Two hours later, Wuji was lying on the ground, barely breathing from the intense training he had undergone. His skin was scraped. His muscles twitched and the stench of sweat clung to him like rot.
He immediately activated cellular regeneration, and a cool, numbing sensation spread through him.
He gasped as his torn muscles stitched themselves back together. Bruises faded. Swelling ebbed. Even the bone-deep fatigue lightened, though only slightly.
Then came the hunger. It hit him like a beast tearing through his gut.
His stomach clenched violently. His hands trembled. His throat was dry as sand. "I hate this part," he muttered, his eyes unfocused. "I really fucking hate this feeling."
"I need food!" He mumbled, looking around frantically. "I need it now!" he gasped, trying to stand. But his legs buckled, and he fell to the ground again.
Groaning, he crawled toward the hut inch by inch. His muscles screamed and his knees burned, but he didn't stop. He dragged himself to the hut like a starving beast.
Inside, Meiyin was awakened by the sound of his groaning and crawling. Candlelight cast shadows across the walls and Wuji's exhausted figure as he crawled toward the pile of dried meat.
His face was slick with sweat and dirt, and his eyes were wild.
"Brother?"
He didn't answer, just waved her off with a trembling hand and lunged for the meat.
He tore into it, devouring chunks with shaking fingers, barely chewing or breathing. His body absorbed every bite as if it were a divine feast.
When he finished, he slumped against the wall, his chest heaving.
"Just one session," he whispered hoarsely. "And it nearly killed me."
Meiyin rushed over with a cloth and a cup of water. "Brother, here, drink," she said softly, gently wiping the sweat from his face.
"I'm fine," Wuji said, forcing a smile. "It's just the training. Go rest."
She hesitated, her eyes revealing her worry. "Okay, but don't overdo it."
"I'll try," he replied. Deep down, beneath the pain and hunger, he felt excited. He could clearly feel that his bone density had increased after just one training session, and that his natural recovery speed was slightly faster, even without activating the trait. His neural conduction was more stable, and his muscular response was tighter.
The next day, Wuji woke up late again. His muscles still ached, but not as much as the day before. The pain had dulled to a manageable level. With the trait and the technique working together, it almost felt like cheating.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes just as Meiyin entered the hut, carrying a pot of water. Her cheeks were flushed from the sun, and her dress clung damply to her from the effort.
"Yin Yin, did they bully you again?" Wuji asked, watching her closely.
"Nope." She set the pot down with a small grin. "I outsmarted them, like I said. I waited until everyone left the well. Aren't I clever?"
Wuji chuckled and rose to his feet. "That's one way to deal with them, I guess. But my way will be more spectacular."
He ruffled her hair, and she smiled, though her eyes flickered with concern.
"How's your body? You scared me last night."
"I'm fine. You'll have to get used to seeing me half-dead," he said with a grin. "It just means I'm getting stronger."
He walked over to the pot, splashed water on his face, and wiped it with a cloth. Then he put on an old gray robe with frayed edges, ruffled his hair, and took three gold coins out from under the bed.
"This should be enough," he muttered, slipping the coins into a pocket. Then, he grabbed a knife and slid it under his robe.
"Eat some of the meat while I'm gone," he said, heading for the door.
"Where are you going?" Meiyin asked.
"Town. I have something to take care of." He stood in front of the door, letting the afternoon sun hit his face.
Like a hawk, he scanned the area, always alert and watchful. Then he walked forward to the village gate, passing some villagers.
Among them, he looked for the gambler and his companions, but they were nowhere to be seen and he felt no suspicious eyes on his back, only the judging eyes of the villagers.
"Good, they are not here," he mumbled. Without another word, he walked slowly and steadily toward the town, his knife hidden and his mind already plotting.
In the town he walked through the winding streets of the town, scanning the shop signs and asking where he could find paper.
Most people shooed him away because he was dressed like a beggar. He continued walking past fruit stalls, cloth vendors, and apothecaries, but there were no paper shops in sight.
"Figures," he muttered. "A town like this barely cares about books, let alone blank paper."
Fortunately, those guys from yesterday didn't follow him today. "They only stalk you when you smell like gold. Yesterday, I was prey. But today, I'm poor again."
Eventually, after a long half-hour of circling alleys and whispering through market stalls, he stumbled upon a narrow, crooked building tucked behind a tailor's hut.
Its faded sign barely clung to the wall; the paint had long since chipped away. Wuji stepped inside. The musty scent of damp wood and ink filled the air, and only three dying candles burned.
"Hello?" Wuji called out, his voice echoing in the dim interior. "I'm looking for some paper."
A shuffle came from the back. An old man emerged, hunched and sharp-eyed, looking at Wuji like he was dirt on the floor.
"We don't sell to beggars. Out," the old man snapped.
Wuji frowned. "I've got money. Don't tell me you're turning down customers now?"
The old man's lip curled. "And I've got dogs. Want to see if they like chewing on your limbs?"
Wuji didn't argue. He stepped back and let the door creak shut behind him. He stood outside in silence, staring at the crooked building.
"What the hell is going on?" he muttered to himself. "Does he not want to sell? Maybe it's my clothes. If I'd worn my newer robe, would he have sold it to me?"
Then it hit him. "Of course! How could I be such an idiot? Papers are rare. Yin Li never cared about books, so I forgot, and the dojo's books made it seem like paper was everywhere. But those books belonged to people like the Fifth Elder and the Chief. They are above the masses, so of course they'd be surrounded by luxury."
He clenched his jaw. "That old bastard saw my face. Even if I dress like a noble next time, he won't sell to me."
He looked up and down the street. "Should I try another town? No, the neighboring town is too far away, and it's risky. There might be bandits on the roads."
He paused. "I could give up this small act of revenge," he thought, but immediately corrected himself. "No, I can't let those bastards grow stronger. If the cultivators pick them as servants, I'll lose any chance of payback. They'll be untouchable."
Then, an idea struck him, and his eyes lit up. "Wait... Why am I being so stupid? I can make my own papers! I'm a man with knowledge from a scientific world, and here I am, wringing my hands over something I used to make for elementary school projects?"
He turned on his heel and headed toward the tailor's shop.
"Should I use bark or cloth to make the paper?" he muttered to himself, thinking it through. "I don't have time. The faster I make it, the better. Cloth is already fibrous, so it's easier to process. Yes, I'll go with that."
As he stepped into the shop, the musty smell of old fabric hit him. Customers glanced his way, their eyes filling with disdain at his clothes.
He ignored them and looked around. He then saw a sack, picked it up, and crouched down to pick up some torn cloth scraps from the floor and put them into the sack.
"Hey, you! What do you think you're doing?" a burly man barked. "Drop those, or I'll break your damn limbs!"
Wuji glanced up at him, still crouching.
"Just a regular man," he thought as he calmly sized him up. Then he continued collecting the scraps.
Within moments, a few others moved in and surrounded him.
He sprang toward the exit, protecting the sack on his chest with his hands, but they were faster. Fists flew. Feet slammed into his back and sides.
He took the hits without making a sound. He pushed through the crowd and stumbled into the street.
The street outside had already drawn a small crowd.
"What just happened?" someone asked, stepping closer to the commotion.
"No clue. I got here late, too."
A bystander pointed toward the town gate. "There! That beggar running with a sack—it's him! He tried to steal from the tailor's shop!"
"We caught the bastard!" the burly man growled, standing in front of the door and clutching his ribs. "But he ran off like nothing happened. He didn't even limp."
"Hah, are you sure he was a beggar?" someone muttered. "He might be one of those Beggar Union freaks. I hear even their rookies are trained killers in disguise."
The crowd murmured. One man whispered, "If he's from the Beggar Union, you're lucky you only hit him once."
The burly man scowled and turned pale. "Dammit... If he were really a martial artist, why steal rags from our little shop? If he had asked, we would have given him something decent."
A gray-bearded man chuckled dryly. "You don't get it. Jianghu folks don't think like us. They rob one day and repay with gold the next. Or slit your throat. It depends on their mood."
The burly man wiped the sweat from his forehead and continued to watch the gate, as if expecting the beggar to return. "Tch. Just my luck to pick a fight with a lunatic in rags.
While they gossiped, Wuji had already walked briskly far from the commotion with a sack of stolen cloth slung over his shoulder, heading toward the edge of town.
His back throbbed with bruises, but he couldn't stop smiling.
"Just one night of training, and I can take a beating from five people. This technique really is something."
"Now that I have the clothes, the next step is to turn them into pulp," Wuji muttered, adjusting the sack over his shoulder.
He walked through the sparse trees on the edge of the village, hiding from the villagers' eyes.
Minutes later, he arrived at the hut and tossed the sack of torn fabric onto the ground behind it with a heavy thud. Dust rose, and Meiyin peeked around the corner, her eyes wide.
"Brother, where did you—"
"Don't ask," he said, waving her off. "Just know that these rags are going to change our lives," he said, smiling.
She looked at him as if he had lost his mind, but nodded anyway. He'd been acting strange ever since he woke up from the coffin.
Wuji crouched down, his hands already digging through the bundle. "Okay, Yin Yin, come help me," he said. She came to crouch with him before the sack. "First, remove the seams and buttons. I only want soft fibers, got it?"
She nodded and hesitated for a moment, then asked, "What are you trying to do with these torn pieces? Do you want to make a robe?"
"No, I'm going to make paper," he said.
"Paper?" She blinked. "Like the kind in books?"
Wuji grinned. "Exactly, those kinds of papers."
"But aren't books made in the city?"
"They are. But I can make them, too. All I need is ash, water, a cloth, and a way to flatten it. Just watch; I'll show you."
For the first time, Meiyin saw Wuji in his element. He wasn't a brother, a villager, or a martial artist. But as a scientist with a grudge and a plan.