# Chapter 1: The Park
Han Wei opened his eyes and immediately choked.
The air was thick. Heavy. It tasted like ash and burning oil.
*Poison Realm?* he thought, instinctively holding his breath. *Did the teleportation array fail?*
He sat up, his tattered blue Azure Cloud Sect robes fluttering in a breeze that smelled of hot garbage and roasted nuts.
He checked his meridians. They were sluggish. The ambient Qi here was dangerously thin—so thin it was almost non-existent. It was like trying to breathe through a straw.
"A Desolate Realm," Wei muttered, looking around. "Worst possible outcome."
He was sitting on a green wooden bench. Around him, trees that looked malnourished and sickly (by Sect standards) struggled to grow. A paved path wound through the greenery.
A human ran past him.
The human was wearing tight, brightly colored synthetic armor and breathing heavily.
*Running from a beast?* Wei scanned the area. He saw no Spirit Tigers. No Void Wolves. Just more humans, walking dogs that were clearly too small to be useful in battle.
*Strange,* Wei thought. *The locals seem at ease despite the toxic air.*
He stood up. His joints popped. His body felt heavy, stripped of the buoyancy of high-level Qi, but his physical foundation—the result of ten years of carrying water up the Azure Mountain—remained. Compared to these frail mortals, he was made of iron.
Wei began to walk. He needed information. He needed a map. And, most importantly, he needed to know what the local currency was. Spirit Stones? Beast Cores?
He saw people staring at him.
"Nice cosplay, buddy," a man yelled from a bicycle.
Wei bowed slightly. "This one thanks you, fellow Daoist."
The man pedaled away, confused.
Wei wandered until he heard the *clack-clack-clack* of stones.
A familiar sound.
He followed it to a section of the park filled with stone tables. Men sat hunched over them, surrounded by crowds.
Wei approached the nearest table.
It was a strategy game. A grid. Black and white pieces.
*The Game of Generals?* Wei observed. *No. Simpler. Much simpler.*
In the Sect, the Game of Generals was played on a 30x30 grid with four dimensions of movement (Heaven, Earth, Man, Ghost).
This game was played on an 8x8 grid. It was 2D.
It was... adorable.
"Checkmate!" a man in a hooded sweatshirt shouted, slamming a piece down. "Pay up, tourist!"
The opponent, a young man in a 'I Love NY' t-shirt, sighed and handed over a green paper talisman.
*Paper currency,* Wei noted. *Primitive.*
The winner, who the crowd called "Grandmaster Flash," looked up and saw Wei.
"Yo, Bruce Lee!" Flash called out. "You want next? Five bucks."
Wei looked at the board. He looked at the pieces. He had spent the last five years losing games to Junior Sister Li, who was considered a prodigy.
But looking at Flash's "strategy"... it was full of holes. It was like watching a toddler try to swing a sword.
"Five... bucks?" Wei asked.
"Dollars. Cash. Greenbacks." Flash rubbed his fingers together.
Wei patted his robes. He had nothing.
"I have no currency," Wei admitted. "But I will wager this."
He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small, smooth river stone. He had been using it to practice his grip strength.
"A Spirit Stone?" Flash laughed. "Man, you crazy. But whatever. If I win, I take your rock and your robes. If you win, you get five bucks."
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Wei sat down. "Acceptable."
"You know how the horsey moves?" Flash sneered, resetting the board.
"The Knight jumps," Wei said, recalling the movement patterns he had observed. "The Bishop moves diagonally. The King is lazy."
"Close enough."
Flash moved a pawn.
Wei moved a pawn.
Flash tried a "Scholar's Mate"—a four-move trap designed to humiliate beginners.
Wei saw the trap before Flash even touched the Bishop. It was a crude pincer movement.
Wei moved his Knight. Trap blocked.
Flash frowned. He developed his Queen.
Wei moved a pawn. Queen trapped.
"Wait, what?" Flash stared at the board.
Wei moved his Bishop.
"Check," Wei said softly.
Flash blocked.
Wei moved his Rook.
"Mate," Wei said.
The game had lasted twelve moves.
Flash stared at the board. The crowd went silent.
"You... you hustling me?" Flash accused.
"I am simply playing," Wei said. "Your defense is full of openings. You leave your King exposed like a drunken peasant."
He held out his hand.
Flash grumbled, dug into his pocket, and slapped a five-dollar bill into Wei's palm.
"Again," Flash demanded. "Double or nothing."
Wei looked at the green paper. It felt cheap. But it was a start.
"Accepted."
***
Two hours later.
Wei did not play Flash again. Flash had run out of money.
Wei sat at his own table now. He had found a piece of cardboard and wrote on it with a piece of charcoal:
**CHALLENGE THE DISCIPLE**
**ENTRY FEE: $5**
A line had formed.
New Yorkers were a proud, arrogant people. They saw a man in a costume and thought, *I can take him.*
They could not take him.
Wei played with the dispassionate efficiency of a machine.
game 1: Win (15 moves).
game 2: Win (20 moves).
game 3: Win (8 moves - opponent tried to cheat).
"Next," Wei said, stacking another five-dollar bill onto his pile.
"You're amazing!" a teenager gushed. "Are you a Grandmaster?"
"I am merely an Outer Disciple," Wei corrected. "In my sect, I am ranked 4,392."
"Wow," the teen whispered. "Your sect must be huge."
Wei looked at the sky. The sun was setting. The smog was turning a bruised purple.
His stomach growled. A cultivation base required enormous energy upkeep.
He counted his stack. Two hundred and fifteen dollars.
*A small fortune? Or barely a meal?* Wei didn't know the local economy.
"That is enough," Wei announced, standing up. "The Disciple must rest."
He swept the money into his sleeve.
"Come back tomorrow!" someone yelled.
Wei bowed. "If the Dao wills it."
He walked out of the park, money in his sleeve, hunger in his belly.
He saw a sign across the street. A green mermaid.
**STARBUCKS COFFEE**
He smelled something bitter and burnt coming from it.
*Alchemy,* Wei realized. *They are brewing potions.*
He smiled.
*Finally. A trade I understand.*
