Chapter 1: A Mortal in a Mystical World
The sky above was vast and endless, painted in shades of blue that Li Wei had only ever seen in photographs. A gentle wind carried the scent of blooming flowers and something faintly metallic, as though the air itself held traces of power. Li Wei stood at the edge of a jagged cliff, overlooking an expanse of untamed wilderness—towering trees, rolling hills, and streams that glistened like silver threads under the sun.
It was a breathtaking view, but Li Wei felt no peace. Instead, he was confused, and more than a little annoyed.
"This can't be real," he muttered, running a hand through his disheveled black hair. "One minute, I'm eating instant noodles and watching Wanderlust Chefs, and the next, I'm in... whatever this is."
His voice echoed faintly, answered only by the call of distant birds.
"Hello? Anyone out there?" he yelled, his voice tinged with desperation.
The silence was broken by an unexpected sound—a soft ding, followed by a calm, mechanical voice.
"Welcome, Li Wei. You have been chosen as a participant in the Grand Rebirth Initiative. This world is known as the Eternal Dominion, a realm where mortals seek to transcend the boundaries of existence through cultivation, mastery of skills, and the pursuit of Dao."
Li Wei froze, his eyes darting around for the source of the voice. "Okay, I've officially lost it. Too much MSG in those noodles. Hallucinations. That's all this is."
"This is not a hallucination. The Eternal Dominion is a world of cultivation, where mortals strive to ascend the Heavens by harnessing spiritual energy, understanding universal truths, and mastering the laws of existence."
Li Wei's jaw slackened as the words sank in. "Cultivation? Like in those novels?"
"Correct. However, this world is not fiction. The Eternal Dominion is as real as the life you once knew. Here, mortals battle for survival, strength, and enlightenment."
Li Wei's laugh was half disbelief, half hysteria. "Great. I've been isekai'd into a Chinese fantasy novel. What's next? A cheat ability to make me invincible? A destined love interest? Maybe I'll overthrow an empire while I'm at it!"
"Your path is yours to decide," the voice replied evenly, unbothered by his sarcasm. "You have been granted the Life Skill Mastery System, designed to aid you in mastering practical and esoteric skills. This system will not provide cultivation techniques or enhance your spiritual power. Your journey will be shaped by your choices and efforts."
Li Wei blinked. "Wait. You're saying you can't help me become one of those superpowered cultivators?"
"Correct. This system specializes in the development of skills—craftsmanship, culinary arts, and other non-combat skills—but spiritual cultivation lies outside its domain. Survival and prosperity depend on your ingenuity."
He groaned. "So, I've been dumped in a world full of sword-wielding, spell-casting demigods, and you're telling me I can't become one of them? What am I supposed to do, open a noodle shop?"
The system didn't respond immediately, as if considering his words.
"A noodle shop is a viable choice."
Li Wei almost choked. "You're joking."
"This system does not joke. You have been provided a starting location—a modest courtyard on Spiritwind Mountain, equipped with necessities. Your journey begins now. Good luck."
Before Li Wei could protest, the voice vanished, leaving him standing alone on the cliffside.
When the world didn't immediately collapse or reveal hidden monsters, Li Wei reluctantly began his trek down the cliffside. After some trial and error—mainly error—he stumbled across a narrow path that led to a clearing. There, nestled among the trees, was a small courtyard.
The structure was simple: a single-story building made of wood and stone, surrounded by a low wall. Inside the courtyard was a small vegetable garden, a well, and an old tree whose branches stretched protectively over the space. It wasn't much, but it looked surprisingly livable.
Li Wei sighed as he walked through the gate. "Well, it's no five-star resort, but I've had worse apartments."
The interior of the building was just as modest: a bed, a table, a few chairs, and shelves stocked with tools and supplies. There was a kitchen area with a stove and an assortment of unfamiliar ingredients.
"Well, I guess this is home now," he muttered, flopping onto the bed. "I wanted a change of pace, but this is a little extreme."
The next morning, Li Wei woke to the chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves. For a moment, he forgot where he was. Then reality—or whatever this was—set in.
He sat up, rubbing his face. "Okay, Li Wei. Time to figure this out. You're stuck in a world of cultivators, you have a courtyard, and you're apparently great at skills. What's the plan?"
His stomach growled, answering for him.
"Right. Food first, plans later."
In the kitchen, he examined the ingredients. Most of them were strange plants and powders he didn't recognize, but there were a few basics: rice, salt, and some kind of leafy vegetable. With a little experimentation, he managed to cook a decent meal, surprising himself with how effortlessly it all came together.
As he ate, an idea began to take shape.
"If this world is all about cultivation, people must need food, right? And not just any food—something to keep them going. Maybe... maybe I really could open a tavern or something."
He chuckled at the absurdity of it, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He had a courtyard, basic cooking skills, and, most importantly, no better ideas.
"Why not?" he said aloud, grinning. "A tavern sounds way better than running around fighting monsters. I'll be the guy people come to after their epic battles."
But before he could set up a tavern, Li Wei realized he needed to understand the world better. And that meant leaving the courtyard.
With nothing but a small pack of supplies, he set out into the forest. The path was overgrown and uneven, but the air was fresh, and the sights were stunning. He marveled at trees taller than skyscrapers and streams so clear he could see every pebble at the bottom.
The journey wasn't without challenges. At one point, he encountered a snake the size of a car, basking in a patch of sunlight. Li Wei froze, his heart pounding, until the creature slithered away, uninterested in him.
"That's it. I'm definitely sticking to cooking," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
By late afternoon, the forest began to thin, and he spotted signs of civilization: trampled paths, the distant sound of voices, and the faint smell of cooking fires. Following these clues, he eventually came upon a small village nestled in a valley.
The sight of people going about their daily lives—farmers tending fields, children playing, and merchants unloading goods—brought a wave of relief.
"Well, hello there," he said to himself, smiling for the first time since his arrival. "Maybe this place isn't so bad after all."
And with that, he stepped into the village, ready to begin the next chapter of his new life.
Chapter 2: A Stranger in a Strange Land
The sun hung low in the sky as I stepped into the village, its golden rays painting the stone paths and wooden houses in warm hues. Nestled in a valley surrounded by towering mountains, the village was the very picture of rustic charm. Small, tightly packed houses with curved, tiled roofs lined the narrow streets, their exteriors adorned with red paper lanterns and vibrant flower pots. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, carrying the scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread.
The mountains loomed in the distance, their snow-capped peaks reflecting the sunlight like polished jade. Streams of crystal-clear water ran through the village, their cheerful babble adding a harmonious rhythm to the gentle murmur of villagers chatting. Children played barefoot near the streams, their laughter blending with the occasional cluck of chickens and the bleating of goats.
For a moment, I stood there in awe, feeling as though I'd stepped into a painting.
"This," I muttered, "is what they call postcard perfect."
The village was alive with activity. Merchants shouted out their wares from wooden stalls, women carried baskets overflowing with vegetables, and old men smoked pipes under the shade of ancient trees. It was picturesque, idyllic even—except for one glaring detail.
Everyone was staring at me.
At first, I thought it was just my imagination. But as I walked further into the village, I noticed heads turning, conversations pausing mid-sentence, and eyes lingering on me far longer than was polite.
"Okay," I whispered under my breath. "This isn't awkward at all."
I glanced down at myself, trying to figure out what was so fascinating. And then it hit me.
While everyone else wore simple, flowing robes or sturdy work clothes made of coarse fabric, I was strutting around in jeans, a graphic T-shirt that said "Pizza is Life," and sneakers that had seen better days.
"Oh, great," I muttered. "I look like a time-traveling lunatic."
A group of children whispered among themselves, pointing at me with wide-eyed curiosity. An elderly woman frowned, her gaze flicking between my face and my shoes as though trying to solve a riddle. Even a dog seemed to stop and give me a once-over before trotting away.
I forced a smile and nodded politely at the villagers, but the awkwardness was suffocating. My modern clothes screamed "outsider," and the last thing I wanted was to draw more attention to myself.
Step one, I decided, blend in. Step two, don't look like a complete idiot.
After wandering aimlessly for a while, I found myself in a bustling marketplace. The stalls were overflowing with goods: bundles of herbs, jars of honey, woven baskets, and gleaming tools. The air was thick with the aroma of spices, fresh bread, and something that smelled suspiciously like fermented fish.
I approached a stall selling clothing. The merchant, a middle-aged man with a kind face and a bushy beard, looked me up and down with thinly veiled amusement.
"Ah, traveler!" he said in a language I somehow understood perfectly. "You have... unique taste in attire."
I cleared my throat, feeling my cheeks heat. "Yeah, about that. I could use something a bit more, uh, traditional."
He chuckled and gestured to a row of folded garments. "You've come to the right place. These are made from the finest mountain silk. Strong, breathable, and comfortable."
I picked up one of the robes, running my fingers over the fabric. It was soft yet durable, dyed in earthy tones with simple patterns.
"This one will suit you," the merchant said, holding up a dark blue robe with silver embroidery along the edges. "Modest, but elegant."
"How much?" I asked, bracing myself for the answer.
"Three silver coins."
I froze. Silver coins? I didn't even know if I had any currency. Frantically, I patted my pockets, and to my relief, I found a small leather pouch tied to my belt. Opening it, I found a mix of coins—gold, silver, and copper.
"Well, at least that useless system gave me something," I muttered.
The merchant raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. I handed him three silver coins without bothering to haggle. I didn't know the value of money here, and the last thing I wanted was to offend someone by arguing over prices.
The merchant beamed. "A wise choice! Let me know if you need anything else."
I ducked behind the stall to change, emerging a few minutes later in my new robe. It was surprisingly comfortable, and for the first time since arriving in this world, I felt like I didn't stick out like a sore thumb.
"Well," I said, smoothing the fabric. "At least now I look the part."
Feeling slightly less conspicuous, I continued exploring the village. The streets were alive with sights, sounds, and smells that seemed to belong to another era. I passed a blacksmith hammering away at a glowing piece of metal, sparks flying in all directions. Nearby, a group of women sat on wooden stools, chatting as they sorted through baskets of fresh produce.
Every corner of the village seemed to tell a story. There was a shrine adorned with candles and incense, where villagers bowed their heads in silent prayer. A group of children gathered around an elderly man who was carving intricate patterns into a wooden figurine.
I couldn't help but smile. This place was so different from the modern world—slower, simpler, and somehow more alive.
But as I walked, a thought nagged at the back of my mind. How was it that I could understand these people perfectly? I didn't recall learning any ancient languages, yet their words flowed into my mind as naturally as my own thoughts.
"It's probably another one of those 'system' things," I muttered. "Convenient, but also creepy."
The system, however, was conspicuously silent.
Eventually, my wandering led me to a small tavern at the edge of the marketplace. The sign above the door was painted with the image of a steaming bowl and a pair of chopsticks. The scent of sizzling meat and spices wafted out, making my stomach rumble.
I stepped inside, and the noise of the village faded, replaced by the hum of conversation and the clinking of bowls. The interior was cozy, with wooden beams, low tables, and lanterns casting a warm glow.
A young woman in an apron approached me, smiling. "Welcome, traveler. Would you like something to eat?"
"Yes, please," I said, settling at an empty table. "Whatever you recommend."
Moments later, she placed a steaming bowl of noodles in front of me. The broth was rich and fragrant, the noodles perfectly cooked, and the toppings—a mix of herbs, vegetables, and thin slices of meat—looked fresh and inviting.
I took a bite and nearly melted.
"This," I said, "is amazing."
The woman beamed. "I'm glad you like it. My mother's recipe."
As I ate, I couldn't help but think about the courtyard back on the mountain. It had a small kitchen, plenty of space, and now that I'd seen this tavern, an idea was beginning to take shape.
"Maybe a tavern isn't such a bad idea," I mused. "People need food, and I need a way to survive. Plus, I can always add my own twist—like pizza."
I chuckled at the thought. A tavern that served both traditional dishes and modern ones? It might just work.
By the time I left the tavern, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the village. The air was cooler now, and the faint hum of crickets filled the silence.
As I made my way back to the path leading up the mountain, I couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions. I was still an outsider in this world, but for the first time, I felt like I might be able to carve out a place for myself.
The villagers still eyed me curiously as I passed, but now I didn't mind so much. After all, every story needs a beginning, and mine was just getting started.
Chapter 3: Of Taverns and Crossroads
The sun was dipping below the horizon as I made my way back to the mountains. The soft glow of twilight bathed the path in golden hues, and the air was cool and fragrant, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers. Birds chirped their final songs of the day, and the gentle rustle of leaves filled the silence.
As I climbed higher, the village lights twinkled in the distance like fireflies. Despite the pleasant evening, my thoughts were far from peaceful.
"Alright, system," I muttered, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. "Let's talk about taverns."
Silence.
I sighed. "I mean, you did give me that courtyard, so technically, this is your fault. You've got to help me with this."
Still nothing.
Annoyed, I stopped in the middle of the trail and shouted, "HELLO?! SYSTEM?! ARE YOU THERE?"
A familiar, emotionless voice rang in my head.
"Host, there is no need to yell. I am always present."
"Oh, really?" I folded my arms. "Then why do you only show up when it's convenient for you?"
"I respond when it is necessary. Unnecessary complaints do not qualify."
I rolled my eyes. "Fine, whatever. Let's talk about the tavern idea. I was thinking—"
Before I could finish, the system interrupted.
"Before we discuss the tavern, it is crucial for you to understand the significance of your current location."
"My location?" I frowned, glancing around at the towering peaks and dense forest. "What's so special about these mountains?"
"The mountains you now inhabit serve as a crossroads between distinct realms: the mortal world, the immortal cultivation world, and the spirit world."
I blinked. "Crossroads? Like a joint highway?"
"If that helps you comprehend, yes. These mountains are a place of convergence, where mortals seek enlightenment, cultivators pursue immortality, and spirits manifest their presence."
I let out a low whistle, gazing at the mountains with newfound respect. "So, this place is like the ultimate hub for mystical stuff. And you dropped me here without a warning?"
"Host, your presence here is not accidental. This location aligns with your potential. However, your success or failure depends solely on you."
"Great," I muttered. "No pressure or anything."
The system continued. "Many travelers pass through these mountains—mortals seeking shelter, cultivators searching for rare resources, and spirits drawn by the natural energy of this place. A tavern here would attract all manner of beings."
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. "So, it's not just a tavern—it's a gathering place for everyone. Mortals, cultivators, and even spirits. That could work."
"Shall I proceed to create the tavern, Host?"
I nodded. "Go for it. But, uh, make it classy, okay? I don't want some shabby inn that looks like it's falling apart."
The air around me shimmered, and a soft hum filled my ears. Before my eyes, the courtyard transformed. What had once been an empty, barren space was now a breathtaking tavern that seemed to blend seamlessly with its surroundings.
The structure was made of dark wood, polished to a glossy sheen, with large windows that allowed the golden light from inside to spill out into the twilight. The roof curved gracefully, resembling the wings of a bird in flight, and intricate carvings adorned the beams, depicting scenes of nature and mythical creatures.
The front door was wide and inviting, flanked by two lanterns that emitted a warm, steady glow. A stone path led up to the entrance, lined with flowering shrubs that filled the air with their sweet scent.
Inside, the tavern was just as impressive. The space was open and airy, with high ceilings and large beams. The walls were lined with shelves stocked with jars of herbs, bottles of wine, and neatly folded linens. Long tables and benches filled the room, their surfaces smooth and polished. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth filled with a crackling fire that cast a cozy glow over the space.
I stepped inside, marveling at the attention to detail. The air was warm and carried a faint hint of spices, as though the tavern itself was welcoming me.
"This…" I said, turning in a slow circle, "is amazing."
"The tavern is equipped with necessities for food preparation, storage, and lodging," the system informed me. "However, decorations are absent. You will need to handle that yourself."
I raised an eyebrow. "You built an entire tavern but couldn't throw in a vase or two?"
"Host, your creativity should be reflected in the decor. It is an opportunity for self-expression."
I snorted. "Oh, sure. Self-expression through interior design. That's definitely my strong suit."
Once the initial awe wore off, I turned my attention back to the system. "Alright, let's circle back to the important stuff. This world—what's the deal with cultivation? Can I do it? Or am I stuck being the tavern guy while everyone else shoots fireballs and flies around?"
The system's response was maddeningly cryptic. "Cultivation is a path that requires determination, understanding, and perseverance. Whether you can cultivate depends entirely on you. I cannot assist in cultivation."
I frowned. "But is it possible for me? Do I have the potential?"
"It is possible," the system replied. "However, success depends on your choices and actions."
I sighed. "So basically, it's a yes, but also a maybe."
The system didn't respond, which I took as confirmation.
"Fine," I said, crossing my arms. "What about skills? Do I have anything useful to start with, or am I starting from scratch?"
"Host's life skills are all maxed out, and they become better and better moving forward."
I blinked. "All maxed out? What does that mean?"
"Host possesses mastery in all non-combat skills, including cooking, cleaning, crafting, and brewing. These skills will aid you in managing the tavern and interacting with others."
A slow grin spread across my face. "So, I'm basically a jack-of-all-trades when it comes to life skills? That's not bad."
"Indeed. However, life skills alone are insufficient for survival in a world where strength often determines one's fate."
My grin faltered. "Thanks for the reminder, system. Real mood booster, that one."
After the system went silent again, I took another look around the tavern. It was a masterpiece, no doubt, but it felt empty. It lacked personality, warmth—the little touches that made a place feel alive.
"Well," I said, rolling up my sleeves. "If the system won't do it, I guess it's up to me. Time to make this place my own."
With a deep breath, I stepped outside and gazed at the mountains. The stars were beginning to appear, their light casting a silvery glow over the peaks.
"This is my starting point," I said quietly. "A tavern at the crossroads of three worlds. It's not exactly where I expected to end up, but maybe it's exactly where I'm supposed to be."
I chuckled to myself. "And who knows? Maybe running a tavern won't be so bad. After all, everyone needs a place to rest, eat, and share their stories. And maybe, just maybe, I'll find my own story along the way."
With that thought, I turned back to the tavern, ready to take the first step in this strange, new world.
Chapter 4: Research, Stew, and a Deal
The stars blanketed the sky in a sprawling expanse of brilliance as I stood outside the tavern. It was new yet timeless, exuding a sense of both comfort and possibility. The soft, golden glow spilling from its windows painted the stone path with a warm hue, beckoning me to step inside. But something held me back—a nagging sense of unpreparedness.
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "What am I even doing?"
It wasn't the tavern itself that intimidated me. It was the unfamiliarity of this world. Back in my previous life, I could navigate the complexities of modern society with ease. But here? Here, I didn't even know the price of a loaf of bread, let alone how to price a bowl of stew or a mug of ale.
I turned away, glancing at the surrounding mountains cloaked in shadow under the moonlight. "Tomorrow," I muttered. "Tomorrow, I'll figure it all out."
And with that, I trudged back to the courtyard beside the tavern, rolled out the mat I'd been using as a makeshift bed, and let the cool night breeze lull me to sleep.
The dawn arrived with a symphony of birdsong, their melodies weaving through the crisp morning air. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy above, creating a mosaic of light and shadow on the ground. I stretched, feeling the stiffness of the night leave my body, and took a deep breath of the mountain air.
"Alright," I said, brushing the dust from my clothes. "Let's get to work."
I strode purposefully toward the tavern door, only to pause mid-step.
"How am I supposed to run this place if I don't even know what things cost?" I muttered to myself, the weight of my ignorance pressing down like a physical burden.
The realization stung. This wasn't the modern world, where a quick internet search could solve all my problems. I needed to understand the local economy, the culture, and the people.
"Research first," I decided, turning toward the trail that led down to the village. "Tavern later."
The village unfolded before me like something out of a fairy tale. Nestled in the heart of the valley, it seemed almost untouched by time. The rooftops of the houses were coated in a thin layer of morning dew, glistening in the sunlight like tiny jewels. The air was filled with the soft murmur of a nearby stream, its clear waters reflecting the vibrant hues of the wildflowers that grew along its banks.
The houses were a mix of stone and wood, their construction sturdy yet charming. Thick wooden beams supported sloping roofs, some of which were adorned with dried herbs and flowers hanging in bundles. The scent of fresh bread, wood smoke, and earthy soil mingled in the air, creating a tapestry of aromas that was both comforting and invigorating.
Villagers bustled about, their voices forming a cheerful hum of activity. Farmers carried baskets of freshly harvested produce, their faces flushed from the morning exertion. Children darted through the narrow streets, their laughter ringing out like bells as they played games only they understood.
For a moment, I simply stood there, letting it all wash over me.
"It's like stepping into another world," I whispered, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
The market square was the heart of the village, alive with energy and color. Stalls lined the cobblestone streets, each one bursting with goods that ranged from fresh vegetables and fruits to handmade trinkets and tools. Vendors called out to passersby, their voices blending into a chaotic yet harmonious symphony of salesmanship.
I wandered from stall to stall, careful not to stand out too much. My goal was simple: observe and learn.
It didn't take long to notice a pattern. Prices were largely determined by weight and quality, though the occasional bout of haggling added an unpredictable element. Fruits and vegetables were measured in baskets or bundles, meats were priced by the cut, and dried goods were sold in small cloth pouches. The currency was straightforward: small silver coins, worn smooth from use, exchanged hands with a practiced ease.
One particular stall caught my eye. It was a modest setup, but the aroma wafting from it was irresistible. The vendor, a plump woman with rosy cheeks and a warm smile, stood behind a large pot of steaming stew.
My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since yesterday.
"One bowl, please," I said, fishing out a silver coin and handing it to her.
She gave me a curious look before handing over the bowl.
The first spoonful was a revelation. The stew was rich and hearty, with tender chunks of chicken swimming in a thick, flavorful broth. Carrots, potatoes, and herbs added layers of texture and taste, each bite a testament to the vendor's skill.
I couldn't help but close my eyes, savoring the warmth that spread through my body.
"This," I said aloud, "is art in a bowl."
The vendor chuckled. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"Is it that obvious?" I asked, grinning sheepishly.
She nodded. "Your clothes, your accent, even the way you hold the spoon—it's all different."
I laughed, feeling a bit self-conscious. "Guess I've got a lot to learn."
As I wandered further into the market, I came across a butcher's stall that seemed to draw a steady stream of customers. The vendor was a burly man with a thick beard and arms that looked like they could lift an ox. He worked with practiced precision, slicing through meat with a cleaver that gleamed in the sunlight.
Curiosity piqued, I approached the stall.
"Morning," I said, nodding in greeting.
The man looked up and grinned. "Morning, stranger. What can I get for you?"
"Just browsing," I said. "I'm new to the area, trying to get a feel for things."
He raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like the hunting type. What brings you to my stall?"
"I'm planning to open a tavern nearby," I explained. "Might need a reliable source for fresh meat."
His expression shifted to one of interest. "A tavern, huh? In the mountains?"
I nodded. "It's still a work in progress, but I'll need quality ingredients once it's up and running."
The butcher, whose name I later learned was Feng, stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Tell you what, stranger. You buy from me exclusively, and I'll make sure you get the best cuts at a fair price."
I extended a hand. "Deal."
He shook it firmly. "You won't regret it. I'll even deliver to your door—no extra charge."
"Now that," I said, smiling, "is what I call service."
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the village in a warm golden glow, I felt both exhausted and accomplished. I'd spent the entire day observing, learning, and asking subtle questions, all while enjoying the sights, sounds, and smells of the bustling marketplace.
As I made my way back up the mountain trail, the day's events played through my mind.
"People are people," I mused, gazing at the stars beginning to emerge in the evening sky. "Doesn't matter if it's the modern world or a world of cultivators. Honesty, good food, and a bit of kindness go a long way."
The tavern stood waiting for me at the top of the trail, its light shining like a beacon in the gathering darkness. Tomorrow, I would start shaping it into a place worthy of its surroundings—a haven for travelers, a crossroads of stories, and perhaps, a home for myself.
- - -
Chapter 5: Carving Dreams into Wood
There's a peculiar thing about mornings: they carry a promise of potential, an unspoken agreement that today might just be the day where everything aligns. Of course, mornings also carry the stark reminder that you slept awkwardly and your back will remind you of this fact all day. Such is life—a delicate balance between optimism and backaches.
I stretched lazily under the warm morning sunlight filtering through the trees, feeling both excited and slightly daunted by the task ahead. Today, I would turn my humble, undecorated tavern into something that could make even the heavens pause and say, "Not bad, mortal."
But first—breakfast.
The tavern's small kitchen gleamed in the morning light. It wasn't much, just a stone counter, a wood-fired stove, and a handful of utensils ,and other things assential for cooking. But this modest space carried the potential to create magic—or at least an edible omelet.
I reached into my bag, pulling out the ingredients I'd purchased in the village: eggs, a loaf of bread, and a bundle of fragrant herbs.
"Alright," I said aloud, cracking my knuckles. "Let's make something worth remembering."
I started with the herb soup. Filling a small pot with clear mountain spring water, I set it on the stove and lit a fire with the bamboos from my courtyard. I poured water in the pot and before long the water hissed gently as the flames licked at the pot's underside. Next, I picked through the herbs: a mix of green stalks, leaves with serrated edges, and tiny purple flowers. Their scent was intoxicating, a mix of earthiness and freshness.
Chopping them finely, I let the herbs rain into the pot, their colors swirling like brushstrokes in water. The scent that rose was enough to make my stomach growl—a heady mix of thyme, basil, and something uniquely this world's own.
While the soup simmered, I turned to the eggs. Breaking them one by one into a bowl, I whisked them vigorously until they formed a golden liquid. A pinch of salt, a dash of pepper, and a sprinkle of finely chopped herbs followed, adding both flavor and color.
I poured the mixture into a heated skillet, the sound of it sizzling against the pan like a symphony. The omelet puffed up beautifully, its edges curling slightly, golden and inviting. With practiced ease, I folded it neatly and slid it onto a plate.
Finally, the bread. Thick slices went onto a heated griddle, their surfaces turning a crisp, golden brown. The smell of toasted bread mingled with the herbaceous aroma of the soup, creating a sensory feast.
Sitting down to eat, I couldn't help but grin. "A simple breakfast," I mused, taking a bite of the omelet, "is like life: humble ingredients brought together with care."
With my stomach full and my energy restored, it was time to tackle the day's main task—decorating the tavern.
I stood in the main hall, hands on my hips, surveying the space. The wooden beams stretched high above, crisscrossing like the ribs of some ancient beast. The walls were plain but sturdy, the floor a smooth stone that gleamed faintly. It was a good structure—functional and solid—but it lacked soul.
"Time to fix that," I said, rolling up my sleeves.
The system had assured me my crafting skills were maxed, and while I was skeptical of its boasts, this was as good a time as any to put them to the test.
I began with simple items: stools, tables, and shelves. Selecting a sturdy piece of wood from a pile I had gathered the day before, I set it on the workbench and picked up a chisel.
There's something meditative about woodworking. The steady rhythm of the blade carving through the grain, the way the wood curls and falls away like shavings of time itself—it's an art form, a conversation between the craftsman and the material.
The first stool took shape under my hands, its legs even and its seat smooth. Then came a table, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen. As I worked, I couldn't help but admire the precision of my movements, the ease with which my hands guided the tools.
"Maxed crafting skills, huh?" I murmured, running a hand over the finished table. "Maybe the system wasn't exaggerating after all."
With the basics done, I turned my attention to decorations. If the tavern was to stand out, it needed more than functional furniture—it needed character.
My first piece was a simple carving of a tree, its branches reaching skyward in an intricate tangle. The wood seemed to come alive under my hands, the chisel tracing lines that hinted at wind and growth. I mounted it on the wall behind the bar, where it would serve as a centerpiece.
Next came a bird—its wings outstretched, its beak open in a silent cry. The details were finer this time, each feather a delicate stroke of the blade. When it was finished, I hung it near the entrance, as if it were welcoming guests into its domain.
I grew bolder with each piece. A crane with slender legs and an elegant neck, poised as if mid-dance. A fox, its tail curled around its body, eyes gleaming with cunning. Even a small Lesser-dragon , coiled and fierce, its scales glinting in the firelight.
The hours slipped away unnoticed, the tavern slowly transforming into a gallery of carved wonders. Each piece seemed to tell a story, to whisper of a world where nature and magic intertwined.
As I worked, my thoughts wandered.
"Wood is a lot like people," I mused, shaping the wings of a dove. "You start with a rough block, full of potential but unformed. Then life happens—the chisels, the cuts, the sanding. Each mark leaves a scar, but also adds character. And in the end, if you're lucky, you get something beautiful."
I paused, staring at the unfinished dove in my hands. "Or," I added with a wry smile, "you end up with a splinter."
By the time I stepped back to admire my work, the sun had dipped low, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold. The tavern was unrecognizable—no longer a blank canvas but a vibrant, living space.
The stools and tables were sturdy and inviting, their polished surfaces gleaming in the warm light of the hearth. The walls were adorned with carvings that seemed to dance in the flickering shadows, each piece adding depth and personality to the room.
I felt a surge of pride, a sense of accomplishment that was almost intoxicating.
"This," I said, gesturing to the room, "is more than a tavern. It's a story—a piece of myself carved into wood and stone."
As night fell, I lit a few lanterns, their soft glow casting a cozy ambiance over the space. The tavern was ready, but my journey was just beginning.
"Tomorrow," I whispered, standing in the doorway and gazing out at the moonlit mountains. "Or I wonder when, the doors open, and the real adventure begins."
With that, I stepped outside, breathing in the cool night air. The world was vast, mysterious, and full of possibilities. And for the first time since arriving, I felt ready to face it.
- - -
Chapter 6: Beasts, Bows, and Unexpected Guests
There's a old saying, "The world is full of unknowns," which is a poetic way of admitting they don't know much either. And Here, Stepping into a mountain forest brimming with beasts isn't just embracing the unknown—it's hugging it, shaking its hand, and inviting it over for tea. Still, life doesn't move forward without risks, and I figured if the worst came to pass, at least my obituary would read: Eaten while exploring the mysteries of another world.
The day began innocently enough. After the triumph of decorating my tavern, I woke up feeling rather invincible. The kind of invincible that only comes after a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast. As I munched on a simple meal of bread and soup, a thought struck me.
The tavern needed a unique touch—something to set it apart from the mundane inns and stalls. And what better way than to serve dishes made with fresh, wild herbs? But the problem was obvious: the herbs grew in that forest.
They say courage is the ability to act in spite of fear. I say courage is what you feel before you realize how terrifying the forest really is.
To prepare, I decided to make a weapon. Yesterday,
After success in crafting, I remembered the sturdy bamboo stalks growing in my courtyard. While I was whittling down the wood for tavern decorations, I'd stumbled upon the realization that my courtyard was… alive. Not in the "oh, plants grow" kind of way but in the "hey, this tree prunes itself" sort of way.
The bamboo? It grew back overnight. The herbs? Replenished themselves like a magical pantry. It was a discovery that sent a wave of relief through me. At least I wouldn't run out of resources anytime soon.
Still, the thought of venturing into a beast-filled forest without some form of defense didn't sit well with me. With my maxed crafting skills and some leftover bamboo, I decided to create a bow.
Crafting a bow is no joke, but with my hands guided by a knowledge I didn't even remember learning, it felt as natural as breathing.
First, I selected a piece of bamboo—strong, flexible, and as straight as an arrow. I carefully shaved off the outer layer with my knife, leaving a smooth, even surface. Splitting it down the middle, I shaped the stave, ensuring it had the perfect curve for tension.
Next came the string. Using fibers from one of the courtyard's magical plants (which, thankfully, seemed to shed them willingly), I twisted them into a durable cord. Attaching it to the stave, I pulled the string back gently, testing the tension. The bow responded beautifully, the wood flexing with just the right amount of give.
Finally, I carved a few arrows—nothing fancy, just sharp tips and feathered ends. Holding the completed bow in my hands, I felt a surge of confidence.
"Not bad," I murmured, drawing the string back experimentally. "Though if I miss, I'll probably still make an impression—on the beasts' sense of humor."
With my new weapon slung over my shoulder, I stepped into the forest. It was a world unto itself, the air thick with the mingled scents of earth, moss, and blooming flowers. The trees towered above me, their branches forming a green canopy that dappled the ground with patches of sunlight.
I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer vibrancy of it all. Each step revealed new wonders: a cluster of mushrooms glowing faintly in the shade, a vine spiraling up a tree like a natural staircase, a bird with feathers so iridescent it looked like it had borrowed colors from a rainbow.
Unknowingly, my mind started naming the plants I passed. Ironwood Tree, known for its unyielding bark. Celestial Bloom, a flower used in spirit-enhancing elixirs. Frost Fern, perfect for cooling potions. The knowledge came unbidden, as if the names had always been there, waiting for me to notice them. Every plant I looked at seemed to whisper its name to me—not audibly, but as if the knowledge was already in my mind.
Still, the discovery was both thrilling and unnerving. It felt like cheating, like I'd been handed an open-book test in a world where everyone else had to study. But hey, who was I to complain?
I moved cautiously, keeping an eye out for any signs of danger. My focus shifted to the herbs that grew in abundance along the forest floor. Bending down, I examined each plant before carefully plucking the most vibrant specimens.
"That's mint," I murmured, crouching to examine a cluster of fragrant leaves. "Good for digestion and soothing teas."
I moved further, spotting another plant. "Chamomile. Helps with sleep and relaxation."
"Goldenroot", used for energy-restoring potions. "Moonshade Leaf ", a rare herb that glowed faintly in the shadows." Fiery Basil ", known for its spicy flavor and its ability to enhance stamina.
As I gathered, a thought struck me: "If plants could talk, would they complain about being plucked? Or would they see it as their destiny, fulfilling some grand cosmic purpose?"
I chuckled at the idea, shaking my head. "Philosophy aside, at least they're not screaming."
I was reaching for a particularly lush cluster of Silverweed when I noticed something odd—a flash of pale color beneath a nearby bush. My heart skipped a beat. For a moment, I thought it was a beast lying in wait, but as I crept closer, I realized it was a person.
It was a girl—or rather, something far beyond the ordinary idea of a girl. Calling her beautiful felt like an insult, as if the word couldn't contain the full scope of her elegance. Her long, flowing hair was like spun black, her skin pale and flawless, and her delicate features seemed almost otherworldly. Even in her unconscious state, there was something otherworldly about her—a beauty so ethereal it felt like an insult to call her merely beautiful.
"Hey," I said, crouching beside her. "Are you okay?"
She didn't respond. Her chest rose and fell faintly, proof that she was still alive, but she showed no signs of waking.
I frowned, glancing around the forest. The idea of leaving her here didn't sit well with me. Even if no beasts were nearby now, it was only a matter of time before one stumbled upon her.
"What do I do now?" I muttered, glancing around nervously. The forest was no place to leave someone in her condition. Beasts roamed these parts, and she wouldn't stand a chance if one found her.
"Great," I muttered. "First day in the forest, and I'm already playing hero."
Carefully, I lifted her into my arms. She was surprisingly light, her frame delicate and fragile. For a moment, I hesitated, wondering if I was making the right decision. But then I looked at her face—so serene, so vulnerable—and knew I couldn't just leave her.
"Well," I said, starting back toward the tavern, "if you wake up and bite me, I'm going to be very upset."
Carrying an unconscious girl through a beast-infested forest was not how I had envisioned my day. Every rustle of leaves, every distant cry of a bird, set my nerves on edge. My bow was slung awkwardly over my shoulder, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice, but I prayed I wouldn't have to use it.
The girl remained still in my arms, her breathing steady but shallow.
"Who are you?" I murmured, glancing down at her. "And why were you out here alone?"
Of course, she didn't answer. Still, the questions lingered in my mind, mingling with the steady rhythm of my footsteps.
By the time I reached the courtyard, the sun was dipping low in the sky, painting the world in shades of gold and amber. The sight of the tavern, standing proud and welcoming amidst the greenery, brought a sense of relief.
I carried the girl inside, laying her gently on one of the wooden benches I had crafted. For a moment, I stood back, staring at her as if she might vanish the moment I looked away.
"Well," I said finally, brushing a hand through my hair, "looks like I've got a guest. Let's just hope she doesn't expect room service."
As night fell, I lit a lantern, its warm glow filling the tavern with a soft, comforting light. The girl remained unconscious, her face peaceful but inscrutable.
As I sat there, staring at the unconscious girl, a thought struck me. Life, much like the forest, is full of surprises. You set out looking for herbs and end up with a mysterious black-haired beauty. You think you're alone, but the world has a way of throwing people—and challenges—into your path.
"Life's funny that way," I mused, leaning back. "You never know what's waiting around the next corner. Or under the next bush, apparently. One moment you're gathering herbs, the next you're rescuing a mysterious girl from the forest. Makes you wonder if fate's just having a laugh at your expense."
With that, I let out a weary sigh, the weight of the day settling over me. Tomorrow would bring new questions and challenges, but for now, I was content to simply sit and wonder. The forest outside was alive with the sounds of crickets and distant calls, a reminder that the world was vast and full of mysteries.
And here I was, caught in the middle of it all—just a man, a tavern, and a girl who might very well change everything.
Chapter 07: Of Warm Meals and Mystical Meetings
They say that a watched pot never boils, and by extension, a watched person never wakes up. Yet, there I was, sitting leaned against the counter, eyes darting back to the unconscious girl lying on the bench. The rise and fall of her chest were a steady reassurance that she was alive, but her stillness made time crawl.
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Is this what caretakers feel like? Watching someone breathe and wondering if they're dreaming about the nonsense you're muttering out loud?"
She stirred slightly, a flicker of movement that sent a jolt through me. She didn't wake, but it was enough to convince me she'd come to soon. And if she woke cold and uncomfortable, what kind of host would I be?
"Right," I said, pushing to my feet. "Time to make something warm."
Cooking is an act of love—or in my case, an act of appeasing the guilt of dragging an unconscious girl through a beast-filled forest. Either way, the result would hopefully be the same: warmth and comfort in a bowl.
I headed to the modest kitchen I'd set up in the back of the tavern. The place was simple but well-organized, stocked with ingredients I'd either gathered or bartered for.
- Herbs: A mix of soothing and warming varieties, like Wild Sage, Ember Basil, and Misty Thyme.
- Meat: A small cut of the tender boar I'd traded for.
- Vegetables: Forest tubers and carrots, earthy and sweet.
- Broth: A base made from yesterday's herb stock, light but flavorful.
I started by dicing the vegetables, my knife moving with practiced precision. The carrots' bright orange contrasted beautifully with the pale tubers, and the herbs added a splash of green.
In a pot, I heated a splash of oil, tossing in the chopped vegetables to sauté. The aroma of caramelizing roots filled the kitchen, earthy and slightly sweet, mingling with the sharp scent of herbs as I added them to the mix.
Next came the broth, a golden liquid that bubbled gently as it hit the hot pan. I stirred it with care, watching the ingredients meld into a harmonious blend. Finally, I added the meat, cutting it into small, tender chunks that would cook quickly in the simmering soup.
As the pot bubbled softly, releasing a mouthwatering aroma, I seasoned the dish with salt and a touch of Ember Pepper—a spice that added warmth without overwhelming heat.
I leaned back, satisfied. "If this doesn't wake her up, nothing will."
As I turned back to the bench to check on her, I noticed her eyes fluttering open. She blinked, her gaze unfocused at first, then sharpening with surprise as she took in her surroundings.
"Hey," I said, raising a hand in a calming gesture. "Take it easy. You're safe."
She sat up slowly, her expression wary as her eyes darted around the tavern. "Where am I?"
"My tavern," I replied, turning back to stir the soup. "Well, it wasn't a tavern until recently, but let's not get bogged down in details."
Her gaze narrowed, suspicion mingling with curiosity. "Who are you?"
"Just a guy who found you unconscious in the forest," I said, glancing at her over my shoulder. "You're lucky a beast didn't find you first. What happened, anyway?"
She hesitated, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "I was… gathering herbs. I must have accidentally inhaled the pollen of a Sleep Bloom. It has… potent properties."
"That explains it," I said, turning back to the stove. "Well, you're here now. Sit tight; I'm almost done."
I ladled the soup into a bowl, the steam curling upward in fragrant tendrils. Carrying it to the girl, I set it down on the table in front of her.
She stared at it, her expression shifting from suspicion to something softer. "What is this?"
"Soup," I said with a grin. "Well, technically a forest herb and meat stew, but that's just soup with extra flair."
She tilted her head, still cautious. "You made this?"
"Who else would've?" I replied, pulling up a chair across from her. "The tavern spirits?"
Her lips twitched, almost a smile, as she picked up the spoon. She paused, glancing at me. "What's in it?"
"Herbs, meat, vegetables," I said, ticking them off on my fingers. "Oh, and a pinch of Ember Pepper for warmth. Nothing fancy."
She took a tentative spoonful, her expression guarded. As the warm liquid touched her tongue, her eyes widened. She froze, the spoon halfway back to the bowl, as if she'd been struck by something profound.
From her perspective, the taste was unlike anything she'd experienced. The soup was simple yet layered, the flavors unfolding like the pages of a well-written book. The herbs sang in harmony, their warmth spreading through her chest like the first rays of sunlight after a cold night.
But it was more than just taste. As she ate, she felt… something. A clarity, a depth of understanding that eluded description. Images flickered in her mind—visions of balance, of the interconnectedness of all things.
In cultivation terms, it was an _insight_. Not into a specific technique or path, but into the essence of existence itself. And yet, there was no spiritual energy in the soup. It was as mortal as its maker.
She set the spoon down, staring at the bowl as if it held the answers to life's greatest mysteries.
"This…" she began, her voice trembling slightly. "This is extraordinary."
I raised an eyebrow. "It's just soup."
She shook her head, her gaze snapping to mine. "No. It's… more than that. Who are you, really?"
"Just a guy with a knack for cooking," I said with a shrug.
Her eyes narrowed, suspicion returning. "You're more than that. This place—" She gestured around the tavern. "These carvings, this craftsmanship… there's profound meaning in all of it."
I blinked, taken aback. "They're just decorations. I made them yesterday."
She stared at me, as if trying to peel back the layers of my existence with her gaze. "You're hiding something."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Lady, I think you're reading too much into things. Eat your soup before it gets cold."
As she returned to her meal, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Who was this man who seemed so ordinary yet radiated an air of profound mystery? His cooking, his craftsmanship, even his demeanor—it all pointed to someone far beyond the realm of mortals.
And yet, he seemed completely unaware of the effect he was having.
She finished the soup, setting the bowl down with a sigh. Her condition had improved dramatically—her fatigue gone, her mind clearer than it had been in years.
"Thank you," she said quietly, meeting my gaze.
I smiled. "You're welcome. Feeling better?"
She nodded, her expression softening. "Much. I owe you my life."
"Nah," I said, waving a hand. "You owe the soup. I'm just the guy who made it."
For the first time, she laughed—a soft, melodic sound that filled the tavern with warmth.
And so, over a bowl of soup, a connection was forged. One that neither of us fully understood but both sensed would change our lives in ways we couldn't yet imagine.
Chapter 8: Of Names, Nights, and Mystical BirdsThey say the night hides many truths, but if you ask me, it simply lets the world hum its song uninterrupted. When the sun retires, and the moon takes its post, everything slows down—except insects. Those tireless musicians seem to think their nightly serenade is the only thing keeping the stars from falling out of the sky.
I leaned back in my chair, watching the faint moonlight filter through the wooden slats of the tavern. The girl sat across from me, finishing the last spoonful of the stew. She had devoured it with such relish that I almost wondered if she'd mistaken it for a celestial elixir.
The night was serene, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the rhythmic hum of crickets. It was the kind of quiet that made you reflect on life—and by reflect, I mean wonder how a girl like this ended up passed out in a beast-filled forest.
She set the empty bowl down with a satisfied sigh, her expression softening under the glow of a single lantern hanging in the tavern. "I just realized," she said, her voice tentative, "I never introduced myself."
"Well, better late than never," I said with a shrug. "Go on, then."
"I'm Mei Yun," she said, dipping her head slightly. "I live in the village at the foot of the mountain. Thank you for saving me."
"Nice to meet you, Mei Yun. I'm Li Wei," I replied, leaning forward with a grin. "But since this is a tavern, you can call me Tavern Master Li. Sounds more official, doesn't it?"
She chuckled softly, her eyes briefly meeting mine before darting away. Her gaze wandered around the tavern again, and I could tell she was still trying to piece together the enigma that was this place—and, apparently, me.
As Mei Yun looked around, her thoughts were practically written on her face. Her brow furrowed slightly, her lips pursing in curiosity. She was trying to reconcile the plain man sitting before her with the profound craftsmanship that surrounded her.
She was a cultivator, or so she'd mentioned earlier. Not a powerful one, by any means, but her spiritual sensitivity had allowed her to gather rare herbs and earn a living. Her talent gave her an edge in a village where most people wouldn't know a Spirit Bloom from a weed.
But despite her beginner status, she could sense something extraordinary about this place. The carvings, the furniture, even the atmosphere—it all resonated with a depth she couldn't quite grasp.
Her gaze landed on a wooden bird perched on a shelf, its form so lifelike that it seemed ready to take flight. She stood, her footsteps hesitant as she approached it.
The bird called to her—not with sound, but with a pull that seemed to tug at her very soul. She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly, and touched its smooth, polished surface.
The moment her skin made contact, the world shifted.
She found herself standing in an unfamiliar place, a landscape both majestic and surreal. Towering mountains rose like ancient guardians, their peaks shrouded in mist. Rivers wove through valleys like silver threads, their surfaces glimmering under a golden light.
And then there was the bird.
It was no longer wooden but alive—divine, even. Its feathers shimmered with a greenish-white glow, each plume radiating a gentle brilliance. The bird flew with an elegance that defied description, its movements so graceful that they seemed to dance with the rhythm of the world itself.
It soared between mountains, gliding effortlessly over rivers, its presence both commanding and serene. And then, as if sensing her presence, it turned its head to look at her.
Its gaze was piercing, as if it saw through her very being. There was no malice in its eyes, only a profound understanding that left her breathless.
The vision shattered like glass, and she stumbled backward, her chest heaving as she returned to the tavern.
From my perspective, she had just taken a few steps back, staring at the wooden bird as if it had suddenly insulted her ancestors. I watched her in silence, torn between amusement and concern.
"Uh… you okay there?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She blinked, her gaze snapping to me as if she'd forgotten I was there. "I… yes. I'm fine."
"You sure?" I said, gesturing to the bird. "It didn't bite you, did it?"
Her lips twitched, and for a moment, I thought she might laugh. Instead, she hesitated before nodding. "It's… beautiful. Did you make it?"
"Yep," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Carved it yesterday. You like it? You can have it if you want."
Her eyes widened slightly, and she looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite place. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought she was trying to figure out if I was some kind of hidden expert masquerading as a mortal.
Mei Yun hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you. I'll take good care of it."
"Great," I said, grinning. "Consider it a souvenir from Tavern Master Li."
As she carefully picked up the bird, I noticed the bag she'd brought with her—a simple cloth sack, bulging slightly with its contents. I'd noticed it earlier but hadn't thought much of it.
"You've got herbs in there, right?" I asked, nodding toward the bag.
She blinked, surprised. "Yes. Why?"
"I've been thinking," I said, rubbing my chin. "I could use someone to help around here. If you're willing to sell me those herbs—and maybe work in the tavern—I think we could strike a deal."
She stared at me, her expression unreadable. For a moment, I thought she might refuse. Then, slowly, she nodded. "I'll think about it."
"Fair enough," I said, leaning back with a satisfied smile. "Take your time. No rush."
As the night deepened, I watched her from the corner of my eye. She seemed lost in thought, her gaze occasionally flicking to the bird in her hands.
Unbeknownst to me, she was wrestling with her own conclusions. To her, I was no ordinary mortal. The craftsmanship, the soup, the profound resonance of this place—it all pointed to someone far beyond her understanding.
But I, blissfully unaware, simply leaned back and listened to the insects sing, content in the simplicity of the moment.
The world, after all, has a funny way of weaving its mysteries. And sometimes, the simplest nights are the ones that change everything.