I forced myself to calm down.

  Panicking wouldn’t help. Flexing wouldn’t help either. I took a small step back and assessed the situation properly.

  What did I want?

  I did not want to join the Dragon Heart Sect, offend a Level 121 cultivator, and certainly get dragged into sect politics, power struggles, or whatever mess followed people like him. Even hypothetically, fighting him was the worst possible option. Winning or losing didn’t matter. Either outcome would entangle me.

  So I chose something else.

  I cupped my fists and bowed, lowering my head just enough to be respectful without groveling.

  “Forgive my rudeness,” I said evenly. “This lowly one has no intention of involving himself in cultivator matters.” I meant every word. Not because I feared him, but because I feared everything that came after him.

  Huang Long scoffed.

  “How dare a lowly mortal reject my invitation,” he said coldly.

  Mortal, huh? So Body Tempering was still considered mortal. Good to know.

  “I am willing to let this go,” Huang Long continued, eyes sharp, “if you receive one palm strike from me.”

  I resisted the urge to grimace. Absolutely not! It was not because I thought he’d kill me, though that was possible, but because letting him strike me would establish a hierarchy I didn’t want to acknowledge.

  This was a test of pride.

  Good thing I wasn’t proud.

  I straightened slightly and spoke again, carefully choosing every word.

  “How could I possibly receive such a precious instruction from someone as noble as you?” I said sincerely. “Such an act would only sully your dignity. If Senior were ever to strike me down, this lowly one would only spread his arms wide and embrace it, so that I may learn my place.”

  I hated how natural the words sounded coming out of my mouth.

  Xianxia really did rot the brain.

  Huang Long just stared at me, his expression twisted into disgust.

  “Tch.” He turned away sharply. “You are spared.”

  His robes swayed as he strode off, every step radiating haughty irritation, as though the very idea of me offended him. I waited until he disappeared from sight.

  “…Yeah,” I muttered under my breath. “Suck on that, prick.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the lingering chill fade as the debuff lifted. I turned back toward the entrance of Pine Wind Book Hall, straightened my blazer, and stepped inside, fervently hoping that books were less troublesome than cultivators.

  Pine Wind Book Hall did not disappoint.

  The interior opened into a tall, quiet space layered with shelves that rose toward the upper floors like orderly cliffs. Sunlight filtered through high windows, illuminating drifting dust motes and endless rows of neatly arranged scrolls and bound volumes. The scent of ink and aged paper lingered in the air, calming in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.

  A librarian approached when she noticed me lingering near the entrance.

  She was composed and unhurried, her dark hair pinned into a neat bun. A blue dress flowed naturally along her figure, slit high enough to allow ease of movement and, incidentally, to reveal a long, pale leg when she walked. She carried herself with a confidence that felt practiced rather than ostentatious.

  “Looking for something specific?” she asked.

  I nodded and explained what I needed: general knowledge, geography, cultivation basics, and history. Each time I finished a question, she pointed me toward the correct aisle with remarkable precision, sometimes even walking me there herself.

  It should have been simple.

  It wasn’t.

  Every time I returned to the counter, she found a way to linger just a little too close, her smile just a little too knowing. Compliments slipped easily into her words, light and casual, as though they were second nature.

  Under different circumstances, I might have enjoyed it.

  Unfortunately, my system refused to let me remain blissfully ignorant.

  [Meng Rong][Level 350]

  I stared at the floating text for half a second longer than necessary.

  She smiled sweetly. “My name is Chang Rong,” she said. “And you? Care to share your name, handsome?” Her gaze traced me with deliberate interest. “You exude such a mysterious presence. It tugs at one’s heartstrings, you know.”

  It was a blatant lie, and the attempt at a honey trap was so obvious it bordered on embarrassing.

  The fact that her displayed name shared a surname and an unsettling similarity with the lord of Xincheng was something I quietly filed away without probing further. Curiosity, I had learned, was rarely rewarded in this world.

  “My name is Yakuza Man,” I replied, sticking to my story.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Surprisingly, it didn’t seem out of place. Phonetically, the name translated cleanly enough to ‘Ya Ku Zha’ as a surname, and ‘Man’ as a given name. They didn’t exactly have a cultural equivalent of the word ‘Yakuza’ here. If written in this world’s language system, my name would probably look like this ‘呀库扎满’… The people around me accepted it without hesitation, as though it were simply another strange name in a strange land.

  In the end, I decided not to think too deeply about it.

  I took the books she indicated, thanked her politely, and moved deeper into the aisles. The shelves grew denser the farther I went, the light dimmer, and the air quieter. It was the kind of silence that invited focus, exactly what I had come for.

  Then footsteps followed me.

  “So,” Meng Rong said lightly, matching my pace without effort, “what is your type?”

  I stopped.

  Slowly, I turned to look at her.

  Disappointment flickered across my face before I schooled it away. Showing irritation to someone like her would be unwise. Instead, I exhaled once and decided to humor her, if only to end the conversation more quickly.

  “I like gentle women,” I said evenly. “Someone soft-spoken. Someone who doesn’t raise her voice. Someone who cares for others and supports what they do.”

  Her eyes lit up far too brightly.

  For a moment, I was genuinely caught off guard.

  What?

  Was she… actually interested?

  The thought unsettled me more than it should have. Honey trap or not, this was not a situation I wanted to encourage.

  Focus.

  Meng Rong stepped closer, her gaze lingering as she gestured toward my neck, then my wrist. “You must be formidable,” she said softly. “Those scars aren’t from a peaceful life.”

  “I already have a woman,” I cut in, deciding to lock in. “I’m sorry.”

  The words came out flat and deliberate.

  She met my gaze without blinking. “What kind of woman?”

  “I have a woman,” I repeated with the same tone and cadence. “I’m really sorry…”

  Silence stretched between us. I realized then that offense was not the same as rejection and both were dangerous in different ways. Just as I had with Huang Long, I needed to deescalate carefully.

  I inclined my head slightly. “Please stop showing interest in me,” I said respectfully. “I am already taken. I cannot reciprocate your feelings.”

  Her expression didn’t change.

  “Someone like me,” I continued, choosing my words with care, “is not suited for someone of your status. A man whose heart is already bound cannot be swayed without straying from the righteous path. And such a transgression would only bring harm to the woman involved.”

  I held her gaze steadily. “I would not wish that upon you.”

  For a moment, I thought it might work.

  Meng Rong smiled as she reached out, her fingers brushing my cheek.

  “How eloquent,” she said softly. “I find myself liking you more and more.”

  My muscles tightened.

  Something was very wrong.

  I had come here to read.

  Instead, I had already encountered two people whose levels were greater than mine, one at the door, and now one among the shelves. I kept my expression neutral, but inwardly, tension coiled tight in my chest.

  Meng Rong paused, then laughed softly, as if she had finally noticed the tension she had caused.

  “My apologies,” she said, inclining her head with practiced grace. “I was too straightforward. Please forgive me.”

  Before I could respond, she turned and departed down the aisle, her footsteps fading among the shelves. This time, she did not look back. I released a slow breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  Finally!

  I turned my attention back to the books stacked beside me.

  The first few were straightforward from general knowledge, geography, and introductory cultivation manuals written in relatively plain language. They were clearly meant for beginners or outsiders, which suited me just fine.

  First, I reached the history volumes.

  As I read, the shape of the world began to emerge.

  This land was known as the Earthly Seal Domain, also referred to as the Tuyin Nation, ruled by an imperial lineage that claimed descent from immortals. According to the text, the world was divided into domains separated by netherlines, regions devoid of dragon veins, where spiritual flow collapsed and passage became nearly impossible.

  The concept of domains was… strange.

  Certain elements, resources, and even laws of nature were confined to specific domains, unable to migrate or manifest elsewhere. These divisions were not merely political or geographical but fundamental to the structure of the world itself.

  I skimmed past the lavish praise of the nation and its ruling house and focused instead on the theoretical sections.

  Domains, the book explained, were smaller realms suspended along the surface of a vast hollow sphere.

  I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temple as I tried to visualize it.

  An enormous, invisible sphere. Along its inner surface floated countless smaller spheres, each one a domain, isolated yet part of a greater whole.

  “…That’s absurd,” I muttered quietly.

  The vocabulary alone was exhausting. If not for my inexplicable, automatic understanding of the language, I doubted I would have grasped half of it. Even then, the phrasing was dense and academic. I couldn’t imagine peasants or even most commoners making sense of these texts without years of education.

  I glanced at the stack beside me.

  Four volumes finished and I had barely scratched the surface.

  I slumped back in my chair, already regretting my decision to start with theory-heavy material.

  Meng Rong reappeared beside the table, setting down a tray without asking. Dumplings, still steaming, and a glass filled with bright orange liquid. “I thought you might need refreshment,” she said calmly. “An apology.”

  I frowned faintly. “Where I’m from, eating while reading is frowned upon.”

  She smiled. “It’s fine. Consider it my treat.”

  I eyed the tray cautiously. The dumplings looked ordinary enough. The drink smelled faintly citrusy. It was sweet, not medicinal.

  Hopefully, she didn’t put anything strange in it.

  I inclined my head toward Meng Rong. “Thank you.”

  Still cautious, I lifted a single dumpling with my chopsticks or rather, I stabbed into it like a miniature spear and bit off one end. I chewed slowly. Nothing happened. There was neither spinning vision, creeping numbness, nor an ominous red text flashing before my eyes.

  The dumpling was… good.

  Slightly sweet, pleasantly chewy. The filling was unmistakably pork. They were fatty and juicy, rich without being greasy. Garlic and ginger came through clearly, balanced by the freshness of scallions. When I glanced down at the bitten edge, I could see bits of cabbage, carrots, and mushrooms mixed evenly into the filling.

  When no debuff appeared even after a few more seconds, I relaxed just a little.

  “All right,” I said, pushing the books aside. “It tastes good.”

  I dipped the dumpling into the sauce, sampled it again, and found the flavor deepened further. At that point, I stopped pretending to multitask. Reading could wait. I focused entirely on the food with the respect it deserved.

  Meng Rong watched with faint amusement as I worked through the tray, my chopstick technique steadily devolving into something closer to using a fork with delusions of grandeur. Somewhere along the way, I realized how bad I had become.

  I used to be good with chopsticks.

  Becoming Yakuza Man had apparently stripped me of that dignity.

  “You could use some chopstick training,” Meng Rong remarked lightly.

  I glanced at her warily.

  She smiled. “Would you like me to teach you? Put you in shape if you know what I mean?”

  I winced. This woman was really not giving up.

  She gestured toward the glass. “Try the drink.”

  I eyed it, then discreetly checked the [Shop] interface. An All-Heal Pill was still well within my budget. Fine. I lifted the glass and took a careful sip. The taste was bright and fresh. It was sweet, with a slight tang.

  “How do you like my juice?” suddenly remarked Meng Rong with a sly smile. “There’s more where that came from…”

  I inhaled at the wrong moment and coughed, the liquid nearly going down the wrong pipe. I stared at her, expressing my incredulity with my eyes. I waited for a debuff or whatever, but nothing came.

  Meng Rong leaned closer, eyes glinting. “What? Did you think I put something in it?”

  I cleared my throat. “It tastes good.”

  She tilted her head. “You really like my juice?”

  I frowned. “…The orange juice tastes good,” I said evenly. “But please stop harassing me.”

  There was no humor in my tone.