I woke up to sunlight spilling across my room, feeling a weird mix of nerves and excitement. Today’s the day. Two whole weeks of preparation had somehow flown by, and I was finally about to see my very first cultivator market in this world.

  Swinging my legs off the bed, I did a quick mental check: storage pouch? Yup. Spirit stones? Certainly more than the five “originals” from Dad. (Thank you, infinite system store.) Scrolls for note-taking? Probably stuffed somewhere in my bedroom’s messy desk drawers. Well, I’d find them soon enough.

  A brisk knock sounded on the door. Mom poked her head in. “Good, you’re up. We’re leaving in an hour.”

  “An hour?” I yawned, rolling my shoulders. “What happened to ‘eight o’clock sharp’?”

  “It’s already 7:30,” she deadpanned, “and you look half-asleep. Hurry, or we’ll leave you behind.”

  I shot her a mock gre. “You’d never—”

  She pointed a slipper at me. “Don’t test me.” Where the Hell did she get that slipper?

  Watching her vanish into the hallway, I couldn’t help a grin. Mom’s half-jokes still carried the subtle threat of “I’ll toss you in the courtyard if you dawdle.” Stretching out the kinks in my arms, I hurried to get dressed. The market, I reminded myself, finally. But before I zipped too far into the future, my mind drifted back to everything that had happened in these st two weeks…

  I’d spent the entire morning hunched over a desk, practicing that same runic “Light” sigil. I’d improved enough to maintain the glow for a full minute, which had me feeling downright smug—until Dad decided to introduce me to a new rune for illusions. That lesson turned out to be significantly more chaotic.

  I still remember Dad’s amused expression when my illusions repeatedly flickered between “cute bunny” and “giant fish.” Not exactly threatening.

  “Son, what are you aiming for this time?” he’d asked, choking back ughter.

  “A tiger! I swear I’m picturing a fierce tiger!”

  “Well,” he’d said, pointing to the comedic fish-bunny hybrid floating in the air, “your Qi begs to differ.”

  Meanwhile, Mom checked in every so often, usually after the crash of something toppling or the smell of singed parchment. She teased me mercilessly—but also gave constructive tips on stance and breath control. I even got a surprise cameo from my aunt (Mom’s side) who dropped by for tea and nearly spat it out when she saw me conjuring half-fish illusions. My dignity may never recover.

  A few days ter…

  With sorcery practice in the mornings, I’d pivot to sparring after lunch—though Mom thankfully took it a bit easier on me. She focused more on refining my technique than pummeling me, which I appreciated.

  “Your footwork is still sloppy,” she’d say, tapping my ankle with her sword’s ft. “Bance, Jason!”

  “I’m trying!” I’d mutter, cursing as I nearly tripped on the training mat. Still, I wasn’t getting flipped as often, so… progress?

  Toward the end of the first week…

  I discovered a potential gold mine (literally) when I tried selling a small refining furnace to my system store. Dad had lent me a simple furnace to attempt forging a talisman holder. It was nothing special—just a metal container about the size of a soup can—but I realized if I “sampled” the furnace, I could buy more copies with my infinite points. Now I own a personal army of identical furnaces. Not that I had immediate pns to open an eBay for magical tools, but it was comforting to know the option existed.

  By the second week…

  I managed to conjure illusions that vaguely resembled actual animals (though I’d be lying if I said the heads weren’t occasionally too big or tails occasionally too short). Dad called it “charming progress.” Mom called it “weirdly adorable.” Still, I was proud—my Qi control was getting better each day.

  I also stocked up on a few carefully chosen items for the market. Since I didn’t want to draw suspicion, I only replicated a modest number of spirit stones. But I did make sure to have enough that if I spotted anything super valuable, I could snap it up no problem. After all, Dad said this market drew a variety of wanderers and rogue cultivators—there was no telling what they might bring.

  All in all, the two weeks flew by in a blur of illusions, minor forging attempts, and short but intense sparring sessions. I’d colpsed into bed each night feeling drained, but also oddly fulfilled. Hard work had never been my style in my old life—but in this one, with immortality and power on the line, it was different.

  “Hey!” Dad’s voice jolted me out of my memories. He stood in the hallway, tapping his foot. “We’re set to leave in five minutes. Your mother’s already outside.”

  “Five minutes?” I yelped. “What about my breakfast?”

  He shrugged. “We’ll grab something on the road or buy food at the market. You’re not a first-stage weakling anymore; you can handle a te meal.”

  I made a face but knew arguing was pointless. Instead, I hastily snatched my scroll case from the desk, stuffed a few coins (and a discrete handful of spirit stones) into my pouch, and ran to the door. Dad was waiting with an amused smile.

  “Your illusions have come along nicely,” he said as we walked outside to meet Mom. “Hoping to see more fish-bunnies, or have you improved?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m conjuring actual tigers now, old man—watch your step or I’ll let it loose on you.”

  “Tigers, is it?” he teased. “I look forward to the show.”

  Outside, Mom was already astride a sword—hovering a foot off the ground, arms crossed. “Finally.” She beckoned me over. “Got everything?”

  I patted my pouch. “Yep. Ready to go.” Then I grinned. “Let’s see how this cultivator market compares to the ones in all those web novels I read in my past li—uh, I mean, that I imagined. Let’s just say I’m excited.”

  Mom gave me a curious look but didn’t press for an expnation. Dad hopped onto his own flying artifact—an elegant short staff that glowed with faint runes. I, being the unfortunate rookie, had to piggyback on Mom’s flight sword for the time being. Someday, I’ll manage flight on my own, I swore silently, stepping onto the bde behind her.

  “All right,” she said, powering up the sword. “Hang on tight.”

  I clung to her waist just as the sword rose smoothly into the air. Dad zoomed after us, the wind ruffling his coat. A thrill shot through me as we gained altitude—my second time flying out of the cn’s territory, and it still felt like an adrenaline rush. Soon, I’ll be at an actual cultivator market. My mind buzzed with anticipation: exotic pills, forging materials, weird talismans, maybe even bizarre magical creatures. The possibilities were endless.

  “Eyes up front,” Mom chided, noticing my daydreaming gaze. “We’ll be there in an hour or two.”

  I nodded, exhaling a puff of excitement. Two weeks of intense training behind me, a new skill set in illusions, and a stash of spirit stones quietly gleaned from the system… If that wasn’t a recipe for a good market trip, I didn’t know what was.

  Let the adventure begin.