His steps carried him back from the noise of the main streets.
As he walked through the wooden gates of the Thousand Steps Guild, Wei Changfeng was already standing in the courtyard. Seeing his son walk in from outside, Changfeng's brow furrowed immediately. He walked over, brushing dust from his calloused hands.
"You wandered too far, Liang-er," Changfeng said. "Your body isn't ready for the cold air yet."
Wei Liang did not answer. He only looked at his father in silence.
Changfeng exhaled slowly at the blank look in his son's eyes. He reached into his robe and pulled out a thin book with a faded blue cover.
"Instead of wearing yourself out wandering without purpose, use your time for this," Changfeng said. "Train your breathing. At the very least, if something happens to the guild while I'm away... you'll have enough strength to run."
Wei Liang lowered his head and accepted the book.
This was not a gift to make him a great cultivator. It was the desperate instinct of a pack leader trying to protect his weakest member.
"Go to your room," Changfeng said quietly, then turned back toward his wagons.
---
Wei Liang went inside. When he reached his room, he sat cross-legged on the creaking wooden bed.
The cultivation manual looked cheap. Its pages were yellowed and bound with coarse thread. On the first page, a basic guide described the rules of this world: In this world, qi is the foundation of everything. Strength, wealth, and long life are determined by how much natural energy one can draw in and contain within the body.
He let the book fall open in his lap. He closed his eyes and began regulating his breath according to the basic diagram.
In his previous life, a single exhale had been enough to freeze a sea.
Now, his young body responded like a fishing net thrown to catch wind. Nothing caught. No warmth stirred in his meridians.
More than that, he could feel the qi in this room. The energy existed. It moved. But when it approached Wei Liang's body, its flow divided.
Like a river current flowing around an ancient stone that had always been there.
Wei Liang opened his eyes. He closed the manual and threw it into the corner of the room. Spending time forcing an energy flow was inefficiency.
---
He got up and walked back out to the guild courtyard.
The yard was thick with drifting dust. Dozens of men moved back and forth, hauling crates, shouting orders, arguing over ration shares. Wei Liang leaned against a wooden pillar of the veranda. His eyes moved, recording everything in silence.
Iron crates were stacked on the right side of the second wagon. The load was unbalanced. The right wheel would break if they crossed muddy ground. Time wasted: half a day.
His gaze shifted to the guard formation.
The spear guard on the left stood directly in the blind spot of the sword guard behind him. If arrows came from the ridgeline, the two would block each other. An unnecessary death.
He looked at the leather map being argued over by two escort captains.
They were choosing a detour to avoid a local sect's tax post. The rations and supplies burned on a three-day detour far exceeded the value of the tax itself. If they split the cargo into two smaller groups and paid the post guards privately in silver coins, they would save time, manpower, and risk.
In his mind, Wei Liang had rewritten the guild's entire logistics strategy and routing in under five minutes.
He did not open his mouth.
---
"Liang-er."
Wei Liang turned. His father had just stepped out of his office. In the moment before the door closed behind him, Wei Liang's ears caught the heavy click of a lock.
He tilted his head slightly. His nose caught a faint trace. Old metal. And very dry dust.
"Father has to go to the Golden Crane Guild this afternoon," Changfeng said, straightening his collar. "You should stay"
"I'm coming," Wei Liang cut in.
Changfeng paused, looking at his son's flat expression. Then he nodded. "All right. Watch how I speak. One day, you'll be the one doing this."
---
Half an hour later, they sat in the receiving room of the Golden Crane Guild. The floors were laid with polished ebony. Far more luxurious than Thousand Steps.
Guild Master Zhao, a heavyset man with a thin mustache, poured tea into Changfeng's cup with a wide smile.
"Brother Wei! No need to stand on ceremony. We are brothers on the same road," Zhao said warmly. "I've heard about your trouble with the Wind Pavilion. Your northern routes are being watched, aren't they? Let me take over three of your northern contracts this month. You can rest your guards, and the clients won't be disappointed."
Wei Changfeng exhaled with relief, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "You are very generous, Brother Zhao. I won't forget this."
"Ah, think nothing of it! Drink."
Wei Changfeng sipped his tea with a grateful smile.
Beside him, Wei Liang had not touched his cup.
In ten seconds, he had read the entire room. The tea in his father's cup produced no steam, served cold deliberately. A concealed discourtesy. The two guards near the door stood with hands relaxed near their sword hilts, but their stances were angled to block the exit, not the entrance.
And Guild Master Zhao. His pupils had expanded the moment Changfeng agreed to hand over the northern routes.
Changfeng set down his cup with a grateful smile.
Wei Liang looked at the reflection of Zhao's face in the surface of his cold tea.
He raised the cup and took his first sip.
Tasteless. As he had expected.