Wu strolled down the dirt road like he owned the place.
Which was impressive, considering the only thing he owned was an old guard uniform that had been patched more times than his dignity, and a sword so ancient it creaked when he unsheathed it—out of protest, most likely.
The village was already awake. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, chickens screamed like they were being murdered (they weren't), and at the corner stall, steam rose in thick white clouds.
Wu stopped.
Behind the stall stood a young woman in ragged clothes, sleeves rolled up, hair tied loosely, face a little smudged with flour. She was pretty in a way that made you forget she was poor—and probably punched people for fun.
Wu leaned in and grinned.
"Still weak as ever."
The woman snorted. "Come at me then, big bully Wu."
They slapped palms—hard. Neither backed down. Their hands trembled, muscles straining, faces inches apart.
A second passed.
Then both burst out laughing.
Wu stepped back, shaking his hand. "Damn, you've been working out."
"Selling buns is a battlefield," she said smugly. "What do you want?"
"Nothing. Got guard duty today."
She rolled her eyes. "Then make sure to smack my old man or else he'll never help me sell these."
Before Wu could reply, a steaming hot bun flew straight at his face.
He caught it.
Immediately regretted it.
"HOLY—" He started tossing it between his hands like a madman. "WHY IS IT ALWAYS THIS HOT?"
"Who's weak now, dickhead?" she shouted, laughing.
Wu clenched his teeth, then tossed the bun up and caught it in his mouth—whole. He swallowed with effort, licked his lips, and shrugged.
"I've had better."
Silence.
Then violence.
She hurled a fistful of wooden sticks at him.
Wu yelped and ran, laughing as the sticks clattered against the road behind him.
The woman sighed, shook her head, and grabbed a bun for herself.
She took one bite—
"Those are for customers."
She screamed.
A massive, muscular man loomed behind her like an angry mountain, arms crossed, veins bulging.
"…Sorry, Dad."
Wu was still laughing when he rounded the next corner—right into his mortal enemy.
A dog.
A scruffy, brown, absolutely shameless dog stood in the middle of the road.
People nearby sighed.
"They're at it again."
The dog took a step forward.
Wu's eye twitched.
He unsheathed his sword with a dramatic shing.
"You unholy beast," Wu said solemnly. "Don't think I forgot you stole my favorite underwear."
The dog bared its teeth.
The underwear—his underwear—were stretched snugly around the dog's waist.
The dog smirked.
They clashed.
It was not glorious.
Dust flew. Wu slipped. The dog bit the sword. Someone shouted encouragement—no one knew to whom.
Thirty seconds later, Wu lay flat on his back, staring at the sky.
The dog planted a paw on his chest.
Wu raised one trembling hand.
"Mercy, senior," he wheezed. "I give up."
The dog sniffed him, huffed, then stepped off and trotted away, tail wagging.
The underwear remained.
Wu groaned and sat up.
A heavy arm wrapped around his shoulders.
"You really gotta eat some meat."
Wu looked sideways.
Fatty Wang grinned down at him.
Short. Round. Cheerful.
Standing on a stool.
Wu sighed. "Good to see you too, Fatty Wang."
Wang hopped down. "Your turn to guard the shrine today."
Wu's soul left his body.
"Uggggghhhhh."
He stared toward the distant mountain, where a lonely shrine clung to stone steps like a stubborn weed.
"But… what if I don't make it back?" Wu said gravely. "There are, like… tigers or something."
There were no tigers.
Fatty Wang stroked his chin. "I guess I'll just have to take care of our bun sister."
Wu looked him up and down, unimpressed.
"…I'm heading off."
By the time Wu reached the shrine, his lungs were actively trying to kill him.
He leaned over, hands on knees, drenched in sweat.
"I'm getting too old for this," he muttered.
He was eighteen.
The shrine was quiet. Stone statues stared silently, chipped by time and neglect.
Wu circled around one—
And froze.
A book rested on the statue's lap.
He shrugged. "Weird."
Then—
"Come here."
Wu stiffened.
"…Hell to the nah."
He turned to leave.
"I have four thousand paintings of fair maidens," the voice said smoothly. "The voluptuous kind."
Wu stopped.
Turned.
"…Shit. Why didn't you say so first?"
He picked up the book.
Cultivation for Dummies was scrawled across the cover, surrounded by doodles of stickmen, strange symbols—and suspiciously detailed cat girls.
Wu flipped it open.
It was a mess.
Words crossed out. Arrows pointing nowhere. Diagrams that made no sense.
"You tricked me," Wu said flatly.
"Should've been more careful, idiot," the book replied cheerfully. "Oh well. You and I are now bound for life and death."
Wu screamed and hurled the book outside.
"Unbelievable! How can books even dare bait humans like that—"
BAM.
Something slammed into his gut at terrifying speed.
Wu flew backward, smashed into the wall, and blacked out.
The book lay on the ground.
"While you sleep," it said softly, "I will tell you a story."
It spoke of a cultivator called "Heaven Swatting Eccentric Coward" who was so afraid of death that he never left his cave abode, not even when his wife gave birth or even when the Dao collapsed.
Of centuries spent hiding from nothing since he had no enemies, but that also meant he had no friends... apart from his wife which he doesn't even remember meeting.
Of survival through cowardice, although because of that he became the strongest.
Wu stirred.
Barely conscious, he muttered—
"The fuck's a cultivator?"
Then passed out again.