The sun beat down mercilessly on the dusty training grounds of the esteemed Qing Yun Sect, baking the very air itself with a searing heat that was almost palpable.
The ground, parched and cracked, seemed to emit a faint, dry hiss under the intense sunlight.
Ethan, the sect's resident punching bag – or rather, kicking - post – sighed dramatically.
As he stood there, he felt a strange, almost imperceptible tingle in his mind, as if something was stirring deep within.
He was pretty sure his shadow had a higher cultivation rank than him.
Today's tormentor was Tom, a disciple who mistook a slightly above average Qi cultivation for godhood.
Tom strutted around like a peacock on steroids, his robes fluttering in the light breeze, making a soft rustling sound that was almost like a mocking laugh.
His robes practically screamed, "Look at me, I'm marginally better than the garbage disciple!"
"Well, well, if it isn't Ethan the Earthworm," Tom sneered, his voice dripping with the kind of fake honey that would attract flies, not friends.
The sneer on his face was so exaggerated that his nostrils flared, and the sound of his voice echoed harshly in the training ground.
"Still stuck at the bottom of the barrel, I see. Let me guess, you're probably still trying to cultivate using dirt?"
Ethan rolled his eyes, the movement quick and irritated.
The dry air brushed against his face, a rough caress.
"At least dirt has some use. Can't say the same about you." He knew it was a weak comeback, but honestly, he was saving his energy for, you know, not dying.
Tom's face twisted into a grimace, his features contorting like a crumpled piece of paper.
He drew his practice sword, and as the blade slid out of its scabbard, it made a sharp, metallic ringing sound.
Its polished surface gleamed menacingly under the sun, reflecting a blinding glare that made Ethan squint.
"You have a big mouth for someone who can barely summon a spark." He lunged, aiming a swift kick at Ethan's midsection.
The wind created by his kick whistled past Ethan's ear.
Suddenly, a voice echoed in Ethan's mind, a voice that sounded suspiciously like a bored game show host.
It was as if the voice came from a far - off, hazy realm, with a slight echo that made it seem otherworldly.
Ding!
"Congratulations, you have unlocked the 'Drunken Immortal Stance'! To activate, please consume the nearby stagnant pond water to simulate a state of advanced inebriation. Good luck!"
Ethan blinked, the dryness of his eyes making the movement uncomfortable.
Stagnant pond water?
Was this some sort of cosmic joke?
He glanced at the scummy green puddle shimmering nearby.
The surface of the pond was dotted with unidentifiable floating objects, and a putrid smell wafted towards him, a nauseating combination of rotting plants and stagnant water.
His stomach churned at the stench.
But as Tom's boot hurtled towards him, Ethan figured, hey, what's the worst that could happen?
He scooped up a handful of the foul liquid.
The liquid was cold and slimy against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine.
With a grimace that could curdle milk, he choked it down.
The taste was…indescribable.
Imagine a mix of gym socks, swamp monster breath, and concentrated regret.
Ethan gagged, his vision blurring as his eyes watered from the disgust.
This is it, he thought, I'm dying.
And not even in a gloriously heroic way.
I'm dying from pond scum.
But then, something strange happened.
He felt a rush, a warmth spreading through his limbs like a gentle fire.
A strange lightness filled his head, as if he was floating on a cloud.
The world spun around him, and his legs started moving on their own, seemingly disconnected from his brain.
He stumbled, swayed, and lurched, his movements erratic and unpredictable.
It looked less like a martial arts technique and more like a drunken chicken trying to navigate an earthquake.
Tom's kick, which had been aimed at Ethan's gut, whiffed spectacularly.
He stumbled past, completely thrown off by Ethan's sudden, bizarre dance.
The sound of his footsteps as he lost his balance was a clumsy thud on the ground.
The game show host voice returned.
"Congratulations! Absurd technique successfully implemented! You are rewarded with one (1) serving of…'Universe - Shifting Tofu'!"
A small, perfectly square block of tofu materialized in Ethan's hand.
The tofu was smooth and cool to the touch, a stark contrast to the warm, sticky feeling left by the pond water on his hand.
He stared at it, bewildered.
Tofu?
Really?
Was this some kind of cruel joke?
Then, Tom regained his balance and charged again, roaring with fury.
The roar was like a thunderclap in the quiet training ground.
Instinctively, Ethan hurled the tofu.
It struck Tom square in the face with a surprisingly solid thwack.
The sound was loud and echoed through the area.
The world seemed to slow down as Tom slipped on the now - splattered tofu, his arms windmilling wildly as he careened backward.
With a resounding crash, he landed in the very puddle Ethan had sampled moments before, a geyser of mud erupting around him.
The splash of the mud was accompanied by a wet, splattering sound.
The other disciples, who had been watching with a mixture of boredom and amusement, burst into uproarious laughter.
The laughter was a loud, raucous chorus that filled the training ground.
Ethan, still feeling the effects of the pond water and the general absurdity of the situation, picked up a shard of the miraculously intact tofu.
On a whim, he swiped it at Tom's waist sash.
The sash, apparently no match for the universe - shifting properties of the tofu, parted with a clean snip.
Tom's pants promptly fell down, revealing a pair of rather unfortunate - looking undergarments.
The laughter intensified, escalating into a full - blown cacophony of guffaws and howls.
Tom, covered in mud and stripped of his dignity, let out a strangled yell of frustration.
He looked like a drowned rat wearing a diaper.
Ethan grinned.
Maybe this whole cultivation thing wasn't so bad after all.
He leaned over and, with a completely straight face, said, "Dude, your fashion sense is truly… groundbreaking."
Okay, here's the continuation of your novel excerpt.
I've tried to keep the humor and absurdity flowing, along with some subtle hints of the bigger plot.
Hope you like it!
As Tom writhed in the muddy puddle, sputtering curses and struggling to hoist his fallen trousers, a figure emerged from the shadows of the training grounds.
The other disciples' chatter suddenly quieted down, and Ethan felt a subtle change in the air, as if a chill had passed through.
It was Lucas, the Qing Yun Sect's golden child, the epitome of grace and power.
He moved with an effortless elegance that made even basic walking look like an art form.
His robes flowed behind him like a gentle stream, making a soft, whispering sound.
His smile was warm, his eyes radiated concern.
"Tom, are you alright?" Lucas' voice was a soothing balm, a stark contrast to Tom's incoherent rage.
He extended a hand to help Tom up, his movements measured and deliberate.
Ethan watched, a cynical smirk playing on his lips.
He wasn't fooled by Lucas's saccharine act.
He could practically smell the subtle undercurrent of manipulation radiating from the guy.
It was like an invisible perfume of condescension.
As Lucas helped Tom to his feet, his gaze flickered towards Ethan, a brief glint of something unreadable in his eyes.
It vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that familiar, affable smile.
"Ethan," Lucas said, his voice laced with a hint of amusement, "it seems you've… discovered a unique approach to training."
"You could say that," Ethan replied, nonchalantly juggling the remaining piece of Universe - Shifting Tofu.
The tofu felt smooth and slightly slippery in his hand as he tossed it up and down.
"I'm just exploring my… potential."
Lucas chuckled, a light, airy sound that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Indeed. Perhaps you should demonstrate this 'potential' to Elder Jian. I'm sure he'd be… fascinated."
Ethan's stomach dropped.
Elder Jian was the head of the disciplinary committee, a man whose very presence could curdle milk at fifty paces.
Being summoned to his office was akin to being invited to a root canal without anesthesia.
Before Ethan could formulate a suitably evasive response, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"What in the name of the Celestial Peach is going on here?"
Phoebe, the head of the medicine hall, stormed onto the training grounds, her usually immaculate robes slightly askew.
Her face was flushed with anger, and her eyes were wide with indignation.
Her gaze swept across the scene – the mud - covered Tom, the grinning Ethan, the ever - composed Lucas – and settled on the scummy puddle.
Her nose wrinkled in disgust, and she let out a small, irritated huff.
"That water is supposed to be for medicinal herbs, you imbeciles! Do you have any idea how long it takes to cultivate those algae?" She glared at Ethan, her eyes narrowed into slits.
"And you, Ethan! Don't think I didn't see you drinking that swill! What were you thinking?"
Ethan shrugged, feigning innocence.
The dry air ruffled his hair as he made the movement.
"I was thirsty?"
Phoebe's eyes flashed with anger, and she took a step forward, her fists clenched.
"Don't give me that nonsense. Something's different about you, Ethan. You've always been… energetically challenged. But now…" She paused, her gaze intense.
"Now, you reek of something… unusual."
Ethan shifted uncomfortably.
The dry ground beneath his feet crackled slightly as he moved.
He wasn't sure what Phoebe had sensed.
The fewer people who knew about the "Absurd Cultivation System," the better.
Especially if said people had the power to dissect him like a particularly interesting frog.
Lucas stepped forward, smoothly interjecting.
His robes made a soft rustling sound as he moved.
"Phoebe, perhaps Ethan simply had a moment of… inspiration. We shouldn't discourage unconventional methods, should we?" His tone was light, but there was a subtle warning in his voice.
Phoebe eyed Lucas suspiciously, her head tilting slightly to one side.
Then she turned back to Ethan.
"Just stay out of my medicinal pond, you hear me? And clean up this mess!" She stalked off, muttering about the incompetence of the younger generation.
The sound of her footsteps was a sharp, angry click on the ground.
As she disappeared, Lucas turned to Ethan, his smile now a little sharper.
"It seems you've made quite an impression, Ethan. Keep it up, and who knows? You might even surprise us all." He clapped Ethan on the shoulder, a gesture that felt more like a threat than encouragement.
The clap was a dull thud on his shoulder.
With a final, enigmatic smile, Lucas glided away, leaving Ethan standing in the mud, the remaining tofu clutched in his hand.
The game show host voice returned, sounding almost… gleeful.
"New quest unlocked! 'Survive Elder Jian's Wrath Without Revealing Your Absurdly Awesome Secret.' Reward: One (1) 'Cloak of Utter Inconspicuousness'! Side effects may include existential dread and an uncontrollable urge to wear plaid."
Ethan sighed.
He had a feeling this was just the beginning of his very, very strange journey.
He looked down at the tofu in his hand.
"Well," he muttered to himself, "at least I have a snack." He took a bite.
It tasted vaguely of… victory?
And maybe a hint of gym socks.