar sounds. Voices speaking in a language he didn't understand. The clatter of what might have been wooden wheels on stone. A child's laugh, suddenly cut short.

  Arthur blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He was lying on hard-packed dirt in what looked like an alleyway between two wooden buildings. The architecture was like nothing he'd ever seen outside of movies—curved roofs with upturned corners, walls made of dark wood and what might have been paper.

  And he was completely naked.

  "What the fuck?" he whispered, curling instinctively into a ball to cover himself. His sleeping bag, tent, clothes—all gone. Even his watch and the silver chain his grandfather had given him for his sixteenth birthday had vanished.

  A woman appeared at the end of the alley, carrying what looked like a basket of vegetables. She wore strange, flowing clothes that reminded Arthur of costumes from a period drama set in ancient China. When she spotted him, her eyes widened in shock. She shouted something incomprehensible, her voice sharp with alarm, then turned and ran.

  Arthur struggled to his feet, desperately looking for anything to cover himself with. The alley contained nothing but dirt and a few scattered pieces of trash. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. A prank? Some elaborate setup by his friends? But how would they have moved him without waking him up? And where the hell were his clothes?

  He heard more voices approaching and pressed himself against the wall, heart pounding. Three men appeared, led by the woman who had spotted him. They wore the same style of clothing—loose-fitting robes secured with sashes, their hair pulled back in tight buns or braids. They were clearly Asian, possibly Chinese, though Arthur couldn't be sure.

  One of the men barked something at him, his tone demanding. Arthur shook his head, trying to cover himself with his hands.

  "I don't understand," he said, his voice cracking. "I don't know what happened. Can someone help me? I need clothes. I need to call the police or something."

  The men exchanged glances, clearly not understanding a word. The one who had spoken approached cautiously, saying something else in the same incomprehensible language. When Arthur only stared blankly, the man turned to his companions and spoke rapidly.

  One of them untied the outer layer of his clothing—some kind of robe or jacket—and cautiously offered it to Arthur, who grabbed it gratefully and wrapped it around his waist. The fabric was coarse but mercifully covered his nakedness.

  "Thank you," Arthur said, the words feeling inadequate. "I don't know what's happening. I was camping in the Catskills, and then... I don't know. Where am I? Is this some kind of movie set?"

  The men conferred again, their expressions a mixture of confusion and suspicion. Finally, the one who seemed to be in charge gestured for Arthur to follow them. Having no better options, he complied, clutching the borrowed garment around his waist as they led him through what appeared to be a small village or town.

  The streets were narrow and unpaved, lined with wooden buildings unlike any architecture Arthur had ever seen in person. People stopped to stare as he passed, whispering to each other. Some pointed, others quickly looked away. Arthur felt like an animal in a zoo, exposed and alien.

  They led him to a larger building near what seemed to be the center of the town. Inside, an elderly man sat behind a low table covered in scrolls and writing implements that looked like calligraphy brushes. The man who had given Arthur his robe spoke at length, gesturing occasionally toward Arthur.

  The elderly man studied Arthur with shrewd eyes, then said something that sounded like a question.

  "I'm sorry," Arthur said, feeling increasingly desperate. "I don't understand what you're saying. I speak English. Um, ?Espa?ol? Un poco? Does anyone speak English?"

  The elderly man's eyebrows rose slightly. He said something else, then made a writing gesture with his hand. One of the men brought him a brush, ink, and what looked like rice paper. The elderly man wrote something in flowing characters—definitely Chinese or something similar—and showed it to Arthur.

  "I can't read that," Arthur said, shaking his head. "Look, I'm from New York. The United States? America?" He pointed to himself. "Arthur. My name is Arthur Morris."

  "Ah-tuh," the elderly man repeated, mangling the pronunciation. He pointed to himself. "Li Wei."

  At least that was progress. Arthur nodded. "Yes, Arthur. Li Wei. Nice to meet you, I guess. Can you tell me where I am? And what happened to my clothes? My phone? I really need to call someone."

  Li Wei clearly didn't understand, but he seemed to be thinking. After a moment, he gave instructions to the others. Two of them left, while the third remained by the door. Li Wei gestured for Arthur to sit on a cushion near the table.

  Arthur sat awkwardly, still clutching the borrowed robe around his waist. The room was sparsely furnished but meticulously clean. Scrolls hung on the walls, depicting mountains and rivers in a style that reminded him of traditional Chinese paintings he'd seen in museums. A faint scent of incense hung in the air.

  "Where am I?" Arthur asked again, knowing it was futile but unable to stop himself. "What is this place? Is this China? How did I get here?"

  Li Wei watched him with those penetrating eyes but offered no answers Arthur could understand. After what felt like an eternity, the two men returned, carrying what appeared to be clothing. Simple pants and a tunic-like shirt, both made of rough cotton, along with cloth shoes that looked nothing like any footwear Arthur had ever worn.

  Li Wei gestured toward a screen in the corner of the room. Arthur understood he was being offered privacy to change, which he gratefully accepted. The clothes were loose-fitting and strange against his skin, but infinitely better than nakedness. The shoes were awkward and uncomfortable, but again, better than nothing.

  When he emerged from behind the screen, Li Wei nodded approvingly. He said something to one of the men, who left again, then gestured for Arthur to follow him. They exited the building and walked through the town, which Arthur now had the presence of mind to observe more carefully.

  It was like stepping into a historical drama. No cars, no power lines, no modern technology of any kind. People moved on foot or in wooden carts pulled by horses or oxen. The buildings were all constructed in what Arthur vaguely recognized as traditional East Asian style—wooden frames, paper screens, tiled roofs with upturned corners. Men and women in traditional clothing went about their business, many carrying baskets or pulling carts loaded with goods.

  And everyone, without exception, was Asian. Arthur, with his Caucasian features, stood out like a beacon.

  Li Wei led him to another building, larger than the first. Inside, several men sat on cushions around a low table, engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion. They fell silent as Arthur and Li Wei entered.

  One of the men, middle-aged with a short beard and an air of authority, addressed Li Wei. They conversed for several minutes while Arthur stood awkwardly, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The architecture, the clothing, the complete absence of modern technology—it was as if he'd somehow been transported centuries into the past, or to some isolated community that rejected modern life.

  But that was impossible. Even the most isolated communities in the modern world had some contact with technology. And how would he have gotten here from the Catskills? It made no sense.

  The bearded man finally turned his attention to Arthur, studying him with intense curiosity. He spoke, his tone questioning.

  "I'm sorry," Arthur said for what felt like the hundredth time. "I don't understand what you're saying. I'm American. I speak English. I was camping in New York State, and somehow I woke up here. I don't know how or why. I just want to go home."

  The man's expression didn't change. He said something else, then gestured to a cushion across from him. Arthur sat, feeling increasingly like he was trapped in some bizarre dream. Maybe that's what this was—a vivid, detailed dream brought on by something he'd eaten or drunk. Maybe there had been something in that beer.

  But everything felt too real. The rough fabric of the borrowed clothes against his skin. The hard cushion beneath him. The faint ache in his stomach reminding him he hadn't eaten since dinner the previous night. Dreams didn't usually include such mundane discomforts.

  The bearded man spoke again, this time accompanying his words with gestures. He pointed to Arthur, then to the floor, then made a sweeping motion with his hand that encompassed the room, possibly the entire town.

  "You want to know how I got here?" Arthur guessed. "I have no idea. I went to sleep in a tent in the Catskill Mountains in New York State, and I woke up naked in your town. I don't know how that's possible. I don't know where I am or who you people are or what language you're speaking."

  His voice cracked on the last words, the reality of his situation finally hitting him full force. He was completely lost, unable to communicate, with no possessions and no idea how he'd gotten here or how to get back. The enormity of it made his chest tight with panic.

  The bearded man seemed to sense his distress. He said something in a gentler tone, then clapped his hands. A young boy appeared, carrying a tray with a teapot and cups. The man poured tea for Arthur and gestured for him to drink.

  The tea was bitter and unlike anything Arthur had tasted before, but the familiar ritual of drinking something hot and caffeinated provided a small comfort. As he sipped, the men continued their discussion, occasionally glancing at him.

  Arthur tried to focus, to think logically. If this wasn't a dream—and it certainly didn't feel like one—then there had to be an explanation. People didn't just teleport from New York to what appeared to be ancient China. Had he been drugged? Kidnapped? But why? And how would kidnappers have transported him to a place that seemed to exist outside of modern time?

  Unless...

  A crazy thought occurred to him. What if this wasn't Earth at all? What if, somehow, he'd been transported to another world? It sounded like bad science fiction, but it would explain the complete absence of modern technology, the unfamiliar language, the seemingly ancient setting.

  But that was ridiculous. Alternate worlds didn't exist. This had to be Earth, which meant this had to be some kind of isolated community, perhaps in a remote part of China or another Asian country. But that still didn't explain how he'd gotten here from the Catskills.

  The discussion among the men grew more animated. One of them, older than the rest, spoke at length, gesturing emphatically. Others nodded or shook their heads. Arthur caught the occasional glance in his direction but could discern nothing of what they were saying.

  Finally, the bearded man who seemed to be in charge turned to Arthur again. He spoke slowly, as if hoping Arthur might suddenly understand. When Arthur only shook his head helplessly, the man sighed and made a decision. He gave instructions to Li Wei, who nodded and gestured for Arthur to follow him once more.

  They left the building and walked through the town again, this time heading toward its outskirts. The buildings became smaller and more widely spaced, eventually giving way to cultivated fields where people worked with simple tools, planting or harvesting crops Arthur couldn't identify.

  Beyond the fields stood a small, isolated building—more of a hut, really—with a thatched roof and walls made of what looked like mud brick. Li Wei led Arthur to this building and opened the door, gesturing for him to enter.

  The interior was sparse: a straw mat on the floor that presumably served as a bed, a small table, a wooden chest, and a bucket in the corner that Arthur guessed was for sanitation. A single window let in light and air.

  Li Wei said something, his tone apologetic but firm. He pantomimed eating and sleeping, then pointed to the hut. The message was clear: This was where Arthur would be staying.

  "Wait," Arthur said as Li Wei turned to leave. "You can't just leave me here. I need help. I need to contact the American embassy or consulate or whatever. There has to be someone who speaks English."

  Li Wei didn't understand, of course. He patted Arthur's shoulder in what might have been meant as a reassuring gesture, then left, closing the door behind him.

  Arthur stood in the center of the hut, overwhelmed by the reality of his situation. He was alone in a strange place where no one understood him and he understood no one. He had no possessions, no way to contact home, and no idea how he'd gotten here or how to get back.

  For the first time since waking up in this nightmare, Arthur allowed himself to feel the full weight of his fear and confusion. His legs gave way, and he sank to the floor, burying his face in his hands as tears threatened to spill over.

  "What the fuck is happening?" he whispered to the empty room. "What the fuck is happening to me?"

  The next few days passed in a blur of confusion and frustration. Arthur was brought food twice daily—simple fare of rice, vegetables, and occasionally small pieces of meat. Li Wei visited each morning, attempting to communicate through gestures and drawings. Arthur tried to explain his situation, pointing to the sky and making sleeping motions, then waking up with surprise, trying to convey that he'd been transported here somehow. Li Wei seemed to understand that Arthur had appeared mysteriously but could offer no explanation Arthur could comprehend.

  On the third day, a new visitor arrived—a middle-aged woman who carried herself with quiet dignity. She brought with her a bundle of what turned out to be better quality clothing than the rough garments Arthur had been given initially. She also brought writing materials—ink, brushes, and paper—and indicated that Arthur should try to write.

  Arthur took the brush awkwardly, having never used one before, and wrote in careful block letters: "MY NAME IS ARTHUR MORRIS. I AM FROM THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. I DON'T KNOW HOW I GOT HERE. I NEED HELP."

  The woman studied the strange alphabet with fascination but clearly couldn't read it. She took the brush and wrote characters in what Arthur now assumed was Chinese. When he shook his head to indicate he couldn't read it, she sighed but didn't seem surprised.

  She pointed to herself. "Ming Li," she said, then pointed to Arthur.

  "Arthur," he replied, having given up on trying to make them pronounce his name correctly.

  Ming Li nodded, then began what appeared to be a lesson. She pointed to objects in the hut and named them in her language. "Zhuo," she said, pointing to the table. "Chuang," for the sleeping mat. "Bei," for the cup.

  Arthur repeated the words, realizing she was trying to teach him the basics of communication. It was a start, at least. Better than sitting alone in the hut with nothing but his increasingly desperate thoughts for company.

  The lessons continued daily. Ming Li was a patient teacher, and Arthur found himself grasping the basics of what he now understood was indeed Chinese—though whether it was Mandarin, Cantonese, or some other dialect, he couldn't tell. The language was tonal, which made it especially difficult for his Western ear, but he began to accumulate a small vocabulary of nouns and simple verbs.

  As his ability to communicate improved, however minimally, Arthur was able to piece together some information about where he was. The town was called Luoyang, which meant nothing to him. The people seemed to believe they were living during something called the Han Dynasty, which Arthur vaguely remembered from history class as an ancient period in Chinese history.

  But that was impossible. The Han Dynasty had existed thousands of years ago. This couldn't be ancient China. It had to be some kind of historical reenactment community, like a Renaissance fair but for ancient Chinese culture. Except no one ever broke character, and there was no sign of the modern world beyond the boundaries of the town.

  After a week, Arthur was allowed to move more freely through the town, though he was always accompanied by either Li Wei or another man named Chen, who seemed to have been assigned as his guard. The townspeople had grown somewhat accustomed to his presence, though he still attracted stares and whispers. Children sometimes followed him, giggling at his strange appearance and accent.

  Arthur tried repeatedly to find someone who might understand English or have knowledge of the outside world, but his limited Chinese vocabulary made it nearly impossible to express complex ideas. He drew maps of the United States, of New York State, tried to explain concepts like airplanes and telephones, but was met with only confusion or, occasionally, concern that he might be mentally unbalanced.

  Two weeks after his arrival, Arthur was summoned to the large building where he had first met the bearded man, who he now knew was called Magistrate Zhao. The magistrate had apparently been consulting with others about what to do with the strange foreigner who had appeared in their midst.

  Through Ming Li, who had continued her language lessons and now served as a rudimentary interpreter, Magistrate Zhao explained that Arthur would be allowed to stay in Luoyang but would be expected to work and contribute to the community. They had observed that he was educated but not skilled in any practical trade, so he would be assigned as an assistant to Master Wong, who taught at the local school.

  Arthur tried again to explain that he needed to return to his own country, that there must be American officials somewhere who could help him. Ming Li translated as best she could, but the concept seemed to baffle the magistrate. The nearest "foreigners" like Arthur, he explained through Ming Li, were traders who occasionally came from the Western regions, but they would not return until the following spring.

  As the reality of his situation settled in, Arthur found himself oscillating between desperate hope and numb acceptance. Sometimes he convinced himself that this was all an elaborate hoax or that he was in a coma, dreaming a detailed fantasy while his real body lay in a hospital bed. Other times, he wondered if he had somehow, impossibly, been transported through time or to another world entirely.

  Whatever the truth, his immediate reality was clear: he was stuck in this place, surrounded by people who viewed him as a strange curiosity, unable to fully communicate or understand the world around him. His only option was to adapt and survive while looking for a way home.

  Master Wong turned out to be an elderly scholar who taught the children of wealthy families. He seemed fascinated by Arthur and often asked him to write in English, studying the strange alphabet with scholarly interest. In return, he helped Arthur improve his Chinese, correcting his pronunciation and teaching him characters.

  Arthur's days fell into a routine: mornings assisting Master Wong with his lessons, afternoons studying Chinese, evenings alone in the small house he had been given after proving he wasn't a threat. The house was only marginally better than the hut—a single room with a sleeping platform, a table and chair, a chest for his few possessions, and a small hearth for cooking and heat.

  Three months into his stay, Arthur was walking with Ming Li from the school when commotion erupted in the town square. A group of men strode through the marketplace, the crowds parting before them like water. Each wore a sword at his hip, their clothing finer than the simple garments of the townspeople. They moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, eyes scanning the market stalls with casual entitlement.

  "Who are they?" Arthur asked in his still-rudimentary Chinese, watching as merchants bowed their heads deferentially.

  Before Ming Li could answer, a farmer carrying a sack of rice stumbled slightly, a few grains spilling onto the boots of the lead swordsman. The man's reaction was instantaneous and horrifying. Without a word, he drew his sword—faster than Arthur's eyes could follow—and slashed downward. The farmer screamed as his hands fell to the dirt, blood spurting from the stumps of his wrists.

  "My lord, mercy!" the farmer wailed, collapsing to his knees as blood pooled beneath him. "My family—"

  The swordsman cleaned his blade on the farmer's tunic, his expression unchanged, as if he'd merely swatted an insect. "Your clumsiness soiled my boots. Be grateful I didn't take your head." He turned to his companions, who were watching with amusement. "Let's continue. The wine in this pathetic town had better be worth the journey."

  Arthur stood frozen, unable to process the casual brutality he'd just witnessed. Ming Li gripped his arm tightly, her fingers digging into his flesh.

  "Do not stare," she hissed. "Lower your eyes. Now."

  Arthur obeyed instinctively, his heart hammering. The farmer's family had rushed to him, a woman wailing as she tried to bind his bleeding wrists with strips torn from her clothing.

  "They... they cut off his hands," Arthur whispered, shock making his voice shake. "Over a few grains of rice."

  Ming Li pulled him away, her face tight with fear. "Not here," she murmured. "We will talk in your house."

  Once inside the relative safety of his small dwelling, Ming Li lit the lamp and checked that the door was securely closed before speaking.

  "Those men are from Wulin," she said, her voice low despite their privacy.

  "Wulin?" Arthur repeated, the unfamiliar term meaning nothing to him.

  "Wulin... how to explain..." Ming Li searched for words he would understand. "It means 'martial forest.' Not a real forest of trees. A society of those who practice wugong—martial arts with... special powers."

  "What gives them the right to maim a man over nothing?" Arthur demanded, still shaken by what he'd witnessed.

  Ming Li's laugh held no humor. "Right? They need no right beyond their power. In Zhongyuan—our Middle Kingdom—there are two worlds that exist together. The world of ordinary people under the Han Emperor's law, and the world of Wulin, where might determines everything."

  She went on to explain, choosing simple words for Arthur's limited vocabulary, how martial sects maintained their own society parallel to imperial authority. How disciples trained in secret techniques that granted abilities far beyond ordinary humans. How vendettas and rivalries between sects could span generations, with innocent family members slaughtered for revenge.

  "You are fortunate," she told him seriously. "Very fortunate that you appeared in Magistrate Zhao's jurisdiction. He is known for fairness and wisdom. Had you materialized elsewhere..." She drew a finger across her throat.

  "They would have killed me?" Arthur asked.

  "Death might have been merciful. A strange-looking man like you, appearing from nowhere? Noble houses would have purchased you as a curiosity. Some might have made you a eunuch to serve their women's quarters."

  Arthur winced involuntarily, his hand moving protectively toward his groin.

  "Others would have sold parts of your body as exotic medicines. 'Authentic Westerner hand' would fetch a high price from certain physicians." Ming Li's matter-of-fact tone made the horror worse. "Or you might have been forced to become a sect fodder, your strange appearance making you a useful distraction in combat."

  Arthur's mind raced, suddenly seeing his situation with brutal clarity. "But Magistrate Zhao... he protects me now. What happens if he leaves? If he's promoted or reassigned?"

  Ming Li's silence was answer enough.

  "I need to learn to protect myself," Arthur said, the words coming out in a rush. "These wugong techniques—can I learn them?"

  Ming Li's expression shifted to something like pity. "Arthur, sects take disciples at age five, when meridians are still developing. By eighteen..." She shook her head. "Even if a sect would accept you—which they wouldn't, except to exploit you—the best you could hope for would be First Rate, if extremely fortunate."

  "First Rate? What does that mean?"

  She explained the ranking system of wugong practitioners, from Third Rate novices to the legendary Unity masters. First Rate, she told him, was respectable but limited—enough to enhance one's strength and speed, but nothing like the abilities of higher ranks who could shatter stone with a finger or leap across rooftops.

  "So I'm trapped," Arthur said flatly. "Too old to learn wugong, too foreign to blend in, and only protected as long as Magistrate Zhao remains in power."

  "I did not say it was impossible," Ming Li clarified. "Only that no sect would accept you. Sometimes independent masters take older disciples if they see unusual potential. But such opportunities are rare."

  In the following weeks, Arthur witnessed more of Wulin's casual brutality. A young woman dragged away screaming by a sect disciple who had taken a fancy to her. A merchant executed for selling a supposedly defective weapon to a Wulin practitioner. Two disciples from rival sects battling in the street, destroying buildings and killing bystanders without consequence or remorse.

  Each incident hammered home his vulnerability. Arthur began carrying himself differently—eyes downcast when Wulin practitioners passed, body language submissive, making himself as inconspicuous as possible. Survival, not dignity, became his priority.

  Three months later, Magistrate Zhao summoned Arthur to his residence. To Arthur's surprise, another man was present—elderly but straight-backed, with penetrating eyes and a long white beard. He wore simple but fine robes and carried himself with unmistakable authority.

  "Arthur," Magistrate Zhao said, "this is Master Zhuge Yi, an old friend who has honored us with a visit."

  Arthur bowed deeply, keeping his eyes lowered as Ming Li had taught him. "It is an honor, Master Zhuge."

  The old man studied him with unconcealed curiosity. "So this is the foreign devil who appeared from nowhere. Fascinating." He circled Arthur slowly. "Look at me, boy."

  Arthur cautiously raised his eyes. Zhuge Yi was examining him with the intensity of a scientist studying a specimen.

  "Remarkable," the old man murmured. "His meridians show unusual patterns. Zhao, you were right to contact me."

  Magistrate Zhao nodded. "I thought you might find him interesting. And perhaps..." He left the sentence unfinished.

  Zhuge Yi completed another circuit around Arthur. "Tell me, foreign devil, do you wish to learn wugong?"

  Arthur's heart leaped, but he kept his expression neutral. "Yes, Master Zhuge. More than anything."

  "Why?" The question was sharp, testing.

  Arthur considered his answer carefully. No philosophical musings, no talk of justice or higher purpose. Only the brutal truth.

  "Because I don't want to die when Magistrate Zhao is no longer here to protect me," he said bluntly. "Because I've seen what happens to the weak in this world. Because I want to live."

  A smile creased the old man's face. "Honest, at least." He turned to Zhao. "You're right—there is something unusual about him. His ki flows differently than any I've seen." To Arthur, he said, "I am an Apex master of the Zhuge Family. Do you know what that means?"

  Arthur shook his head.

  "It means I can kill everyone in this town if I wished. It means I have opened meridians you don't even know exist within your body. It means I have transcended ordinary human limitations."

  Arthur remained silent, understanding this was no boast but simple fact.

  "You are too old for conventional training," Zhuge Yi continued. "Your meridians have already formed patterns that would resist proper development. At best, with decades of effort, you might reach First Rate." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "But your unusual energy flow intrigues me. Perhaps an experiment is in order."

  "Experiment?" Arthur asked cautiously.

  "I will attempt to teach you. Not as a true disciple—you are far too old for that—but as a... project. Something to occupy my retirement years." The old master's eyes gleamed with intellectual curiosity. "If you fail, you will likely die or suffer permanent damage to your meridians. If you succeed, you may develop enough skill to avoid being casually slaughtered by the first Wulin practitioner who takes offense at your existence."

  Arthur didn't hesitate. "When do we begin?"

  "Tomorrow. I will stay in Zhao's residence for one month. In that time, I will determine if you have any true potential. If you do, you will accompany me when I leave." Zhuge Yi's expression hardened. "Understand this: I offer no protection beyond the training itself. I will not intervene if you offend someone from Wulin. I will not claim you as my disciple before others. You will be my servant, nothing more."

  "I understand," Arthur said, bowing again.

  "Good. Be at the eastern meadow at dawn. Bring nothing. Wear nothing but simple pants. If you are late, I will leave without you."

  After Zhuge Yi departed, Magistrate Zhao regarded Arthur with an unreadable expression. "You understand the risk you're taking?"

  "Better than the risk of doing nothing," Arthur replied.

  "Master Zhuge is... eccentric. Brilliant but unpredictable. He has broken with many traditions of his family to pursue his own path of mastery." Zhao hesitated. "But he is also the only hope someone like you has of learning wugong at your age. I called him here because I will indeed be leaving soon—promoted to the capital."

  Arthur felt a chill. His precarious safety was already crumbling.

  "Thank you," he said simply. "For everything you've done for me."

  That night, Arthur barely slept. His mind raced with equal parts fear and hope. Learning wugong seemed like his only chance at survival in this brutal world, but Zhuge Yi had made the dangers clear. Death or permanent damage were real possibilities.

  Still, what choice did he have? Without Zhao's protection, he was just a strange-looking foreigner in a world where the strong preyed on the weak without consequence. At least this way, he had a chance—however small—of gaining the power to protect himself.

  As the first hint of dawn colored the eastern sky, Arthur made his way to the meadow, wearing only the simple cotton pants he'd been given months ago. The grass was wet with dew, chilling his bare feet. Zhuge Yi was already there, sitting cross-legged in meditation, seemingly oblivious to the morning cold.

  "You came," the old master said without opening his eyes. "Good. Your training begins now. Sit."

  Arthur sat across from him, mimicking his posture.

  "In the normal course of training, a child would spend years strengthening their body before attempting to form a dantian," Zhuge Yi explained. "You do not have years. We will attempt to compress a decade of foundation building into one month."

  He opened his eyes, fixing Arthur with a penetrating gaze. "The pain will be excruciating. Many would rather die than endure it. Are you still willing?"

  Arthur thought of the farmer's severed hands, of his own precarious existence in this world. "Yes."

  "Then we begin." Zhuge Yi reached out, pressing his fingers to specific points on Arthur's chest and abdomen. "Breathe as I instruct you. If you deviate even slightly, your meridians may rupture, and you will die in agony."

  As the sun rose over Zhongyuan, Arthur Morris took his first step on the path that would transform him from a lost American teenager into something else entirely.

  The eastern meadow was silent except for the occasional chirp of early birds. Dew dampened the grass beneath Arthur as he sat cross-legged across from Zhuge Yi, the morning chill raising goosebumps on his bare torso.

  "Before you can learn wugong, you must first sense ki," Zhuge Yi said, his voice carrying despite its softness. "Ki is the energy that permeates everything around us—every blade of grass, every drop of dew, every breath of air. It flows through all living beings, though most remain unaware of its presence."

  Arthur nodded, trying to hide his skepticism. Despite everything he'd witnessed in this world, the idea of an invisible energy field still struck the rational part of his brain as dubious.

  "Close your eyes," Zhuge Yi instructed. "Breathe as I show you."

  The old master demonstrated a breathing pattern—inhaling slowly through the nose for four counts, holding for seven, then exhaling through slightly parted lips for eight. Arthur mimicked the rhythm, feeling slightly foolish.

  "Your mind is too busy," Zhuge Yi said after several minutes. "You think too much about the process instead of experiencing it. Empty your thoughts."

  "How?" Arthur asked.

  "Focus only on the sensation of air entering and leaving your body. Nothing else exists."

  Arthur tried again, concentrating on the feeling of his chest expanding and contracting. For nearly an hour, they sat in silence, Arthur breathing according to the pattern while Zhuge Yi observed with inscrutable patience.

  "This isn't working," Arthur finally said, frustration evident in his voice.

  "Because you resist what you do not understand," Zhuge Yi replied calmly. "You still believe ki is something mystical or supernatural. It is neither. It is as natural as the air you breathe, only less obvious to untrained senses."

  The old master rose in a single fluid motion that belied his age. "Walk with me."

  They moved through the meadow toward a small stream that cut across its eastern edge. The morning sun had risen higher, burning away the dew and warming the air. Zhuge Yi stopped at the water's edge and pointed to the flowing current.

  "What do you see?"

  Arthur looked at the clear water bubbling over smooth stones. "A stream."

  "Look closer. Tell me what the water does as it encounters obstacles."

  Arthur observed more carefully. "It... flows around the rocks. Takes the path of least resistance."

  "Yes. Ki flows similarly through the world, around obstacles, following natural pathways." Zhuge Yi knelt and placed his hand just above the water's surface without touching it. "Close your eyes. Place your hand as mine is. Feel the coolness rising from the water."

  Arthur complied, holding his hand an inch above the stream. He could indeed feel the cool air rising from the water.

  "That sensation—the temperature difference you feel without touching the water—is your first step toward sensing ki. It is a natural energy exchange, not so different from what you seek to perceive."

  They spent the remainder of the morning by the stream, with Zhuge Yi guiding Arthur through increasingly subtle awareness exercises. By midday, Arthur's frustration had returned.

  "I don't understand what I'm supposed to be feeling," he admitted as they paused to eat a simple meal of rice and pickled vegetables that Zhuge Yi had brought.

  "You seek a dramatic revelation," the old master said between bites. "There will be none. Sensing ki begins with the most delicate of perceptions. Like noticing a single grain of sand on your skin."

  After eating, they returned to their positions by the stream. The afternoon sun beat down on them, and sweat beaded on Arthur's brow as he continued the breathing exercises.

  "I'm going to assist you," Zhuge Yi said as the sun began its descent toward the western horizon. "This would normally be unnecessary, but your late start requires... unconventional approaches."

  The master placed his palm against Arthur's bare back, between his shoulder blades. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Arthur felt a strange warmth spreading from the point of contact, different from the simple heat of the old man's hand. It radiated outward, following paths through his body that he'd never been conscious of before.

  "What I'm doing," Zhuge Yi explained, "is circulating my ki through your major meridians—the pathways through which energy flows in the body. I'm opening them temporarily, so you might recognize the sensation when you attempt to replicate it yourself."

  The warmth continued to spread, flowing down Arthur's spine, then branching out toward his limbs. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it felt profoundly strange—as if parts of his body that had always been numb were suddenly awakening.

  "Now," Zhuge Yi said, removing his hand, "close your eyes and try to maintain awareness of those pathways I've illuminated for you."

  Arthur closed his eyes, focusing on the lingering sensation of warmth flowing through specific channels in his body. As the feeling began to fade, he tried desperately to hold onto it, to memorize the pathways.

  "Don't grasp at it," Zhuge Yi admonished, seemingly reading his thoughts. "Grasping only creates tension, and tension blocks ki. Instead, simply be aware of it as it naturally flows."

  Hours passed. The sun set, and still they sat by the stream. Insects began their evening chorus around them. Arthur's legs had long since gone numb, but he dared not move. Each time his concentration wavered, Zhuge Yi would tap him lightly, bringing his focus back to the task.

  It was well into the night, with the moon high overhead, when something changed. Arthur had been following the breathing pattern for so long that it had become automatic. His mind had finally quieted from exhaustion if nothing else. In that mental silence, he became aware of something—a subtle current that wasn't the air entering his lungs or the blood flowing through his veins.

  It was as if he'd suddenly noticed a background hum that had always been present but never registered. The sensation wasn't limited to his body; he could feel it in the air around him, in the ground beneath him, in the water of the stream—a constant flow of energy connecting everything.

  "I... I think I feel something," he whispered, afraid that speaking might break his tenuous grasp on the sensation.

  "Describe it," Zhuge Yi said quietly.

  "Like a current. Not water or air, but... similar. It's everywhere. In me, around me." Arthur opened his eyes, half expecting to see visible energy flows, but the world looked the same. Yet his perception had fundamentally shifted. "Is that ki?"

  A rare smile crossed Zhuge Yi's face. "Yes. You have taken your first step."

  The old master stood, again moving with that uncanny grace. "Enough for today. Return to your dwelling and rest. Tomorrow, we begin in earnest."

  Stolen novel; please report.

  As Arthur walked back to his small house in the village, his perception of ki faded in and out like a weak radio signal. Sometimes he could sense it clearly; other moments, it slipped away entirely. But he knew now it wasn't imaginary. The energy was real, and he had felt it.

  Ming Li was waiting outside his house, her face tight with worry. "You've been gone since dawn," she said. "People said the foreign devil was seen leaving with Master Zhuge. I feared he might have..." She trailed off.

  "Killed me for some obscure offense?" Arthur finished, too tired to be diplomatic. "Not yet, anyway. He's teaching me."

  Ming Li's eyes widened. "Teaching you wugong? Truly?"

  "The very basics. I just spent nearly eighteen hours learning to sense ki."

  She studied his face. "And did you succeed?"

  "I think so. Yes." Despite his exhaustion, Arthur couldn't keep a note of pride from his voice.

  "In a single day?" Ming Li sounded incredulous. "That's... unusual."

  "Is it? Zhuge Yi didn't seem particularly impressed."

  A strange expression crossed Ming Li's face. "Master Zhuge is... not known for expressing approval easily. Come inside. You must be hungry."

  She had brought food—steamed buns filled with bean paste and a flask of tea. As Arthur ate ravenously, Ming Li watched him with an unreadable expression.

  "What?" he asked between bites.

  "Nothing. It's just..." She hesitated. "Most disciples take weeks or even months to sense ki for the first time. Some never manage it at all, no matter how long they train."

  Arthur paused mid-bite. "Are you saying I did well?"

  "I'm saying you may have more aptitude than you realize. Which makes Master Zhuge's interest in you more understandable." She poured him more tea. "But be careful. Talent can be as much a curse as a blessing in Wulin. It breeds jealousy, and jealousy breeds violence."

  "I'm hardly at the point where anyone would be jealous," Arthur said with a tired laugh. "I sensed ki once, barely. I can't do anything with it."

  "Yet," Ming Li said. "But Master Zhuge would not waste his time on someone without potential."

  The next morning, Arthur arrived at the eastern meadow before dawn, determined to show the same dedication that had impressed Master Wong during his language studies. Zhuge Yi was already there, sitting in meditation, seemingly undisturbed by the pre-dawn chill.

  "You are prompt," the old master noted without opening his eyes. "Good. Discipline is essential for what lies ahead."

  Arthur sat across from him, assuming the same cross-legged position as the previous day. "I've been thinking about what I felt yesterday. The ki. It seemed to be everywhere, not just in living things."

  "Because it is everywhere," Zhuge Yi confirmed. "Ki flows through all existence—animate and inanimate alike. The foundation of wugong is learning to draw that ambient ki into your body, refine it, store it, and then utilize it for specific purposes."

  He opened his eyes, fixing Arthur with that penetrating gaze. "Today, we begin the process of drawing ki into your body. This requires a specific breathing technique that will become the foundation of all your future cultivation."

  Arthur nodded eagerly. "I'm ready."

  "Are you?" Zhuge Yi's expression turned severe. "What I am about to teach you is the Five Elements Core Breathing technique of the Zhuge family. Normally, this would only be taught to blood relatives or formally accepted disciples after years of basic training and character assessment."

  "Then why teach it to me?" Arthur asked, genuinely confused.

  "Because I am old and curious," Zhuge Yi said bluntly. "Because you are a strange anomaly in this world, and I wish to see what becomes of you. And because I have long since tired of my family's rigid traditions."

  The old master's expression hardened. "But understand this: the breathing technique you learn first will shape your ki fundamentally. It is not a skill you can simply replace later if you find it unsuitable. The pattern it creates in your meridians will determine which wugong techniques you can effectively use in the future."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Think of it as learning a language. The first language you learn shapes how your mind processes all future languages. Similarly, your initial breathing technique shapes how your body processes ki. If you begin with Zhuge family techniques, you must continue with compatible methods. Attempting to switch to dramatically different styles later would be inefficient at best, dangerous at worst."

  Arthur considered this. "So I'm committing to a specific path by learning your family's technique?"

  "Yes. The Five Elements Core Breathing shapes ki according to the principles of the five elements—metal, wood, water, fire, and earth—in balance. This makes it versatile but complex. Other sects focus on single elements or different principles entirely." Zhuge Yi paused. "Once you begin this path, certain other wugong will become less effective for you, while others will be more natural. Some may even be dangerous to attempt."

  "What happens if I try to use incompatible techniques?"

  "At best, they will function at perhaps a quarter of their normal effectiveness. At worst, you risk ki deviation—a condition where conflicting energy patterns cause your ki to run wild through your meridians, damaging your body from within. Many have died screaming from such errors."

  The casual way Zhuge Yi described this horrific outcome sent a chill through Arthur. "I understand. I accept the path you're offering."

  Zhuge Yi studied him for a long moment. "Very well. We begin."

  The master spent the next hour explaining the Five Elements Core Breathing in meticulous detail. Unlike the simple pattern of the previous day, this technique involved varying rhythms, specific visualizations, and precise control of different muscle groups during inhalation and exhalation.

  "The sequence follows the creative cycle of the five elements," Zhuge Yi explained. "Metal creates water, water nourishes wood, wood feeds fire, fire produces earth, and earth bears metal. As you breathe, you will visualize each element in turn, drawing ki into your body according to its nature."

  Arthur struggled to memorize the complex sequence. For metal, he was to inhale for five counts while imagining a white light entering through specific points on his skin. For water, six counts with blue energy flowing like a stream. Each element had its own pattern, visualization, and duration.

  "This is incredibly complicated," Arthur admitted after several failed attempts to complete the full sequence.

  "Of course it is," Zhuge Yi said with a hint of pride. "The Zhuge family has refined this technique over fifteen generations. Its complexity is what makes it powerful. Simple breathing methods produce simple results."

  They practiced throughout the morning, with Zhuge Yi correcting Arthur's rhythm, posture, and mental visualizations repeatedly. By midday, Arthur could complete the full sequence without error, though he felt nothing like the ki sensation of the previous day.

  "Now we begin in earnest," Zhuge Yi said after their brief meal. "You will perform the Five Elements Core Breathing continuously until you feel ki entering your body. This may take days or weeks."

  Arthur's heart sank. "Days of continuous breathing?"

  "Yes. With breaks only for necessary functions. This is why most disciples begin as children—they have not yet developed the impatience of adults."

  For the remainder of that day, Arthur practiced the breathing technique under Zhuge Yi's watchful eye. By sunset, his throat was raw, his diaphragm ached, and he had developed a pounding headache from the intense concentration required to maintain the visualizations.

  "Enough," Zhuge Yi finally said. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we continue."

  As Arthur walked back to the village, he found his steps unsteady from exhaustion. The sun had set, and lanterns glowed in windows as families prepared their evening meals. The normalcy of village life seemed strange after hours of esoteric breathing exercises.

  Near the edge of the village, he encountered Magistrate Zhao walking with several attendants. The official dismissed his entourage when he spotted Arthur.

  "Young Arthur," Zhao said with formal politeness. "I trust your studies with Master Zhuge are progressing?"

  "Yes, Magistrate. He's teaching me the Five Elements Core Breathing."

  Something flickered in Zhao's eyes—surprise, perhaps. "Indeed? That is... unexpected. The Zhuge family guards their techniques jealously."

  "He said something similar," Arthur admitted. "I'm grateful for the opportunity."

  Zhao studied him with new interest. "And how quickly did you sense ki? Master Zhuge mentioned you had begun the training yesterday."

  "By the end of the day," Arthur said. "Though just barely."

  The magistrate's expression remained neutral, but Arthur noticed a subtle tension in his posture. "I see. A normal disciple would have sensed it within an hour. You seem somewhat... untalented to have required an entire day."

  The criticism stung, but Arthur nodded respectfully. "I have much to learn."

  "Indeed you do." Zhao's tone softened slightly. "But Master Zhuge would not waste his time if he saw no potential in you. Continue your efforts, Arthur. Few receive such an opportunity, especially at your age."

  As the magistrate continued on his way, Arthur couldn't help feeling he'd somehow disappointed the man who had protected him these past months. He resolved to work even harder tomorrow.

  What Arthur couldn't see was Magistrate Zhao's expression after they parted—a mixture of shock and something like regret. The magistrate paused in the shadows between buildings, murmuring to himself, "A once-in-a-generation talent, and he appears as a grown man from nowhere. What might he have become if found as a child? What a waste. What a glorious waste."

  The next morning began like the previous one, with Arthur arriving at dawn to find Zhuge Yi already in meditation. They immediately resumed the Five Elements Core Breathing practice, with the old master occasionally correcting Arthur's technique but otherwise remaining silent.

  Hours passed. The sun climbed higher, beating down on them in the open meadow. Arthur's throat grew dry, his muscles ached from maintaining the proper posture, and his mind kept wandering despite his best efforts to focus on the elemental visualizations.

  Midway through the afternoon, as Arthur completed the earth phase of the cycle for what felt like the hundredth time, something changed. As he visualized golden energy condensing within his lower abdomen, he felt a faint echo of the ki sensation from two days earlier—but different. This wasn't just awareness of the ambient energy; it was a distinct feeling of something entering his body through specific points along his skin.

  His breathing faltered as he realized what was happening.

  "Continue," Zhuge Yi said sharply. "Do not break the sequence."

  Arthur forced himself back into the rhythm, moving to the metal phase. As he did, he felt a subtle current of energy—cool and bright in his mind's eye—flowing into him and following a specific path through his chest before settling in his lower abdomen.

  "I feel it," he whispered between breaths. "The ki is entering my body."

  "Good," Zhuge Yi said, his tone neutral. "Complete ten full cycles without interruption."

  Arthur did as instructed, marveling at the sensation. With each element in the sequence, energy of a different quality seemed to flow into him—the sharp clarity of metal, the fluid adaptability of water, the vibrant growth of wood, the transformative heat of fire, the solid stability of earth. All of it gathered in his lower abdomen, creating a small pool of warmth.

  When he finally completed the tenth cycle, Zhuge Yi nodded with the barest hint of approval. "You have begun to draw ki into your body. Now you must learn to circulate it through your meridians."

  The old master spent the remainder of the day teaching Arthur how to direct the small amount of ki he had gathered through specific pathways in his body. This proved even more challenging than drawing it in, as the energy seemed to resist his control, flowing where it wanted rather than where he directed it.

  "Ki follows established paths," Zhuge Yi explained. "Like water flowing downhill. At this stage, you have barely enough energy to feel, let alone control effectively. But the practice must begin now, while the amount is manageable."

  By sunset, Arthur had managed to guide the tiny stream of ki through a simple circuit—down from his lower abdomen to his legs, then up his spine, across his shoulders, down his arms, and back to his abdomen. The process left him drenched in sweat and trembling with exhaustion.

  "You have done well today," Zhuge Yi said as they prepared to depart. "Tomorrow, we will continue the process of gathering and circulating ki. In time, this will form your dantian—the reservoir of energy that powers all wugong techniques."

  "How long does that typically take?" Arthur asked, stretching his stiff limbs.

  "For most disciples? Years." Zhuge Yi's eyes held a calculating look. "For you? We shall see."

  As Arthur walked back to the village, he found Ming Li waiting for him again, this time with Master Wong. The elderly teacher had become something of a friend during Arthur's months of language study, and he greeted Arthur with genuine warmth.

  "Ming Li tells me you have begun training with Master Zhuge," Wong said as they walked toward Arthur's house. "A rare opportunity."

  "I'm grateful for it," Arthur said. "Though I'm not sure I fully understand what I've gotten myself into."

  Master Wong chuckled. "Few do when they begin the path of wugong. Even children born into martial families rarely comprehend the journey they undertake."

  Inside Arthur's small house, Ming Li had again brought food—more substantial this time, with rice, vegetables, and small pieces of chicken. As Arthur ate, Master Wong asked detailed questions about his training.

  "The Five Elements Core Breathing," the old teacher mused when Arthur described the technique. "A formidable foundation. The Zhuge family is known for producing versatile practitioners capable of adapting to many situations."

  "Master Zhuge said it would shape my ki in ways that would affect what techniques I can learn in the future," Arthur said between bites.

  "Indeed. The initial breathing technique is like the foundation of a building—it determines what structures can be built upon it." Wong stroked his thin beard thoughtfully. "The Zhuge family wugong encompasses all five elements, making it more balanced than many traditions. Their combat techniques emphasize adaptability and tactical advantage rather than raw power."

  "Do you know their techniques?" Arthur asked.

  Wong laughed. "I am but a humble scholar with minimal cultivation. What little wugong I know comes from the Wudang tradition—quite different from the Zhuge approach. I could no more teach their methods than I could fly to the moon."

  "Master Wong is being modest," Ming Li interjected. "He was once a disciple of Wudang before choosing the scholarly path."

  "A very minor disciple who never advanced beyond Second Rate," Wong clarified. "But I know enough to understand the significance of Master Zhuge's interest in you." He fixed Arthur with a serious gaze. "You must understand something, young Arthur. What you are attempting is considered nearly impossible in Wulin."

  "Learning wugong at my age, you mean?"

  "Yes. The meridian system becomes increasingly fixed as one ages. By eighteen, most would consider the optimal window for beginning training long closed." Wong leaned forward. "The fact that you sensed ki in a single day suggests unusual potential. But potential alone is not enough. The path ahead will be painful and dangerous."

  "Dangerous how?" Arthur asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

  "Forcing ki through underdeveloped meridians risks damage to your entire system. Imagine trying to force a river through narrow, rigid channels not designed to handle such flow. The channels may rupture." Wong's expression was grave. "Many who attempt accelerated training suffer ki deviation—a condition where energy runs wild through the body, causing extreme pain and often death."

  Arthur swallowed hard. "Zhuge Yi mentioned that risk."

  "At least he was honest with you." Wong sighed. "I tell you this not to discourage you, but to ensure you understand the stakes. Master Zhuge is known for his brilliance, but also for his willingness to take risks that others would consider reckless."

  "I don't have much choice," Arthur said bluntly. "Without wugong, I'm completely vulnerable in this world. I've seen what happens to the weak here."

  Wong nodded sadly. "A harsh truth of Wulin. Power determines everything." He rose to leave. "I wish you success, Arthur. Perhaps your unusual origins will grant you advantages we cannot foresee."

  After Wong and Ming Li departed, Arthur lay on his sleeping platform, too exhausted to move yet too mentally stimulated to sleep. He could still feel the small pool of ki in his lower abdomen—a warm, subtle presence that hadn't been there before. It was real. All of it was real.

  The next several days fell into a grueling pattern. Arthur would arrive at the meadow before dawn and practice the Five Elements Core Breathing until midday, gradually increasing the amount of ki he could draw in. In the afternoons, Zhuge Yi would teach him increasingly complex circulation patterns, guiding the energy through different meridian pathways.

  "The purpose of circulation is twofold," the old master explained on the fifth day. "First, it strengthens your meridians, preparing them to handle greater amounts of energy. Second, it refines the ki itself, making it more potent and responsive to your will."

  As the days passed, Arthur found he could draw in ki more quickly and in greater quantities. What had been a faint trickle became a steady stream. The pool of energy in his lower abdomen grew warmer and more substantial.

  "You are beginning to form your dantian," Zhuge Yi told him after a week of training. "The energy center that will store your cultivated ki. For most disciples, this process takes months or years. Your progress is... unexpected."

  It was the closest thing to praise the old master had offered, and Arthur felt a surge of pride despite his exhaustion. "Is that good?"

  "It is unusual," Zhuge Yi said carefully. "Rapid progress brings both opportunity and risk. We must ensure your meridians develop sufficiently to handle the energy you are accumulating."

  To this end, Zhuge Yi introduced a new aspect to the training—controlled pain. He would press specific points on Arthur's body, sending sharp bursts of his own ki into Arthur's meridians to forcibly expand them.

  The pain was excruciating. Each session left Arthur gasping and sweating, his body trembling from the assault. But he could feel the difference afterward—his meridians felt wider, more accommodating to the energy flowing through them.

  "Normal disciples develop their meridians gradually over years of gentle practice," Zhuge Yi explained after a particularly brutal session. "We do not have years. This method is dangerous but necessary if you are to progress at all."

  By the end of the second week, Arthur could maintain a continuous circulation of ki through his major meridians for hours at a time. The constant flow had begun to create a more permanent dantian—a stable reservoir of energy in his lower abdomen that remained even when he wasn't actively practicing.

  Throughout this period, Arthur continued his interactions with the villagers, though less frequently due to his intensive training. Ming Li visited most evenings, bringing food and news from the village. Master Wong occasionally joined them, offering insights into Wulin culture and history that helped Arthur contextualize his training.

  "The formation of a dantian marks the transition from mere practice to true cultivation," Wong explained one evening. "You are no longer simply learning exercises; you are transforming your body at a fundamental level."

  "What comes next?" Arthur asked.

  "Typically, disciples would spend years strengthening their dantian and meridians before learning actual combat techniques," Wong said. "But given your circumstances and Master Zhuge's... unconventional approach, I suspect he will begin teaching you practical applications soon."

  Wong was correct. The next morning, as Arthur completed his circulation exercises, Zhuge Yi announced a change in their training.

  "You have formed a basic dantian and established the primary meridian pathways," the old master said. "It is time to begin learning how to use the ki you have cultivated for external purposes."

  Arthur sat up straighter, excitement cutting through his fatigue. "Combat techniques?"

  "Not as you imagine," Zhuge Yi replied. "You have formed a basic dantian and established primary meridian pathways, but you are merely at the beginning of the Third Rate level. At this stage, you cannot project ki beyond your body or perform the dramatic techniques you've witnessed from Wulin practitioners."

  The clarification dampened Arthur's enthusiasm. "Then what comes next?"

  "You will learn basic movesets—predetermined sequences of movements designed to circulate ki through specific meridian patterns while performing physical techniques." Zhuge Yi rose fluidly. "Stand."

  Arthur stood, his legs stiff from sitting so long.

  "The Zhuge family's foundation combat technique is called 'Five Elements Fist,'" the old master explained. "It consists of five sequences, each corresponding to one element. At your current level, the physical movements themselves are the focus—your body must memorize these patterns before your ki can flow through them effectively."

  Zhuge Yi demonstrated the first sequence—"Metal Fist"—a series of direct, linear strikes with rigid hand formations. The movements looked simple enough, but when Arthur attempted to mimic them, the old master immediately began correcting his positioning.

  "Your elbow must be precisely at this angle," Zhuge Yi instructed, adjusting Arthur's arm. "Each position creates a specific configuration in your meridians. Imprecise movements result in improper ki flow."

  For the remainder of the day, Arthur practiced just the first eight movements of Metal Fist repeatedly. By sunset, his muscles ached from holding the same positions over and over, but he could perform the sequence without correction.

  "This is only the physical shell," Zhuge Yi said as they concluded. "Eventually, ki will flow through these movements automatically, enhancing their power. But that comes with time and repetition. For now, focus on perfect execution."

  Over the next several days, Arthur learned the remaining sequences of Five Elements Fist—each with its own character. Water Fist featured flowing, circular movements. Wood Fist emphasized rising, expanding techniques. Fire Fist contained explosive, aggressive strikes. Earth Fist focused on stable stances and powerful, grounded attacks.

  "Most disciples spend years mastering just these basic sequences," Zhuge Yi explained after Arthur had learned all five sets. "The physical techniques themselves are effective martial arts even without ki enhancement. But as you continue to cultivate, your dantian will grow, and ki will naturally flow through these established patterns."

  "How long before I can use ki to enhance the techniques?" Arthur asked.

  "For most, at least two years of diligent practice. For you..." Zhuge Yi studied him with that calculating gaze. "Perhaps sooner, given your unusual progress with dantian formation. But even then, you will only be enhancing your physical capabilities—strength, speed, endurance. The ability to project ki beyond your body requires reaching First Rate, which typically takes at least a decade."

  The timeline was sobering. Arthur had hoped for faster progress, for techniques that might protect him sooner rather than later. "A decade?"

  "For conventional training, yes. But as I've said, your circumstances require unconventional methods." Zhuge Yi's expression turned grave. "There are... shortcuts. Dangerous ones."

  "What kind of shortcuts?"

  "Techniques that accelerate ki accumulation at great risk to the practitioner. Methods that force meridian development beyond natural progression." The old master's voice dropped. "In the normal course of training, I would never consider such approaches. But your late start and our limited time together may necessitate them."

  Arthur thought of the casual brutality he'd witnessed in this world—the severed hands, the extracted heart, the orphaned child. "I'll take whatever risks are necessary."

  Zhuge Yi nodded, as if he'd expected this answer. "We will continue with conventional training for now. You must establish a solid foundation before attempting any accelerated methods. But know that the path ahead will likely involve pain beyond anything you've experienced thus far."

  That evening, as Arthur returned to the village, he found Ming Li waiting with an unexpected guest—Magistrate Zhao. The official's expression was solemn.

  "Arthur," Zhao said without preamble, "I received word today. My promotion has been finalized. I depart for the capital in five days."

  The news hit Arthur like a physical blow. Despite knowing this was coming, the reality of losing Zhao's protection so soon was jarring. "I see. Congratulations on your promotion, Magistrate."

  "Thank you." Zhao's formal tone softened slightly. "I have spoken with my successor. He is aware of your unusual circumstances and has agreed to maintain your current arrangement. However..." The magistrate hesitated. "He does not share my interest in philosophical matters or foreign curiosities. His protection will be more... perfunctory."

  The implied warning was clear. The new magistrate would fulfill the letter of any agreement but would not go out of his way to ensure Arthur's safety as Zhao had done.

  "I understand," Arthur said. "Thank you for everything you've done for me."

  Zhao nodded. "Master Zhuge has indicated he intends to take you with him when he departs. This is fortunate timing."

  "When does he plan to leave?" Arthur asked, realizing he didn't know the old master's intentions.

  "That is for him to say," Zhao replied. "But I recommend you accelerate your preparations. The world beyond this small town is far less forgiving of... differences."

  After the magistrate departed, Ming Li placed a comforting hand on Arthur's arm. "Are you alright?"

  "I need to train harder," Arthur said, his voice tight. "Whatever shortcuts Master Zhuge mentioned—I need to take them. I can't afford to spend years reaching a level where I can defend myself."

  "Be careful what you wish for," Ming Li warned. "Accelerated cultivation methods often exact terrible prices. Some consume life force directly. Others create permanent imbalances in one's ki that limit future advancement."

  "What choice do I have?" Arthur asked. "I'm not from this world, Ming Li. I don't have the luxury of growing up in a sect with decades to train."

  She had no answer for that.

  The next morning, Arthur arrived at the training meadow with renewed determination. "I want to discuss the accelerated methods you mentioned," he said without preamble.

  Zhuge Yi studied him silently for a long moment. "Magistrate Zhao told you of his departure."

  "Yes."

  "And now you feel time pressing upon you." The old master stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Your concern is justified. Without Zhao's protection, your position becomes precarious."

  "Is there anything that can accelerate my progress?" Arthur asked. "I can't spend years reaching a level where I can defend myself."

  Zhuge Yi's eyes narrowed. "There are... methods. None without significant risk." He paused, considering his words carefully. "The most effective would be spirit essence pills that concentrate ki in refined form."

  "Spirit essence pills? Like medicine?"

  "Far more potent than any medicine you can imagine. A single pill contains ki equivalent to years of cultivation. They allow practitioners to bypass natural limitations, advancing their progress dramatically." Zhuge Yi's expression grew serious. "But such pills are exceedingly rare. Major sects might produce two in a century, typically reserved for their chosen successors."

  Arthur's momentary hope deflated. "So they're not an option."

  "I did not say that." Zhuge Yi rose, pacing slowly. "When I was younger, I heard rumors of a fallen immortal's tomb in the western mountains. According to legend, spirit essence pills were buried with him—preserved for centuries."

  "A legend doesn't sound very reliable," Arthur said skeptically.

  "Many legends in Wulin have kernels of truth," Zhuge Yi replied. "I have collected information about this particular tomb for decades, triangulating its likely location from various accounts." He turned to Arthur. "I had planned to seek it after departing from here. With your unusual talent and desperate situation, perhaps fate has arranged our meeting."

  "You want me to help you find this tomb?"

  "I want you to accompany me on the journey. I will continue your training while we travel." Zhuge Yi's gaze was penetrating. "The path will be dangerous—bandits, rival practitioners, treacherous terrain. You will be exposed to the full brutality of Wulin, not just glimpses as you've had here."

  Arthur considered this. The safety of the village would soon vanish with Zhao's departure. At least with Zhuge Yi, he would have some protection and continued training. And if these spirit essence pills were real...

  "When do we leave?" he asked.

  "Three days. Enough time for you to prepare and for me to gather necessary supplies." Zhuge Yi's expression hardened. "Continue your training until then. Every bit of progress now may mean survival later."

  The following days passed in a blur of preparation and intense training. Arthur practiced the Five Elements Fist sequences from dawn until dusk, refining his movements under Zhuge Yi's exacting guidance. In the evenings, he made arrangements for his departure, saying goodbye to Ming Li and Master Wong, who both expressed concern about his journey.

  "The western mountains are dangerous," Wong warned. "Not just from bandits, but from rival sects that claim territories there. And Zhuge Yi, while powerful, has made enemies throughout his life."

  "I don't have much choice," Arthur replied. "Without Zhao's protection, I'm vulnerable here. At least with Master Zhuge, I have a chance."

  On the morning of their departure, Arthur met Zhuge Yi at the eastern edge of town, carrying a small bundle containing his few possessions—spare clothing, a water flask, and a knife Ming Li had given him "for ordinary threats," as she put it.

  Zhuge Yi appeared with a walking staff and a small pack. Despite his age, he looked ready for a long journey, his posture straight and his eyes alert. "Are you prepared?" he asked simply.

  "As much as I can be," Arthur replied.

  They set out as the sun rose, following a narrow trail that led westward through cultivated fields. By midday, they had left the farmlands behind and entered rolling hills covered with sparse forests. Zhuge Yi maintained a pace that Arthur found challenging but manageable, thanks to his months of physical labor and recent training.

  "We will continue your training each morning and evening," the old master said as they walked. "During travel, you will practice your breathing and ki circulation. Waste no opportunity for improvement."

  That evening, they made camp in a small clearing. After a simple meal of dried meat and rice, Zhuge Yi instructed Arthur to perform the Five Elements Fist sequences while circulating ki through the corresponding meridians.

  "Your execution improves," the old master noted after Arthur completed the full cycle. "But your ki flow remains rudimentary. In combat against even a Third Rate practitioner, you would be killed instantly."

  "How long before I could defend myself against someone like that?" Arthur asked.

  "At your current rate? Years." Zhuge Yi's bluntness was unsurprising by now. "But if we find what we seek... perhaps months. Spirit essence pills can compress years of cultivation into days, though the body and mind must be prepared to withstand such acceleration."

  They continued westward for five days without incident, passing through small villages where Zhuge Yi would purchase supplies while Arthur practiced his forms away from curious eyes. The terrain gradually became more rugged, with steeper hills and denser forests.

  On the sixth day, as they followed a narrow path through thick woods, Zhuge Yi suddenly raised his hand for silence. He stood perfectly still, head slightly tilted as if listening.

  "What—" Arthur began, but the old master cut him off with a sharp gesture.

  "We are being watched," Zhuge Yi said quietly. "Six men. Bandits, judging by their poor attempt at concealment. They are circling to surround us."

  Arthur felt his heart rate spike. "What do we do?"

  "We continue walking. When they reveal themselves, stay behind me and observe carefully." Zhuge Yi's voice remained calm, almost disinterested. "You will witness your first true Wulin combat. Pay attention to the difference between practice and application."

  They resumed walking, though Arthur now felt the weight of unseen eyes. His hand drifted to the knife at his belt—a pathetically inadequate weapon, he realized, against anyone trained in wugong.

  They had gone perhaps another hundred paces when six men emerged from the trees ahead, blocking the path. They were rough-looking, armed with a mixture of swords, spears, and clubs. Their leader, a scarred man with a missing ear, stepped forward with a confident sneer.

  "Travelers must pay the mountain toll," he announced, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "All your valuables, and you can continue your journey."

  Zhuge Yi stopped, regarding the bandits with mild curiosity. "I carry nothing of value to one such as you."

  The leader's expression darkened. "Your clothes suggest otherwise, old man. And your companion looks foreign—exotic slaves fetch high prices in certain markets."

  Arthur tensed, but Zhuge Yi remained perfectly calm.

  "You have made two errors," the old master said conversationally. "First, you have mistaken me for a helpless traveler. Second, you have revealed your intention to enslave rather than simply rob. The first might have been forgiven. The second cannot be."

  The bandit leader laughed, drawing his sword. "Big words from an old—"

  He never finished the sentence. Zhuge Yi moved with shocking speed, his right hand forming a rigid spear-like configuration—two fingers extended, the others folded back. Before Arthur could process what was happening, those fingers punched forward, penetrating the bandit leader's throat and exiting the back of his neck.

  Blood sprayed as Zhuge Yi withdrew his hand in one smooth motion. The bandit collapsed, gurgling, his eyes wide with shock. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  The entire exchange had taken less than two seconds.

  The remaining bandits froze, their expressions shifting from confidence to horror. Zhuge Yi stood calmly, blood dripping from his fingers, his posture suggesting he hadn't even exerted himself.

  "You face an Apex master of the Zhuge family," he said to the remaining bandits. "Your next decision determines whether you join your leader or live another day."

  Two of the bandits immediately dropped their weapons and fled into the forest. The other three, perhaps too shocked to think clearly, raised their weapons with shaking hands.

  Zhuge Yi sighed, as if disappointed by their choice. His movements blurred again. Arthur caught glimpses of formal stances—recognizable from the Five Elements Fist sequences but executed with lethal precision. One bandit's chest caved in from a palm strike. Another's neck snapped from a precise chop. The third lost the top half of his head to what appeared to be a simple finger swipe.

  In less than five heartbeats, three more men lay dead on the forest floor. Zhuge Yi stood among the bodies, not even breathing hard. He calmly wiped his bloodied hand on one of the dead men's clothing, then turned to Arthur.

  "Your first lesson in real combat," he said matter-of-factly. "Kill the leader immediately with overwhelming force. It demoralizes the others and often ends the fight before it truly begins."

  Arthur stared at the carnage, his stomach churning. The casual efficiency of the killing was unlike anything he'd ever imagined. "You... you didn't even use a weapon."

  "At my level, weapons are rarely necessary against such opponents." Zhuge Yi gestured to the bodies. "Note that each died from a single strike. No wasted movement, no dramatic exchanges. In true combat, efficiency is everything."

  "But you moved so fast," Arthur said, still trying to process what he'd witnessed. "I could barely see what you did."

  "I used Zhuge family techniques you haven't yet learned, but the principles are the same as your Five Elements Fist. The Metal Finger Strike that killed the leader. The Earth Palm that collapsed the second man's chest. The Wood Chop that broke the third's neck. The Fire Finger Sweep that removed the fourth's skull." Zhuge Yi spoke as if describing cooking techniques. "All executed through established forms, though modified for the specific situation."

  Arthur looked at the bodies again, forcing himself to study them clinically despite his revulsion. Each had died instantly from a precisely targeted strike. There had been no wasted energy, no dramatic posturing—just ruthless efficiency.

  "Remember this," Zhuge Yi said, reading his expression. "In Wulin, combat is not about honor or fair exchange. It is about survival. The most effective technique is the one that kills your opponent before they can harm you."

  They continued their journey, leaving the bodies where they had fallen. Arthur remained silent for hours, processing what he had witnessed. That night, as they made camp, he finally voiced the question that had been troubling him.

  "If I had been alone, those bandits would have killed or enslaved me without hesitation."

  "Yes," Zhuge Yi agreed simply.

  "Even with my training so far, I couldn't have defended myself against even one of them."

  "Correct."

  Arthur stared into their small campfire. "How many more would we encounter on this journey? How many more people who would kill me without a second thought?"

  "Many," Zhuge Yi said. "The western mountains are lawless territories. Bandits are merely the most obvious threat. We may encounter sect disciples patrolling their territories, rogue practitioners seeking to build their reputation, or worse."

  "Worse?"

  "There are those in Wulin who kill not from necessity but from pleasure. Who have developed techniques specifically to prolong suffering." The old master's expression darkened. "The martial world contains as much darkness as light. Perhaps more."

  That night, Arthur's sleep was troubled by dreams of the bandit leader's shocked expression as Zhuge Yi's fingers punched through his throat. He woke before dawn, drenched in sweat despite the cool night air.

  Zhuge Yi was already awake, sitting in meditation nearby. Without opening his eyes, he said, "The killing bothers you."

  "Yes," Arthur admitted.

  "That is natural. You were raised in a different world with different values." The old master opened his eyes. "But understand this: hesitation in Wulin means death. Mercy to the wrong person means death. You must learn to kill efficiently and without remorse when necessary."

  "I'm not sure I can become that person," Arthur said honestly.

  "You already are that person," Zhuge Yi replied. "You simply haven't accepted it yet. The instinct for survival lives in all humans. Wulin merely strips away the pretense of civilization to reveal that core truth."

  They continued westward, the terrain becoming increasingly mountainous. Arthur's training intensified, with Zhuge Yi now incorporating combat applications into the Five Elements Fist sequences.

  "The same movement that circulates ki can shatter bone when properly executed," the old master explained, demonstrating how a simple circular hand movement from Water Fist could become a devastating strike to an opponent's temple.

  Arthur's progress with ki cultivation continued steadily. His dantian grew stronger, the pool of energy more substantial. He could now maintain continuous circulation for hours without conscious effort, and his physical execution of the Five Elements Fist had become fluid and precise.

  Ten days into their journey, they encountered their second group of bandits—this time, a larger band that had established a checkpoint on a narrow mountain pass. As Arthur and Zhuge Yi approached, they could see nearly a dozen rough-looking men manning a crude barricade.

  "These appear more organized than our previous encounter," Zhuge Yi observed quietly. "Stay close to me."

  As they neared the barricade, a man wearing slightly better clothing than the others stepped forward. Unlike the previous bandits, he carried himself with the confidence of someone with actual combat training.

  "This pass is under the protection of the Black Wind Gang," he announced. "Passage requires payment—all your valuables and any weapons you carry."

  Zhuge Yi studied the man with narrowed eyes. "You have some training," he noted. "Second Rate, I would guess. Which sect expelled you?"

  The man's expression flickered with surprise before hardening. "Clever old man. The Kunlun Sect had... disagreements with my methods. Now I make my own path." His gaze shifted to Arthur. "A foreigner? Interesting. He'll fetch a good price."

  "You recognize I have training, yet you still attempt robbery," Zhuge Yi said, his tone almost conversational. "This suggests either exceptional confidence or exceptional foolishness."

  The bandit leader smiled coldly. "I recognize an old man past his prime, traveling with a foreign boy who reeks of weakness. My men outnumber you ten to one." He made a subtle gesture, and the bandits spread out, some moving to flank them. "Now, your valuables."

  Zhuge Yi sighed. "Arthur, move five paces back and remain still. You are about to receive another lesson in Wulin combat."

  The bandit leader's hand dropped to his sword. "Enough talk. Take them!"

  What followed was unlike the quick, efficient killing of their previous encounter. The bandit leader had indeed received sect training, and several of his men showed signs of basic wugong knowledge. They attacked with coordinated movements that would have overwhelmed most travelers.

  Zhuge Yi moved with the same formal precision Arthur had witnessed before, but now he could recognize elements of the Five Elements Fist within the old master's movements. A Metal Fist strike shattered one attacker's sternum. A circular Water Fist deflection redirected a sword thrust into another bandit's chest. A rising Wood Fist palm broke a jaw and snapped a neck simultaneously.

  The bandit leader proved more challenging, his sword technique showing his Kunlun training. He managed to exchange several blows with Zhuge Yi, even forcing the old master to dodge rather than simply counter.

  "You move well for an elder," the bandit called, gaining confidence. "But you'll tire soon, old man."

  Zhuge Yi's expression remained impassive. "You mistake conservation for limitation." Without warning, his movements accelerated dramatically. His right hand formed the two-finger spear configuration Arthur had seen before, but this time it glowed faintly with concentrated ki.

  The bandit leader's eyes widened in recognition. "Apex—" was all he managed before those fingers punctured his chest directly over his heart. Unlike the previous throat strike, this attack left no visible wound, but the man collapsed instantly, blood trickling from his mouth and nose.

  "Blade Ki," Zhuge Yi explained to Arthur as the remaining bandits fled in terror. "A technique available only to First Rate practitioners and above. It compresses ki around striking surfaces to enhance penetration and cutting power."

  Arthur stared at the dead bandit leader. "You killed him without breaking his skin."

  "The ki penetrated directly to his heart, rupturing it internally." Zhuge Yi wiped his fingers methodically, though they bore no blood. "He recognized too late that he faced an Apex master. His Kunlun training should have taught him better threat assessment."

  They continued through the pass, stepping over the bodies of the fallen bandits. Arthur found himself less disturbed by the violence this time—a realization that troubled him in a different way.

  "Am I becoming desensitized?" he asked that evening as they made camp.

  "You are adapting," Zhuge Yi corrected. "Your mind recognizes the reality of this world and adjusts accordingly. This is necessary for survival."

  "But I don't want to lose who I am," Arthur insisted.

  The old master regarded him thoughtfully. "Who you are is not fixed, Arthur. No human remains unchanged by their experiences. The question is not whether you will change, but how you will direct that change." He poked at their small fire with a stick. "Many who enter Wulin become consumed by power, using their abilities to dominate others. Others find a balance—developing the capacity for necessary violence without surrendering to cruelty."

  "Is that what you've done? Found a balance?"

  Zhuge Yi's smile was tinged with something like regret. "I have lived long enough to make many mistakes and learn from some of them. The path you choose will be your own."

  Their journey continued westward, deeper into the mountains. The terrain became increasingly treacherous, with narrow trails winding along cliff faces and through deep ravines. Villages were scarce, often consisting of just a few isolated houses whose inhabitants regarded travelers with suspicion.

  Arthur's training progressed steadily. Each morning and evening, he practiced the Five Elements Fist while circulating increasingly substantial amounts of ki through his meridians. Zhuge Yi introduced new techniques—simple applications of the basic forms that could be used in actual combat.

  "Your progress is remarkable for someone who began so late," the old master noted after a particularly intense training session. "Your dantian has stabilized at the middle level of Third Rate. With continued practice, you might reach Second Rate within a year."

  "Still too slow," Arthur said, thinking of the bandit leader who had nearly matched Zhuge Yi despite being expelled from his sect. "That man you killed at the pass—he was Second Rate, and he died instantly against you."

  "He died because he failed to recognize a superior opponent," Zhuge Yi corrected. "Had he fled immediately, he would have lived. Many in Wulin survive through prudent retreat rather than hopeless confrontation."

  Twenty days into their journey, they reached a region of particularly rugged mountains. The trails here were barely visible, often disappearing entirely into rocky terrain that required careful navigation. Zhuge Yi consulted a small, worn map frequently, occasionally changing their direction based on landmarks only he seemed to recognize.

  "We are nearing our destination," he announced on the morning of the twenty-third day. "The tomb should lie within a valley beyond the next ridge. But we must be cautious. If the legends are true, others may have sought it before us."

  They ascended a steep, rocky slope that took most of the day to climb. From the top, they could see a hidden valley nestled between towering peaks—a surprisingly lush depression of green amid the gray stone of the surrounding mountains.

  "There," Zhuge Yi said, pointing to a dark opening visible in the cliff face on the far side of the valley. "The entrance to the tomb, if my research is correct."

  As they began their descent into the valley, Arthur noticed something that made his heart sink. "Master Zhuge," he said quietly, "there's smoke. A campfire."

  The old master nodded grimly. "I see it. We are not alone." He studied the thin column of smoke rising from the trees near the cliff face. "We will approach cautiously. If others have found the tomb, they may have already claimed what we seek."

  They made their way down the slope and through the valley's forest, moving silently as Zhuge Yi had taught Arthur during their journey. As they neared the source of the smoke, they could hear voices—at least three people speaking in low tones.

  Zhuge Yi motioned for Arthur to remain still while he crept forward to observe. When he returned, his expression was troubled.

  "Three disciples from the Empty Cave Sect," he whispered. "Judging by their conversation, they arrived yesterday and have been exploring the tomb. They appear to have found something, though I could not determine what."

  "What's our plan?" Arthur asked.

  "We wait until nightfall, then approach. I will attempt to determine if they have found the spirit essence pills. If they have..." The old master's expression hardened. "We may need to take them by force."

  "Against three sect disciples? Is that wise?"

  "They are all Second Rate—formidable by ordinary standards but manageable for me." Zhuge Yi's confidence wasn't boasting but simple fact. "However, the Empty Cave Sect specializes in ambush techniques and hidden weapons. We must be cautious."

  They retreated to a safe distance and waited as the sun began its descent behind the western peaks. As darkness fell, they approached the camp again, moving with painstaking slowness to avoid detection.

  The three disciples sat around a small fire, examining something that glinted in the firelight—a small jade box with intricate carvings.

  "The old records were correct," one of them was saying, a thin man with a narrow face. "The immortal's treasures remained undisturbed. Master Feng will be pleased."

  "We should leave at first light," another replied, a stockier man with a short beard. "This valley feels... wrong. Like we're being watched."

  The third, a woman with her hair tied in a tight bun, laughed. "Superstitious fool. The only eyes on us are the mountain spirits, and they care nothing for human affairs." She took the jade box from the first man. "Besides, we've only explored the outer chamber. The inner sanctum may contain even greater treasures."

  Zhuge Yi pulled back, gesturing for Arthur to follow him to a safer distance.

  "They have found a jade box that likely contains spirit essence pills," the old master whispered once they were far enough away. "But they have not yet explored the entire tomb. This gives us an opportunity."

  "To do what?" Arthur asked. "Fight them for the box?"

  "Ideally, no. Fighting three disciples of the Empty Cave Sect simultaneously would be challenging even for me, particularly if they have set traps as their sect is known to do." Zhuge Yi's eyes gleamed in the darkness. "Instead, we will wait until they return to the tomb tomorrow, then strike when they are separated."

  They retreated further into the forest to make their own camp, far enough away to avoid detection but close enough to monitor the disciples' movements. As they settled in for the night, Arthur found himself troubled by their plan.

  "We're going to ambush them," he said, not quite a question.

  "Yes," Zhuge Yi replied simply.

  "Isn't that... dishonorable?"

  The old master gave him a long look. "There is no honor in Wulin combat, Arthur. Only survival and death. The Empty Cave disciples would not hesitate to ambush us if our positions were reversed." He adjusted his sleeping mat. "Remember this: in Wulin, those who cling to idealistic notions of fair combat die young. Those who survive understand that advantage must be seized whenever possible."

  Arthur nodded slowly, accepting the harsh reality of this world. As he drifted toward sleep, he wondered again about the person he was becoming—someone who could accept ambush and killing as necessary tools for survival. Was this transformation inevitable? Or was there still a choice in how far he would go down this path?

  Morning brought a light mist that shrouded the valley, providing additional cover as they approached the disciples' camp. As Zhuge Yi had predicted, the three were preparing to enter the tomb again, gathering tools and lighting torches.

  "We'll split up inside," the bearded disciple was saying. "Cover more ground that way. The old text mentioned three chambers beyond the main hall."

  "Take these," the woman said, handing small clay balls to her companions. "Poison smoke bombs. If you encounter anything... unexpected, use them and retreat."

  Zhuge Yi touched Arthur's arm and whispered, "They are separating as I hoped. We will wait until they enter, then follow. I will deal with them one by one. Your task is to find the jade box if they leave it behind, or to assist me if necessary."

  Arthur nodded, his mouth dry. The plan made tactical sense, but the calculated nature of their ambush still troubled him. These disciples, whatever their sect affiliation, were simply explorers seeking treasures like they were. The fact that Zhuge Yi planned to kill them for the same prize felt morally ambiguous at best.

  They watched as the three disciples entered the dark opening in the cliff face, their torches creating dancing shadows that soon disappeared into the depths. Zhuge Yi waited several minutes, then gestured for Arthur to follow him toward the entrance.

  The tomb's opening was larger than it had appeared from a distance—an arched doorway carved directly into the mountain, with weathered symbols etched around its frame. Inside, a wide corridor led downward, its walls covered with faded paintings depicting figures in ancient robes performing what appeared to be wugong techniques.

  They moved silently through the corridor, which eventually opened into a large chamber. Here, the disciples had left some of their supplies—packs, extra torches, and food. In the center of the chamber, a stone bier stood empty, its surface dusty but free of the debris that covered the floor.

  "The immortal's resting place," Zhuge Yi whispered. "But his remains and most treasures have already been taken."

  Three smaller corridors led from the main chamber, each disappearing into darkness. From one, they could see the faint glow of a torch moving deeper into the mountain.

  "Wait here," Zhuge Yi instructed. "Guard our exit and watch for the jade box. I will deal with the disciples."

  Before Arthur could respond, the old master moved toward the leftmost corridor, his footsteps utterly silent. Within moments, he had disappeared into the darkness.

  Left alone in the eerie chamber, Arthur examined the disciples' belongings, searching for the jade box they had discovered. He found nothing of value—just ordinary travel supplies and some basic weapons. The box must have been taken into the tomb with them.

  Time passed with agonizing slowness. Arthur found himself studying the ancient paintings on the walls, which depicted cultivation techniques he didn't recognize. Some showed figures with energy radiating from their hands or entire bodies glowing with power.

  A sudden, muffled cry echoed from one of the corridors, followed by silence. Arthur tensed, his hand going to the knife at his belt—a pathetically inadequate weapon, he knew, against trained sect disciples.

  Minutes later, Zhuge Yi emerged from the rightmost corridor, his expression grim. "One has been dealt with," he said quietly. "The woman. She was examining a chamber of ancient texts."

  "Did she have the jade box?" Arthur asked.

  "No. It must be with one of the others." The old master moved toward the central corridor. "Continue watching our exit."

  Again, Arthur was left alone in the main chamber. This time, he didn't have to wait long before hearing sounds of combat—a shout cut short, the clatter of metal on stone, then silence. His heart raced as he strained to determine what had happened.

  Zhuge Yi did not return. As the silence stretched on, Arthur's anxiety grew. Had something gone wrong? Should he investigate or maintain his position as ordered?

  After what felt like an eternity, he heard footsteps approaching from the central corridor—too heavy to be Zhuge Yi's. Arthur pressed himself against the wall beside the corridor entrance, knife drawn.

  The bearded disciple emerged, breathing heavily, a bloody gash visible on his forehead. In his hand, he clutched the jade box Arthur had seen in their camp. He looked around frantically, then started toward the exit.

  Arthur made a split-second decision. He stepped out, blocking the disciple's path. "Stop," he commanded, trying to project confidence he didn't feel.

  The disciple froze, then laughed when he saw Arthur. "A foreign devil? What are you doing here?" His eyes narrowed. "You're with the old man who killed Mei. Where is he?"

  "Give me the box," Arthur said, ignoring the question.

  The disciple's expression shifted from surprise to contempt. "You think you can challenge me? I am a Second Rate disciple of the Empty Cave Sect. You are nothing." He drew a short, curved dagger from his belt. "I'll kill you quickly, then deal with your master if he still lives."

  Arthur knew he stood no chance against a Second Rate practitioner in direct combat. But he also knew he couldn't let the man escape with the spirit essence pills—not after coming so far. He recalled Zhuge Yi's lessons about Wulin combat: efficiency over honor, survival over fairness.

  As the disciple advanced, Arthur pretended to back away in fear, then suddenly threw a handful of dust from the chamber floor into the man's eyes. The disciple cursed, momentarily blinded, and Arthur seized the opportunity to lunge forward with his knife.

  His attack was amateur but effective—the blade sank into the disciple's throat, finding the vulnerable spot Zhuge Yi had taught him. Blood sprayed as Arthur yanked the knife free, and the disciple collapsed, clutching his neck as his life drained away.

  The jade box clattered to the floor. Arthur stared at the dying man, then at the blood on his hands and knife. He had just killed someone. Not in self-defense against an immediate attack, but in a calculated ambush he had initiated.

  He felt sick, but there was no time for moral reflection. Zhuge Yi was still missing, possibly injured or worse. Arthur picked up the jade box, tucked it into his belt, then cautiously approached the central corridor.

  "Master Zhuge?" he called softly.

  No response.

  Steeling himself, Arthur entered the corridor, which sloped downward into darkness. He had no torch, but enough light filtered from the main chamber to see his immediate surroundings. The passage turned sharply, then opened into another chamber.

  Here, he found Zhuge Yi and the third disciple—the thin man—locked in combat. The chamber was illuminated by a fallen torch, its flame casting wild shadows as the two fighters moved with inhuman speed. Arthur could see that Zhuge Yi was injured, blood staining his left side, but he fought with undiminished precision.

  The disciple wielded a flexible chain weapon that whirled and struck like a living thing, forcing Zhuge Yi to maintain his distance. Each time the old master attempted to close for a killing blow, the chain would lash out, driving him back.

  "Arthur," Zhuge Yi called, noticing his presence without taking his eyes off his opponent. "The box?"

  "I have it," Arthur replied, patting his belt where the jade box was secured. "The bearded one is dead."

  The disciple's concentration wavered for a fraction of a second at this news—enough for Zhuge Yi to seize advantage. His hand formed the familiar two-finger spear configuration, glowing with concentrated ki, and he lunged forward beneath the whirling chain.

  The disciple realized his error too late. He tried to leap backward, but Zhuge Yi's fingers struck his chest directly over his heart. Unlike the bandit leader, this disciple did not die instantly—his sect training had provided some protection. He staggered back, coughing blood, then collapsed against the far wall.

  "Finish him," Zhuge Yi ordered Arthur, pressing a hand to his own wounded side. "A finger strike to the temple. He is weakened but still dangerous."

  Arthur hesitated, knife in hand. The disciple was clearly dying, blood flowing from his mouth as he struggled to breathe. To kill him now seemed unnecessary.

  "Do not hesitate," Zhuge Yi said sharply. "His sect training includes death techniques that can be used with his last breath. Finish him now."

  Swallowing his revulsion, Arthur approached the fallen disciple. The man's eyes tracked him, filled with hatred and something else—calculation. As Arthur neared, the disciple's hand moved suddenly toward a concealed pocket.

  Arthur reacted instinctively, driving his knife into the man's temple as Zhuge Yi had instructed. The disciple's body jerked once, then went still, his hand falling away from whatever hidden weapon he had been reaching for.

  "Well done," Zhuge Yi said, examining his own wound. "A moment's hesitation would have cost you your life. The Empty Cave Sect is notorious for their hidden poison weapons."

  Arthur wiped his knife clean, his hands shaking slightly. "Are you badly hurt?"

  "A flesh wound. His chain caught me when I was distracted by a trap." The old master straightened with a grimace. "The jade box. Let me see it."

  Arthur handed over the small container. It was beautifully crafted from pale green jade, with intricate carvings depicting mountains and clouds. Zhuge Yi examined it carefully, then opened the lid.

  Inside lay three small pills, each the size of a pea, glowing with a faint inner light. They were perfectly round and seemed to shift in color as the torchlight played across them—sometimes white, sometimes gold, sometimes a deep crimson.

  "Spirit essence pills," Zhuge Yi breathed, his voice filled with rare wonder. "And of exceptional quality. These were not created by human hands—they must have formed naturally in a place of extraordinary ki concentration."

  "Will they help my cultivation?" Arthur asked, momentarily forgetting the violence that had secured them.

  "One of these contains more concentrated ki than most practitioners accumulate in a decade." Zhuge Yi carefully closed the box. "But we must not use them here. The process of absorbing such concentrated essence requires proper preparation and a safe location."

  They gathered what useful items they could from the disciples and their packs, then made their way out of the tomb. The valley seemed eerily peaceful after the violence within the mountain, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the lush grass.

  "We will camp elsewhere tonight," Zhuge Yi decided, looking back at the tomb entrance. "This place will draw others when these disciples fail to return to their sect."

  As they hiked away from the valley, Arthur found himself reflecting on the day's events. He had killed two men—one in a calculated ambush, one at Zhuge Yi's command. The ease with which he had done so troubled him deeply. Was this the person he was becoming? Someone who could take life without hesitation?

  "Your thoughts are loud," Zhuge Yi observed as they made camp several miles from the tomb. "You question the necessity of killing the disciples."

  "Yes," Arthur admitted. "They were just seeking treasures, like us. We ambushed them for the same prize they sought."

  "And had they found us first, they would have killed us without hesitation." Zhuge Yi set about building a small fire, his movements precise despite his injury. "In Wulin, mercy is a luxury afforded only to those powerful enough that no one dares challenge them. You are not yet such a person."

  Arthur sat heavily on a fallen log, staring at his hands. Though he had washed them in a stream, he could still feel the sticky sensation of blood. "I understand that intellectually. It's just different to actually... do it."

  "Of course it is." Zhuge Yi's voice softened slightly. "Taking a life should never become easy, Arthur. But hesitation in the moment of necessity will only result in your own death."

  As the fire crackled to life, Arthur found himself replaying the day's events—the cold calculation of their ambush, the dying disciple reaching for a hidden weapon, the murderous intent he had seen in the man's eyes. He recalled the bandits they had encountered earlier in their journey, how they had spoken of selling him as if he were an object. How the swordsman in the village had severed a farmer's hands over spilled rice.

  This world operated by different rules than the one he had left behind. Modern Earth morality—with its emphasis on fair play, proportional response, and the sanctity of human life—was not just impractical here; it was actively dangerous.

  "I think I've been clinging to ideas that don't work in this world," Arthur said finally. "Expecting fairness where none exists."

  Zhuge Yi nodded, prodding the fire with a stick. "Your hesitation today could have gotten you killed. Had that disciple reached his poison dart, you would now be dead, and I would likely have followed, given my injury."

  The blunt assessment hit Arthur like a physical blow. His moral qualms weren't just endangering himself but also the man who had taken him as a student. "I'm sorry. I won't hesitate again."

  "Do not mistake my meaning," Zhuge Yi said, looking up from the fire. "I do not ask you to abandon all principles. Only to recognize that survival must come first. There is no honor in death, Arthur. Only those who survive can choose how to live."

  Arthur nodded slowly, accepting the harsh truth. He would have to adapt or perish in this brutal world. Self-preservation wasn't just a choice; it was the foundation upon which all other choices depended.

  As they ate a simple meal, Arthur's thoughts turned to something that had puzzled him throughout their journey. "Master Zhuge, how did you know those bandits were watching us before they revealed themselves? And today in the tomb, you seemed to know where the disciples were without seeing them."

  Zhuge Yi smiled slightly. "That is Ki Sense—the ability to perceive one's surroundings through ki rather than conventional senses. It allows me to detect living beings, energy patterns, and even certain objects without seeing or hearing them directly."

  "Can I learn to do that?" Arthur asked eagerly.

  "Eventually, perhaps. Ki Sense becomes available only after reaching the Apex rank. It emerges naturally as one's meridians open fully and one's connection to ambient ki deepens."

  Arthur considered this. "So when I reach Apex rank, I'll suddenly be able to sense things like you do?"

  Zhuge Yi gave him a curious look. "You speak of ranks in a strange way, as if they are fixed thresholds one simply steps across. This is not how wugong progression works."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The ranks in wugong are merely arbitrary terms we use to describe a practitioner's general level of mastery based on ki capacity and combat skill. They are descriptive, not prescriptive." Zhuge Yi set down his bowl. "One does not reach Apex and gain access to Ki Sense. Rather, one is considered Apex because they have developed Ki Sense, among other capabilities."

  Arthur frowned, realizing he had indeed been thinking about wugong ranks like levels in a video game—discrete thresholds that unlocked new abilities once crossed. "I think I've been misunderstanding how this works."

  "Clearly," Zhuge Yi said dryly. "Consider today's combat in the tomb. That Second Rate disciple managed to wound me despite the vast gulf in our respective ki reserves and skill. Why do you think that was possible?"

  "I'm not sure," Arthur admitted.

  "Because he used an unconventional weapon I was not familiar with. Because I was distracted by the traps his sect had placed. Because I am now eighty years old, and while my ki reserves are vast, my physical body is beginning to fail me." Zhuge Yi touched his bandaged side. "Rank does not decide battle outcome, Arthur. Only individual situations and actual combat advantages do."

  The explanation challenged Arthur's unconscious framework for understanding wugong progression. He had been viewing it as a straightforward path of advancement—like leveling up in the games he had played back on Earth—rather than the organic, multifaceted development it actually was.

  "So the spirit essence pills..." Arthur began.

  "Will accelerate your ki accumulation dramatically, but they will not instantly grant you new abilities or techniques. Those must still be developed through proper training and understanding." Zhuge Yi studied him with renewed curiosity. "Your world must have been very strange to give you such linear conceptions of growth."

  Arthur almost laughed at the irony—a man from a world with video games and standardized educational systems being called strange by someone from what appeared to be ancient China. "You have no idea."