Chapter 2: Basic Knife Technique

Xiang Yu perched on a smooth stone outside his humble hut, the mountain breeze tousling his hair as he gazed across the sprawling Azure Cloud Sect. He’d finally managed to convince Li Yao to leave, claiming illness that required solitary meditation. The memory 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 appeal—in fact, she was breathtaking 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 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 him.

Since his abrupt arrival in this world, he’d barely explored his system—not that there was much to explore. The interface remained stubbornly minimal: one function, double experience, activating once every 24 hours. Unfortunately, he had no idea when the timer had started. Logic suggested it might reset at midnight, which meant he could be wasting precious doubling time.

“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, Xiang Yu stood and dusted off his plain robes. The Scripture Pavilion would be his destination—one of ten major pavilions comprising the Azure Cloud Sect’s core facilities. Each pavilion operated under an elder’s authority; his own Mountain Heart Pavilion fell under Elder Guo Shantian’s jurisdiction.

His memories—or rather, his body’s previous inhabitant’s memories—told him that Elder Guo had discovered him in a mortal town after some catastrophic battle. Found him alone, orphaned, seemingly the sole survivor of some terrible conflict.

“Perfect 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 hidden dragon. I don’t need ancient enemies or royal responsibilities. I still want to live for a few billion more years, please.”

The Scripture Pavilion loomed ahead, an impressive structure of carved stone and polished wood rising several stories into the sky. Xiang Yu straightened his posture and entered, immediately feeling the weight of dozens of stares.

“Is that the trash senior brother from Mountain Heart Pavilion?” a whisper reached his ears, deliberately loud enough for him to hear.

“I heard he has absolutely no spiritual roots,” another voice added with undisguised mockery.

“Shh, he’ll hear you!” a third warned, followed by poorly suppressed laughter.

Xiang Yu kept his expression neutral. Let them laugh. He didn’t harbor fantasies of face-slapping these arrogant young cultivators—that was protagonist behavior, which inevitably led to trouble. Better they mock him than remember him. Invisibility was his greatest protection.

Approaching the front desk, Xiang Yu cupped his hands respectfully in the traditional greeting. “Xiang Yu is here to request a scripture,” he said, carefully modulating his tone to be neither imposing nor servile. The last thing he needed 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 demeanor. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Sorry,” the dean smirked, leaning back in his chair. “We don’t have scriptures for people who can’t cultivate.”

Inwardly, Xiang Yu cursed his luck. Day one in a cultivation world, and he couldn’t even get his hands on the most basic manual.

…

Xiang Yu stood motionless, absorbing the dean’s refusal with resigned calm. The mocking smile on the administrator’s face told him everything he needed to know—this was a purposeful humiliation, not merely adherence to rules. With a slight nod of acknowledgment, Xiang Yu turned to leave, his footsteps echoing in the suddenly quiet 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 outburst wouldn’t earn him a righteous victory—it would earn him a swift, merciless death. No need to 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 its own inhabitants. Main characters shouted defiance. Supporting characters kept their heads down. Cannon fodder made empty threats. He had no intention of fulfilling any of those roles.

He had nearly reached the ornate entrance doors when a commanding voice sliced through the tense atmosphere.

“Wait!”

Xiang Yu’s heart sank even as he obediently turned around. Standing in the center of the pavilion was a tall, imposing figure whose midnight-blue robes seemed to absorb the light around them. The white-bearded man’s presence filled the room, his aura palpable even to Xiang Yu’s spiritually stunted senses.

Elder Guo Shantian. His master.

“Xiang Yu is a personal disciple,” the elder stated, his voice carrying the weight of mountain stone. “How come he doesn’t have the right to receive a scripture?”

Oh no

, Xiang Yu thought desperately.

I appreciate the support, Master, but please don’t create drama on my behalf. The last thing I need is for this dean to nurse a grudge until I’m alone somewhere.

The elder’s aura flared, an invisible pressure that made several nearby disciples stumble backward. “Are you bullying my Mountain Heart Pavilion?”

The dean’s complexion turned ashen as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He quickly adopted a placating smile, bowing deeply. “It’s not that I’m refusing, Elder,” he explained, voice honeyed with respect that hadn’t existed moments before. “For someone to receive a scripture, they have to have at least practiced an external technique to the Minor Success level.”

Elder Guo’s piercing gaze shifted to Xiang Yu, assessing him with eyes that had witnessed centuries of martial evolution. There was disappointment there, Xiang Yu realized with a twinge of guilt. The elder had expected more from him.

“As you heard,” Elder Guo addressed Xiang Yu directly, “you can’t cultivate any scriptures yet.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Do you want to try practicing an external technique? Only after reaching Minor Success can you get a scripture.”

Xiang Yu smiled respectfully, bowing with perfect form. “Disciple thanks the master.”

“No need to be so polite,” Elder Guo waved dismissively. “Just learn the technique well.” Despite his outward stoicism, the elder sighed internally. This boy’s timid personality seemed impossible to change. Where was the fierce determination every disciple needed to survive the cultivation world?

“Which rank do you want?” the elder asked.

Xiang Yu knew the hierarchy well from his predecessor’s memories. In this martial world, techniques were divided into distinct ranks: Basic, Low-grade, Mid-grade, High-grade, Superior, Profound, and the nearly mythical Divine. Higher ranks offered greater power but demanded extraordinary talent and perseverance. Many cultivators destroyed their foundations attempting techniques beyond their capability.

Without hesitation, Xiang Yu replied, “I’ll take the Basic.”

He wasn’t delusional enough to think that he had the heavenly talent and could practice higher level techniques.

The elder showed no surprise at this conservative choice. He merely reached into his spatial storage, rummaging through an invisible inventory before retrieving a thin, leather-bound manual.

“This is the Basic Knife Technique,” he announced, tossing the book toward Xiang Yu, who caught it with both hands, treating the simple text with reverence it probably didn’t deserve.

The manual felt surprisingly heavy in Xiang Yu’s grip as he examined the worn cover. The characters etched into the leather were faded from countless hands before his.

“Study it well,” Elder Guo instructed. “When you reach Minor Success, come to me for a scripture.”

Xiang Yu nodded respectfully before departing, clutching the manual to his chest like a precious treasure. Despite failing to obtain a scripture, he couldn’t suppress a small surge of satisfaction. A technique—any technique—was better than nothing. He harbored no delusions about mastering even this Basic rank overnight, but with his doubling system, even incremental progress would eventually compound into something significant.

“Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to reach Beginner stage before the reset,” he mused, calculating how much experience he might accumulate in the remaining hours of the day. No matter how minimal that experience might be, doubling even a small number would eventually yield results.

Walking back to his isolated hut, Xiang Yu felt something unfamiliar stirring within him—not quite hope, but the distant cousin of possibility.

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