Lesson 1: Give Up

A mountainous figure stares down at the ground, looking at the little ants moving beneath his great and mighty self, slaving away. Blotting out the sun with his huge body, he extends a hand out, picking up one unfortunate ant. There is nothing the ant could do, except accept his fate, as he is strong, and the ant weak.

"KuKuKuKu!" He laughs creepily, it echoing throughout the entire earth that he stands above. He tore the ant in half, his laughs increasing further. He watches as it sprawls on the ground, struggling to move, flailing in silent distress, before eventually stilling. Dead. Just as he is about to pick up another one, a knock came from his door and a voice calls out,

"Junior brother, you there?"

"Ugh." He groans in annoyance as his delusions of grandeur are interrupted, and reality came knocking back on his door. Literally. With a heave, he stands up and walks with sluggish steps to the door. He swings it open, and there he sees his senior brother, smiling at him like always.

'How can such a pretty man exist?' Looking at his senior brother's long silky black hair, unblemished smooth white skin, baby face, and cute doe eyes, all he feels is disgust. But outwardly he has a smile on his face as he looks at his senior brother.

'Not only that, he's talented in cultivation too.' He's burning with jealously as he looks at the man's innocent looking face that has a smile on it.

"What do you need, Senior Brother Chen?" he asks.

"Ah, well, it's nothing much. I just wanted to remind you that the Tournament is in three months, and that the Dance is after that, so I recommend you find a partner soon, Junior."

"Yeah the tournament… great." Junior forces a smile, making Chen pat his shoulder.

"Don't worry! Even if you aren't the best at cultivation, you may be good at martial arts, or other things! If I remember, you were amazing at alchemy, weren't you?" Chen assures him.

'Alchemy requires a higher cultivation though…' Junior doesn't correct him. After talking with Chen for a few more minutes, he finally leaves. Closing the door, Junior walks back towards his bed, and collapses onto the straw mat.

'Fuck my life!' he curses. This world, it's cultivation, the people, sects… none of it is like he imagined! Where were the arrogant young masters, his face slapping, his unparalleled talent, or the jade like beauties who would fall in love with him for absolutely no reason yet only appear in two chapters out of the three thousand?!

But no, there's none of that. Most people in this sect are kind and polite, and even the arrogant ones were somewhat reasonable. In this world, the strong don't rule the weak, the Shin Dynasty has laws. Fucking laws in a Wuxia! Or is this a Xianxia? Whatever.

Junior let's out a sigh. What's worse is that you can't even cultivate to immortality. And even if it was possible, Junior certainly doesn't have the talent. Only geniuses can make up for all the time spent sitting on their asses.

Cultivation only extends someone's lifespan by two years for every minor stage, and ten for every major stage threshold passed. Junior's been stuck at the third stage of Qi Condensation for the past three years.

What, he can live until he's 66 at most unless he dies from sickness or other unnatural causes? It's laughable. Three years and he has nothing to show for it. Three years wasted when he promised he wouldn't waste this life as soon as he realized the second chance he has was real.

'Well, it is real. That's for certain. After all, reality often sucks,' he inwardly bemoans.

There's something that's even worse, though. Cultivating... doesn't feel like anything. Nothing. Circulating Qi is just breathing exercises.

Within thirty minutes of sitting in the lotus position, his legs always fall asleep, becoming completely numb. They then begin to aches after a few hours. No matter how many stretches he does it never changes. Not to mention he has to have his eyes closed and stay still for hours.

The hardest fact though, which took the longest for him to barely even start to accept, is that he's in ancient china. This hammered in the nail that proves his life sucks. There's no modern conveniences. No toilets. Again, nothing.

Maybe that's why people aren't so arrogant? They all have to shit in a hole. That'd do wonders to damage someone's ego.

Tossing and turning on his straw mat for a bed, Junior tries his best to get comfortable. It's impossible. It feels as if he's trying to fall asleep on a stone slab. At least, when he compares it to the beds in his past life.

In all honesty, Junior often contemplates whether or not if he should commit suicide. Unlike some people, he can't live like this. It's soul draining. And he fully accepts that he's a weak-willed, vain, and petty person.

Junior's still grinding his teeth over his Senior Brother Chen telling him to go find a partner to the dance. When Chen is one of the most talented people in the sect, and already has one of the most beautiful girls as his partner.

'Fucking asshole! Can you get anymore passive aggressive?' Junior inwardly swears at him.

Sitting up after realizing he won't be able to fall asleep like this, he walks out of his wooden room and into the outer disciple courtyard. He takes in the fresh air and beauty of nature to cleanse his muddy mind.

"Absolutely disgusting," he murmurs as he kicks a rock into the koi pond. Junior couldn't careless about nature. If burning the entire world could bring him home, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

It's at this moment, as he walks along the stone path, that he sees something far more irritating than nature.

In the courtyard, aside from a small koi pond, it holds multiple disciples. Some diligently cultivating away. Others chatting. A few practicing, probably getting ready for the upcoming tournament. Other more frivolous disciples, beautiful men and women, are making out, or flirting.

He sees some disciples eying him with ridicule on their faces. In this place, nobody really likes or cares for Junior. It's partly his fault. But he had tried and failed to make any lasting friendships years back.

He shakes his head and starts to walk off in the direction of the training grounds.

*****

Sweat drips down his brow. His hair flutters with every movement of his sword. He swings it over and over, mindlessly.

Junior doesn't know why, but even in his past life, he's loved swords. Every time a protagonist used a sword in a webnovel he'd get excited.

There's nothing cooler to him than a sword. Nothing more elegant. A sword is the pinnacle of dedication, chivalry, and courage to him.

He also never understood the hate a sword got. Yes, a spear is better, he knows that. But do you really need to point out the obvious? Is there something so wrong with a sword? He doesn't know.

For the past twelve years in this new life, since he was three, he's trained in swordsmanship. Holding the hilt of a sword in his hand just feels right.

He's trained. And trained. And trained. And trained. Through Fall, Winter, Spring, and Summer. He never missed a day, even if his hands bled from the blisters.

The thick and many callouses on his hands shows his pride and achievement in swordsmanship. Usually, training with a sword calms him, and allows him to hone his focus as sharp as any blade. The resentment he has at his own lack of talent, the jealousy he feels towards others, all escape him when he's holding a sword. But this time, this time is different.

With every hiss the sword made as it cut through the air, the more his frustration grows. The sloppier his form becomes.

'I can't see it, I can't...' Junior thinks.

Despite practicing for over three hours at this point, he is unable to see any flaws within his swordsmanship. For the ignorant, they may have taken this as a good sign, thinking they've perfected their swordplay. But Junior knows otherwise.

He couldn't progress any further if he can't tell what mistakes he is making. He lets out a sigh and stops swinging. His linen shirt sticks uncomfortably to his skin, making it all scratchy.

In truth, he's not close to perfecting anything. His cultivation? Dogshit. His swordsmanship? Dogshit.

With a heave, he sits down on the dirt, where he belongs. He needs to take a break. He can't continue like this.

"Fuck," he curses.

"FUCK!" he covers his face with the palms of his hands. "I'm going to stay like this forever, aren't I?" he asks himself in defeat.

Twelve years of training with the sword, down the drain. Just because the money an outer court disciple gets provided every month isn't enough to hire one of the sect's mentors to teach him even if he saves up for years.

It's also not like he can ask his parents, they're just commoners. Neither does he want to, he doesn't want to burden them more than he already has.

Junior lies down on his back, and just stares up at the blue sky.

"Really… what have I been doing for twelve years?" Ever since he's been reborn here, he's hoped against hope, that he was talented, or that he'd get a cheat to make up for his lack of one.

But by now, he's realized the reality. That this was it, the end of the road. That he wasn't special. If he could, he would've begged the Elders who know the sword to teach him.

But without being an Inner Disciple, it's impossible for him to even approach them.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asks the sky. It does not respond.

He feels a surging of anger come bursting out of him. Why... why...!?

Why in the hell give him a second chance when he's going to be just as worthless as before? In another burst of anger, he jumps up with the wooden sword in his grip, and throws it into the sky.

'I give up. Fuck this.' Now, without any sword in his hand, he stands there. Feeling empty. All his anger, sadness, and disappointment disappearing with the thrown sword.

He let's out a deep sigh and walks to the doors of the training ground. As he's about to exit the training grounds, a voice causes him to pause.

"Why did you throw your sword, Junior Brother?" He turns around. There he sees a beautiful woman in a pale blue robe. A Core Disciple.

"Why I threw my sword?" he repeats to himself. He looks and notices she's holding the wooden sword he had thrown. Because why wouldn't she be? Just what he needs, a person sticking their nose into his business.

"I gave up," he says bluntly, not really knowing any other way to explain it.

"You gave up...? On what?"

"On Swordsmanship, Cultivation, you name it," he tells her.

"Why?" she asks again.

"You ask a lost of questions, don't you?"

"I'm sorry, I just got out of closed door Cultivation, so it's been a while."

"Of course you have," he mumbles under his breath.

"Anyways, why did you give up on Swordsmanship and Cultivation?"

"Why do you care?" Junior responds with a question of his own. She frowns.

"It's... disheartening to see a Junior Brother of mine give up," she explains to him. He looks at her, only to shake his head.

"Look. I just gave up, okay? Trying any further isn't going to get me anywhere. I'm not talented enough," he answers with a shrug.

Her face morphs into a solemn one, a hint of distain marring it. "That's... why you're giving up?" Her voice carries a disbelieving tone.

"Yup."

"That's no reason to give up!" she states firmly, looking at Junior intently. He just raises an eyebrow.

"As your Senior Sister, and fellow Cultivator trying to comprehend the Sword Dao, it is the duty of I, Wen Jia, to guide you!" she declares, hand on her puffed up chest, full of (misplaced) purpose.

"Look, I appreciate the thought-" he doesn't really, "-but I'm not looking for guidance, my mind is made up," he informs her.

She looks at him with fiery eyes full of desire, that if he was any other person, might interpret as, "bedroom eyes." Junior unconsciously takes a step back.

He doesn't like his chances in convincing this maniac.