Beware Of Chicken Chapter Volume 1 1: He Bravely Turned His Tail and Fled

In which a transmigrator decides the only winning move is to get the hell out of dodge.

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Lu Ri gazed at the disciple. The young man sported an arm in a sling, a bruised eye, and various injuries marking his frame. Quite the sorrowful appearance, overall.

“You want to depart from the sect?” He inquired, echoing the disciple's plea.

“Yes, Senior Brother,” The disciple responded. “This Jin Rou lacks sufficient skills, and I fell to foes two years my junior. I'd rather exit before I inflict more disgrace on this Cloudy Sword Sect.”

Lu Ri almost let out a sigh. Truth be told, getting overpowered by an inner disciple seeking a “sparring” partner was inevitable, despite the age gap. The senior disciple eyed the brown-haired youth. Jin Rou wasn't strong, yet he was hardworking and ready to handle the sect's unglamorous duties. His departure would mean a small loss in meticulous care for the grounds and humble spirit herbs... but nothing the sect would truly miss. The boy hadn't learned any real techniques or training from the sect either.

And if such a setback broke his resolve and prompted this request to go... Then he wasn't cut out for cultivation from the start. This realm held no room for the faint-hearted.

At least he showed the decency to follow formal procedures for leaving, rather than vanishing. He was the first in more than three centuries to observe such etiquette, even paying the required compensation to the sect as per the official records. Lu Ri thought about trying to convince him to stay... but detected no disturbance in the youth’s meager Qi. His determination was firm.

“What do you plan to do once you leave here, Disciple?” he questioned, driven by simple interest.

“I’ll turn to farming, Senior Brother,” The boy answered, “I had decent success with the humble spiritual herbs, so that path fits my modest abilities.”

Lu Ri nearly protested again upon hearing this folly. A simple farmer, from someone who scarcely made it through the sect’s initial test? The crushing loss must have utterly shattered his morale. Regrettable.

This time, a sigh escaped him.

“Understood. I’ll record your departure. You are no longer part of our sect, Jin Rou.”

Jin Rou lowered his head and cupped his fist before him. “This Jin Rou appreciates your time and thoughtfulness. I won’t trouble the sect’s halls anymore.”

Lu Ri rose and nodded slightly. “Then venture into the world, Jin Rou... and take this.”

He extended the pouch with the severance funds back to him. “I’ll note it as fully settled. Hard work and respect warrant a little compensation, and the sect won’t miss such a trivial amount.” It was likely all the money the boy possessed, in any case. Lu Ri felt a touch of compassion, and Jin Rou would require heaven’s fortune ahead.

Jin Rou appeared stunned but bowed deeply once more.

“May Heaven favor you, Lu Ri.”

And with that, Jin Rou left the sect behind.

His exit passed without notice.

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I awoke amid dear old Jinny-boy taking a pounding from a classic “young master” archetype.

Let me say, that was pure nonsense. Jin was somewhat foolish for not dodging when the brat aimed to cause trouble, but at least no meridians got wrecked over “the peasant being unworthy.”

A couple of fellow disciples kindly hauled my convulsing form to my tiny quarters... then swiped some herbs as their “fee.”

Jerks.

The realization that I’d landed in mystical China territory struck me while I groaned in agony. Evidently, one body blow had struck poor Jin just right, halting his heart and ending him.

And before his body hit the ground, I was thrust in. Fortunately, I inherited his memories, plus knowledge of using the remaining herbs to ease the worst injuries. That meant some crushing and pounding, which hurt like hell with all my wounds.

Jin himself seemed decent enough, I guess. An orphan after his grandpa vanished, he scraped into a sect via sheer effort, sort of. His acceptance came when an instructor flipped a coin on his borderline case, muttering about heavenly favor or whatever.

Jin brimmed with dreams of rising as a mighty cultivator, a supreme expert, chasing the pursuits of this place’s arrogant leaders—likely just acting superior in superior ways. I... didn’t share his drives. This body’s mine now, pal. No regrets. Old Jin was basically a servant at present, stuck with everyone’s dumped tasks, all while nursing grudges, fury, and brooding.

And honestly, I wanted zero part in that mess. I nullify all revenge plots and goals right here. No interest in the punk who thrashed me. And above all, I want zero ties to this world’s schemes, because damn. Endless clan wipeouts and killings over honor.

You know, typical xianxia fare.

So once I could move the next day, I checked the sect’s exit procedures, snatched one of Jin’s coin pouches, and headed to the official handling such matters.

I didn’t anticipate getting the pouch returned, but losing it was no big deal. Jin had been pretty thrifty: He’d scrimped for spiritual pills after extra shifts.

But his stash is mine now. And I’m bolting from here, far from all the sword arrays and epic demonic strikes or whatever nonsense these dramatic fools chant.

Thus, I set off for the Azure Hills. Known as the feeblest—and thus most secure—spot on the continent.

Hopefully so. Cultivators tend to flee “feeble” areas fast.

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I grinned at my fresh plot of land. Rolling hills blanketed in woods, with a charming stream meandering through. Utterly scenic, like much of the Red Phoenix Continent.

The local Magistrate deemed the area mostly worthless due to minor beasts lurking and the need for heavy clearing, but I figured I could manage.

It came dirt cheap too. I snagged this spot for a bargain. Screw home’s real estate costs; this is the life. I worried about a scam and quizzed the townsfolk, but no. No hidden horrors, per their knowledge. Just remote and more hassle than value.

Folks seldom visited this far from town and nearby villages. No one to disturb me. Pure tranquility.

I inhaled the crisp, energizing air and shook my head. No more idling. I delved into my cart, seized my axe, prompting annoyed clucks from my chickens and a crow from the young rooster at the bump.

I gave him a gentle rub under his budding wattles, and he settled.

Alright, time to labor. Operation “No Cultivator Nonsense” launches!

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There’s a unique calm that settles in after prolonged intense physical exertion. My axe cleaved trees, my saw shaped boards, my hammer secured fasteners, and my plane smoothed surfaces, powered by a cultivator’s unnatural might—even if mine was pathetically low. It soothed and energized me simultaneously, and I admit I relished the strenuous work and superhuman power. My breaths formed steady cadence, and my qi flowed smoothly. I felt so revitalized and renewed!

Plus, yanking a stump from the soil bare-handed never lost its thrill.

My initial dwelling was a basic single-room setup, erected in the first three days. Nothing fancy, but it shielded me from weather and insects, with its straw roof and packed earth base. Positioned next to the chicken coop, I could catch any nighttime threats, though foxes and wolves hadn’t spotted my arrival or livestock yet.

I took pride in my creation.

I roused to my rooster’s call, whom I dubbed Big D. A silly moniker, I admit, but it tickled me. The young fellow trailed me by day, perching on my shoulder at times, and declaring his rule to all, the bold rascal.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” He’d bellow.

“Give it to ‘em, Big D.” I’d answer.

My hoe sliced the soil without blunting, bolstered by qi, digging faster than any beast of burden. My chickens trailed keenly, snatching up the insects and greens my tilling revealed, scratching and chirping throughout.

Yes, plump up nicely, my beauties, and you’ll taste divine later.

Ah, my taste buds tingle at the thought.

The hoe rose and fell, rose and fell, until something caught my eye. An odd root emerged, faintly radiating qi. Curious, I lifted the knobby, plain-looking tuber.

In xianxia tales, the hero would instantly name it as some precious root for multiple elixirs or such, but honestly, I had zero idea. I’d need to visit the town’s records eventually, but its presence here suggested it wasn’t rare or vital.

With a shrug, I stowed it in my home and resumed toiling. After this plot for veggies, I’d tackle the rice field. Too bad no wheat yet, but what can you expect?

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That evening, I savored a mouthwatering egg fried rice, Big D perched on my shoulder. Perhaps a tad grim eating eggs beside your pet hen, but he didn’t care. Eggs from my flock, rice from my stock, sesame oil I’d indulged in during the land purchase... plus remnants of Lowly Spiritual Herbs I’d, er, borrowed from the Cloudy whatever sect. They flavored it superbly. A hint spicy, a touch sweet, nicely savory—I’d need to cultivate more. Not tough, per Jin’s recollections. Just nurture them a while.

Sure, I could refine them into pills, but I distrusted the tonics these folks gulped down. I’m partly sure that’s why every cultivator’s so unhinged: all those substances.

I snapped from my musing to the content clucks from my “kitchen.” Big D happily pecked at the trimmed bits of spirit herb that seemed droopy.

They shouldn’t harm him. Never known these to be fatal.

Eh, if he enjoys them, he enjoys them. Won’t refuse the guy his snack.

Before long, I slipped into bed, Big D leaping to his window perch.

Man, back in the sect, I’d be stuck with crap duties or meditating endlessly in some nook, not crafting real things.

I drifted off satisfied and at peace with my decisions.