I settled myself as comfortably as I could and crossed my legs in the meditative posture I first learned as a child. Centuries of practice made the position automatic, even if the pathetic muscles of this unfamiliar body protested.

  Closing my eyes, I began to breathe in and out deeply and rhythmically. With each breath I felt for the ambient ki as it entered me. It was thin compared to what I was used to, but it was there.

  On my next inhale, I drew down to my center not just air but the faintest wisp of ki. Instead of releasing it with my exhale as mortals naturally do, I tried to retain a fraction of it, to guide it to settle within my body.

  It was the most basic of cultivation techniques, one taught to children, yet I almost trembled with anticipation to see if I could manage it. The familiar act in this foreign body felt like trying to thread a needle while wearing armored gauntlets.

  Yet I persevered and, within a few breaths, the first mote of ki entered my body and settled there. Then another. And another. With each breath, I felt the ki accumulating.

  Suddenly, a pulse resonated through me, a quiet vibration that I felt in my very bones, and my eyes snapped open. A wave of pale light washed over the closet, momentarily banishing the shadows, before receding, A genuine smile spread across my face.

  I had done it. I was at the Breakthrough Stage. It was the barest beginning of cultivation, that many didn't even consider to be true cultivation, but it was proof. This broken vessel could channel ki. My path back to power was still a mountain to climb, but I had taken the first step.

  With no unnecessary modesty, what I had just done was, essentially unprecedented. For the bulk of the population it isn't possible to make it to the Breakthrough Stage in a matter of moments. Most cultivators will remember the first moment when they experienced that rush of ki for the first time, and how many months of painstaking effort it took to get there.

  The simple truth is that ordinary people have no idea what it means to be a prodigy. This is what we do. When you add to that my innate gifts and several centuries of dedication to my arts you end up with someone who does things like this.

  If those people had a mentor like me, obviously it would take more time, but they would get through that first step in mere hours. That's exactly what happened with the children of the royalty and sect leaders. They were guided through the Breakthrough Stage over the course of a few days when they were mere children. It was the first of many advantages that they would accrue to put them ahead of rest of unwashed masses.

  I flexed my fingers, feeling the meager dribble of ki now flowing into me. I still had neither meridians, nor a core. In fact I couldn't even use proper meditation techniques yet. But I finally had a way to get some ki back into my body. It wasn't much, barely a drop compared to the vast ocean I once commanded, but it was something.

  At least I wasn't entirely powerless.

  Looking down at my filthy, tattered clothes, I shook my head. Most cultivators at the Breakthrough Stage wouldn't even know techniques were possible with such minimal ki. They would be content with the slightly improved health and extended lifespan the Breakthrough Stage provided.

  But I had always found that wasteful. Centuries ago, early in my reign over the Tidebound Seas, I had tasked the scholars in my academy with developing simple techniques that even those at the Breakthrough Stage could use. Not for combat or cultivation advancement, but for practical everyday tasks. The vast majority of my people, even if they could reach the Breakthrough Stage, would never move beyond it. I wanted techniques they could benefit from.

  "Charity begins with kindness," I had told my court when they questioned why an Emperor would bother with such trivial matters. Yes, I was, indeed am, insufferably smug. "What use is power if it doesn't improve lives?" In any event, these techniques had value no matter your stage of cultivation.

  I channeled a wisp of ki and activated Dustless Step. The technique swept across my clothes, clearing away some of the caked mud and dust. It wasn't perfect. The technique worked best when used while walking, not as an afterthought on already soiled garments, but it helped somewhat.

  Next, I focused on a large tear in my sleeve. Pressing my fingers to either side of the rip, I pushed a thread of ki into the fabric. Threadbinder's Touch strengthened the frayed edges, pulling them together in a functional repair.

  I allowed myself a wry smile. The Heavens have a twisted sense of humor, indeed. All those techniques I had commissioned for the common folk, and now I was the one benefiting.

  The repairs were minimal. My clothes still looked like I had been keelhauled, but they would hold together better now. And honestly, just having access to techniques again lifted my spirits more than any physical improvement could.

  The next order of business was to find out what it was that Han Kuanglie had passed on to me. I paused and rolled my eyes at my stupidity. Why had I bothered to repair this outfit. The storage ring would no doubt hold multiple outfits that would suit my stature even in this diminished form. As for the mysterious stone he had given me, it wasn't something I recognized but a soul bound item from a Vanguard would be of inestimable value to someone at the Breakthrough Stage and long afterwards.

  I channeled another wisp of ki inward, and the stone and the ring appeared in my hand. Allowing myself a smile I channeled ki into the ring to see what it contained.

  Nothing.

  My smile faded as I tried to contain my frustration. The ring was of too high a quality. In my current state I had neither the quantity of ki, nor the control over that ki, to allow me to open a storage ring optimized for a cultivator in the Martial Realm. My access to Kuanglie's treasures would have to wait.

  Putting my annoyance with the ring to one side I turned to the stone. Now that I wasn't otherwise distracted I could see that it was made of obsidian and traced with silver veins.

  At first glance, it appeared unremarkable. A modest stone that could pass for a paperweight. But I had learned long ago that the most devastating weapons often wore the humblest of disguises.

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  Channeling ki into unknown artifacts carried obvious risks. If this harbored a single-use weapon, I might trigger it accidentally and end my adventure in this body here. But the potential gains outweighed the danger. Knowledge was power, and power was survival.

  I channeled a thread of ki into the crystal's surface.

  Text blazed to life within the stone's depths with silver characters floating in darkness:

  Name: Shen Taros

  Stage: Breakthrough

  Path: None

  Attributes: Body: 3 / Mind: 4 / Spirit: 1

  Dao: None

  Titles: None

  I stared at the display, my fascination at what I was seeing replacing my wariness. In front of me was the essence of my current power and abilities reduced to words and numbers. This world had somehow developed artifacts capable of quantifying people's physical and mental characteristics, as well as ki's effects on cultivation with mathematical precision. Brilliant. The tactical applications were staggering.

  Imagine knowing an opponent's exact cultivation level, their chosen Path, their Dao understanding. In my previous life, such intelligence required spies, or interrogation. This device allowed you to see it at a glance.

  Having said all of that, the numbers themselves were not reassuring. I had no frame of reference but, given the belly and the lack of muscles in this body, I would guess that a body attribute of three suggested a below average mortal human strength. Mind at four indicated my centuries of experience had not been translated. I would imagine that it was either average or slightly below. While Spirit of one must reflect the fact that this body had only begun to cultivate moments earlier.

  But then came the true insult. Path and Dao reading "None" stung worse than expected. Seven centuries of following then creating martial, artisanal and aesthetic paths. A lifetime of understanding the mysteries of the universe through my Dao. All wiped away. This brain with a Mind of four simply couldn't retain the knowledge and insights that my true self took for granted. Even without using them my advanced techniques were trickling out of this weak brain.

  As for Titles, I had no idea what that was referring to, but I would work that out in time.

  Oh, and it appeared that the previous owner of this weak flesh was called Shen Taros. This was the vessel Han Kuanglie had put me in.

  Thanks for nothing, Taros. Would it have hurt you to have done a few push ups or read a book once in a while?

  The Soul Mirror would prove invaluable eventually. But, the immediate priority was to get safe.

  In fact, now I thought about it, having been so ignominiously defeated I couldn't understand why I was still alive or why I had been left unguarded. Anyone who had the power to have overcome me so comprehensively, surely wouldn't be fool enough to risk my vengeful wrath. Another mystery I would have to wait to solve.

  A loud snort from outside my closet broke into my thoughts.

  I froze. It might have been foolish to wait before escaping.

  A moment passed. Nothing more but now that I was paying attention I could hear faint breathing on the other side of the door. I fought the urge to curse this body and its stunted senses. I couldn't believe I hadn't heard the breathing before now.

  I sat upright, slower this time. The pounding in my skull eased enough for me to take stock. Damp filled the room with the tang of salt, mud and fish oil. The unmistakable perfume of a working harbor. Despite everything, relief washed through me. The sea, my natural element and the cradle of my power, was near.

  With tentative fingers I pushed at the door of the closet. It was, surprisingly, not barred. Again, I had no idea why I would have been captured but then not locked away. It had been long centuries since I had been disrespected this much. Opening the door a crack I peeked out.

  The gray morning light was filtering in around the ill fitting shutters in the window. The light cast long, thin shadows over the warped floorboards and I froze once more. Outlined in the light was the face of the mortal thug who had attacked me the night before.

  * * *

  For a moment I just looked at the sleeping oaf. This mortal who had somehow overcome me. The instinct to end him, to extinguish a threat before it could flare again, surged through me. A reflex honed by years of absolute power. But in this pathetic new body, with unfamiliar limbs and dull senses, hastiness would only get me killed. He had already proven that he could defeat this body, and I would not bet against him being able to do it again.

  He lay on his back sprawled on a hammock slung in one corner with an arm flopped over his face. He was still in the clothes that he had worn the night before.

  Now that I wasn't fighting for my life I could take in more about him. He was younger than I had initially thought. Given that he did not appear to have any signs of cultivation he would have the lifespan of a mortal, so maybe a quarter century or less, but judging from his tattoos he had served aboard at least three ships already. A pair of worn but serviceable sea boots stood beneath the hammock. Hung on a nail was a belt that held a gutting knife, and a charm carved from driftwood.

  The knife drew my eyes. It would be all too easy to take it and end his wretched existence. But I didn't trust this body. If the lout woke then the consequences would not be pretty.

  However, this might be an opportunity to test out my Soul Mirror. I pulled it out of my pocket and held it towards the man and channeled in some more ki. It just showed me my own details again.

  So much for that.

  Not willing to waste time on it put it back in my pocket and, while keeping half an eye on the snoring man I looked around the rest of the room.

  It was the entirety of the rest of the house. A pile of stuffed sacks in one corner of the room looked as if it served as another bed. Dominating the center of the room was a crude wooden table made from unfinished planks, flanked by a bench and a small fire with a pot sitting over it.

  A hovel then. I wasn't one to judge, but I couldn't work out why the man had brought me here after he knocked me out last night. The sound of distant bells and gulls drifted in from outside which reinforced my view that I had ended up in a working port.

  Carefully I pushed the door open further and tried to stand again. Pain flared low in my ribs. It would appear that my fight the night before had done some real damage. Being at the Breakthrough Stage would speed my recovery, but it would still take time. I winced and took a sharp intake of breath as I steadied myself.

  Still not used to my larger hands I fumbled a little as I gripped the edge of the closet door. This body's heart raced too fast, its breathing was too shallow and too quick. Even my thoughts seemed sluggish, trapped inside this stranger's skull.

  On the other side of the room a poorly fitted wooden door appeared to lead to the outside. Beyond it, despite the hour, boots slapped against cobbles and voices rumbled in conversation.

  This was less than ideal. In order to develop my core and my meridians I needed quiet, isolation, and safety. This place offered none of those. In any event, with my assailant in this house, I needed to get away while I still had the chance.

  Ignoring the pain in my head and my ribs I moved across the room toward the exit. Another loud snort made me freeze for a second but the thug did not stir. After a long pause, his breathing evened out and I carried on towards the door.

  My fingers were reaching for the handle when the door was flung open. In the threshold stood a young woman with fierce eyes and chestnut wind-tousled hair. Handsome more than beautiful I had no doubt that she had her share of suitors in this part of the world. For half a heartbeat, she stared at me, her expression shifting from surprise to something dangerously close to anger.

  "Shen Taros!" With no regard to any neighbors that might still be in bed, her voice cut through the morning fog. "Where in the seven hels do you think you’re going?”