The courtyard was still, bathed in silver moonlight. Crickets hummed in the tall grass, and the lantern by the inn's back wall burned low.
In the center of the yard, Lin Feng stood shirt clinging with sweat, panting heavily. His bare feet dug into the packed dirt as he prepared once more.
"Frog Burst!"
With a loud grunt, he sprang forward. His body shot a few meters, landing unsteadily. Dust scattered. He nearly tripped.
Teeth clenched, he reset his stance and tried again. This was the movement technique Qiao Wen had smuggled him: Frog Burst, a middle yellow-grade technique. A common skill, often taught to outer disciples.
The progress was slow, but for Feng it was everything.
As he paused to catch his breath, Wen's voice echoed in his mind:
• Yellow Rank: the lowest—basic skills for mortals and new cultivators. Low, middle, high.
• Black Rank: sturdier, rarer techniques, often requiring a sect's heritage.
• Earth Rank: techniques that could split stone, bend rivers.
• Heaven Rank: known only in stories, techniques that could change the weather with a swing.
• Immortal Rank: untouchable, said to only exist in sects beyond the mortal world.
For Lin Feng, even yellow rank was a treasure. His body ached, his legs burned, but his heart raced with excitement.
Hidden in the shadows, John watched from the inn's roof, arms folded. His gaze was calm, but his lips curled slightly.
"The boy puts his whole soul into a frog hop," he murmured.
At first, John had ignored him. But the sheer determination amused him. So, one night, he dropped a single comment:
"You're pushing too hard with your ankles. Relax the joints. Use the hips."
Feng obeyed without hesitation. The very next attempt—he nearly doubled his distance. His jaw fell open in shock.
From then on, every night, John offered just a small correction. A change in breathing. A shift in balance. A hint at rhythm. Each one made Feng's progress leap beyond reason.
It wasn't cultivation. It was simply that John's perspective wasn't bounded by this world's understanding. To him, even the most complex techniques were like children's scribbles.
For Feng, it was like guidance from an immortal sage.
A week passed.
John lay lazily on a beam, chin propped on his palm, watching as Feng struggled with the same routine. His mind wandered.
Out of boredom, he called Feng's cultivation manual into his hand. He flipped through its simple diagrams, eyebrows raised.
"This is… embarrassingly inefficient. Let's fix that."
Without a second thought, he began to rewrite lines, restructure the circulation paths, simplify the nodes. It wasn't deliberate—just instinct. By the time he closed it, the technique was no longer a mortal-level skill. It wasn't even Heaven rank. It was something beyond Immortal rank, a thing this world didn't even have the language for.
And he tossed it back like it was nothing.
Far away, in the heart of the planet, Celestrina stirred. The planet spirit's consciousness brushed against the technique for only a moment before recoiling in disbelief.
"Such a thing should… summon the tribulation of the Heavens. And yet…"
She spread her awareness upward and shivered. The Heavenly Dao, which should have punished such blasphemy, avoided John's presence entirely. It was like watching a predator flee before an unseen beast.
"It isn't blind," she whispered. "It is afraid."
At that same moment, John frowned faintly from the roof, eyes drifting to the starry sky.
"…Strange. That should've triggered something."
He tapped the beam lazily. "So even the heavens don't want trouble with me, huh? Guess that saves me some noise."
Lin Feng wiped sweat from his brow and opened the altered manual. His eyes darted across the page. His hands trembled.
"This… this isn't the same."
He tried circulating the energy as instructed. His body moved—and he blurred forward, covering ten meters as though the world had bent around him.
His heart thundered.
This wasn't Frog Burst anymore. This was… teleportation.
He gasped, fell to his knees, and without hesitation slammed his head against the dirt three times.
"Senior! No—Master! Please… accept me as your disciple!"
John blinked. "Disciple?"
"Yes!" Feng pressed his forehead to the ground. "I thought you were just a wandering senior… but no one else could create such a technique. No one! If I can follow you, even a single step, I'll never regret it for life!"
John tapped his chin. A disciple, huh?
Would it ruin the fun? He came here to experience this world like a traveler, not a sect leader. But… out of all the people he'd seen, this boy was the least problematic. Unpretentious. Earnest. Unshakable.
He sighed. "Fine."
Feng froze. "R-really?"
"But…" John raised a finger, his tone stern. "If you're my disciple, you should understand—I don't want this kowtowing nonsense. No bowing, no scraping. You don't need to shout 'Master' a hundred times like in those cliché sects. Treat me like… an uncle. If you need something, ask. If you're lost, come find me. That's all."
Lin Feng's eyes glistened, his fists clenched. He bowed once—deeply, respectfully—but then stood tall, smiling through tears. "Yes… Uncle."
"Good." John waved. "Now, call your mother out. She deserves to know."
A few minutes later, Lin Ruyin appeared, lantern in hand, face pale with disbelief as Feng explained breathlessly. She looked at John, hesitating, then gave a small nod.
"If my son has chosen this path… then I entrust him to you, Senior."
John smiled faintly. "He'll be fine."
Ruyin turned to her son, flicking his forehead lightly. "But you—don't you go pestering him every second. He's a person too, not just your miracle spring. Train, but don't overwork, and don't make him regret picking you."
"Mom!" Feng groaned, rubbing his forehead. "I wasn't—"
"You were." She sniffed. Then she looked at John again and softened. "Please… make sure he eats properly. He forgets when he's too focused."
John chuckled. "That, I can handle."
Feng huffed, embarrassed, cheeks burning. "Mom! Uncle John doesn't need to—"
"Quiet." Ruyin flicked his forehead again, making him yelp.
The family's easy banter drew a faint smile from John. Not bad… it feels warm.
As Ruyin left, Feng turned back, excitement shining in his eyes.
"Uncle… one last question. Can I show the technique… to Wen?"
John's lips curved into an unreadable smile.
And the night deepened..