"Well, today is finally the day," I mutter quietly to myself as I drive along the relatively quiet roads.

  That old man told me to meet him back at the flea market on the first Sunday of November. Hard to believe it’s been nearly a month already—it feels like just yesterday I was grinding away at my dead-end job, just trying to get through the day. And now? I’m already a cultivator in the second stage of the first realm.

  I don’t exactly have anything to compare it to, but that seems like pretty good progress for a new cultivator with no teacher, right? Well, technically, I only managed to break into the first realm on my own. Getting lucky enough to find a pile of Spirit Stones in the brooch’s spatial storage is what really pushed me into the second stage.

  Too bad I could only grab one stone before they all suddenly disappeared. I’m still trying to figure that out, but the more I think about it, the more I worry that the brooch might be haunted. After all, it would explain the creepy vibes I’ve been getting ever since picking it up—not to mention that sinister old geezer who was after it. He definitely had the “villainous treasure hunter” vibe, so it wouldn’t be shocking if the thing he wanted turned out to be some spooky, haunted artifact.

  Whatever. No use dwelling on the past. What’s that old saying? Ten years isn’t too late for a gentleman to take revenge?

  Well, I wouldn’t call myself a gentleman, but I definitely wouldn’t mind knocking that old man down a peg if I ever get the chance.

  As I pull up to the flea market, I can’t help but notice how quiet it is. Maybe the weather’s a bit too cold for a bustling crowd today? Looking up at the clouds, I wouldn’t be surprised if we get rain soon. We could certainly use it—it hasn’t rained much this year.

  Anyway, I guess it doesn’t really matter how busy the market is. I’m just here to meet that mysterious old man. At first, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to come back at all, but realistically, if he had wanted to harm me, he didn’t need to wait a whole month to do it.

  It’s not like I know any other cultivators—aside from that evil old bastard who tried to rob me. Wait, actually, he *did* rob me. Even if I shamelessly talked him into giving me some cash at the end, it was still a robbery, right? It’s not like I *wanted* to trade those rings with him.

  Sure, I was planning to sell them for much less than what he ended up paying, but intentions matter, right? Either way, he definitely threatened me, so it counts.

  As I wander through the market looking for the old man, it dawns on me—he never actually told me where to meet him. He just said, “Meet me back at the flea market on the first Sunday of November.” So, I I guess I’ll just head over to where I’d set up my stall last time. Seems like the logical place to start.

  I wonder what time he’s planning to show up? Didn’t we meet pretty late in the day last time? Oh well—patience is a virtue, right? I could always kill time cultivating… Wait, no, that’d be dumb.

  The old man made it clear I should stay low-key unless I want to attract more powerful cultivators. Been there, done that. Getting robbed isn’t exactly my hobby.

  When I reach the area where I’d set up before, I can’t help but glance at where Greg’s stall was. He’s a regular here, so I figured he might be in the same spot—but he’s not.

  A shiver runs down my spine. It’s not like Greg and I were close or anything. He was just my chatty stall neighbor for a day, and later I helped him out of a jam, delivering an antique. That led to me finding the brooch and eventually being robbed by that shady art dealer.

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  Still, things didn’t turn out so bad. I got a magical brooch that works like a storage ring—though I can’t fully trust it, given how Spirit Stones mysteriously vanish from it. I also snagged a short sword and came up with the ‘Karmic Exchange’ technique. Plus, when I got robbed, that old bastard literally threw $2,300 at me. Sure, my ego took a hit, but if you set that aside, I came out on top.

  “I wonder what happened to Greg…” I mutter to myself.

  “Who’s Greg?”

  Startled, I spin around to face the voice behind me, stepping back instinctively.

  My eyes widened in surprise. I didn’t even hear him approach—and my senses have *definitely* improved since breaking into the second stage. This geezer is sneaky.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re thinking something rude?” the old man says, narrowing his eyes slightly.

  I let out a dry laugh. “Just your imagination. You startled me, that’s all.”

  “Hmm. Well, we’ll leave it at that. Your reaction times aren’t half bad, and neither is your progress, especially in such a short time,” he replies with a smirk.

  I smile, pleased by the praise. “I’m glad to hear that. I don’t really have a frame of reference, so I wasn’t sure if I was making good progress or not.”

  “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Haste makes waste, after all. If you want something fast, don’t expect it to be good. And if you want something good, don’t expect it to be fast. Comparing your cultivation to others isn’t wise. What I’m praising is the care you’ve taken. Your foundations are solid—I’m glad you took my first lesson to heart.”

  So that’s how it is. This wasn’t a test of talent but of patience. He wanted to see if I could cultivate steadily without rushing. I nod in understanding.

  “Good—you’ve realized it,” the old man says, smiling. “You passed. At the very least, I’ve determined you’re not someone who recklessly pursues progress at the cost of wasting your potential.”

  “Does that mean you’re willing to help me?”

  The old man chuckles warmly. “You’re clever. You didn’t ask if I’d teach you, only if I’d help.”

  “Well, we barely know each other,” I reply with a wry smile. “While I’d appreciate guidance, it’s too early for me to accept you as a teacher—and I imagine you feel the same about accepting me as a student.”

  “You’re quite straightforward, aren’t you?”

  “Trust can’t be forged in deceit,” I reply.

  “Well said,” he says, gesturing for me to follow.

  “So, what should I call you?”

  “Names are powerful, in the mortal world and even more so in the cultivation world,” he replies mysteriously.

  “Well, I can’t just keep calling you ‘old man.’ That’s confusing—especially since I’m feuding with another old man.”

  He shoots me a disbelieving look. “Is that what you’ve been calling me in your head? I take back my compliments—you’re a wicked young man. Do I really look that old to you?”

  Oops. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that out loud. How was I supposed to know a powerful cultivator would be sensitive about his age?

  “Cough. Well, it’s not that you *look* old—it’s your aura of wisdom, a testament to your cultivation.”

  “...”

  The not-at-all-old man stares at me speechlessly before finally responding. “We’ll leave it at that… Some things are better left unsaid.”

  I can only nod awkwardly, racking my brain for a topic shift.

  “You’ve run into trouble, haven’t you?” he asks, saving me from my own thoughts. “You don’t look worse for wear, but I assume you were caught by another cultivator after doing something too eye-catching?”

  “Well… not exactly. I just happened to have a few cultivation-related items on me, and someone sensed them. You could say it’s my fault for having wealth without strength to protect it.”

  “Hmm. In the future, take care to conceal their aura. Cultivation treasures are valuable—many would rob you for them.”

  “That’s a good point. I just didn’t think of it—or know how,” I admit.

  “That’s why I’ll teach you a few small techniques to help you stay low-key,” he replies.

  “Is that where we’re headed now?” I ask excitedly.

  “Yes. It’s just a short walk. We’ll have privacy, and I’ll impart them to you there.”