"Come on, you slippery bastard," Jon muttered, eyes locked on a particularly fat fish that had been taunting him for the past twenty minutes. The mountain stream's icy water numbed his feet, but he didn't dare move. Not yet.

  Now, one might wonder why a cultivator capable of throwing lightning bolts was standing in a river like a particularly patient heron. The answer, as with most things in Jon's life lately, involved Han's unique approach to training.

  "A true master of air," Han had declared that morning, "must understand stillness within motion, and motion within stillness."

  Jon had nodded sagely, pretending he understood what that meant.

  "Also," Han had added, "we're out of fish for dinner."

  And so here he was, demonstrating his mastery of stillness by practicing the ancient art of not scaring away his dinner. The fact that he'd been at it for two hours was, according to Han, excellent endurance training.

  The fat fish swam closer, its scales gleaming in the afternoon sun. Jon's fingers twitched slightly, qi gathering beneath his skin. He'd learned the hard way that simply grabbing at the fish didn't work. They were too fast, too slippery.

  But perhaps...

  If he could create a subtle current, guide the fish exactly where he wanted it...

  The fish drifted closer, following the invisible path Jon was creating with carefully controlled qi. Just a little more...

  Now, this was typically the moment in nature documentaries where something dramatic happens. The eagle swoops, the bear swipes, the killer whale breaches. Nature in all its raw, majestic glory.

  What actually happened was that Jon sneezed.

  The fish, displaying remarkable survival instincts, darted away from the suddenly moving human. But Jon, displaying equally remarkable reflexes (or possibly just blind panic), did something that would have made any proper cultivator faint from shock.

  He created a tiny vacuum in the water itself.

  The fish, caught in the sudden rush of water filling the void, shot backward directly into Jon's waiting hands. Physics and cultivation, working together in perfect harmony to catch dinner.

  "Ha!" Jon shouted triumphantly, holding up his prize. "Did you see that?"

  The mountain scenery, predictably, did not respond.

  The fish, however, chose this moment to demonstrate its own mastery of slipperiness. It wriggled free from Jon's grasp, launching itself toward freedom in a graceful arc.

  But Jon wasn't about to let two hours of frozen feet go to waste. With a gesture that was half cultivation technique and half flailing panic, he manipulated the air around the escaping fish, creating a swirling vortex that gently deposited his dinner back into his hands.

  "And that," Jon announced to no one in particular, "is how you fish with style."

  He added his latest catch to the small basket he'd woven from reeds, where two other fish already lay. Three in total - two for him, one for Han. After all, he'd done all the work. The old man could hardly complain about the portion size when he'd spent the afternoon napping on the porch.

  A small grin crept across Jon's face as he covered the basket with leaves. Four days of actual cultivation practice had taught him many things, including how to sneak extra portions during his training sessions. The hunger that came with cultivation was no joke - his stomach felt like a bottomless pit these days.

  He knew Han had noticed his little food-hoarding scheme. The knowing glint in the old man's eyes said it all, especially when Jon's "hunting trips" took suspiciously long. But as long as Jon maintained some pretense of subtlety and didn't flaunt it, Han seemed content to let him satisfy his growing appetite.

  The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the trees. Time to head back. Jon stepped out of the stream, letting air currents dry his feet before slipping them back into his boots.

  "A fascinating technique."

  Jon nearly jumped out of his skin. The voice had come from behind him, smooth and cultured. He spun around, heart hammering.

  A man stood at the river's edge, white hair gleaming in the sunlight, holding a pipe that trailed wisps of fragrant smoke. Jon hadn't heard him approach - hadn't sensed even a whisper of his presence. For someone who'd spent the last few hours hyper-aware of every ripple in the water, every rustle in the trees, this was deeply unsettling

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  He recognized the man from the marketplace. But what truly made his blood run cold wasn't the elegant robes or the white hair - it was how utterly unsurprised the man looked. No widened eyes at seeing someone create vacuums in water, no raised eyebrows at the display of air techniques. Just that calm, assessing gaze, as if watching a particularly interesting specimen under glass.

  In all the novels Jon had read before landing in this world, that kind of casual observation only came from one type of character - the kind that could probably level mountains with a flick of their wrist.

  "Thanks," Jon said, keeping his voice light while his mind raced through scenarios. The path to Han's house wasn't far, maybe fifteen minutes at a normal pace. "Still working on it, though. The fish keep outsmarting me."

  The man took a long draw from his pipe, the smoke curling in impossible patterns. "Humility from one so gifted? How refreshing. Self-taught?"

  "Oh, mostly trial and error," Jon replied, starting to walk. He didn't run - running from predators only triggered their chase instinct, and this man was definitely a predator. "Still figuring things out, really."

  The white-haired cultivator fell into step beside him with effortless grace. "I see. You know, it's rare to see someone take such an innovative approach to basic principles."

  The casual praise felt like a steel trap wrapped in silk. Jon adjusted his grip on the basket, keeping his movements relaxed even as his heart hammered against his ribs. "Just trying to catch dinner, sir. Nothing special about that."

  "I woul-"

  Jon cleared his throat before the man could finish, forcing a polite smile. "Well, it's been nice chatting, but I should really get these fish back before they spoil." He gestured vaguely toward the path ahead, his words hanging awkwardly in the air between them.

  The white-haired man's pipe smoke coiled like a serpent. "Why such haste? I had hoped we might discuss your rather... unique circumstances." His tone remained pleasant. "Your arrival has caused quite a stir in certain circles."

  Yup. That's my cue.

  Jon's muscles coiled tight, qi humming beneath his skin. The path stretched before him, sunlight dappling the ground through the leaves. Fifteen minutes to Han's house at a walk. Maybe three at a dead sprint. His legs tensed, ready to explode into motion. His lungs expanded, ready to scream Han's name loud enough to echo off the mountains-

  "That would be as unwise as it would be useless." The man's voice cut through Jon's thoughts like a blade through silk. "If you're counting on the old man to hear you, I'm afraid he won't. I've taken certain... precautions."

  Ice spread through Jon's veins. The basket suddenly felt heavy in his hands.

  "And before you worry about your mentor," the man continued, taking another draw from his pipe, "someone is already paying him a visit. So why don't we skip the tedious chase and have a civilized conversation?" He smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes. "It would make things so much simpler for everyone involved."

  Jon's jaw clenched. This was exactly the kind of scenario he hated - the kind that ended with the protagonist either dead in a ditch or conscripted into some faction's schemes. Neither option appealed to him.

  The basket hung heavy in his hands, those three stupid fish suddenly seeming like the last remnants of a simpler life that was slipping away with each curl of smoke from the man's pipe. Han was in danger. He was in danger. And here he stood, on a pleasant mountain path in the afternoon sun, having what amounted to a polite chat with his potential executioner.

  His qi stirred restlessly under his skin, but he knew - with the bone-deep certainty - that using it would be like throwing pebbles at a fortress. The man's casual stance, the complete lack of defensive posturing, the way he seemed to occupy the space around him like he owned it... everything screamed 'hidden master.'

  "I suppose," Jon said finally, his voice tight, "you're not interested in pretending you never saw me and letting me go back to catching fish?"

  The white-haired man's laugh was like wind chimes in winter - beautiful and cold. "What an interesting suggestion. But I'm afraid we're well past that point, young friend."

  "What do you want from me?"

  "Want? Such a direct question." Another smoke curl. "A few months ago, a particular demonic cult made a breakthrough in their summoning arts. Created quite the stir in certain circles."

  Jon's sigh was barely audible, but the white-haired man's eyes lit up. "Oh? Was that a reaction?" He tapped his pipe against his palm. "You see, I've been in this charming little village for some time now, watching. Your techniques, your mannerisms, the way you approach problems... all of it points to something rather specific."

  "Let me guess," Jon said wearily, "you're with the demonic factions?"

  The man pressed a hand to his chest, looking almost comically offended. "My, oh my. I would never associate with such crude practitioners. No, no. I represent the Unorthodox Faction."

  "Aaah. Fuck my life," Jon muttered, running a hand down his face.

  A rich chuckle escaped the man's throat. "Come now, it's hardly as dramatic as all that. Our reputation has been rather unfairly tarnished by Orthodox propaganda. We're quite the civilized lot, I assure you." He gestured expansively with his pipe. "No sacrificial rituals, no midnight massacres, just a group of cultivators who believe there might be more than one path up the mountain, so to speak."

  "So what now?" Jon asked, shifting his weight slightly. The basket dropped to the ground with a soft thud as he turned to face the man.

  The man raised an elegant eyebrow. "Now? I had hoped you'd come along quietly. It would make things far less... messy."

  Jon's lips quirked into a humorless smile. He might not be anywhere near this man's level, but he wasn't about to be led away like a lamb to slaughter. His qi stirred, ready to respond. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not really the 'coming quietly' type."

  "Admirable," the white-haired man said. "Such courage usually gets people killed in our world, but admirable nonetheless." He took another draw from his pipe. That pipe was really, really getting on Jon's nerves now.

  Jon shifted into a fighting stance, his feet finding purchase on the packed earth. "Well, if you're done admiring my character, shall we?"

  The man tilted his head, studying Jon with renewed interest. "You're actually challenging me directly? I expected you to attack while I was supposedly off guard. You do realize that would have been the smarter choice?"

  "If it was," Jon replied dryly, "you wouldn't have had your hand on your sword when I turned to face you."

  A rich laugh echoed through the forest, sending birds scattering from nearby trees. "Well observed, young friend." The man's fingers drummed once against the hilt of his sword, a gesture that somehow managed to be both casual and deeply threatening. "Very well observed indeed."

  nervous chuckle

  However, my priority is to complete the first book before diving into these heavy edits.