Heng blew away as much of the dust as he could and cleaned the rest with his sleeve, before getting to read.

  On one side of the little table, he opened Chang Guang's approach to fighting techniques, the unpublished book by his ex-patriarch, and on the other an incomplete version of Chang Jian’s Technique, the one that had given him blue eyes as a side effect.

  The scroll it was written on was huge, a testament to its incredible complexity. Trying to decipher it, in that moment, was an impossible task, so he started with the single pieces and sections, comparing them to the theories and concepts written in the book, while practising with his Stamina to eventually get to use it.

  From the book to the scroll, his eyes never stopped moving, not even when the tiny strands of energy gathered behind them to subtly change their properties.

  In that first session, he did not plan to fully understand one specific segment of it, but instead get a general idea of what each of them would be used for.

  For example, the point where the Technique started was the easiest, increasing the level of detail the user’s vision had. It was hard to put into words; it was as if, without it, the world was a bit blurrier than it was supposed to, and with it, it removed the issue.

  Then an incomprehensible mess came, interacting with light inside of it and shaping a tiny strand of Stamina; another, easier to understand, had the strand moving inside the skull and into the brain, in two specific sections. One was at the back of the head, the other was literally a new one created with a confusing mix of Stamina and Vitality that was supposed to stay there and keep the strand safe, or do something to it when activated; there, the section to move it around repeated, sending it to the same place as the first.

  And that wasn’t even speaking of all the incredibly small and hyper-specific other, seemingly pointless portions written on the scroll that flared around in different areas of the brain.

  Just getting the vaguest of ideas took him all afternoon and left him with enough pain in his head to distract him from those in his body. The evening shift with Lung was one he deeply wanted to forget, in the same way he managed to forget noodles inside a boiling pot for so long that they burned underwater.

  The man wasn’t harsh with him any more than needed, but he did make fun of him for a half hour too many for that.

  Despite the pain, both in his head and in his heart, Heng found himself laughing.

  …

  The Sun was down when they were done, the Blue Moon a perfect circle in the night sky, as always.

  The boy was, again, exhausted, so instead of delving into the absurdly complicated Cultivation thing, he went to look at the bookshelves in the living room, searching for something interesting to read.

  They were disorganised, to say the least. Different topics crammed all together into each shelf, from cooking books to traditional literature and history of ritualism, romance novels and murder mysteries, guides on how to improve one’s lifestyle and on how to communicate with other worlds, and more.

  While many gathered his curiosity, he avoided touching handwritten journals out of respect, and old-looking books out of worry of tearing some of the old pages, and chose some simple novel with a fun premise out of curiosity instead.

  He moved an armchair by the window and, as he did for years, got to read under the moonlight, the only difference being the Cultivation Technique running gently in the background.

  …

  Loneliness. Fear. A headless body falling in front of him. His whole body shaking-

  “Up up, kid, we got work to do!” Lung shook him awake, the far-from-peaceful sleep interrupted without any rays of the Sun coming from the window.

  “Yes, yes…” The boy grogged. “I'm getting up… please, leave my room…”

  “Be quick, or those damned lovebirds will steal the job from you!”

  The door was slammed shut, heavy steps of the fat man not letting the boy fall asleep again.

  Against his will, he yawned and left the uncomfortable bed, getting dressed and cleaned up for the new day.

  Rubbing his eyes, he went down the stairs to the still undefined shop and its kitchen.

  Out of the open door, a cart was in the street, Lung chatting with the driver of something Heng didn't care to hear at that hour. Inside the cart, there were boxes and crates of wood with little parchments attached, or bags of flour. The man told him which to take inside and which to leave, and he went to do as told.

  Heavy!

  He could barely hold the bag, resting it on his shoulder, and moving was a truly damned task.

  Channeling the determined mindset of last night, he let Stamina enhance his body, making the task much easier. After the third, he noticed how inefficient his control was and decided to improve on that, which would in turn improve other aspects of his learning. Hopefully.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Cultivation is made of a thousand little steps. This can be one of them if I put my mind to it.

  Not that it came naturally. It was one thing to train while curious and in a good mood, and another when he just wanted to go back to sleep, or admire dawn, or curl up in a corner and cry like a damn baby because he couldn't be with his parents and not screw up their life.

  The same applied to kneading the bread’s dough, feeling the strain in all his upper body, even parts he did not expect to. It was fun to do it as a first and one-time thing, and another as a job. Even if having a roof over his head was nice.

  He put it in the oven, and he and Lung got to work on much less strenuous tasks.

  As he swept the floor and organised the shelves, he used his Vitality to heal the various muscle pains; no reason to keep it in store when he had no fights to think about.

  In the calm work, he let his mind wander, just a tiny bit, during the more repetitive necessities. Last night's novel had him spiraling into memories of all the stories he had read through the years.

  One stuck out: it was about a young martial artist looking for revenge, who found more and more enemies to fight and teachers to learn from. A key element of the book was how one needed to break and heal in order to improve. It was meant both in a literal and metaphorical way- training and personal growth.

  The more he thought about it, the more it was a common aspect in those kinds of stories. Mortals needed physical training to get stronger, they couldn't just meditate and one day destroy a mountain, and it reflected.

  It was very much rarer in those written by Cultivators, but that made sense: they would rarely write books, and even when they did, few were stupid enough to share their secrets; the burden fell on mortals then, who would write idealised fiction and skip those less mystical aspects. More proof was found on the top floor of the Prize Palace, where he had been shown manuals with ominous names such as [Endure the Mountain, Destroy Thousands Mountains] or [Fire Devoured Fire Devourer].

  The descriptions had been short and vague, but the concept “break to improve” was still there.

  How could he apply those concepts with his limited understanding?

  Outside, he didn’t have many options, as mortal life didn’t offer many chances to push his body to the limit; Inside… he was still learning how to manage Vitality beyond the simplest form of healing. It would take time.

  Right now, all he could do was take those few chances he had.

  “Lung!” He called the man. “From today onwards, please let me take care of the heavier things!”

  “Hm? You’re more hardworking than any other helper I’ve had here, bwahaha! I like that!”

  “No, no…” Heng rubbed the back of his head, a light redness on his cheeks. “I’m just… You know… Bah, whatever, I’ve now become hardworking! You’ll see how competent I’ll become in just a couple of weeks!”

  “I believe you, kid, I believe you. But maybe say all that while your buns aren’t burning hot, eh?”

  The boy covered his ass in shame.

  “W- What in the Nine Hells are you looking at, you pervert?!”

  He received a raised brow and a smileback.

  “Sorry, Heng, I don’t like asses that flat, and especially that young. I prefer them big, soft, and far too hot like the bread you’re burning.”

  “The bread I’m… LUNG! My bread!”

  “Bwahaha, took you long enough!”

  The boy ran back to the kitchen, finding that all the dough he had taken the effort and care to bake properly was starting to change into a colour that it wasn’t supposed to have for sure. Not finding the rugs, he used his bare hands and [Three Layers Defence] to take the tray out, getting the mildest of burns on his fingerprints.

  “Why didn’t you tell me anything earlier?! Are you stupid?!”

  The redhead rushed at the other, his light aura flashing free and furious. He was calm despite the outburst.

  “You’re here to work for and with me; I’m here to do my share of the work, and now to teach you how to be of actual help. The best way to both learn and teach is practical experience, not being told. What have you learn from this?”

  “That… I should have focused more, I guess…”

  “That’s one possibility. Only you truly know what you did wrong.” The man ruffled his hair, and went to see the slightly burnt bread. “You managed to salvage a good portion, with your quick response. Some of it can be used for sandwiches as-is, and the rest we can make breadcrumbs with and fry more than usual at lunch. Good job, Heng. I guess being magic has its upsides as a baker, too, huh? Had it been the lovebirds, we’d only have the breadcrubs.”

  Lung patted him on the back, dug some rugs out of his pockets, and moved the tray away to get the contents ready, his knife already there.

  “Now, get to making some more. Dawn has passed, so don’t get your head in the clouds, and be quick, alright?”

  “Yes, right…” It was a bit sad seeing most of his work going to waste. At least he’d get to knead the bread.

  “Also, kid.” He said, blade cutting cleanly through the burnt bread. “That was not an appropriate reaction. You don’t go shoving your Cultivation in people’s faces whenever you’re angry. That was far, far more threatening than anything I want in my shop; my family has worked hard to make it known as a safe place for generations, and it will stay like that.”

  Heng nodded meekly and got his hands in the dough.

  …

  It wasn’t long after the scene that someone knocked on the door, hopefully the first client of the day.

  The boy went to open, and a woman with light wrinkles around her eyes walked inside with a searching look that eventually moved to him, growing accusatory, but her voice was directed at someone else.

  “Where is the delinquent that keeps getting my daughter in trouble, Xisheng Lung?”

  “I’m going to guess with her, doing some idiocy, as always. Those buffoons show their faces here only when they need some quick money, then go back to whatever trouble they want to get into. More of a problem than any actual help.”

  “Ugh. You’re useless as always, fatso. When’s the last time you saw them?”

  “First off, talk to me like that again, and I’ll have you pay for the damages their absence caused me, which is a lot. Second, the last time they showed up was two days ago. I guess they’re at his house or something.”

  “Bah. Tell me if they show up, or you hear anything. She usually warns me when they want some time for themselves… this is not normal, Lung.” She paused, unsure of how to say it. “I’m worried. Please… help a mother as you can, alright?”

  “I’ll do what I can.”