Destruction of the Hole’s core flung us across the states into a place with rolling slopes of abandoned fields interspersed by rare smatterings of trees and old tilted barns. Unfortunately I’d been in an asylum for criminally insane during the US geography lectures, and Kevin was a weeaboo. Thus, despite us squeezing our brains with maximum energy [Big Brain] and [300 IQ Gentleman Intellectualism], the most accurate estimation we reached was that we were somewhere far away from Hiu Le.
A conspirational farmhand told us this was the Sunflower State, a disconcerting reminder that the Xianxia invasion was slowly replacing the original names of places and people. We followed the man’s directions and paused for lunch and to strategize our next move at a small roadside restaurant filled to the brim with people and a sizzling scent of heart disease.
We’d barely been served, when a voice interrupted, “Place needs more seats! Mind if I…?”
“Of course not. Have a seat,” I instinctively replied to the stranger, before Kevin’s Neckbeard instincts had him hissing at the man. Kevin moved one of the skybeast-monstergirl dakimakuras he’d salvaged onto his lap to make free space. The young man took a baseball-cap off of his short black hair and let out a breath of deep relief while leaning against the plastic cushioned backrest.
“Someone’s had a good day,” I noted.
“Hard work’s good work, Ollie Turner.”
“Titan Maximus Chadman.”
We exchanged handshakes, and Ollie turned to offer one to Kevin, who, reluctantly, accepted.
“When the realm of the Internet reigned supreme, they called me DarkArtsMasterKevin, or Neckbeardman69, though I doubt you’ll know either of these names. Call me…” Kevin stroked his beard, leaning back. “Mysterious Stranger.”
It was a testament to Kevin’s advancement that every morsel of Neckbeard Dao released by his display of violently edgy Neckbeardness was collected and contained within his core. Had I not known the truth and the measure of his power, I would have thought him simply an exceptionally edgy obese weeaboo in a trenchoat. Control such as that was one of the fundamental differences between our Daos. A Neckbeard, even a Chadbeard variant, could conceal their power, where a Chad could not. Not even if doing so was nearly guaranteed to end up in moments that generated immense amounts of Big Dick energy.
Not that Ollie or the other patrons would have noticed either way. Those like him with the poise of cultivators about them had blood splatters on clothes and mundane guns at their hips. At best they were spirit realm cultivators at best. Unable to sense Dao, they would not see us as anything but a regular old Chad and Neckbeard.
My suspicions were confirmed when the man eased off his jacket and placed a badge on the table. A jade sword marked with three orbits and two stars. Third realm. Second stage. What caught me curious was the text in Xianxia above it.
Sheriff, Kevin translated in morse code.
“Well, Titan, Neckbeardman69, if those even are your real names. What has me mighty curious is what brings two Dao cultivators such as yourselves to our little town of Wheatworth.”
Clattering of utensils silenced. Stools creaked and gazes turned.
“What gave us away?” I asked.
He gestured at us, lips pursed. “Well…” He continued gesturing at us. “...roughly speaking.” More gesturing at us. “Call it a hunch.”
“Ah, good instincts,” I said.
“Perhaps next time you shall heed my advice, old friend, and wear a shirt.”
“I would, but It’s hard to find anything Chad enough.”
“Might I interest you in a shirt of the aheago variety?”
“That would be Chadbeard territory. Maybe if we find a shop that sells bright neon tank-tops, but that’s a matter for later.” I turned back to Ollie. “We’re passing through. You don’t happen to have any buses or trains that go to Florida?”
“Passing through.” Ollie nodded, stiffening ever so slightly. “Wheatworth’s been through things recently. Cultivators. Banditry. Monsters. A lot’s changed since tractors plowed these fields, and though we take some pride in it, there’s something to be said about good men and women growing tired of paying a price for showing warm hospitality.” He pointed a thumb at a wall.
Next to the door, onto a sculpted wooden placard bearing the symbols of Hiu Dynasty, was pinned a blurry, but recognizable photograph of a gigachad. It read, ‘Sixth Head of the Gigachad Sect, wanted dead.’ The bounty promised was marriage to a prince or princess of the Hiu Dynasty, enough cultivation reagents to reach the saint realm, and enough gold to… I wasn’t too knowledgeable about the value of gold, but I assume it was a significant sum. More importantly, both the muscular bulges of my body and the chiseled angles of my face were a perfect match for that blurry image.
I sniffed the air using [Big Brain] to shift through the scents of sweat, grill, and beer to analyze the wanted poster. The ink was fresh. 12 days old at most. My heart did several push-ups from sheer joy.
There were no guarantees, of course. My first memory of Sixth was of him casually using an [Alpha Walk] technique to step through a crack in the Ream of Dao. He could likely travel from one side of the world to another in the blink of an eye. But still my heart continued to do push ups, as a primal Chadly feeling crept up my muscles. Closest I could compare it to was being almost within hearing range of a bruh in a loud party.
I spoke to the sheriff. “We ended up here by accident and will leave once we’ve finished our meal. You can relax. Despite whatever the forces that usurped your country may have told you, Dao cultivators such as us are on the side of Earth. We will not raise a hand against your wonderful little town.”
“That’s good.” Ollie’s fingers slipped under his belt, his face remained tense. “A relief actually, ‘cos I’m going to have to ask you, politely, to step outside and wait until we can get a Dynasty Governor’s representative over.”
If the restaurant had gone quiet before, now it held its breath. A man two tables over swallowed. Another in the far corner touched the leather of his holster. Sheriff Turner raised his eyes and managed to match my gaze. Bright green, his eyes, squinted with tension and warred with fear and worry. He’d not reached for his gun, though the fingers of his right hand kept twitching.
His action generated a wisp of Big Dick energy.
“You’re an impressive man, Sheriff Turner,” I admitted, finishing three burgers in rapid succession. “Would you like to join the Alpha Cultivation sect?”
“Thank you, but no thank you. Wheatworth’s better off without none of that.”
I grimaced.
We’d touched on this topic briefly while waiting for our burgers, but it was another thing to see it with my own eyes. Hope had been dying a slow death for years here, strangled by apathetic indifference of tyranny. Cultivators were unforgiving, temperamental, and several shades of insane by the clinical definition, which made them nearly indistinguishable from old Earth politicians.
To an average American, the switch might’ve even been positive. They were willing to put up with bowing to a rare Young Master or Mistress, if it meant access to Xianxia magics, improved health, and potential immortality. This was the country where fantasies of hard work and self improvement were the most potent. To Americans, the actual real self improvement of cultivation, however limited, was the realization of their deepest most repressed fantasies.
I would need to find a way to sway the development of this public sentiment. To battle the likes of Celestial Emperor, I would need the entire Earth to see me as a benevolent figure. Seeing me as a random murderhobo or a bully lashing out against authority would stifle Big Dick energy generation.
An act of true Chadness today would cost me greater Chadness tomorrow. The irony of it being the antithesis of my cultivation path was not lost on me.
Overcoming it would be a challenge.
“I understand if you’re under a souloath or threat to take us down. In such case, please give it your best shot, Sheriff Turner. You have our word that no harm will come to your or your constituents.” I nodded at Kevin.
With a flourish of supernatural gentlemanliness, he took off his hat and bowed. “Aye, ‘tis I too swear to you, as Kevin Chadberd, the First head of Neckbeard sect.”
We returned to our food.
The restaurant drew a rasping breath. A bead of sweat trickled down the sheriff’s forehead. He exchanged looks with the other diners at various stages of Qi cultivation. “Ma’am. Sir. I’m sorry to ask this of you, but…”
“It’s fine, son,” the restaurant owner replied.
Sheriff Turner nodded through a frown. “Damages will be compensated.”
Non-cultivators and foundation realm cultivators scurried out of the restaurant.
Twenty-three remained, armed with Qi and spirit reinforced bullets. All of them were second and third realm. All of them Earthborn citizens of the United States.
Stolen novel; please report.
Guns left their holsters. Twenty three barrels pointed at our skulls.
“As a Hiu Dynasty appointed Sheriff of Wheatworth, this Ollie Turner declares you under arrest,” the sheriff said, mimicking cultivator speech. “You are to raise your hands, get on the floor, and submit immediately, or face execution.”
I swallowed protein, placed down my fork and knife, and called on my Chad Core. Big Dick energy swelled, empowering every aspect of my body and being. I channeled half of the flow to my eyes, activating [Eyes of the Alpha].
My Chadness swept across the room. Everything from the gunmen, to the photographs, to the stuffed catfish on the wall met my eyes. My voice, when I spoke, resounded with the deep rumble of a thousand deadlifts.
“Don’t miss, we’d prefer you don’t wreck such a nice establishment.”
“FIRE!”
Barrels barked. Lead flew. Gunpowder and smoke billowed. Qi-techniques woven into bullets sparked with bright colors, a few of them taking on aspects of beasts and myth, turning projectiles into things of magic that could no doubt punch through tanks and turn bunker walls into sand.
But we were neither tanks nor bunkers.
I opted to treat the situation as neck warmup, using [Big Brain] accelerated thinking and Big Dick energy empowered neck muscles to catch every bullet with my forehead wrinkles.
“Yare yare daze,” muttered Kevin in weeaboo. Beside me, a cheap replica katana reforged anew in Neckbeard sweat and d*rito dust, left its sheath for a fraction of an instant.
When the gunfire ceased and the smoke cleared we left a generous tip on the table and walked out, bidding goodbye and good luck to the Sheriff and his gunmen. Half of the bullets they’d fired were blunted and sat on my platter. The other half were sliced in perfect halves.
“Kevin…” I began. We were two hours south of Wheatworth, walking on an abandoned highway. On both sides of the road, corn stalks grow unnaturally tall and crooked. A patch of woodland looked more like a thicket of hungry witches turned to trees than a forest. For an hour now, ever since we passed the ‘Beware of Monsters’ sign, I’d noted that three barns had slowly crept closer and kept pace with us.
“...do you ever doubt whether we’ll succeed? Whether we’re already too late?”
We walked on. Barns crept closer. Sound akin to a crow mating with a chainsaw screeched and the corns rustled in the wind.
My friend adjusted his fedora. “Often. It is in the nature of a Neckbeard to brood and ponder such questions. The sole absolute certainty I have is my devotion to my waifus. Why, is the mighty Chad hesitating?”
“I have become physically incapable of it. It is why I ask. But I still remember what it was like. There was a certain… relief to be had in questioning whether your act was right. No hesitation. No regrets. A splendid mantra for muscle building. It doesn’t lend itself so well to figuring out how to steer Earth out of slowly killing itself.”
“Whatever happened to ‘we are more than memes’?” Kevin grinned, smug as ever.
I replied with a chuckle. “We are, but the memes grow stronger as we progress. Moreso than before, I foresee future actions in conflict with the Chaddest action available. Even now, a part of my core yearns to enter the local Hiu dynasty establishment and establish Chadness by casually benching their young masters. If this continues, advancing on the path of Chadness may become more about playing the role than freeing the Earth. I may yet lose myself.”
“Aye, the darkness of Dao beckons in every path,” Kevin acknowledged, casually unsheathing his blade. “As my power grows, so must my waifu harem and my dedication to it. A whole year I spent in agony excruciating over Silent Feather’s imprisonment. Still, to this day, her fate weighs heavily on my thoughts.”
“That’s normal. I would be pretty pissed if something happened to Nelly too. Was pissed.”
“My apologies, I was not myself back then.”
“It’s in the past, brother.”
Kevin flicked his wrist and the barns that had grown closer were slashed in half a hundred yards from us. With the wooden structure split open, I saw the body underneath. A black mass of hundred limbs without head or mouth had been using the barn as a carapace. Two halves became two smaller blobs. Having shedded the barn disguises, the monsters accelerated towards us at a blurring speed.
I drew a slow breath and spoke the words that had been on my mind since leaving the restaurant. “Earth would survive a thousand years, even if we did nothing. Many would live happier for it. I am Chad, and so it is natural for me to face the bully. You are a neckbeard, and so you defend your m’lady. But I wonder if there could be an alternative path to a free Earth than the fist and the blade.”
My idle [Alpha Slap] slammed into the half-barn sized monster and splattered it across seven cornfields. Five consecutive [Alpha Slaps] reduced the pack of barn mimics into a black puddle.
Kevin sheathed his blade with flourish. “Color me my interest piqued and do proceed with this philosophizing.”
“Celestial Emperor and his people care nothing of the worlds they conquer. Their eyes are on the memetic inheritances and potential Daos they may adopt to further empower themselves. If the Sigma cultivator turns out to be what he seeks, we could arrange a trade with the Celestial Emperor.”
“First it was the rare pepes, then cameth the unholy host of NFTs, and now we trade secrets of the Sigma for a World,” Kevin pronounced dramatically. “But would the Sigma agree?”
“We cannot know for certain. If they are profit-maxing the way I suspect, they would be interested with anything that gets them closer to ‘the top’.”
“Mmh. And should the plan fail?”
“We would employ the final contingency,” I said sagely.
Neckbeardman turned in shock. “Masaka!?”
“I believe so, brother. If Sigma cultivator cannot be reasoned with, we would have to arrange the final meme tournament. By leg-days, I pray it does not come to that.”
***
Grind o’ clock, 10 miles above Downtown Manhattan at Temple of Gemlight.
“Though Dao are paths wide and ever branching, the beginning of the trail is always defined by the footprints of the first. For most, this decision is made before their time. For others, it is made by their underlying character. Rare few have stood where you now stand, John Sigmar, at the first step of a Dao yet to be fully defined. Many choices await you, young John Sigman on this path of enlightenment. First, this one must present you a choice…” Ruby eyes of the elderly Hiu cultivator snapped open with a throb of power, swirling his wispy beard and flowing scarlet silks as the man levitated in lotus position.
“Tea or caufee?” he asked, as a servant girl entered the vast hall, carrying a platter of refreshments.
John Sigman was a master of his mind and body and suppressed a spasm of irritation that came whenever he was wasting precious grinding time. He flashed a bright smile at the elderly cultivator. “Coffee. Black with three spoons of caffeine, three hundred milligrams of adderall.”
They were served, the elder a tiny cup of ambler and he a cup of a black. Never one to waste time, John Sigman inhaled caffeine in one breath. “Back to the lesson.”
“Aah.” the elder leaned back, stroking his beard. “And therein is the first step. So Dao of Sigma is to be a path of restlessness?”
“No. There is only grinding and wasting, and I don’t do wasting. Let’s get on with the lesson. I have a busy schedule.”
The sigma schedule, a holy time table taught to him by a youtube hustler. One that John had since honed to absolute perfection by staying true to the grind and never letting up.
The elder continued to ‘aah’ and ‘ooh’ mysteriously, still stroking his beard and nodding to himself like he’d figured out some great secret of life. “At extremes, virtue and vice walk hand in hand. Speed, though advantageous, may prove one day to be a detriment. Keep this in mind, young Sigman, as you cultivate your Dao further, and you may find the golden path in the middle.”
John Sigman gestured him to move on.
“Aah. Yes, yes. Dao energies and their applications, it is always these lessons the young-uns are drawn to like ducks to a bread-pond. This one senses that you are already at the cusp of sensing your Dao energy. The secret to accumulating more is performing actions aligned with the core of your Dao, and this is a secret you must yourself find through diligent cultivation and enlightenment.”
John Sigman already knew the answer and gestured him to hurry up. “I’m losing money and gains sitting here, old man.”
“Hmph!” the elder scoffed. “Were this one not oathbound to honor a name any lesser than Eternal Pearl of Hiu Dynasty, your impudence would find you struck like a duck in a pit fight. Be warned, John Sigman, even those who wield the Dao must abide by the rules of face and honor.”
“Money is power and power is the only rule that matters. I have power over you, so keep it going, or I’ll complain to Eternal Pearl and you’ll find yourself stripped of this face you so appreciate, old beta male.”
The only sign of the elder’s composure cracking was the pause in the stroking of his beard. He hmpfed again, and continued, “Application of Dao energies is a simple matter of reinforcing the core tenets of your Dao. What is it, that your Dao energy achieves? What are its properties? What are the questions it poses to the world and the demands it makes of reality? To know the answer to these is to know the methods with which to craft new Dao abilities. And although the path we walked to obtain Dao differs from those of Memetic cultivators such as yourself, this part of the cultivation is identical between us and you. For example.”
Something stirred in the air. The old beta male’s eyes glazed over with the coldest of reds as crystalline lattice ran over his fingers, transforming a hand into a claw of ruby. That stirring intensified to the point the room dimmed and the world itself grew rigid as the reflective gemstones of the man’s eyes.
“[Captivate],” spoke the elder, and a gemstone of peerless beauty spawned from nothingness. It rotated slowly atop his palm, its perfectly polished facets gleamed with fleeting glimmers of inner light and its complex geometry defied comprehension, always revealing new impossible depths the moment your brain thought it had taken in the whole of the gem’s beauty.
It shattered in the elder’s ruby claw and John Sigman gasped a choking breath of air as free thoughts returned to his brain after being held prisoner by the technique.
“So, as you forge your Dao techniques, young Sigman, ask this of yourself: What is the essence of my cultivation? What is the essence of being a Sigma.”
That night, after a work-out session and several relaxing hours of hustling, a seed of an idea in John Sigman’s head finally formulated into a concrete plan of action. There was a week of Dao tutoring left, and he had no intention of not squeezing such a valuable resource till it was dry, but John was a man of action, and he simply couldn’t not multitask.
Not when he sensed a hustle to end all hustles in the making.
Dao powers were essentially the steroids of cultivation (which John naturally used for better gains). All you needed was to play along a role recognized by the world’s subconscious, and free power was handed to you. And if John knew a thing or two about power and the laws of Capitalism, which he did because he had studied all the greats, he was in a position to leverage his knowledge and resources like no hustler in the history of hustling.
If all went according to his plan, which it would, because it always did, cultivators wouldn’t even know what hit them, before they’d be swimming hip deep in Dao cultivators.
Being business partners with Eternal Pearl already put him well on his way to freeing up the old internet that the Hiu Dynasty had banned. And once he did, the memes could flow. Their effects would be too subtle and cunning for the cultivators to realize that behind those derpy caricatures hid a subliminal message ready to be hammered into their skulls through repetition of endless scrolling.
Now all he required were a few hapless Dao cultivators to compare notes with so that he could ensure success.
Between Grind o’ clock a.m. and Grind o’ clock p.m., Sigman took a moment off of the hustle to admire the plans he had drawn on a napkin next to two other business plans. Encoded beneath three layers of buzz-word hype lingo, they described the scheme for organizing a multi-level rugpull tournament and a viral grindset online course that would turn him into the richest and most powerful being in existence.
