By the third morning, Lin Yuan had accepted a quiet truth.
There was no way home.
That realization did not arrive as dread or panic. It came while chewing on a skewer of grilled meat purchased from a stall whose owner greeted him with a nod of faint recognition. It came while stepping aside for a cart that rattled past without slowing. It came while listening to conversations that flowed around him like water around a stone.
His own calmness and acceptance of the situation suprised himself.
The town revealed itself slowly when he stopped expecting it to explain anything. Narrow streets curved in on themselves, looping back toward the central square as if reluctant to let people wander too far. The buildings were low and tightly packed, their upper floors leaning inward like conspirators. Laundry hung from windows in uneven lines, fluttering lazily in the morning air.
Someone had once told him that cities reflected the priorities of the people who built them. If that was true, then this town valued efficiency and survival over beauty.
A man beside him at the stall complained about grain prices while counting out coins. The stall owner listened with the weary patience of someone who had heard the same complaint every morning for years. A pair of women in fitted robes walked past without slowing, their conversation animated, their laughter unrestrained.
Lin Yuan finished eating and wiped his hands on a scrap of cloth, resisting the urge to stare.
Blending in, he reminded himself. Step one of survival.
He walked without purpose at first, retracing routes his feet seemed to remember even if his mind did not. The way from his room to the square. The alley that smelled faintly of fish and brine. The narrow lane where a woman sharpened knives in the open, sparks flickering each time metal kissed stone.
His body knew these paths.
That, more than anything else, unsettled him.
At a corner stall selling steamed buns, Lin Yuan paused long enough to overhear a heated conversation. Two men argued quietly about whether it was worth sending a daughter to one of the nearby sects if she showed even a hint of talent. One insisted it was foolish without connections. The other claimed that Heaven favored the bold.
"Foundation Establishment before thirty," the first muttered. "That's the threshold."
Lin Yuan pretended to examine the buns while filing the term away.
Foundation Establishment. Again.
It followed him like a shadow, always mentioned with reverence, never explanation.
He paid for his food and moved on, noticing only afterward that the woman behind him had stepped forward before he finished, claiming the last bun without hesitation. The stall owner did not object. The men did not protest. The moment passed as though it had never happened.
Lin Yuan frowned, then shook his head.
Different world. Different rules.
If he questioned every unfamiliar norm, he would never stop questioning.
As the morning wore on, the town's name surfaced naturally, spoken often enough that it finally stuck. Qingshui Town, small enough that people recognized faces, insignificant enough that few outsiders lingered longer than necessary. It sat between two larger cities, one to the east near a river trade route, and another farther west that people spoke of in hushed tones and aspirational sighs.
"Jade Reach," someone said nearby, awe coloring the name. "That's where real cultivators gather. I heard a very powerful cultivator resides there!"
Another scoffed. "Only if you have money or talent. Or luck."
Lin Yuan smiled faintly.
Luck had always been a questionable concept to him. He was not sure how waking up in a dead man's body ranked on that particular scale.
By midday, he found himself at the edge of the square again, watching guards rotate positions near the administrative hall. All women. Their armor was simple but well-maintained, their movements disciplined without being rigid. They spoke to one another easily, laughter threading through professionalism.
Not soldiers, he realized. Enforcers.
Authority here did not need to posture.
He leaned against a post and listened as a group nearby discussed cultivation in the way ordinary people discussed weather. Casual, distant, tinged with envy but not resentment.
"Qi Condensation is nothing special compared to real cultivators," a woman said dismissively. "Even my niece reached it by eighteen."
"That's still a cultivator," someone replied. "Better than most."
Lin Yuan blinked.
Qi Condensation. Another piece of the puzzle, dropped without context, assumed knowledge. He felt the edges of understanding forming slowly, like a picture assembled from mismatched fragments.
Cultivation existed. It was structured. It was common enough to be discussed openly, yet distant enough to feel unattainable.
And it mattered.
By the time afternoon settled in, Lin Yuan had learned more than he expected without anyone teaching him anything. Cultivators trained at sects. Towns deferred to them. Cities revolved around them. And while anyone might dream of stepping onto that path, not everyone was meant to walk it.
He returned briefly to his room to count his coins.
The number did not improve with recounting.
He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the small stack, and exhaled slowly through his nose. The faint impressions from before stirred again, carrying with them the echo of deadlines and quiet dread.
"I'm working on it," he muttered, though he did not know to whom.
The afternoon drew him back outside. Staying indoors felt wrong, like hiding from something he did not yet understand. He walked again, slower this time, trying to pick up any usueful information that might aid his survival in this new environment.
As the sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long across the streets, Lin Yuan turned down a narrower road he rarely remembered using. The buildings here were older, the stones darker, the air cooler. He slowed, uncertain why he had chosen this path at all.
Halfway down the alley, he felt it.
A prickle at the base of his neck. The unmistakable sensation of being watched.
Lin Yuan stopped.
He told himself not to overreact, that this was a city and cities were full of eyes. Still, he glanced to his left, toward a narrow side passage choked with shadow.
A man stood there.
He was tall, his silhouette sharp against the dimness, a sword held loosely at his side as if it weighed nothing at all. Lightning flickered faintly around him, thin threads of pale blue snapping and fading along the blade and the air nearby.
Lin Yuan's breath caught.
The man's expression was unreadable. Not hostile. Not welcoming. Merely present.
For the span of a heartbeat, the world felt unnaturally still.
Then Lin Yuan blinked.
The alley was empty.
No man. No sword. No lightning. Only shadow and damp stone.
He turned fully, scanning the passage, to afraid to enter, pulse pounding now despite his best efforts. There was nowhere the figure could have gone. No sound of footsteps. No retreating presence.
"Stress," Lin Yuan said quietly, forcing a laugh that sounded fake even to his own ears. "Definitely stress."
He shook his head and resumed walking, though his steps were quicker now, his senses sharper. He did not look back again.