The next morning, Yan Yi woke up right on time again. He didn’t need to check the hour—not that he could anyway. The phone in his pocket had long died, and he owned no other timepieces.

He changed into old clothes Mo Qing had given him—Mo Ping’s hand-me-downs—and found them surprisingly well-fitted. Stepping into the courtyard, he went through a few token stretches before filling every water jar to the brim. By the time he’d swept the entire yard spotless—even clearing a long stretch beyond the gate—Mo Qing emerged, yawning.

Mo Ping didn’t rush to the fields at dawn. With basic water magic at their disposal, the sun’s harshness meant little. Besides, his duties as village chief kept him up late, so mornings were slow. Mo Qing, too, usually rose around seven. But today, she froze at the sight of Yan Yi’s handiwork: the immaculate courtyard, the watered vegetable patches, every weed eradicated.

Her gaze shifted to Yan Yi himself. Beside the steaming water jars, he was heating a kettle over a fire. White vapor hissed from its spout. Not a single drop of sweat glistened on him. Mo Qing’s jaw tightened. *Did you seriously put points in the wrong skill tree?*

She bit back the words. Scolding would ruin her gentle image. Besides, he’d clearly risen before dawn to lighten her load. Her heart softened.

"Little Yi," she said warmly, "you must’ve woken so early. Leave chores like this to Auntie from now on. Don’t overwork yourself—it’s not good for you."

Yan Yi felt oddly unsettled. Back at his master’s dojo, he’d sweep the entire training hall after his morning routine, then cook meals for over ten disciples before they returned at seven. Only uncertainty about the Mo family’s breakfast habits had left him idle today.

*This counts as hard work?*

Still, as a guest, he couldn’t do nothing—even if they treated him like a son. He turned with a smile. "It’s fine, Auntie. I’m used to rising early. Feels wasteful just sitting around."

Mo Qing sensed his earnestness. Insisting further might only make him uneasy. "Well then," she declared, "since you’ve made my morning so easy, I’ll prepare a proper feast for breakfast. My cooking’s worth the wait, I promise."

Yan Yi nodded. Her lunches and dinners had already proven her skill—though he privately rated it at one-third his own level.

After breakfast, Yan Yi left before Mo Ping. Time to greet neighbors—and volunteer as labor. Building goodwill required effort.

Ink Village was small, barely eighty households. Yan Yi visited each one. Villagers greeted him warmly; many invited him to stay for tea or pressed gifts into his hands. Children clung to him, chanting "Big Brother!"—their voices echoing his disciples back home.

He watched them practice magic: fireballs, water orbs, wind blades zipping through the air. A pang of sympathy struck him. *Kids today are terrifying.* He shot a pitying glance at their instructor—who just lost a lock of hair to a stray wind blade. The man forced a smile, too busy shielding students to protect himself.

*Respect,* Yan Yi thought. *Teaching these little monsters takes guts. A true martyr of education.*

Using his experience, he adjusted the children’s stances for smoother spellcasting and demonstrated basic close-combat moves. Their eyes lit up eagerly—a stark contrast to his unimpressed disciples.

By evening, Yan Yi had met every villager. Their warmth settled his heart. Only one thing disappointed him: no peers his age. The younger generation hadn’t matured yet. *No wonder Mo Yu left,* he realized. *Staying here offers no future.* But Yan Yi didn’t mind. This quiet life suited him.

That night, he pored over a book on magical beasts, scanning for tasty or valuable species. Hunting plans were forming. Though he felt like an overleveled player in a starter zone, knowledge saved time.

Monster ranks mirrored human classifications: C-rank Flame Wolves, B-rank Flame Wolf Kings, and so on. Both systems used Numerical Ranks—SSS to F—nine tiers total. For beasts, raw mana determined rank. Humans, however, required official certification to earn titles, making same-rank mages generally stronger. Except for those with freakish bloodlines.

The book hinted SSS wasn’t the peak. Legends spoke of a colossal being in the Eastern Sea—so vast its scale resembled a floating city. Survivors claimed it stretched beyond sight.

Yan Yi’s expression twisted. "*Free and Easy Wandering*? The Kun?"

*If magic exists here, why not mythical creatures?* He wondered where he stood in this world’s power scale. B-rank foes meant nothing to him; he suspected he ranked beyond Numerical tiers. Yet... he couldn’t shake the feeling his strength might still be mediocre here.

"Eh, whatever," he muttered. "I won’t be picking fights with ancient leviathans anyway."

For a week, Yan Yi became the village’s golden boy. He hunted, cleaned, and revolutionized farm work with "scientific" methods (well, that word might not fit this world). Children grew sturdier under his training. Adults noticed something else too: the flicker of longing in his eyes whenever magic was used.

One evening, after deciding to settle in Ink Village forever—"Magic comes naturally after thirty, right?"—Mo Ping dropped a bombshell.

"Little Yi," he said gently, "the villagers and I have discussed it. We’ve agreed to give this year’s recommendation spot for Central Magic Academy to you. You’ll leave next week."

Yan Yi froze. *Talk about eating my words.* And Central Magic Academy recruiting from this backwater? *Seriously?*