The crimson hue of the morning sun painted the bustling streets of Heavenly Aerial City in warm, golden tones. Vendors lined the cobblestone pathways, their colorful stalls creating a labyrinth of commerce and chaos that stretched as far as the eye could see. The air was thick with the mingled scents of exotic spices, sizzling street food, and the unmistakable aroma of opportunity—or perhaps that was just the questionable meat skewers being hawked by a particularly enthusiastic merchant.
Wudi Egun, with his distinctive silver hair catching the morning light, strolled through this sensory overload with the casual confidence of someone who had seen far stranger things than a man trying to sell what appeared to be deep-fried lizard tails on a stick. His tall frame cut through the crowd like a celestial blade through mortal flesh, drawing curious glances from passersby who sensed something different about him but couldn't quite place what it was.
"Fresh spirit fruits! Guaranteed to increase your cultivation by at least three levels or your money back!" shouted a vendor to his right, a portly man with a face as round as the fruits he was selling.
Wudi's silver eyes flickered with interest. He paused, examining the display of suspiciously shiny fruits that seemed to pulse with an inner light.
"Three levels, you say?" Wudi raised an eyebrow, picking up one of the fruits and turning it over in his hand. "And what happens if I'm already at the peak of Nirvana Realm? Will this fruit catapult me straight to Half-Saint?"
The vendor's smile widened, revealing a gold tooth that glinted in the sunlight. "For someone of your obvious talent and bearing, Young Master, I'd say it might even take you to full Sainthood!"
Wudi snorted, his lips quirking into a sardonic smile.
"Really now? So this little fruit here—" he held it up to the light, "—this unassuming piece of produce that you're selling for what, five low-grade Refined Jades? This can accomplish what no cultivator has managed in the entire Prosperous Era?"
The vendor's smile didn't falter. "Special promotion today! Only three Refined Jades!"
"I'll give you one better," Wudi leaned in conspiratorially. "How about I pay you nothing, and in return, I don't report you to the City Guards for selling painted rocks to gullible cultivators?"
The vendor's smile finally cracked. "These are genuine spirit fruits from the Misty Valley! Harvested under the light of the twin moons!"
"There's only one moon" Wudi replied dryly. "And unless the Misty Valley has relocated to your backyard where you grow these with regular water and too much fertilizer, I highly doubt their authenticity."
The vendor's face flushed red, his jowls quivering with indignation. "How dare you! My family has been in the spirit fruit business for seventeen generations!"
"And I'm sure for seventeen generations, your family has been painting regular fruits with luminescent dye and selling them to idiots," Wudi countered, placing the fruit back on the display with exaggerated care. "The craftsmanship is impressive, I'll give you that. The paint doesn't even come off on my fingers. What do you use, some kind of spirit beast resin?"
"It's not paint!" the vendor spluttered, his voice rising an octave. "These fruits are nurtured with the essence of—"
"Your imagination?" Wudi suggested helpfully.
By now, a small crowd had gathered, watching the exchange with undisguised amusement. The vendor, realizing he was losing face in front of potential customers, puffed up like an angry toad.
"You think you know everything, don't you? Who are you to question my merchandise? Are you some kind of fruit expert? A melon scholar? A peach professor?"
Wudi placed a hand over his heart, his expression one of mock hurt. "I'll have you know I graduated top of my class at the Imperial Fruit Academy. My thesis on 'Deceptive Agricultural Practices in Urban Markets' was very well received."
The crowd tittered, and the vendor's face turned an even deeper shade of red.
"You—you—" the vendor stammered, searching for words scathing enough to match his fury. "You silver-haired demon! I bet those aren't even your real eyes! Probably painted on like you claim my fruits are!"
Wudi gasped dramatically. "You've discovered my secret! My real eyes are actually on the back of my head. These are just for decoration." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. "And between you and me, my hair isn't naturally silver either. I just fell into a vat of moonlight when I was a child."
The crowd was openly laughing now, and the vendor looked like he might spontaneously combust from rage.
"Get away from my stall, you—you cultivation-less vagrant!" the vendor finally managed, his voice cracking with emotion.
"Cultivation-less?" Wudi repeated, placing a hand on his chest in exaggerated offense. "I'll have you know I cultivate the ancient and noble art of identifying scams. And right now, my Scam-Detecting Technique is at the Grandmaster level."
The vendor grabbed a broom from behind his stall and brandished it like a weapon. "I said get out!"
"Is that broom part of your cultivation technique?" Wudi asked innocently. "The Mystical Art of Sweeping Away Dignity?"
"I'll sweep you into the next dynasty!" the vendor roared, taking a wild swing that Wudi easily sidestepped.
"Your form needs work," Wudi critiqued, dodging another swing. "You're putting too much weight on your front foot. Also, your broom technique lacks finesse. Have you considered taking up the Mop Style instead? I hear it's more absorbent."
The vendor let out a wordless cry of rage and charged forward, broom raised high. Wudi prepared to dodge again, a witty retort already forming on his lips—
"MAKE WAY! CLEAR THE ROAD!"
The shrill cry cut through the market's cacophony like a blade, causing both Wudi and the vendor to freeze mid-confrontation. Heads turned toward the source of the commotion.
*****
Earlier
On the other side of the street, a luxurious carriage approached, its polished wood gleaming in the sunlight. The carriage was pulled by a pair of magnificent white horses, their coats so pristine they seemed to glow with an inner light. Gold and jade ornaments adorned the vehicle, marking it as belonging to one of the city's noble families.
An elderly man in the formal attire of a high-ranking servant stood beside the carriage, his back straight despite his advanced years. His face was a map of wrinkles, each line telling the story of decades of loyal service.
"Young Mistress, please," the old man was saying, his tone a mixture of deference and desperation. "Allow this old servant to drive the carriage as usual. Your honored father would have my head if anything were to happen to you."
Standing beside him was a young woman whose beauty was so striking it seemed almost unreal. Her features were delicate yet defined, her skin like the finest porcelain, and her eyes sparkled with intelligence and mischief. Her long, flowing robes were made of silk so fine it appeared to float around her like morning mist.
The only imperfection—if one could call it that—was her decidedly modest chest, which remained stubbornly flat despite her otherwise womanly figure.
"Steward Peng," she replied, her voice melodious yet firm, "I am no longer a child. I am twenty-two years old, and it's high time I learned to drive my own carriage."
Steward Peng's expression was that of a man watching his entire life flash before his eyes. "But Young Mistress Meng, you have never even held the reins before! The young master of the Li family is expecting you for tea. What if—"
"What if I arrive driving my own carriage and impress him with my independence and skill?" she interrupted, tossing her head so that her ornate hairpins jingled like tiny bells. "The Ancient Meng Family may be second only to the Ancient Li Family in status, but that doesn't mean we should act like helpless ornaments."
"Young Mistress," Steward Peng tried again, his voice taking on a pleading quality, "your father entrusted me with your safety. If anything were to happen—"
"Nothing will happen," she declared with the absolute confidence of someone who had never experienced the consequences of their actions. "I've watched you drive a thousand times. How difficult could it be? The horses know the way, don't they?"
Steward Peng looked like he wanted to argue further but knew from experience that once Young Mistress Meng had made up her mind, not even the Heavenly Emperor himself could change it. With a resigned sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, he stepped aside.
"As you wish, Young Mistress," he conceded, bowing deeply. "But please, allow this old servant to at least instruct you on the basics."
Young Mistress Meng's face lit up with triumph. She straightened her posture and arched her chest proudly—an action that, given her physical limitations, did little to enhance her silhouette.
Steward Peng averted his eyes, not wanting to acknowledge the awkward reality that despite her attempt to project confidence, she looked more like a plank of wood trying to impersonate a mountain.
With the grace of a natural-born noble, she climbed onto the driver's seat and took the reins in her delicate hands. Steward Peng hovered nearby, his weathered face a mask of barely contained panic.
"Gently now, Young Mistress," he instructed, his voice strained. "Hold the reins firmly but not too tight. The horses can sense your emotions, so remain calm and—"
"Like this?" she interrupted, giving the reins a sharp tug.
The horses, accustomed to the gentle, experienced touch of Steward Peng, reacted with immediate confusion to the jerky movement.
They snorted and stamped their hooves, tossing their magnificent heads in protest.
"No, no!" Steward Peng cried, reaching for the reins. "More gently, like—"
"I know what I'm doing!" Young Mistress Meng insisted, pulling the reins back with even more force. "They just need to understand who's in charge!"
The horses, now thoroughly alarmed, reared up on their hind legs, their front hooves pawing at the air. Young Mistress Meng's eyes widened in surprise, but her pride wouldn't allow her to admit she might be out of her depth.
"See? They're acknowledging my authority!" she declared, interpreting the horses' panic as some form of equine respect.
Steward Peng's face had gone from worried to ashen. "Young Mistress, please, let me—"
But it was too late. With a final tug on the reins and a command that sounded more like a squeak of alarm than an authoritative order, Young Mistress Meng set the carriage in motion. The horses, confused and agitated, did not proceed with their usual dignified trot but instead bolted forward like they were fleeing from a demon.
The carriage lurched violently, nearly throwing Young Mistress Meng from her perch. She clung to the reins for dear life, her face a mixture of shock and stubborn determination.
"I meant to do that!" she shouted over her shoulder to Steward Peng, who was now running after the carriage with surprising speed for a man of his age. "This is just... the express method of travel!"
"Young Mistress!" Steward Peng's voice faded as the distance between them grew. "The reins! Pull on the left rein to slow down!"
But his instructions were lost in the chaos as the carriage careened down the street, the horses now in full panic mode. Market-goers dove out of the way, stalls were overturned, and goods scattered across the cobblestones as the runaway carriage cut a path of destruction through the once-orderly marketplace.
Meanwhile, Wudi Egun and the fruit vendor had momentarily forgotten their dispute, both watching the unfolding disaster with identical expressions of disbelief.
"Is that the young mistress of the Ancient Meng Family?" the vendor asked, his broom now hanging limply at his side.
"Unless there's another noble with a chest as flat as the Plains of Eternal Desolation, then yes, I believe it is," Wudi replied, his silver eyes tracking the chaotic progress of the carriage.
The vendor snorted despite himself, then quickly composed his features back into a scowl. "This is all your fault, you know."
Wudi turned to him, genuinely puzzled. "How exactly is a runaway carriage on the other side of the street my fault?"
"If you hadn't been distracting me with your baseless accusations, I would have noticed the carriage earlier and moved my stall out of the way," the vendor declared with impeccable illogic.
"Your stall is nowhere near the carriage's path," Wudi pointed out, gesturing to the considerable distance between them and the chaos. "We're at least ten meters from the main street."
"Details, details," the vendor dismissed with a wave of his hand. "The point is—"
Whatever point the vendor was about to make was lost forever as the runaway carriage, having completed a wild circuit of the marketplace, came hurtling back toward them. The horses, now completely beyond control, veered sharply off the main street and charged directly toward Wudi and the vendor.
"MOVE ASIDE!" Young Mistress Meng's voice rang out, more a desperate plea than a command.
Both Wudi and the vendor turned, their argument forgotten as they faced the rapidly approaching disaster. There was a moment of perfect stillness as they processed the sight of a noble young lady, her hair now in disarray and her face a mask of panic, bearing down on them atop a carriage that seemed determined to defy the laws of physics.
Then chaos erupted.
The carriage collided with the fruit stall, sending painted "spirit fruits" flying in all directions. The impact caused one of the carriage wheels to catch on the edge of the stall, tipping the entire vehicle onto its side. Young Mistress Meng was catapulted from her seat, sailing through the air with surprising grace before landing in an undignified heap amidst the scattered fruits.
The horses, finally freed from their burden, trotted away with what looked suspiciously like equine satisfaction.
For a moment, silence reigned over the scene of destruction. Then, with the dignity of someone determined to pretend that everything had gone according to plan, Young Mistress Meng rose to her feet. She brushed off her robes, adjusted her hairpins, and surveyed the damage with narrowed eyes.
Her gaze landed on Wudi and the vendor, who were still standing in the exact same spots, too shocked to have moved.
"You!" she declared, pointing an accusatory finger at them. "This is all your fault!"
Wudi and the vendor exchanged a look of mutual confusion.
"Us?" they asked in unison.
"Yes, you!" Young Mistress Meng stalked toward them, her flat chest heaving with indignation. "Standing in the middle of the street like that! How was I supposed to avoid you?"
Wudi looked pointedly at their position, then at the main street, then back at the young mistress.
"We're ten meters away from the street," he stated calmly. "You went out of your way to hit us."
"Nonsense!" she declared, tossing her head. "My eyesight is perfect, and I clearly saw you blocking the main thoroughfare!"
The vendor found his voice. "Young Mistress, with all due respect, we were nowhere near—"
"Silence!" she commanded, her voice carrying the weight of generations of noble authority. "Do you know who I am? I am Meng Lihua, youngest daughter of the Ancient Meng Family! My father could have your stall demolished and your family exiled with a single word!"
The vendor paled and immediately kowtowed. "This humble merchant begs forgiveness, Young Mistress Meng! It was indeed our fault for... for existing in your general vicinity!"
Wudi, however, merely crossed his arms and regarded her with amused interest. "And I'm Wudi Egun, descendant of the Paramount Saint. My ancestors could have rewritten reality to erase your entire family line, but they probably had better things to do."
Meng Lihua's eyes widened at his audacity, then narrowed dangerously. "You dare speak to me with such disrespect? Do you think I won't remember your face? The Ancient Meng Family has a long memory and longer reach!"
"And yet, apparently, very poor depth perception," Wudi observed dryly.
For a moment, it seemed like Meng Lihua might explode with rage. Her face flushed, her hands clenched into fists, and she opened her mouth to deliver what would undoubtedly be a scathing retort—
"Young Mistress!" Steward Peng's voice cut through the tension as he finally caught up to the scene, panting heavily. "Are you hurt? Oh, heavens preserve us, the carriage! Your father will—"
"These men caused the accident," Meng Lihua declared, smoothly shifting blame with the ease of someone who had never faced consequences. "They deliberately positioned themselves to confuse the horses."
Steward Peng looked from his mistress to the two men, then to the overturned carriage, then back to the men. His expression suggested he didn't believe a word of it but valued his position too much to contradict her.
"Of course, Young Mistress," he said diplomatically. "But perhaps we should focus on returning home now? Your father will be worried, and the young master of the Li family is still expecting you."
Meng Lihua seemed to consider this, then nodded imperiously.
"Very well. But mark my words," she turned back to Wudi and the vendor, "this isn't over. You'll regret crossing paths with the Ancient Meng Family!"
With that dramatic declaration, she allowed Steward Peng to lead her away, her head held high despite the fruit stains on her once-immaculate robes and the twigs tangled in her hair. As they departed, Steward Peng could be heard murmuring reassurances and suggesting that perhaps, in the future, she might consider leaving the driving to him.
Wudi and the vendor watched them go, united in their bewilderment.
"Did that really just happen?" the vendor asked after a long moment of silence.
"I believe it did," Wudi confirmed, picking up one of the scattered "spirit fruits" and examining it thoughtfully. "Though I'm having trouble deciding which was more fictional—your fruits or her version of events."
The vendor shot him a dirty look but couldn't muster the energy to restart their argument. Instead, he surveyed the ruins of his stall with a resigned sigh.
"Twenty years I've been selling in this market," he lamented, "and never once has a noble's carriage destroyed my livelihood. Until you came along."
"Are you still trying to blame me for this?" Wudi asked incredulously.
"Bad luck follows troublemakers," the vendor declared with the certainty of someone reciting an ancient proverb that he had just invented. "And you, silver-hair, are definitely a troublemaker."
Wudi couldn't help but laugh. "On that point, at least, we can agree." He tossed the fruit back to the vendor, who caught it reflexively. "Here's some free advice: next time you paint your fruits, try using less shiny lacquer. Real spirit fruits glow from within, not from without."
The vendor's mouth fell open in surprise.
"How did you—"
"Like I said," Wudi called over his shoulder as he walked away, "Grandmaster level in the Scam-Detecting Technique!"
As he strolled through the market, stepping around the debris from the carriage incident, Wudi couldn't help but wonder about the young mistress of the Ancient Meng Family. She was exactly the type of entitled noble he'd encountered countless times before—arrogant, quick to blame others, and completely divorced from reality.
And yet, there had been something almost admirable about her determination to drive that carriage, despite having no idea what she was doing. It reminded him, in an odd way, of his own situation: thrust into a world he didn't fully understand, making it up as he went along, and refusing to admit when he was out of his depth.
"The difference," he muttered to himself, "is that I at least know when I'm being ridiculous."
A passing merchant gave him a strange look for talking to himself, but Wudi just smiled and continued on his way. After all, in a world of cultivation, immortals, and painted fruits being sold as magical treasures, talking to oneself was hardly the strangest thing one could do.
Behind him, the vendor was already setting up a new display, arranging his surviving "spirit fruits" and calling out to passersby with renewed vigor: "Miracle fruits! Survived a noble's carriage crash unscathed! Now with added resilience properties! Only four low grade Refined Jades each!"
Some things, Wudi reflected, never changed—no matter which world you found yourself in.