I was melancholically stirring a spoon in my teacup. An ordinary cup from a set, they even had such things here. My thoughts were far from joyful, but not quite sad either. I had lost the thread to my world—that much was clear as day. But was it worth grieving over? I didn't think so.
Even if I were brimming with strength, I simply didn't know how to return. A vicious cycle with no escape. Jumping back and forth between worlds, I'd have to do that, yes, but finding my own…
These thoughts had haunted me since the moment I came to. I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened at home. Did the explosion kill them all? Or had I stopped the process? What about the war I started? How would Ellis cope with it all?
A commander who abandoned his army. A general who vanished. So many useless titles, but the essence was the same. I had failed. It stung deep in my soul that this was how I'd be remembered. But now, I couldn't change anything. All that was left was to move forward. To find a way.
The tea had long been drunk, and Yan was simply waiting for me to finish my cup. A cultured man who seemed untroubled by anything in this life. His gaze was as if it were never in the present, but in the past. Like an old veteran who had lost all his comrades. What had happened to this man to give him the look of a corpse?
It was the morning after our walk to the water. Yan, as always, arrived at dawn and told me to come out. Now we sat here, among the grass. A small table with breakfast and tea. Silence, not a single insect. Only the wind and the sun. A strange place, a strange planet, and a strange Yan.
Then, just as suddenly, he began to speak.
"The basics are the foundation of a cultivator. Every grain of Qi builds the body, preparing it to enter the realm of mortals, and later, immortals…" Yan stopped when he saw my raised hand. "Yes, Kain?"
"What's a cultivator?" I asked the question that was on my tongue. I needed to understand what they were going to teach me.
Yan looked at me with a faint shadow of surprise, which quickly turned to understanding.
"Of course, I forgot you're not from our world," he said, setting his cup aside. "A cultivator is someone who walks the path of refining their body, spirit, and mind to achieve higher states of existence. We use the energy of the world, which we call Qi, to transcend the limitations of ordinary human existence."
I nodded thoughtfully, trying to process the information.
"And these ranks… like Saint, for example, what do they mean?"
With a barely perceptible smile, Yan waved his hand through the air, and I noticed with astonishment a faint glow swirling around his fingers.
"The ranking system is the path of a cultivator, reflecting their progress and power," he began to explain. "When you first step onto this path, you're a Novice. You learn to sense the Qi of the world and your body, taking the first steps toward understanding basic techniques. At this stage, a cultivator can only slightly enhance their body and perception. The realm of mortals."
He paused to ensure I was following.
"When your body adapts to Qi and you learn to control it more actively, you become a Warrior. At this level, you can use Qi to enhance your physical abilities, improving reflexes, speed, and strength. Most martial arts in our world are based on this rank."
I interrupted him:
"So, if I understand correctly, at the Warrior level, a person becomes significantly stronger than an ordinary human?"
"Correct," Yan nodded. "An ordinary Warrior can stand against a dozen trained but non-cultivating soldiers, even those armored and fully equipped. The next rank is Master. At this level, a cultivator doesn't just use Qi to enhance their body—they begin to influence the surrounding world. A Master can channel Qi beyond their body, forming basic techniques and affecting the elements of nature on a limited scale."
Yan picked up a small pebble from the ground and placed it in his palm. A moment later, the stone slowly rose into the air, then disintegrated into tiny particles that swirled around his hand.
"Saint is the next significant stage," he continued, letting the stone's particles gently settle back to the ground. "At this level, the boundary between the physical and spiritual begins to blur. A Saint can perceive spiritual matters, see the flows of Qi in the world, heal severe wounds and diseases, and deliver strikes that bypass ordinary physical defenses."
I tried to imagine such abilities, and it felt strange. I couldn't do that.
"I can't do that," I remarked.
"Not yet," Yan agreed. "But that's temporary. Wild cultivators who reach a rank without understanding its essence are rare, but they exist. You need time and a teacher. It's not simple, but it's really just a deeper understanding of the laws of our universe. Beyond Saint is Emperor. At this level, a cultivator gains control over significant forces of nature. An Emperor can summon localized natural disasters, create spatial pockets, and live for hundreds of years without signs of aging. This is where the realm of immortals begins. The stronger the cultivator, the longer they live."
He fell silent, as if reluctant to say more.
"And beyond that?" I asked.
Yan's gaze grew distant for a moment, as if he were looking somewhere far away.
"Divinity… At this level, a cultivator approaches immortality. They can create their own laws, influence the very fabric of reality, and transcend space and time. Divinities are rare, and each is unique. Some become guardians of entire regions or even worlds, others continue seeking higher truths. Yet others turn into beasts and monsters, craving blood…"
I stared thoughtfully at the horizon, trying to make sense of what he said. The ranking system reminded me of computer games from my world, but here it was real, tangible. I, a Saint? What irony…
"Where do you stand in this hierarchy?" I asked cautiously.
Yan smiled, but something in his eyes told me that behind that smile lay deep sorrow.
"It doesn't matter," he replied, standing up. "What matters is where you begin. And you'll have to start from the very basics. With breathing techniques and awareness of the Qi flows in your own body."
He paused, letting the morning breeze pass between us, rustling the grass.
"I see potential in you, Kain. You're not from our world, but your spirit has already been tempered by battles and trials. That could be your advantage… or your curse. It all depends on whether you can let go of the past and embrace a new path."
I stood beside him, feeling a strange excitement. Even if I wasn't destined to return home, there were possibilities here that might help me find a way. A way home or somewhere else? I didn't need despair. I needed a good mindset. Repeating this to myself, I nodded.
"I'm ready to learn," I said firmly. "But I still have a lot of questions."
Everything was too vague. And strange.
"Questions are good," Yan nodded. "But some answers can only be found through practice. Follow me, and we'll begin your training right now."
As we headed toward a small clearing surrounded by ancient trees, I couldn't help but think about how strange my path had become. From conqueror to novice cultivator in a foreign world. Things were moving too fast. But perhaps here I would find what I lacked even at home—true strength and an understanding of my own purpose.
If only I could understand why Yan Chen, the sole inhabitant of this strange planet, would teach me. What was his motive?
---
We walked among ancient trees, their bark resembling frozen lava. Strange swirls and patterns created an illusion of movement even in complete stillness. Just like their owner—outwardly calm but brimming with inner strength. As it turned out, the planet wasn't just statues. Moving farther, it was as if we were in an ordinary forest on Earth.
"The first thing a cultivator must understand," Yan stopped in the middle of a small clearing bathed in morning light, "is that Qi permeates everything. It's in the air you breathe, the ground beneath your feet, your own body. Even in space. Most people live their entire lives without noticing it, like fish unaware of the water around them."
I looked around but saw nothing unusual. The same trees, grass, sky. An ordinary world.
"I don't see anything special," I admitted.
"Because you're looking with your eyes," Yan stepped closer. "Close them."
I obediently closed my eyes.
"Now breathe slowly," he continued. "Imagine that the air you inhale isn't just gas but something more. It carries life energy. Let it enter your body, feel it fill your lungs, then spread through your entire body."
I tried to do as he said, but felt nothing. Just inhaling and exhaling, as usual. My core was still dormant. My strength had left me.
"Don't try," Yan's voice grew sterner. "Just let it happen. Your body already knows what to do. It's lived on Qi since birth."
I took another breath, trying to relax and let go of control. On the third try, something changed. A faint warmth spread from my chest to my limbs. I wasn't sure if it was my imagination, but I decided to trust the sensation. It wasn't like manipulating my energy. It was something else.
"There's something," I said quietly, keeping my eyes closed. "Warmth… it's moving."
"Good," a faint note of surprise crept into Yan's voice. "Keep going. Follow that warmth. Let it circulate within you."
I focused on the strange sensation. The warmth grew brighter, more distinct. It moved along a specific path—from my solar plexus down to my navel, then split into two streams descending to my legs before rising back up along my spine.
"It's… like a river," I muttered. "It flows in a circle."
"The Lesser Heavenly Circuit," Yan nodded. "The basic path of Qi circulation in the human body. It takes ordinary people years to feel it. You're truly unusual."
I opened my eyes and saw Yan looking at me with renewed interest.
"That you managed this so quickly confirms my suspicions," he said. "You've cultivated before, just in a different form. Perhaps in your world, energy is called something else and used differently, but the essence is the same."
I tried to recall anything similar from my past but couldn't. Except perhaps my core. But the ship had said my race fed on radiation. Lived off it. Could it have been wrong?
"In my world, there are meditation practices," I began uncertainly. "Some warriors use breathing techniques before battle to focus. But nothing… magical like this."
Yan gave a slight chuckle.
"There's no magic in this, Kain. We're not mages. Just natural laws of the universe, perhaps understood differently in your world. Now that you've felt Qi, the next step is to learn to direct it consciously."
He sat on the ground, cross-legged, and gestured for me to do the same.
"A comfortable position for meditation," he explained. "Back straight, hands resting on your knees. Breathing even and deep."
I assumed the position. Strangely, at that moment, I didn't feel like a seasoned soldier but an inexperienced novice. It bruised my pride but also awakened a long-forgotten feeling—the thrill of learning something new.
"Imagine there's a vessel inside you," Yan continued. "A center where all energy converges. In our tradition, it's called the Dantian, located just below the navel. With each inhale, direct Qi to this center. With each exhale, let it spread through your body."
We sat like that for perhaps an hour. My body was covered in sweat, as if I'd run several miles in full gear. A strange effect from simply sitting still.
"Enough," Yan finally said. "Your first training is complete."
I struggled to my feet. My muscles trembled as if from exhaustion.
"Why is it so hard?" I asked. "I wasn't doing anything."
"On the contrary," Yan handed me a flask of water. "Your body was working intensely, just on an invisible level. You were directing energy against its natural flow, creating new pathways. It's like carving a road through a jungle."
The water tasted better than ever. Each sip filled my body with new strength.
"Is there something special in this water?" I asked, wiping my lips.
"No," Yan took the flask back. "Your perception has simply sharpened. You're starting to notice what you didn't before."
We headed back to the house, and I noticed I was seeing the world differently. Colors were brighter, scents more distinct. I could hear sounds I hadn't noticed before—the rustle of leaves, the distant murmur of water, even, it seemed, the beating of my own heart. It wasn't just a feeling; it was something else. Before, I was merely hypersensitive; now it was some kind of magic. It was as if I were breathing the world around me.
"Is this normal?" I asked. "This… heightened sensitivity?"
"It's just the beginning," Yan nodded. "With each training session, your senses will grow sharper until you learn to control their intensity. Now rest. We'll continue tomorrow."
---
The following days blended into a monotonous but strangely satisfying rhythm. Dawn found me already in the clearing, practicing breathing exercises. Then came physical training—not with weapons, as I was used to, but smooth, dance-like movements Yan called "forms."
"Qi flows through specific channels in the body," he explained, demonstrating another sequence of movements. "These forms help widen those channels and improve energy circulation."
I copied his movements, feeling clumsy. In my world, martial arts were about efficiency and the force of a strike, not smoothness and harmony. Soldiers were taught to kill, not to dance.
"There's too much aggression in your movements," Yan noted after one session. "You're fighting the air when you should be moving with it."
"I'm a warrior, not a dancer," I retorted, wiping sweat from my face. "In my world, smooth movements in combat are of little use."
Yan looked at me with a hint of mockery.
"Really?" He raised his hand, inviting me to approach. "Attack me. However you want."
I hesitated. I didn't want to harm the man teaching me. But his confidence stirred a long-forgotten thrill of combat. Right now, I was like a child who'd lost most of his superpowers, but even so, I was dangerous to those around me. My body wasn't human, inherently stronger than ordinary people of the same age and more.
"You sure?"
"Absolutely," he didn't even assume a fighting stance, just stood there, hands relaxed at his sides.
I decided not to use full force but to demonstrate a series of quick strikes—enough to show the superiority of a straightforward fighting style. I closed the distance in one lunge and aimed a punch at his chest.
My hand passed through empty air. Yan shifted to the side in such a fluid motion that I didn't even notice when it happened. Spinning, I tried a low sweep, but he glided into another position, like water flowing around a stone.
Frustrated, I began attacking in earnest—a series of strikes that, in my world, would've left an opponent no chance. But Yan dodged each one effortlessly, as if he knew where I'd strike before I did.
After a few minutes, I stopped, breathing heavily. Yan stood opposite, not even winded.
"How… do you do that?" I asked between breaths.
"I don't fight your strength," he replied. "I follow it and redirect it where you aren't. It's the principle of softness—not resisting, but yielding, only to return the energy against the opponent."
He approached and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Cultivation isn't just about amassing strength, Kain. It's about understanding how to use it. The strongest blow is useless if it doesn't hit its target."
For the first time, I saw him not just as a hermit or teacher but as a true master of martial arts. How many battles had he survived to reach this level?
"I understand," I said. "In my world, there's a saying: 'A smart fighter finds the weak point, not strikes the shield.'"
"A good saying," Yan nodded. "Now, back to the forms. And this time, don't try to defeat the air. Become it."
---
That evening, after an exhausting day of training, we sat on the veranda of Yan's house, watching the sunset. I decided to ask a question that had been nagging at me:
"Why do you live here alone? Where are the others?"
Yan was silent for a long time, and I thought he wouldn't answer, but then he spoke:
"This place is my choice. My sanctuary and my punishment."
"Punishment?" I echoed. "For what?"
He turned to me, and in his eyes, I saw the same pain I'd often noticed in veterans of the worst wars.
"For pride," he said simply. "I was an Emperor. Not in cultivation rank, but literally—the ruler of a mighty dynasty. My life's path led me to the pinnacle of power, and I thought that was the pinnacle of everything. I conquered neighboring kingdoms, united lands under my rule. I built an empire meant to last a thousand years. Entire planets were under my command."
He looked at his hands.
"I was so consumed with building that empire that I forgot what truly mattered. My family. My children. My principles. I became cruel for the sake of 'the greater good.' I sacrificed thousands of lives for my vision of the future."
Yan raised his gaze to the sky, where the first stars were appearing.
"Then came an enemy stronger than me. A cultivator of the Divinity level from distant lands, seeking new territories to conquer. I couldn't protect my empire. Everything I built collapsed in a single day."
I listened, holding my breath. Yan's story strangely echoed my own.
"What happened next?" I asked quietly.
"I fled," he said with a bitter smile. "I couldn't face those I'd failed. I used a forbidden transportation technique and ended up here, on this empty planet. I decided it was a fitting place for exile."
"You never tried to go back? To help your people?"
"I think about it every day," Yan admitted. "But I don't know how much time has passed there. Perhaps centuries, and everyone I knew is long dead. Or maybe just days, and the wound is still too fresh. Either way, I'm not ready yet. I need to find answers here, in solitude, before I can return and fix things. I need harmony."
I thought of my own world, the war I started, the people I left behind. In many ways, our stories were similar, though with different circumstances.
"Why did you decide to teach me?" I asked. "What's in it for you?"
Yan stood and walked to the edge of the veranda.
"When I felt a disturbance in space and realized someone had transported to this planet, I first wanted to leave. To hide in the mountains so no one would find me. But then I saw you—wounded, dying. And in you, I recognized myself as I once was."
He turned to me.
"I thought that by helping you find your path, I might atone for some of my guilt. Teach you not to repeat my mistakes."
Silence fell, broken only by the chirping of some insects, like crickets but with a more melodic sound. They'd appeared recently, as if they'd been afraid of me before.
"I don't know if I can return to my world," I said finally. "And even if I could, I'm not sure I should. I might cause more harm than good."
"That's a decision you'll have to make," Yan nodded. "But not now. Your task now is to learn to control Qi, to understand its nature. Only by finding inner harmony can you make the right choice."
He stood, signaling the conversation was over.
"Tomorrow, we'll begin a new stage of your training. Be ready to move forward."
---
Morning brought change. Instead of the usual clearing for meditation, Yan led me to the foot of the mountains, where a small spring bubbled among the rocks. The water had a strange silvery hue and seemed heavier than normal.
"This place is special," Yan said as we stopped by the spring. "Several Qi flows converge here, creating a natural node of power. Such places are called the planet's acupuncture points. The lines of the planet's natural breathing. This is where the most natural Qi is released."
I looked around. Outwardly, the place seemed ordinary—rocks, water, a few stunted trees. But when I closed my eyes and focused as Yan had taught me, I felt something new. The air here was… denser. Richer. As if each breath gave more energy.
"What will we do here?" I asked.
"The next stage of cultivation is to learn not only to sense Qi within yourself but to interact with external sources," Yan explained. "This spring is ideal for practice. Its water is saturated with natural Qi."
He pointed to a large flat rock by the water.
"Sit there and place your hands in the spring. Try to feel the energy from the water entering your body."
I did as he said. The water was surprisingly warm despite the cool morning. As my hands submerged, I immediately felt a tingling, like thousands of tiny electric sparks running across my skin.
"What is this?" I almost pulled my hands out, but Yan gestured for me to stay.
"It's the reaction of the spring's Qi to your own energy," he explained. "Don't resist it. Let it enter your meridians. Guide it along the path we practiced—to the Dantian, then through the Lesser Heavenly Circuit."
I closed my eyes and focused on the sensation. The tingling intensified, turning into a wave of warmth that rose from my fingertips to my wrists, elbows, shoulders. I directed this energy to the center of my chest, then downward to the area just below my navel—the Dantian, as Yan called it.
When the energy reached that point, I felt a strange pressure, as if something inside me was expanding. It wasn't unpleasant, just unfamiliar—like a muscle that hadn't been used in a long time but was now being stretched.
"Good," Yan's voice seemed distant. "Now let the energy circulate in a loop. Don't force it, just follow it."
I don't know how long that meditation lasted. Time ceased to exist as I immersed myself in controlling the energy. When I finally opened my eyes, the sun was high in the sky. My hands were still in the water, but now I noticed something strange—a small whirlpool had formed around them, spinning in rhythm with my breathing.
"What's happening?" I asked, staring at the phenomenon.
"Your Qi is interacting with the spring's Qi," Yan said, looking satisfied. "You're not just absorbing energy but beginning to influence it."
He knelt beside me.
"Now try slowly lifting your hands from the water while maintaining focus."
I carefully pulled my hands from the spring. To my amazement, thin streams of water rose with them, clinging to my fingers as if drawn by a magnet.
"Am I… doing this?" I whispered, afraid to break the moment. Magic, that edge of my long-buried abilities, was reawakening within me.
"Yes," Yan nodded. "This is basic control of the water element through Qi. Primitive, but an important step. Try to hold the water in your palm."
I focused, attempting to form a kind of energy bowl. The water gathered into a small, trembling orb above my palm. It was unstable, constantly shifting shape, but it didn't spill.
"Incredible," I couldn't hide my awe. "In my world, this would be considered a miracle or magic."
"Not magic," Yan shook his head. "Mages may use raw force. Cultivators simply have a deeper understanding of the nature of things. Water follows Qi just as a river follows its bed."
I lost focus, and the water splashed back into the spring.
"That you succeeded on your first try confirms my theory," Yan said thoughtfully. "You're not just an ordinary person from another world. You have potential, awakened by your transit between dimensions."
He stood and took a few steps toward the cliff overhanging the spring.
"Ancient texts say that crossing between worlds can act as a catalyst for developing cultivation abilities. It's like a lightning strike—painful but awakening hidden reserves."
I recalled the moment of my transit—the pain and agony I'd endured. Maybe Yan was right, and that experience had changed something in me. There was another moment of pain, when I was reborn in this body. Was that a similar moment? Or not?
"What's next?" I asked, standing up. Strangely, I didn't feel tired but energized, ready for new challenges.
"Next," Yan looked at the sky, where clouds were gathering, "we'll learn to use Qi for defense. A storm is coming, and it's the perfect opportunity for practice."
I glanced upward. Indeed, dark clouds were rolling in on the horizon, and the air carried the scent of ozone.
"Is this a normal storm?" I asked suspiciously. It seemed too convenient that it appeared now.
Yan smiled, a strange glint in his eyes.
"Let's just say I gave nature a little nudge. Even on this barren planet, there are weather systems one can interact with."
I realized what he meant. Yan had created this storm or at least nudged it toward us. I was only beginning to grasp the scale of his abilities.
"You really are an Emperor," I said, recalling his explanation of ranks. "In cultivation level, I mean."
"Was," Yan corrected. "Now I'm just a hermit trying to atone for past mistakes."
He moved toward an open space between the rocks.
"Follow me. We'll learn to create a Qi shield. If you master this skill, you'll be able to protect yourself not just from rain but from many other dangers."
I followed, feeling a strange excitement. My path was just beginning, and I didn't yet know where it would lead. But one thing was clear—each new day on this strange planet brought me closer to answers for questions I hadn't even dared to ask before.
Who was I, really? A soldier who'd lost the meaning of life? A conqueror who vanished? Or just a coward?
Why had fate brought me here? And would I ever return home to fix what I'd destroyed?
The storm was approaching, and I had to learn not just to shield myself from it. Perhaps the same applied to my own life.