Book 1 Chapter 11 Apprenticeship
…
He opened the door just enough to see Kang Hana, the Mayor's daughter, standing there. He could not deny that the young woman was a beauty. But she is not that beautiful to be compared to some stars, but beautiful enough to be admired by men.
She was no longer in her ceremonial gear, instead wearing practical leather armor that suited her sharp eyes. Behind her stood two grim-faced guards, their hands resting near their sword hilts.
"Good evening, sir," Hana said, her voice low and serious, cutting through the din of the inn below. "My apologies for the late visit. I am Kang Hana. I need to speak with you."
Her words were calm, but he could feel the hint of authority in them.
"I'm sorry, madam, I don't believe we've met," Rowan replied, forcing a nervous tremble into his voice. "I'm just a humble traveler. I'll be gone at dawn."
"Humble, yes. Traveler, perhaps. But humble men don't move with the quietude of a hunting owl," Hana observed, her eyes scrutinizing his. "May we enter? It's about the beasts."
Rowan hesitated, then reluctantly swung the door open. He did not want any trouble, so he decided to accommodate her. Well, if she caused him trouble, he would not mind letting her feel the power of his two… rocks and the hard stone knife.
He sat back down on the cot, adopting a posture of abject submission, like a rabbit cornered by a fox.
Hana and her guards entered the small, cramped room. The guards positioned themselves near the door, creating an intimidating wall of leather and steel. Hana, however, approached Rowan, her expression earnest.
"I saw you today, sir. You did not cheer for my brother and me," she stated, bypassing pleasantries.
"I—I was overwhelmed, madam," Rowan stammered. "A poor farmer like myself has never seen such a fearsome display."
Hana ignored the sarcasm she likely didn't catch. "The creatures we displayed today… the ones the town is celebrating… they are not the only beasts we found."
She leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Three days ago, while on patrol, my brother and I found two more. The two beasts that drove the others to our borders. A Venomous Squirrel and a Rodenta."
Rowan's mental radar went off like a cheap alarm clock. The Rodenta. A mid-tier Level 1 threat. Nasty little creatures that burrowed. It was also the first type of beast that he killed when he first arrived in this world. The Venomous Squirrel was a bit weaker, but still dangerous for a Martial Body stage cultivator, let alone a mortal. He remembered them, vaguely. They were two of the few corpses he'd left in his wake while frantically trying to escape the Green Willow sect after killing Ro Fung.
"They were massive, sir. Truly demonic," Hana continued, her eyes searching his for a reaction. "But they were dead… Not by blades, and certainly not by anything our town guard possesses. The sheer, raw power required to kill them was horrifying. I have a feeling—a bad feeling—that the creature that killed them is still nearby."
Rowan adopted his best 'deer in headlights' expression. "A monstrous beast that killed another monstrous beast? The heavens protect us!"
"Wait," Hana pressed, holding up a hand. "There were scorch marks and odd indentations—like small, heavy impacts—near the Rodenta corpse. The kind of damage that made no sense. It was clean, efficient violence. We moved the corpses and claimed we killed the smaller beasts to quell the town's panic. But the question remains: Did you kill those two beasts?"
Rowan let out a theatrical, nervous laugh. "Me, madam? I have an old, useless knife in my bag, which I use to cut my vegetables. I'm a farmer, not a warrior. The heaviest thing I've thrown in my life is perhaps an overripe gourd."
He internally winced at the lie. He had thrown his Malignant Marbles—hard, fast, and with the force granted by his system—at those creatures she mentioned. But he dared not claim it. He did not want to be a tall tree that anyone could target. He is new and did not know the power struggles in this place.
Hana observed him, her suspicion unwavering. "My father, the Mayor, values talent, sir. If you possess the strength to fell beasts of that caliber, you would be a savior to this town. We are in danger. The peace you see is superficial."
She then began to speak of her background, her voice laced with the weariness of responsibility that was too heavy for a young woman. "My father, Kang Rolong, raised my brother, Kang Hajin, and me to be swordsmen. He knew our town, while appearing peaceful on the surface, was a constant prey to the fierce beasts outside the walls. Our soldiers bled daily fighting them. But the Venomous Squirrel and the Rodenta… they broke the peace. And I believe the thing that killed them—you, perhaps—is the only thing that can protect us now."
Rowan shook his head slowly, genuinely. "I appreciate your faith, madam, but I am no savior. I want nothing to do with saving anyone, or anything. I just need to find work and keep my head low. I know nothing of demonic beasts, save for what I've been told."
He met her gaze, his own eyes holding a sincerity that transcended his ragged clothes. I am not some hero who can save the day. I am a displaced mortal with a cheating system who needs to stay invisible until I figure out how to get home. He knew he was the strongest entity in this town, but he wanted no part of their struggle.
A look of deep disappointment clouded Hana's features. She had pinned her hopes on this quiet, suspicious stranger.
"I see," she said, rising abruptly. "In that case, I apologize for disturbing your rest. Guards, let us go."
The two guards, who had stood like statues through the entire exchange, filed out of the room. Hana paused at the door, her hand resting on the frame.
"If you change your mind," she said softly, "if you realize that great power comes with great responsibility, you can find me at the Mayor's residence. We need allies. Especially against those who seek to profit from our fear."
With that ominous note, she was gone.
Rowan sighed, the tension draining from his shoulders. Great power and great responsibility? Those words make him shudder. In the movie, the person who said that met his end. This beauty would not die, right?
Rowan could only sigh. Madam, my great power consists of a pair of rocks and a very, very sharp accessory.
He lay back down on the cot. He had survived the first contact. Now, he had to stay low and gather information.
…
Rowan stayed in the Sleepy Lizard Inn for another six days, extending his stay by using the coins he had stolen from Ro Fung. During that week, he learned more about the town's true dynamics. The superficial joy over the dead giant rabbit-sized beasts was a mask for a deeper, more corrosive internal struggle.
The town's government, centered around Mayor Kang Rolong and his allied nobles, was locked in a cold war with a powerful, wealthy individual named Hong Tong. Hong Tong was a tyrannical merchant who controlled the town's primary trade routes and grain stores. He had been slowly leveraging the fear of the 'demonic beasts' to undermine the Mayor, buying up land at rock-bottom prices from fearful residents, and hinting that he, Hong Tong, could provide a 'better' protection force—for a hefty, permanent tax, of course.
It was classic mortal political drama: power, greed, and civic corruption. Rowan was thoroughly disinterested. But what caught his interest was the discovery of a lot of the new flora in the area. He did not have time to learn from them while outside, as he was constantly fearing for his life.
But now, he just needed a way to study the local flora without getting his hands dirtied by the politics in the town.
His attention, mercifully, was diverted from the grubby politics and toward a different sort of establishment: the Green Herb Shop, located on the quiet eastern edge of the town.
Rowan was drawn to it like a moth to a strange, luminous flame. His late mother had been a pharmacist, and he had harbored a similar dream. His identity as Gong Fa, the disgraced disciple of the Green Willow Sect, gave him something else: being able to read through the sect's small dusty library.
He pushed open the creaking wooden door of the shop. A dusty bell above the door gave a tired, single clink.
The shop was a riot of scent and color. Dried roots hung from the ceiling like morbid chandeliers. Jars of preserved petals lined the shelves. The scents were overwhelming—spicy, floral, acrid, and sweet all at once.
Rowan, remembering the vague, frustrating text from the library, began to move through the aisles. The library had described the flora of this world, but the illustrations were poor, and the descriptions often relied on properties that required Qi to detect. Now, he could examine them closely.
'Is this the Blister Root or the Fever Leaf? The text mentioned both have serrated edges, but the Blister Root is supposed to have a slight metallic sheen...'
He pulled down a small, bundled sprig of leaves. It had a faint, intoxicating scent. He had read about something called Moonpetal, a common plant used in early-stage Qi Condensation pills—useless to him, but historically significant. He inspected the delicate veins of the leaf.
He was so engrossed in comparing his memory of the books in the library's cryptic descriptions to the physical specimen that he was unaware of the manager's building irritation.
The manager, a portly man with a perpetually damp handkerchief, watched Rowan manhandle the stock with increasing hostility.
"Oi! You there! Ragged clothes!" the manager finally snapped, waddling over. "Stop fondling the Moonpetal! If you can't afford so much as a pinch of ginger, you shouldn't be treating my stock like a museum exhibit!"
Rowan blinked, startled out of his botanical reverie. "I was just examining the xylem structure. Notice how the fibers run slightly counter-clockwise near the stalk. That suggests a high resistance to root rot, which contradicts the classic Scroll of Verdant Growth notation that states—"
"I don't care about your Scroll of Whatever!" the manager shouted, his face turning the color of an overripe plum. "You're messing up my display! Out! Get out before I call the guard and have you tossed out of this establishment, you peasant with no purpose!"
Just as the manager grabbed Rowan's sleeve, intent on a rough eviction, a calm, measured voice cut across the shop.
"Stop, Master Cui. Leave the young man alone."
A man stepped out from behind a tall screen separating the storefront from the back workshop. This was the shop owner, Elder Jing, a lean man in his late fifties, whose robes were clean, if slightly threadbare, and whose eyes held a sharp, inquisitive spark.
"But Owner Jing, he's touching everything! And rambling on about root rot!" Master Cui whined, releasing Rowan.
Elder Jing ignored the manager, his gaze fixed on Rowan. "You mentioned the Scroll of Verdant Growth notation?"
Rowan nodded, relieved to be speaking to someone who understood the language of academic obscurity. "Yes. I believe the anonymous scholar was mistaken about the resistance properties of the Moonpetal. It's remarkably hardy, provided the topsoil is rich in iron, which would, in turn, explain the counter-clockwise fiber pattern, which provides better tensile strength during high wind."
Elder Jing's eyebrows rose slightly. He walked over to a nearby counter and picked up a small, dark, lumpy tuber.
"You have an eye for detail, young man," Elder Jing stated. "Tell me, if you were asked to use this Black-Veined Tuber—a common medicine for simple bruising—how would you prepare it?"
Rowan looked at the tuber. He didn't need to smell it; the description from the Green Willow library, which he had memorized through his own talent and rigorous training from Earth, where they drill students to memorize everything in the textbooks.
"If used for simple bruising, you would grate it finely and mix it with spring water—no more than a thimbleful—and apply it as a paste," Rowan recited instantly. "However, if the bruising is internal, or if there is suspected nerve damage, you must roast it first on a low fire until the skin cracks, then powder it and mix it with a decoction of Flame Leaf. But only Flame Leaf, never Icecap Blossom—the counter-reactive properties could induce catastrophic internal inflammation."
Master Cui gasped. "Preposterous! It's just for bruises!"
Elder Jing silenced his manager with a subtle wave of his hand. His gaze on Rowan was no longer merely curious—it was impressed. The part about the counter-reactive properties of Icecap Blossom was an advanced piece of knowledge, known only to those who had dedicated years to the practical application of herbalism. The boy's memory was prodigious.
"The Flame Leaf detail… You have studied the medicinal arts deeply," Elder Jing mused, stroking his chin. "But your clothes suggest you're a pauper. Where did you learn such fine distinctions?"
"I… I read a lot of books in my youth, Elder," Rowan replied carefully. "The knowledge just… stuck."
"Nonsense. Knowledge like that is not found in public libraries, even in the capital," Elder Jing said, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. He looked at Rowan, sensing a mystery but choosing to overlook it in favor of practicality. "You have a photographic memory for complex herbal properties, yet you are poor and friendless in a town dominated by a corrupt tyrant and a nervous Mayor."
He clapped his hands once. "Excellent. I like you, young man. You have a good mind, and my manager, Master Cui, has a dreadful one. I am too old to continue running the front of the shop and need someone with a keen eye for quality and memorization."
Elder Jing leaned in, his voice taking on a decisive tone. "I do not care about your past or who you ran from. I care only about the proper use of these plants. I will offer you lodging in the back, a simple meal, and a few coppers a week. In return, I will teach you the practical secrets of the Medicinal Path. What say you? My name is Jing, and this shop is the only place in Slow Turtle Town that might actually keep your head out of trouble—or at least, occupied with something more useful than staring at a dead rodent."
Rowan paused. This was an opportunity he hadn't dared hope for—a chance to align his academic memory with practical experience, fulfilling his mother's dream in this strange new world, all while maintaining a perfect, inconspicuous cover.
He bowed low, the picture of grateful humility. "Elder Jing, I accept. My name is Rowan."
"Good. Now, Rowan," Elder Jing said, turning back toward his workshop, "go wash that mud off yourself. We start with the proper grinding technique for Wind-Wisp Seeds—a trivial task, but one that requires absolute precision. And Master Cui," he added, glancing at the sputtering manager, "you are to leave the boy alone. He is now my apprentice."
Master Cui grumbled under his breath, but obeyed. Rowan, shedding his fake persona of a worried traveler, felt a genuine warmth for the first time since he arrived. He had found his quiet corner in the turbulent world of immortals and peasants—a sanctuary built on a mountain of memorized, forgotten knowledge. He still had his Malignant Marbles and his Stone Knife, but perhaps now, he could trade in his identity as a makeshift warrior for that of an herb boy.
The irony, as always, was delicious. Han Rowan, the man who was too strong to be a mortal and too weak to be a cultivator, was now an herbal apprentice in a town that paraded a large rabbit as a 'demonic beast.'