Xiang Yu sat perched on a smooth stone outside his humble hut, the mountain breeze tousling his hair as he gazed across the vast sprawl of the Azure Cloud Sect. He'd finally managed to convince Li Yao to leave, feigning an illness that required solitary meditation. The image of her concerned eyes and reluctant departure lingered in his mind.
"Sorry, Junior Sister," he murmured to the wind.
It wasn't that she lacked charm—in fact, she was stunning by any standard. But Xiang Yu had more pressing concerns than romance, namely, survival. In cultivation novels, getting involved with the female lead was practically signing your own death warrant. Every martial arts story he'd ever read made that point abundantly clear: touch the protagonist's love interest, die a gruesome death. Simple mathematics.
"I'd rather live a billion boring years than die gloriously tomorrow," he sighed, turning his attention to the translucent blue screen hovering before his vision.
Since his abrupt arrival in this strange world, he'd barely explored his system, not that there was much to explore. The interface remained stubbornly simple: one function, double experience, usable once every 24 hours.
Unfortunately, he had no idea when the timer would reset. Logically, he thought it might reset at midnight. If so, every idle moment meant he was wasting precious double XP.
"Double nothing is still nothing," he muttered, flicking through the empty stat screen. "I need to find something—anything—to cultivate before the day ends."
Without further deliberation and wasting more time, Xiang Yu stood and brushed the dust from his plain robes. He planned to head to the Scripture Pavilion—one of the ten major pavilions that comprised the Azure Cloud Sect's core facilities. Each pavilion was governed by an elder; his own Mountain Heart Pavilion fell under the jurisdiction of Elder Guo Shantian.
His memories, or rather, those of his body's previous inhabitant, told him that Elder Guo had discovered him in a mortal town after a devastating battle. Orphaned, alone, the seemingly sole survivor of some unknown yet terrible conflict.
"Classic protagonist backstory," Xiang Yu snorted as he walked the winding path toward the Scripture Pavilion. "Let's hope I'm not some long-lost prince or reincarnation of some ancient dragon. I don't need ancient enemies or royal responsibilities, nor am I looking for revenge or destiny—I just want to live. Preferably for a few billion years to come."
The Scripture Pavilion soon came into view, an impressive tower of carved stone and polished wood that rose several stories into the clouds. Xiang Yu straightened his posture and stepped inside, only to immediately feel the weight of dozens of stares.
"Isn't that the trash senior brother from Mountain Heart Pavilion?" someone's whisper reached his ears, deliberately loud enough for him to hear.
"I heard he has no spiritual roots at all," another voice added with undisguised mockery.
"Shh, he might hear you!" a third warned, followed by poorly suppressed laughter.
Xiang Yu kept his face calm. Let them laugh and mock him. He had no intention of face-slapping or asserting domination over these arrogant young cultivators—that was protagonist behavior. And that, inevitably, led to more trouble. Better they mock him and forget than remember. Invisibility was his only survival strategy.
He approached the front desk and cupped his hands respectfully in greeting. "Xiang Yu, here to request a scripture," he said evenly, carefully modulating his tone to be neither imposing nor servile. The last thing he wished to do was to antagonize the gatekeeper to knowledge.
The scripture dean looked up, recognition dawning in his eyes. "Oh, isn't this the senior brother of Mountain Heart Pavilion?" The mockery in his voice was thinly veiled, dripping with condescension.
Xiang Yu's heart sank, but he maintained his polite smile. "Yes, that's me."
"Sorry," the dean smirked with a smirk, leaning back in his chair. "We don't have scriptures for people who can't cultivate."
Inwardly, Xiang Yu cursed his luck, but he kept his composed expression.
Day one in a cultivation world, and he couldn't even get his hands on the most basic manual.
_____
Xiang Yu stood motionless, accepting the dean's refusal with a calm that bordered on resignation.
The administrator's mocking smile told him everything he needed to know—this had nothing to do with adhering to the rules. It was a deliberate humiliation. With a slight nod of acknowledgment, Xiang Yu turned to leave, his footsteps echoing across the suddenly silent pavilion.
What did you expect?
That he'd pound his chest and declare, "Thirty years in Hedong and thirty years in Hexi, don't bully the young and poor!" like some clichéd protagonist?
Let's be serious here. That kind of theatrics wouldn't earn him a righteous comeback—it would earn him a swift, merciless death. Who would wait thirty years for karmic retribution when the dean could simply erase his existence with a casual flick of the wrist?
Xiang Yu knew the rules of this world better than most of its natives. Main characters shouted defiance. Supporting characters kept their heads down. Cannon fodder made empty threats that no one remembered. He had no interest in playing any of those roles.
He was nearly at the ornate entrance doors when a voice, sharp and commanding, sliced through the tense atmosphere.
"Wait!"
Xiang Yu's heart sank even as he obediently turned around. Standing at the center of the pavilion was a tall, imposing figure clad in midnight-blue robes that seemed to swallow the light around him. His white beard marked his age, but his presence exuded power, so much that even Xiang Yu, whose spiritual senses were all but dull, could feel it.
Elder Guo Shantian. His master.
"Xiang Yu is a personal disciple," the elder announced, his voice heavy and immovable, like carrying the weight of a mountain. "How come he doesn't have the right to receive a scripture?"
'Oh no,' Xiang Yu thought with growing dread. 'I appreciate the gesture, Master, but please don't create drama on my behalf. The last thing I need is for this dean to hold a grudge until he finds me alone somewhere.'
The elder's aura flared, sending an invisible pressure rippling through the air, making several nearby disciples stagger backwards.
"Are you bullying my Mountain Heart Pavilion?"
The dean's face was drained of color as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He quickly adopted a placating smile and bowed deeply. "It's not that I'm refusing to give him any scripture, Elder," he explained, his voice honeyed with respect that hadn't existed moments ago. "It's just that, for someone to receive a scripture, one must have at least practiced and reached the Minor Success in an external technique."
Elder Guo's piercing gaze, sharp and ancient, having witnessed centuries of martial evolution, shifted to Xiang Yu, assessing him. In them, there was disappointment, and Xiang Yu also saw a flicker of guilt. The elder had expected more from him.
"As you heard," Elder Guo addressed Xiang Yu, his tone now much softer, "you aren't qualified to cultivate any scriptures yet." He stroked his beard, thoughtful. "Do you want to try practicing an external technique? Only after reaching Minor Success would you be eligible to get a scripture."
Xiang Yu gave a respectful smile and bowed deeply. "Disciple thanks the master."
"No need for such formalities," Elder Guo said with a wave of his hand. "Just learn the technique well." Despite his outward stoicism, the elder couldn't help but sigh inwardly. This boy's timid personality seemed ingrained and was impossible to change. Where was the fierce determination every cultivator needed to survive in this world?
"Which rank do you want?" the elder asked.
Xiang Yu didn't hesitate. His predecessor's memory had made him well aware. In this martial world, the techniques were divided into distinct ranks: Basic, Low-grade, Mid-grade, High-grade, Superior, Profound, and the nearly mythical Divine.
The higher the rank of the technique, the more power it offered, but in turn, that demanded extraordinary talent and perseverance. Many cultivators had crippled their foundations while trying to practice techniques that were beyond their capability.
"I'll take the Basic," Xiang Yu answered plainly.
He wasn't delusional enough to think that he was some heaven-chosen genius who would leap ahead and practice high-level techniques with talent alone.
The elder didn't look surprised at this conservative choice. Without a word, he reached into his spatial storage, rummaging through an invisible inventory until he pulled out a slim, leather-bound manual.
"This is the Basic Knife Technique," he said, tossing the book toward Xiang Yu, who caught it with both hands and treated the humble book with reverence it probably didn't deserve.
The manual felt surprisingly heavier in Xiang Yu's grip than it looked. He examined the worn cover, the characters etched into the leather faded from countless hands over generations.
"Study it well," Elder Guo instructed. "Once you reach Minor Success, come to me for your scripture."
Xiang Yu nodded respectfully before he turned to leave. The manual was clutched tightly against his chest like a precious treasure. Despite failing to obtain a scripture, he couldn't suppress a small surge of satisfaction stirring within him. A technique—any technique—was better than nothing. It was a step for him to move forward.
He wasn't naive enough to think that he could master even this Basic rank overnight, but with his doubling system, even a minuscule progress could compound into something substantial over time.
"Maybe I'll be lucky enough to reach the Beginner stage before the reset," he mused, mentally calculating how much experience he might be able to accumulate in the remaining hours of the day.
No matter how small the gains would be, doubling even a small number would eventually yield exponential results.
As he made his way back to his isolated hut, Xiang Yu felt something unfamiliar flicker within him—not quite hope, but its distant cousin: the faint hum of possibility.