The cultivation world, I quickly learned, was obsessed with 'face.' Losing face was the ultimate social faux pas. And, naturally, I became a master of it.
My lack of natural talent, combined with my sarcastic modern sensibilities, made me a prime target for the local arrogant young masters. They were like the jocks from a bad 80s movie, only with magic powers and a penchant for monologuing.
One particularly obnoxious young master, Lan Feng, took great pleasure in mocking my struggles. He was everything I wasn't: handsome, talented, and utterly convinced of his own superiority.
"Lan Zhu," he sneered one day, as I was trying (and failing) to lift a rather small rock with my Qi. "Still struggling, are we? Perhaps cultivation is not for everyone."
I gritted my teeth. "Maybe you should try lifting something besides your ego, Lan Feng."
He laughed, a cruel, grating sound. "Such insolence! I could crush you with a flick of my wrist."
Normally, I would have backed down. I knew I was no match for him. But something snapped. Maybe it was the years of repressed frustration, maybe it was the sheer audacity of his arrogance, or maybe it was the fact that I had accidentally sat in a mud puddle and my pants were now soaked.
Whatever the reason, I lost it.
I scrambled to my feet, scooped up a handful of mud, and flung it straight into his face.
The effect was immediate.
Lan Feng froze, his perfect features now smeared with brown muck. He blinked, sputtering. Then, his face turned a shade of red that could rival a volcano.
"You… you dare!" he roared.
He lunged at me, his Qi surging. This was it. I was about to get a taste of real cultivation power.
But then, something unexpected happened.