Silence reigns in the room for several minutes after Meng Yi returns to sleep, and I don’t know if it’s because Xiuying actually respects Meng Yi’s obvious need to sleep, or if it’s because she respects me enough to keep quiet as I told her to.

  Considering the expression on her face though, I suspect it’s for a third reason; that reason being that she’s deliberating on everything she’s learned so far and is currently lost in thought.

  I let her think. I’m thinking too.

  At first about what could have made Meng Yi so strangely capable for a peasant rank (because even I can see that the string web thing is far from normal), and after realising that the only reason for that could be me, trying to remember what I could have done that would cause that.

  Meng Yi stirs in her sleep, and I glance down at her.

  Instead of being curled up against me as she was, I’ve laid her down on the sofa with her head on my lap, and that seems to be sufficient to soothe this strange new craving for my presence that she’s apparently developed.

  Her breath hitches, then evens out, and she shifts her head on my lap to find a more comfortable position.

  I’ve never seen Meng Yi asleep before, and I don’t know if it’s the peaceful expression on her face, or if I may be getting carried away by how clingy she’s been this morning, but whatever it is, the sight of her is captivating.

  By Heaven, she is beautiful.

  Almost unaware of my own actions, I run a hand through her hair, fingers gliding through the dark, silky strands.

  Wait, is it just me, or is her hair shinier than before? I mean, Meng Yi has always had beautiful hair, but it seems better now.

  I roll a strand between my fingers. It feels like silk.

  Yeah, I’m pretty sure her hair was never this good.

  “Can entering Weaving phase make your hair better?” I ask Xiuying, keeping my voice low to ensure Meng Yi isn’t disturbed.

  It takes Xiuying a moment to answer.

  “It can,” she says, voice as low as mine. “Entering Weaving phase pushes your body to its physical ideal, especially with higher ranked methods. When I entered Weaving, I grew almost two handspans in height and over two dozen xin in weight. All in about a week or two.”

  I gape at the woman.

  A handspan is around nine inches and a xin is more or less a pound. That’s a lot of growing in such little time.

  Xiuying continues. “Guess height was always in my blood, malnutrition just stunted my growth. Had a lot of old wounds too. Entering Weaving phase fixed all that.”

  She says the words casually, but they remind me of what Meng Yi had told me about how Xiuying had been a street kid.

  What must that have been like for her?

  I suspect Xiuying has little desire to discuss any of that though, so, matching her casual tone, I say, “Seems like Weaving phase fixed everything about you except for your hair.”

  Xiuying smiles, rolling her eyes. “Just so you know, I like my hair,” she says.

  I stare at her hair, that half wild, untameable mess flowing down past her shoulders.

  “I like it too,” I say, not even needing to pretend.

  Unbidden, my eyes run over the rest of her. She’s wearing a simple blue tunic and trousers, rather plain, but perfect on her lean, powerful physique.

  “You’re beautiful,” I observe honestly.

  Xiuying looks surprised by my words, then bashful, and she avoids my gaze.

  “Um… thanks,” she says softly.

  “Just saying what I see, but you’re welcome.”

  We settle into silence for a bit, and my focus returns to Meng Yi, fingers still running through her hair.

  “What did you give her?” Xiuying asks.

  I don’t need to ask to know what she’s talking about.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t give her anything.” I sound uncertain even to my own ears.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “Peasant rank cultivators in the first layer of Weaving phase can’t create physical constructs with their qi, Qigang,” Xiuying says. “I don’t think even divine ranks can. Everyone would talk about it if they could. So, unless you’re telling me Meng Yi is some sort of peerless genius, or she ate a Celestial Plum of her own, then…”

  Xiuying pauses, and I can already see the direction her mind is headed in before she asks, “Did you share the plum with her?”

  There is a momentary temptation to simply say yes and end this matter, but that would be stupid. It’s already risky enough pretending I ate a Celestial Plum. Dragging Meng Yi into the lie too would be beyond daft. It would simply be reckless.

  Unfortunately, my hesitation to answer seems only to be reinforcing Xiuying’s suspicion, so, I say as firmly as I can, “I didn’t.”

  Xiuying doesn’t believe me. Or, more likely, she doesn’t want to, because she can clearly tell that I’m not lying.

  Seeing that, and still unwilling to let her current theory go, she asks, “Would you even remember if you did? Isn’t your memory from back then gone?”

  “I don’t need to remember,” I say. “Does the man I was seem like the kind of person who would share such a treasure?”

  And to that she has no reply.

  I sigh. “I didn’t give her anything, Xiuying. I didn’t do anything. All I did was give her the manual. She opened it, and it must have sucked her in in that way that they do. Next thing I know, her qi was changing. Like a billion threads weaving together into this massive, beautiful cloth.”

  The memory comes to me easily. Lost in a sea of threads. Spinning and twisting and weaving. The magnitude, the incredibleness of it all.

  “It was so… magnificent,” I say. And then a small memory, like something from a dream, resurfaces. “I wanted to be part of it,” I say, realisation of what I did settling in. “I wove my qi into her method.”

  I look up at Xiuying to find a complicated expression on her face. It’s like a mixture of fear and awe and confusion all wrapped into one and sprinkled with a thousand other emotions.

  “That’s a big deal, isn’t it?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  Xiuying sucks in a deep, long breath. “We never had this conversation,” she says. “When Meng Yi wakes, the story is that you gave her a technique manual. Say it’s Heart of the Web, or make up whatever bullshit name you want. It doesn’t matter. As long as the story is that she has a technique.

  “Do you understand?”

  I nod seriously. I understand.

  “Good,” she says. My seriousness seems to do a lot to calm her anxiety. “Let’s hope that she’ll never meet anyone who’s sensitive enough to tell and nosy enough to check,” she adds.

  I stare down at Meng Yi. Yet another secret that she’ll need to keep because of me. And not even a small one this time, because based on Xiuying’s reaction, this is anything but.

  Which even begs the question, how on earth can I do these things?

  The rolling power, the meeting with the Sun Emperor, now altering Meng Yi’s cultivation. Making it better (I hope). How can I do these things?

  Any single one of them should be impossible, or, at least, highly improbable, and yet, here I am, with three impossible things under my belt, and no idea if that’s the limit to my oddness.

  Before now, I’ve simply assumed that it’s because of my status as an isekai’d individual (yet another impossible thing that I’ve done), but, could it all really be because of that?

  And honestly, thinking about that event now, I have to admit that it is incredibly... noteworthy, that my soul was able to steal Qigang’s body and cultivation.

  I mean, I hate to give that bastard any sort of credit, but cultivation bolsters the soul, and Qigang was a peasant rank cultivator in the fifth layer of Weaving phase.

  I, on the other hand, was a nobody from a world without qi... How in Heaven’s name did I beat his soul out of its own body? With its own qi flowing through the qi network.

  Did I do the metaphysical equivalent of coming up to him in the dark with a knife to the back? Even if I did, how did I assume control of his body and especially his cultivation so easily?

  Why didn’t his qi reject my soul?

  Was I just lucky? Or, perhaps qi doesn’t matter at all in things like these. Perhaps all that matters is the strength of one’s character. It would certainly explain why Old Qigang lost so soundly that there’s no trace of him left.

  He was a coward and a weakling, compared to him I’m Captain America.

  That doesn’t explain why I can do all this though.

  One impossible thing is crazy enough, but at four and counting, I’ve gone beyond beating the odds and straight into shounen protagonist levels of BS.

  At this point, the only logical conclusion is that these four impossible things are happening for a singular reason.

  Now, what that reason could be, I cannot for the life of me figure out.

  I look down at Meng Yi again.

  I remember when she’d first revealed that she knew I wasn’t Qigang.

  I’d wanted to run then, take my chances out in the world, rather than stay here waiting to be caught as a Body Snatcher.

  She’d literally had to blackmail me to get me to stay.

  Can’t believe I’d been upset about that. I could never have done this without her.

  Where would I have gone? How would I have even cultivated the Path of The Sun Emperor method? How would I have hidden Qigang’s face?

  Most likely, I would have ended up lost in the Bloody Fang mountains, and in the event that I wasn’t killed by some qi beast, or died of thirst, or exposure maybe, I definitely would have gotten caught by whoever were sent out to catch the evil Body Snatcher.

  Meng Yi saved my life that day, and then she came up with the idea of the Celestial Plum, which saved me from needing to pretend to be Scum Qigang.

  I owe her a lot (though she’ll undoubtedly disagree), and something tells me that I’ll be owing her a lot more if she continues to be by my side.

  Something she seems hell-bent on doing.

  Can’t say I have a problem with that though. I like having her around.

  Much as I’m starting to like having Xiuying around too. Someone who I’m also starting to owe, and who, I also suspect, will disagree with me on that.

  The last few minutes have passed in silence, Xiuying and I both lost in our own thoughts.

  “Thank you,” I say, knowing an explanation isn’t necessary.

  Those two simple words cause Xiuying to stare at me with an intensity that makes my spine straighten reflexively. My chin tilting up.

  “I told you,” she says. “You have my life. I intend to keep that promise.”

  There are several things I would like to say to an offering that... significant, but I don’t say them.

  Now isn’t the time. And, more importantly, I suspect that it wouldn’t change anything.

  So instead, I nod, an understanding passing between us.

  I feel the weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders, but it doesn’t push me down. Instead, paradoxically, it bolsters me.

  I didn’t think it was possible, but somehow, I sit even straighter, meeting Xiuying’s eyes evenly. And even though I say nothing, she smiles, looking content.

  1234.