The first thing Han Wei felt was pain.

  It wasn’t the sharp, immediate kind of pain that comes from a cut or a burn. No, this was deeper, more insidious - a throbbing ache that seemed to radiate from the very core of his being. His head pounded, his chest felt like it had been hollowed out, and his limbs were heavy, as if weighed down by invisible chains.

  He forced opened his eyes, blinking against the pale, diffused light that filtered through the paper windows of a room he didn’t recognize. The air smelled faintly of incense and old wood, and the faint sound of wind chimes echoed in the distance. He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down onto the hard wooden floor.

  “Where… am I?” he muttered, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar.

  Memories - fragmented and disjointed - flooded his mind. He remembered a normal day in the office, he remembered slacking off by planning out what vegetables he wanted to plant in his garden, and then… nothing.

  But now, he was here, in this strange place, in a body that didn’t feel like his own.

  He looked down at his hands. They were calloused and weathered, the hands of an old man. Panic surged through him as he touched his face, feeling the lines and wrinkles that shouldn’t have been there. His heart raced, and he struggled to breathe, the pain in his chest intensifying.

  Calm down, he told himself, forcing his breathing to slow. Think. What’s the last thing you remember?

  The memories came in flashes. A technique - a soul awakening ritual. He had been trying to… what? Ascend? Break through to a higher realm? The details were hazy, but he remembered the moment it had gone wrong. The searing pain, the feeling of his soul being torn apart, and then darkness.

  How do I remember this? It made no sense to him, twin memories overlaying and contradicting. Both full of holes. Who was he? Was he Han Wei the office worker, only a few years into his career? Or was he Elder Han, the nearly four hundred year old guest elder of the Silvermist Ravine Sect?

  The idea seemed absurd and completely natural all at the same time. He couldn’t seem to bring the two ideas into harmony. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He had been isekai’d - reincarnated into the body of a cultivator.

  But something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  He closed his eyes, automatically reaching inward towards his cultivation to assess his condition. It was easy to do something he had done hundreds of thousands of times over the years - no that wasn’t correct. Something the previous Elder Han had done hundreds of thousands of times - not him. He wasn’t Elder Han, he was just Han Wei.

  Inside his dantian - the spiritual home of his cultivation - was a disaster. His Golden Core was just gone, and cracks spiderwebbed through his foundation. His spiritual energy was erratic, like a river dammed and overflowing, each natural cycle of the chaotic qi pulsing through the damage preventing any natural healing.

  His cultivation had regressed, falling from the Core Refining stage all the way back to the peak of Foundation Consolidation. Over two major stages. It was a catastrophic drop, if the sect were ever to find out it would mark him as a cripple.

  His position as a guest elder was precarious enough, if he didn’t even have the cultivation strength to back it up then he would be done for. He would lose the protections of the sect and that would leave him vulnerable to…

  He lost the thought, a blank emptiness where the information should be. Vulnerable to what? Or who? He had no idea, nothing but a vague sense of threat and unease.

  Instinctively he reached for his cultivation technique to slow the chaotic qi rampaging through his meridians. Pain shot through him, so intense that he blacked out for a second and found himself sprawled on the floor once again.

  Dread shot through him. His soul itself was damaged.

  He could feel it now as he gently reached out to it - the outermost layer of his soul had been shredded. Even this gentle awareness nearly overwhelmed him again as agony pulsed the very core of his being with every breath he took.

  The only saving grace was that no large pieces seemed to be missing - though terrifyingly there were a number of pieces hanging on by the frailest of connections.

  If he could not heal this then he was crippled truly. His dharmic cultivation technique relied on the harmony of body and soul, and was worse than useless in this state. It was designed to leverage the power of a righteous soul to aspect and draw qi into his spiritual body, trying to use it in this state would simply make the soul damage worse - and that would definitely kill him.

  He couldn’t advance, couldn’t even begin to heal his foundation, until his soul was whole again.

  “This is bad,” he muttered, running a hand through his long hair, both surprised by its length and comforted by its familiarity all at once.

  In the cutthroat world of cultivation sects, weakness was a death sentence. As a guest elder, he was barely given the benefits and respect of an elder. If the other elders discovered his condition, he would be dismissed - or more likely, eliminated. He couldn’t even blame them for it, as an elder he had access to a wealth of sect information and techniques - not that he had ever bothered to learn them.

  He had to hide this. At least until he could find a way to heal himself.

  With a groan, he pushed himself upright, and looked around. The room was sparse, with little more than a wooden desk, a few scrolls, and a small altar in the corner. Everything was clean and ordered, except for the mess of papers that he had clearly knocked over when he collapsed.

  “My quarters,” he murmured, piecing together the fragmented memories. “...Elder Han’s quarters.”

  He stood, his legs trembling beneath him, and shuffled over to the desk. A small mirror lay among the clutter, and he picked it up, staring at his reflection. The face that stared back was that of an old man, with sharp features and worn lines that gave him a naturally stern expression. His hair was streaked with gray, and his eyes - deep, dark pools - bore the weight of years of hardship.

  “This is me now,” he said, setting the mirror down. “Elder Han.”

  He needed a plan. First, he had to stabilize his condition - allowing himself to worsen would be a death sentence. Then, he had to find a way to heal his soul and rebuild his foundation.

  But how? He had no knowledge of soul cultivation, beyond the bare fact of its existence and even with incomplete memories he was sure the previous Elder Han had never practiced it.

  He turned to the scrolls scattered around the desk, unrolling one with trembling hands. It was a complex ritual manual, filled with diagrams and instructions in a dizzying mix of temporary array building, soul cultivation, and alchemy. Revulsion boiled in his stomach as he recognised the technique that had done this to him, but it gave him an idea.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “The sect libraries,” he muttered, the Silvermist Ravine Sect was a minor power in the grand scheme of things, but they prided themselves on their accumulation of knowledge and techniques. My only chance at finding a way to heal my soul is there.

  But simply getting to the library wouldn’t be an easy task. He was weak, much weaker than he should be, and the sect was full of gossip, prying eyes, and invasive spiritual senses. He needed a way to hide his condition, to mask his cultivation level so that no one would suspect the truth.

  He rifled idly through the desk, searching for anything that might help. His fingers brushed against a small jade pendant, and as he picked it up, a dim memory surfaced - a rare technique Elder Han had learned long ago, a way to conceal one’s cultivation.

  “The Veil of Mortality,” he whispered, clutching the pendant. It was a technique he had learned to disguise himself in emergencies when hunting down demonic cultivators. And wasn’t that a terrifying thought.

  It was perfect. If he could remember the full technique then he could hide his weakened state, even from the other elders. But there was a catch - using the Veil of Mortality technique would prevent him from using his divine sense or any external techniques at all. He would be effectively cut off from the spiritual world, unable to sense or manipulate energy outside his body.

  It was a steep price to pay, but he had no choice. Any lesser technique would be seen though by anyone above his current cultivation strength and that was something he could not risk.

  He sat cross-legged on the floor, tucking the pendant into his belt for luck, and began to channel what little spiritual energy he could muster. The technique was complex, requiring precise control over his now chaotic energy, and his damaged foundation made it even harder. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he focused, his hands trembling with the effort.

  Finally, after what felt like hours, he felt the technique take hold. Looking outward from his dantian showed a faint shimmer surrounding him, and when he opened his eyes, he could feel the difference. His spiritual energy was hidden, locked away deep within his body. To anyone who looked, he would appear as nothing more than a mortal.

  “It’s done,” he said, breathing heavily. Now, to the library.

  He stood, his legs still unsteady, and made his way out of his quarters and through the large courtyard outside. It was all familiar, and yet he couldn’t help but frown at how spartan and bare it all was. Nothing extra, no comforts, it was as if he had done nothing with the place since the building complex had been assigned to him.

  As he stepped outside, he was snapped out of his thoughts by the sight of the Silvermist Ravine Sect in all its glory. The sect was built into the side of a mountain, with towering pagodas and winding stone paths. The air was thick with spiritual energy, and the sound of distant waterfalls echoed through the valley.

  He was struck dumb by the beauty of the view for an instant before he felt himself dismiss it as nothing particularly special or out of the ordinary. Catching himself before he turned away, Han Wei forcefully suppressed the instinct that had turned him away and let himself enjoy the view.

  It was truly breathtaking. Even without his spiritual senses he could see the spirituality in the air carried by sparse wisps of the silverlight mist that the sect was named for, curling around buildings and verdant greenery.

  The entire view seemed to gleam, from the impossibly tall pagodas to the sprawling training courtyards to the farm plots where the outer disciples grew spiritual food for the kitchens and herbs for the alchemists.

  Han Wei had never seen anything like this in all his past life and in that moment made a promise in his heart that he would always try to appreciate the wonders of this new world. Elder Han had become immune to it, and he supposed after several hundred years it would become normal. But it was beautiful and the fact Elder Han had lost sight of that made him inescapably sad.

  Eventually he conceded that he needed to move on and turned to the path that led towards the Technique Pavilion.

  As he made his way through the sect, he made a conscious effort to move at a slower pace than the disciples around him, but to also move with purpose. As if he were a lower realm cultivator moving briskly rather than a peak Foundation Consolidation realm moving with no rush at all.

  He assumed that he was doing rather well at avoiding attention as no-one was yet gawping at the mortal that had infiltrated the inner sect.

  Finally, he reached the Technique Pavilion, a grand repository of the cultivation scriptures, sutras, and techniques, that stood proud near the centre of the inner sect. He walked casually inside and had to force himself to keep walking normally and not gawp in shock as he took in the towering shelves filled with scrolls and books.

  This was only the first floor. The floor of the lesser and commonly known techniques. He hoped to the heavens that the second and third floors - all that he had free access to as a guest elder - would have a more curated selection. Otherwise he would be here for weeks.

  He started on the second floor. There were still a huge number of texts here, but they looked mercifully organised and he would only need a few moments to figure out what each section was devoted to.

  But just as he found the small section on soul techniques, an unmistakable pressure descended upon him. It was subtle, barely enough to knock a mortal unconscious and practically a polite tap on the shoulder to an elder in the Core Refining stage. Which he was not.

  Forcing himself not to react at all Han Wei calmly looked up from the book he was examining and met the eyes of the source.

  “Elder Mei. Can I help you?” his voice neutral and polite, betraying none of the tension he felt in the face of the woman’s scrutiny.

  Elder Mei, the revered sect elder of alchemy, was a figure of enigmatic grace and timeless beauty. Outwardly, she appeared to be a youthful woman in her mid-twenties, with porcelain skin, delicate features, and flowing ink-black hair that cascaded like a waterfall.

  Her eyes, however, betrayed her true age - deep pools of amber that shimmered with the weight of centuries.

  It caused a moment of dissonance in Han Wei’s mind to remember that despite her youthful face she was far older than he was. But at the same time the part of his mind that was Elder Han found this completely normal.

  “I’m merely surprised to see you here.” She answered with a cutting smile. “You’ve been a guest elder here for what? Five years? And I do believe this is the first time I have seen you enter here.”

  Han Wei’s expression remained impassive. “Then perhaps it was time for that to change,” he replied evenly, his tone giving nothing away.

  Elder Mei stepped closer, her movements graceful and deliberate. She glanced at the book in his hands, her sharp eyes catching the title before he could even think to obscure it. “Soul cultivation techniques,” she mused aloud, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.

  “An unusual interest for someone in your position. Most elders focus on growing their cultivation directly. The soul is… a delicate matter.”

  Han Wei met her gaze, his own steady. “One must explore all paths to grow,” he said simply, refusing to rise to her bait.

  Elder Mei tilted her head, her smile softening into something almost contemplative. “True enough. Though the path of soul cultivation is fraught with dangers. It requires not only talent but also guidance. Without proper instruction or aid, one might… falter.” Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

  Han Wei’s expression did not change, but he felt the weight of her words. She was hinting at something, though he could not yet discern her full intent. “Guidance is indeed valuable,” he acknowledged, his tone still neutral. “But one must also be cautious about where they seek it.”

  Elder Mei’s smile deepened, and she took another step closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Caution is wise, but so is recognizing opportunity. There are those who might be willing to offer their assistance… if the right conditions were met.”

  Han Wei’s mind raced. She was offering something - help with soul cultivation, perhaps - but at what cost? He kept his voice calm, refusing to show any sign of eagerness. “Conditions can be… complicated,” he said carefully. “One must weigh the risks against the rewards.”

  Elder Mei’s eyes gleamed with approval, as if she had expected his measured response. “Indeed. But sometimes, the rewards far outweigh the risks. Especially when one’s goals align.

  “Though perhaps we could discuss it further in a more private setting.” Her smile turning almost predatory at the invitation. “The archives are not the place for such conversations. I shall send you an invitation to tea after the disciple selection ceremony - I do hope you will accept.”

  As Elder Mei walked away, Han Wei let out a tight breath. He was walking a tightrope, and one misstep could send him plummeting into the abyss.

  He forced himself to calm, his mind already working through the implications of their conversation. Elder Mei was dangerous, but her alchemical knowledge was unparalleled in the sect and whatever she knew of soul cultivation could be invaluable. The question was whether the price of her help would be worth it.

  Then the impact of her parting words finally hit home sending his thoughts spiralling once more. The disciple selection ceremony! He was supposed to select disciples and he had no idea how long he had left to prepare.

  The timing couldn’t be worse. Not only would he have to feign his strength to the other elders in passing, but he would have to figure out how to guide and teach disciples too. Things just kept getting more and more complicated - but he had no choice. He had to find a way to heal himself, to rebuild his strength. And to do that he needed to keep his place in the sect.

  He glanced down at the book in his hands, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavier. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: he would need to tread carefully. And if he wasn’t ready, it wouldn’t just be his life on the line - it could be that of his future disciples too.