The sun was setting as he reached Stonehaven. He first made his way to the village's only butcher shop, a sturdy timber shack perpetually redolent with the smell of fresh meat and sawdust. Old Man Hemlock, the village head and the butcher, a man with a booming laugh and a grizzled beard, was sharpening his cleaver behind a counter laden with fresh game.
"Mu Yan, my boy, back so soon?" Old Man Hemlock boomed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Good haul today?"
Mu Yan held up the rabbits and birds. "Just a few, Elder Hemlock. Grandma Shi isn't feeling well, so I need to get some good food for her."
"Ah, the poor dear. She's been ailing a while," the elder sighed, his jovial demeanour softening. He quickly weighed the game. "Five dinars. Enough for a hearty stew. Make sure she eats it all, you hear?" He pressed the coins into Mu Yan's hand. "Don't forget to drop by the Ancestral Hall if you need anything. We always look out for our own."
"Thank you, Elder," Mu Yan replied, nodding respectfully. He quickly counted the meagre sum—barely enough to sustain two people for a few days. But he had plans; soon, these struggles for food would be distant memories. The original Mu Yan might not have known how, but he, with his past knowledge and skills, would change everything.
Leaving the butcher shop, he followed the familiar path to the village's small, dilapidated general store, its shelves sparse but functional. Elara, the kind baker's wife known for her soft heart and even softer bread, was tending the counter. She smiled warmly as he entered.
"Mu Yan, dear! Looking a bit tired, are we?" she asked, her voice gentle. "What can I get for you today?"
"Just some good rice, Elara," Mu Yan replied, placing the five dinars on the counter. He had fallen, but not so far as to eat mouldy rice to satiate his hunger. Hunger was a concept so distant to him that he had never truly felt it, having been born into the prestigious Lin clan, never knowing want. Now, reborn into this mortal body without cultivation or resources, he would experience the true struggles of ordinary, impoverished people. "Grandma Shi needs something proper to eat."
Elara scooped out a generous portion of fragrant white rice. "Of course, dear. You take care of that old woman. She did a good thing raising you, Mu Yan." She paused, then added in a quieter tone, "The village youngsters were at the training grounds earlier, practicing with wooden swords. Why don't you join them sometime? It's good to learn to defend yourself out there."
Mu Yan simply nodded, a tight smile on his face. "Maybe soon, Elara. Thank you." He collected the rice. But not for long. Soon, he would resume his journey of cultivation, regaining his strength and resources.
Lost in thought, he didn't notice when he reached his home—a small hut at the corner of the village with numerous holes on one side of the roof. He had patched holes on the other side of the hut to at least be able to sleep.
"Cough, cough." Hearing violent coughing sounds, he hurriedly opened the door and entered. Grandma Shi was lying on the single cot in the house, coughing violently. He rushed to her side, took water from a nearby canister, and offered it to her, which she slowly drank. The cough subsided, but her face held an unhealthy pallor, giving Mu Yan a forbidding feeling.