The story of the swordsman and the immortal lingered in Zhu Shen's mind long after he returned from Qingshui Town.
At first, he treated it with the caution of reason.
In his previous life, Ray had been trained to think logically. Stories were often exaggerations — heroic deeds stretched by generations of storytellers until they resembled legends rather than truth. Mountains split by swords, men flying across valleys, immortals living for centuries… such tales could easily be the embellishment of a brave warrior's accomplishments.
And yet.
Ray had also once believed that transmigrating into another world was impossible.
Now he lived that impossibility every day.
So while his rational mind questioned the storyteller's words, another thought quietly formed beside it.
If one impossible thing has already happened… why not another?
The months since his awakening had not passed without change.
At first, Zhu Shen believed the adjustments he felt were merely the result of recovering from injury and adapting to farm life. But as weeks turned into months, he began to notice something unusual.
His mind was sharper.
Much sharper.
In his previous life, he had been a diligent student — someone capable of learning quickly and retaining information well. But now, his thoughts seemed to move faster than they ever had before.
Most people could only focus on a single thought at a time.
Perhaps two, if reacting quickly.
But Zhu Shen realized that his mind could track several threads of thought simultaneously. He could observe, analyze, and remember with startling clarity.
Conversations, events, movements — they stayed in his memory with almost perfect detail.
Even more surprising was his control over his body.
In his old life, Ray had kept himself reasonably healthy, but he had never been particularly athletic. Sports had never been his strength.
Yet in this world, after only a few months of training with his father, he had already begun to move with an ease that surprised even himself.
Part of it came from the body he had inherited.
Zhu Shen's original body had grown up working the fields, strong and durable from years of labor. But the improvements he felt went beyond simple physical conditioning.
He adapted quickly.
Movements learned once were rarely forgotten.
Sword drills that Zhu Yong demonstrated in the evening fields — stances, slashes, and thrusts — soon became smooth and natural.
The wooden blade no longer felt awkward in his grip.
It flowed.
Ray's scientific curiosity had also led him to experiment quietly with his body. Each morning before farm work began, he practiced small exercises he remembered from his old world: stretches, squats, push-ups, controlled breathing.
Simple calisthenics.
Over time, his body became leaner, more flexible, and far more responsive. His balance improved. His endurance increased. Even his reactions seemed quicker.
And yet…
Despite all this improvement, Zhu Shen knew something was missing.
Direction.
The techniques his father taught him were useful, but they were not part of a structured martial system. Zhu Yong had learned his skills during war — practical battlefield habits meant to keep a soldier alive, not refined teachings passed through generations of martial masters.
Zhu Shen could feel the limits of that knowledge.
It was like possessing strong tools but lacking a blueprint.
If true martial arts existed in this world — or even the mysterious path of cultivation mentioned by the storyteller — then the small lessons he practiced in the fields were only the very beginning.
He needed knowledge.
Real knowledge.
And that meant leaving the village again.
The opportunity came sooner than he expected.
One evening after supper, Zhu Shen spoke to his father while they sat outside beneath the fading sky.
"I want to visit Qingshui Town again," he said.
Zhu Yong glanced at him. "Why?"
"I want to see more of the town," Zhu Shen replied carefully. "There may be opportunities there. Work… knowledge… perhaps even martial instruction."
His father remained silent for a moment.
Zhu Yong was not a foolish man. He understood the restlessness of youth, especially in a son who had nearly died months earlier.
"You think farming will not be enough for you," he said.
Zhu Shen did not deny it.
Instead, he said quietly, "I want to learn more."
The older man studied him for a long time.
Finally he nodded once.
"Old Chen goes to Qingshui in two days," Zhu Yong said. "He trades meat and hides there. Go with him."
Zhu Shen bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Father."
Two mornings later, Zhu Shen stood at the village entrance beside Chen Dali, the broad-shouldered butcher who had agreed to take him along.
Chen Dali's cart was loaded with cured meat, animal hides, and bundles of dried herbs gathered from nearby hills.
"You'll help carry things," Chen Dali said with a grin. "That's the price of traveling with me."
Zhu Shen smiled faintly. "Of course."
The ox cart creaked forward as dawn spread across the fields.
Behind them, the roofs of Shiqiao village slowly faded into the distance.
Ahead lay the road to Qingshui Town.
And for Zhu Shen, the journey was not simply another trading trip.
It was the first step toward answering a question that had begun to grow inside him.
Does the path of cultivation truly exist in this world?
If it did…
He intended to find it.