001 The Wrong Genre

  The city sprawled before me, an eapestry of curved rooftops, t pagodas, and floating nterns that glowed like artificial stars iwilight. It was breathtaking, no doubt about it. Exotic. Grand. The kind of pce that would make a Xianxia nerd weep tears of joy.

  Too bad I wasn’t one of them.

  I was more of a sword-and-sorcery kind of guy—give me knights, dragons, and a good old-fashioavern brawl over cultivators and qi-powered nonsense any day. A, here I was, somehow dropped into a world that felt straight out of a ese fantasy drama.

  Just this m—well, "m" as far as I was ed—I had been alive, well, and sitting at my desk, basking in the glory of my max-level Padin build. I had achieved true gaming perfe: iructible, unkilble, a divine force of pure righteousness. And then, my PC exploded.

  Now, I was here. Wherever here was.

  I had snuto this city uhe cover of night, avoiding unnecessary attention. Not that it was easy. My diviier armleaming gold and blue, with radiant holy inscriptions—made me stick out like a crusader who took a wrong turn and ended up in the wrong mythology. So, I did what any sensible person would do: I reached into my Item Box and pulled out a etic set that I had won during a ese New Year gacha event—Lofty Jade Proposition.

  I sighed as I equipped it on top of my divine gear.

  The flowing robes, ornate jade accessories, and embroidered patterns screamed rich young master who has never worked a day in his life. ly my style, but it blended in far better than holy knight chic. The 15% stat debuff it came with, though? Utter garbage. What kind of game punished you for wanting to look stylish?

  ht. This wasn’t a game anymore.

  I let out a slow breath and started walking, doing my best to study my surroundings. The streets were busy, even at this hour, with merts pag up their stalls and street performers showing off dazzling qi teiques. Some people actually flew past on swords, zipping across the sky like mystical skateboarders.

  I sighed again.

  "This is defihe wrong genre."

  The inn was a riot of color, sound, and motion. Silk banners swayed from the rafters, painted with golden dragons and swirling clouds. Laughter and versation filled the air, blending with the lively tune of a pipa being pyed by a musi in the er. The smell of sizzli, fragrant spices, and rich wine was intoxig, making my stomach tighten with longing.

  Courtesans drifted between tables, their flowing sleeves fluttering as they refilled cups and pyfully teased drunken patrons. Warriors, merts, and schors alike sat together, boasting of their exploits, making wagers, and dev their meals with reckless enthusiasm. A few armored men—probably guards or hired muscle—watched the crowd with sharp eyes, their swords resting within easy reach.

  The whole pce was festive, alive.

  I kept my head down as I slipped into an inspicuous er, choosing a shadowed seat near a support pilr. Too many people. Too much risk of being noticed. I just had to y low, observe, and hope no overly enthusiastic waitress came my way demanding I order something. I had no idea if my gold s would even work in this world. And even if they did, I wasn’t about to risk drawing attention to myself by fumbling with currency I didn’t uand.

  I focused on the versations around me, my ears filtering out the il I caught something useful.

  “—Yellon City is at its peak now, I tell you!” a man boasted, his words slightly slurred from drink. “Forty years sihe old patriarch id the foundations, and now look at it! The jewel of the southern province!”

  “A true city of heroes!” anreed, raising his cup. “That’s why this festival is unlike any other! Forty years of prosperity, forty years of strength! The lords as wouldn’t dare ighis celebration!”

  “Sects?” I muttered under my breath. Right. Of course, there were sects. This was that kind of world.

  A third voice joined in, a younger man’s. “I even heard that one of the Seven Grand s might send a representative! If they grace the city with their prese could elevate Yellon City even further!”

  “Bah!” The first man scoffed. “Who cares about those lofty immortals? The real excitement is the dueling stage tomorrow! I hear even Young Master Lu himself will make an appearance!”

  More murmurs followed. Young Master Lu, apparently, was a big deal.

  I exhaled slowly, processing the information. Yellon City. That was my first solid clue. And a festival? That was both good and bad. Good, because no one would pay much attention to a random traveler whey was already bustling with visitors. Bad, because important people might be gathering. The kind of people who could see through my disguise or worse—decide to pick a fight for no reason.

  And if this Young Master Lu was the type of character I suspected he was… Well, I had a feeling I’d be running into him sooner or ter.

  I shelved the name Lu in the bay mind. As a self-procimed gamer who had spent an uhy amount of time s, I khe importance of remembering signifit names. Mai givers, important fa leaders, potential bosses—this Lu guy robably one of those. The Seven Grand s also piqued my i. Sounded like the equivalent of legendary guilds or noble houses. If this were a game, they'd likely hold political power, have broken abilities, or both.

  But right now, my biggest wasn’t the lore of this world. It was surviving in it.

  I had no idea how things worked here. Cultivators clearly existed, and from what little I knew about Xianxia tropes, they operated on something called qi. Me? I didn’t feel anything resembling qi in my body. Instead, I had mana and my Padin skills.

  The problem? I had no clue how that transted in a world where people flew around on swords and punched mountains in half.

  As I mulled over my predit, a round-looking man—barrel-chested with the beginnings of a double —marched to the front of the ter and cpped his hands together. His booming voice silehe room.

  “Brothers and sisters! A most generous gift has beeowed upon us tonight! Courtesy of her than Young Master Zhao!”

  He gestured dramatically toward the sed floor, where an intoxicated young man lounged against a pile of courtesans. His robes were silk, his belt embroidered with golden dragons, and his expression one of pure, drunken indulgence. He gave a zy wave, and the ied into cheers.

  Within moments, a pair of waitresses bustled through the crowd, handing out mugs of ale to every table. One lunked down in front of me, the sloshing liquid a murky brown. I lifted it warily and took a cautious sip.

  Immediately, my face torted in disgust.

  Holy hells.

  It tasted like stale vinegar mixed with a hint ret. Like someone had left beer out in the sun for a week, then decided, You know what? This is still drinkable.

  I pinched my nose, forced myself to swallow, then promptly spat the rest bato the mug.

  No offeo the locals, but I came from the 21st tury. I was used to things like water filtration and drinks that didn’t taste like they had personal veas against my taste buds.

  Still, I set the mug aside instead of shoving it away. If nothing else, it was a good prop. Looking like I artaking in the festivities would make me seem less suspicious.

  Blending in was key.

  After all, I had no idea how long I’d be stu this world.

  I leaned back against my chair, arms crossed, as I sidered my situation.

  Now, if I had been something like a World-Ending Lich, I might actually thrive here. Liches loved long lifespans, and these people were all about that immortal life. But a Padin? My strength shihe most when fighting in a party with a solid bae to cover me. That was the stereotype. Sure, I loved pying solo and I could hold my own in a one-on-one duel, but I wasn’t delusional enough to think I could survive aire seing after me.

  I'm a PvP guy, not a PvE guy.

  I sighed. Overthinking would get me nowhere. I o foy immediate problems first.

  Priority One: Money!

  I had no clue if my gold s were usable here. Maybe I could exge them somewhere. But if that wasn’t an option, I needed a way to earn local currency.

  Fighting in that dueling stage I overheard people talking about? It was a tempting idea. I was ner to arena fights—the cept was familiar enough. There had to be rewards or betting opportunities involved.

  But that was risky.

  For one, I had no idea how this world’s cultivation system worked. If I showed off something they didn’t like or didn’t uand, I could be branded as an evil existence—which, in Xianxia, teo mean publiemy number one.

  And while Padins were naturally good-alighat wouldn’t stop some self-righteous cultivator fr to exorcise me on principle. clusion: Gather More Intel.

  Yeah, jumping into a fight wasn’t my best mht now. First, I o learn more about this world, its rules, and how people here operated. Once I had a better grasp of my surroundings, I could start making calcuted moves.

  I exhaled, stood up, and adjusted my Lofty Jade Proposition robes. Time to tinue my research elsewhere—

  —until I bumped into someone.

  “Oh, I’m sor—”

  I didn’t eveo finish before the other persoed into furious indignation.

  “DON’T YOU SEE WHO I AM?”

  I blinked as the pudgy, half-drunk young man in front of me turned a shade of red that looked slightly uhy. He was decked out in expensive silk robes embroidered with—you guessed it—golden dragons. The smell of alcohol g to him like a sed skin, and his courtesae peeked over the baly, giggling at the otion.

  The round fellow at the ter gasped, then loudly announced, “You fool! This is Young Master Zhao you speak to, peasant!”

  Ah. So this was the guy who bought everyone drinks.

  Zhao crossed his arms and sneered. “Kowtow, kiss my foot, and beg for fiveness! Or I shall have you thrown into the city jail!”

  I stared at him.

  He stared at me.

  Oh, for the love of—was this a geypical young master situation?!