Chapter 2: The Cliff That Comes With No Rent
Khun Ming did not sit up right away. He stayed where he was for a short while, letting his body confirm that what he felt beneath him was real and steady. His arm rested loosely to the side, his palm touching the ground with just enough pressure to feel it without disturbing it.
The soil felt cool in a quiet, steady way. It was not wet enough to stick to his skin, but not dry enough to fall apart at the slightest touch. When he pressed his fingers a little deeper, the earth gave way without complaint, soft but not weak, like something that knew how to hold its shape without trying too hard.
He shifted onto one elbow and reached a little farther, testing a wider patch. His fingers moved slowly, pressing, lifting, then pressing again, repeating the motion with patient care as if he expected the ground to eventually betray him.
It did not.
The texture stayed the same. The response stayed steady. No hidden flaw showed itself.
His brows relaxed slightly.
"…Alright," he murmured, speaking in the same tone he would use with someone standing next to him, "this is actually a very good sign, because if I had woken up on soil that compacts like old brick dust, I would already be questioning this entire reincarnation arrangement with much less patience."
He pinched a small amount of soil and lifted it closer to his face. The movement came naturally, like a habit his body remembered without needing permission.
He took a light breath in.
The smell was clean.
Not empty, not stripped of character, just… settled. The kind of scent that came from earth left alone long enough to behave itself.
"Mm," he said softly. "No sharp edge, no strange trace, and no sign that someone tried to fix it by making it worse. That already removes half the problems people usually create."
He rubbed the soil between his fingers. It broke apart easily, then settled again without clumping or turning to dust.
"The grains are fine, but not useless," he continued, his voice calm and even. "There is enough life in it to keep things stable. Roots will not suffocate, and they will not dry out right away either. That alone saves a lot of trouble."
He paused, tilting his head slightly as if listening, though what he really did was let his thoughts settle.
"…Whoever worked this land knew when to stop," he said after a moment. "Or at least they knew not to interfere when it was not needed."
He let the soil fall back and brushed his fingers together. The remaining dust slipped away easily, leaving his skin clean.
He let out a slow breath.
"Well," he added, glancing down again, "at least the foundation is cooperative. That already puts this place ahead of several locations I have dealt with before, although that is not a difficult achievement."
His hand hovered over the ground again, fingers flexing slightly as if tempted to continue.
Then he pulled back with a small shake of his head.
"If I keep going, I will end up evaluating the entire mountain before I even stand up," he muttered, sounding faintly annoyed at himself.
That felt like a reasonable place to stop.
So he opened his eyes.
The sky stretched above him, wide and clear. No rooftops, no wires, no cramped edges cutting the view into pieces. Just open space.
He blinked once. Then again.
"…That is new," he said quietly.
He pushed himself up at an unhurried pace, brushing dirt from his sleeve in a casual motion. His attention had already moved on.
That was when he noticed the fabric.
His movement slowed.
Then stopped.
"…Wait," he said, his voice lowering as his focus sharpened.
He lifted his arm slightly and turned his wrist so the light caught the sleeve. The fabric settled along his forearm in a way that felt unfamiliar.
The color was not flat. Not that lifeless white that came from rushed processing, and not the uneven cream of poorly handled cloth either. It carried a quiet depth, like something that had been treated with patience instead of urgency.
He pinched the sleeve and rubbed it slowly.
"This is not cotton," he said.
The threads moved smoothly under his fingers, holding together without slipping or resisting. The structure felt balanced, like it knew what it was doing.
He lifted the sleeve and let it fall.
It settled naturally, not clinging, not collapsing.
"…Lotus fiber," he said after a moment. "And not the rough kind either."
He paused, then corrected himself.
"Very properly refined."
His fingers traced along the seam, pressing lightly. The stitching held steady, even and clean. No weak spots. No rushed fixes.
He lowered his arm and finally looked at the rest of his clothes as a whole.
"…Alright," he said, exhaling softly. "So the afterlife provides upgrades. That is… considerate, although a brief explanation would have been appreciated."
He rubbed the fabric again, just to make sure it had not suddenly changed.
It had not.
"…I sincerely hope this does not come with difficult washing requirements," he added, his tone dry.
A breeze passed over the hillside. The robe moved with it, shifting gently without losing shape.
He watched it for a moment.
"…This really is lotus fiber," he said again, quieter this time.
He stared at his sleeve as if it might argue with him.
It did not.
"Oh my Buddha," he murmured.
Then he stood up fully.
"Oh my Buddha, this is high quality," he corrected, his voice rising just a little. "No, that is still not enough. This is extremely high quality, and whoever made this either had a lot of patience or refused to accept poor work from the beginning."
He turned his arm, then the other, checking how the fabric moved in light and shadow.
"The threads are aligned well, the tension is even, and the weave stays consistent across the whole surface," he said, his tone gaining a bit of momentum. "This is not something people buy casually. Someone planned this from the start."
He lifted the hem and studied the stitching more closely.
"The seams are narrow and reinforced properly," he continued. "They cared about how long this would last, not just how it looks."
He rolled the cuff and checked the inside.
"The inner weave is just as smooth," he added. "Which means it was done right from the beginning, not fixed afterward."
He lowered his arm slowly and looked at himself again.
"…Whoever dressed me like this clearly has standards," he concluded.
A short pause followed.
Then he glanced down at the ground again, as if comparing the soil and the robe in his mind.
"…Good soil, good cloth," he said. "If food also turns out decent, I might forgive the lack of explanation."
The breeze passed again, quieter this time.
Nothing answered him.
Which, he decided, was still better than being interrupted.
___________
He finally lifted his gaze and began to properly observe his surroundings, his attention expanding outward now that the immediate mystery of the fabric had been partially resolved.
The mountain around him was quiet, not empty but undisturbed, the air carrying no trace of smoke or pollution, and no sharp scents that might interfere with natural processes.
Khun Ming turned slowly, his eyes moving across the unfamiliar landscape as he began piecing together what he was seeing.
"…Now the real question," he said, tilting his head slightly, "is why I am standing on an unfamiliar mountain while wearing expensive lotus fiber clothing without any explanation."
He paused briefly.
Then his expression shifted.
"…Great grandma really does know how to spoil me."
A grin spread across his face.
"Muwhahahaha.....
The laugh stopped halfway as something else caught his attention.
A long bundle rested quietly in the grass beside him.
Khun Ming crouched down immediately, his earlier excitement settling into focused curiosity as he reached toward it.
"You came along too, apparently," he said, his tone softer now.
He began unwrapping it carefully, peeling back the cloth layer by layer instead of opening it all at once, his movements steady and controlled as if he were handling something that deserved proper attention.
Inside lay a sword.
Simple in appearance.
Clean in structure.
And entirely uninterested in drawing attention to itself.
Khun Ming did not rush the process of unwrapping the object, even though curiosity had already taken hold of his attention, because the way something was revealed often mattered just as much as what was revealed, and his hands moved with steady patience as he loosened the final layer of cloth and folded it back carefully rather than tossing it aside.
The sword lay there without any dramatic presence, its surface catching only a modest amount of light as if it had no intention of competing with anything around it, and for a brief moment he simply looked at it without reaching forward, allowing his eyes to adjust to its proportions before deciding how to approach it.
"…You look very ordinary," he said in a quiet, conversational tone, as if addressing an acquaintance rather than an object.
He extended his hand and wrapped his fingers around the grip, lifting the blade in a single smooth motion that showed no hesitation, though his attention sharpened immediately the moment the weight settled into his palm.
The balance revealed itself almost instantly.
Not through any exaggerated sensation, but through the absence of resistance.
The blade did not pull forward.
It did not drag backward.
It simply rested where it was supposed to be.
Khun Ming's brows lifted slightly as he adjusted his grip, testing the center of balance with a small shift of his wrist while allowing the blade to tilt forward just enough to observe how it responded.
"…That is not ordinary," he corrected himself, his tone remaining calm even as his interest deepened.
He raised the sword a little higher and let the light run along the edge, watching how the surface reflected without distortion, the line remaining clean and uninterrupted from base to tip, and when he angled it slightly to test the edge alignment, there was no visible inconsistency in the structure.
"This is what people mean when they say something does not argue with your hand," he continued, his voice thoughtful as he rotated the blade slowly. "There is no unnecessary weight, no imbalance that requires correction, and no awkward resistance that forces the user to compensate."
He shifted his stance and made a small, controlled motion through the air, not a full swing but enough to test how the blade moved when guided by intention rather than effort, and the result made him exhale softly through his nose.
"You move exactly as expected," he said, as if acknowledging the sword directly. "Which is rare, because most tools insist on reminding you of their flaws."
He lowered the blade slightly and examined the grip more closely, his thumb brushing along the surface to feel the material beneath, noting that it was neither overly polished nor rough, but finished in a way that allowed control without distraction.
"The handle is designed for use, not display," he added, nodding faintly. "Which is reassuring, because I do not particularly enjoy tools that prioritize appearance over function."
For a moment, he simply held it there.
Testing.
Not through force, but through familiarity.
Then he made another small motion, slightly faster this time, letting the blade follow the path of his wrist while observing how naturally it aligned with his movement, and the response remained consistent.
"…You are very well behaved," he concluded.
He paused briefly.
Then tilted his head.
"…Which makes you slightly suspicious."
A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth as he lowered the sword and looked at it again, this time with a more measured expression that carried both appreciation and mild caution.
"Anything this cooperative usually has something it is not saying," he murmured, though there was no real tension in his voice.
He did not sense danger.
If anything, the blade felt… quiet.
Not empty.
Just quiet.
And that, in its own way, made him relax.
"Well," he said after a moment, shifting his grip slightly as he adjusted the angle of the blade, "as long as you continue behaving like a properly made tool, we should get along just fine, and I would prefer to keep it that way."
He lowered the sword and rested it lightly against his shoulder while turning his attention back toward the mountain around him, his gaze sweeping across the slope as he began to consider the more practical aspects of his situation now that the immediate curiosities had been examined.
The land stretched outward in layers of green, the trees arranged in a natural pattern that suggested long-term stability rather than recent disturbance, and the air carried a steady clarity that made it easy to breathe without effort.
Khun Ming took a slow breath and let it out just as gradually, allowing his body to settle into the environment rather than resist it, and as he stood there, he became aware of a subtle sense of alignment that was difficult to describe but impossible to ignore.
"…This place is comfortable," he said quietly.
Not comfortable in the sense of luxury.
Comfortable in the sense that nothing felt out of place.
He shifted his weight slightly and looked down the slope, his eyes narrowing just a fraction as he examined the terrain with a more practical perspective.
"If the soil quality is consistent across this area, then cultivation of plant materials should not present any significant difficulty," he continued, his tone settling back into that familiar rhythm of observation and planning. "Water flow appears stable, the slope allows for proper drainage, and the vegetation suggests that the ecosystem has not been disrupted recently."
He glanced toward a cluster of trees and studied their spacing, noting how the canopy allowed light to filter through without suffocating the undergrowth.
"…There is enough sunlight for growth without excessive exposure," he added. "Which means delicate materials will not be damaged unnecessarily."
His gaze moved again, this time toward a slightly lower section of land where the soil appeared darker.
"That area likely retains more moisture," he said, almost to himself. "Which could be useful for certain plant types that require consistent hydration."
He paused briefly.
Then sighed.
"…I am already planning production," he muttered, sounding mildly resigned.
He adjusted the sword on his shoulder and shook his head slightly, though there was no real frustration in the gesture.
"I have not even confirmed where I am, and I am already thinking about dye materials and planting conditions," he continued. "This is a very predictable outcome, and I cannot even claim surprise at this point."
A soft breeze moved through the grass again, carrying a faint rustling sound as it passed, and Khun Ming turned slightly to face it, allowing the air to brush against his face as if testing its quality the same way he had tested the soil earlier.
"…No industrial residue," he noted. "No excessive dryness, and no indication of environmental imbalance."
He lifted his chin slightly and took another breath, slower this time, as if confirming the result.
"This is a place where materials can behave properly," he said, his tone carrying a quiet sense of approval.
For someone like him, that mattered.
More than anything else, it meant fewer unnecessary problems.
He lowered the sword from his shoulder and looked at it again, this time with a slightly different expression, one that carried less evaluation and more acceptance, as if he had decided that the blade was no longer a question but part of the answer.
"Well," he said, adjusting his grip before resting the sword comfortably at his side, "it seems we have both been placed here for a reason, although I would appreciate slightly more communication regarding the details."
He glanced around once more, his eyes scanning the mountain with a final, measured look before settling forward.
"…Still," he added, a faint smile returning to his face, "this is not a bad arrangement, and I have worked with far worse starting conditions."
He took a step forward.
Then another.
His pace was unhurried, his movements steady as he began walking along the slope without any clear destination, allowing his body to follow the natural curve of the land rather than forcing a direction.
"If I am going to stay here," he said as he moved, "then the first step is to understand the surroundings properly, because there is no point making plans based on incomplete information, and I have learned that lesson more than once."
He adjusted the sword slightly so it rested more comfortably in his hand, not as a weapon but as a tool he had not yet decided how to use.
"And if I am being honest," he continued, his tone lightening just a little, "this situation is still significantly better than waking up in a poorly managed workshop with inconsistent materials and unreliable water supply, which is something I would prefer not to experience again if given the choice."
A faint chuckle escaped him.
"…Yes, this is definitely an improvement."
The mountain remained quiet as he walked, the sound of his footsteps blending into the natural rhythm of the environment, and for the first time since waking, Khun Ming allowed himself to simply move without analyzing every detail, letting the space exist without immediately assigning it a purpose.
Even so, his eyes continued to observe.
The ground.
The trees.
The way the light shifted across the slope.
Everything was noted, even if not spoken aloud.
"…Let us see what you have to offer," he said finally, his voice calm and steady as he looked ahead.
And with that, Khun Ming continued walking up the slope immediately after examining the sword, because something at the edge of his awareness kept pulling his attention back toward the structure partially hidden behind the trees, and once he allowed himself to properly look at it, the reason became obvious in a quiet, almost inevitable way.
A cottage stood there.
Neither abandoned nor broken.
Just… waiting.
He adjusted his grip on the sword slightly and walked toward it at a measured pace, his steps slowing as he approached the boundary of the courtyard, not out of caution but out of habit, the same instinct that made him pause before entering any new workspace, as if giving himself a moment to read the place before disturbing it.
"…Alright," he murmured under his breath, his gaze moving steadily across the structure. "Let's see what kind of life I have been assigned this time."
The courtyard revealed itself first.
A low stone fence traced a simple boundary around the space, not built for defense but for definition, the kind of structure that quietly told the land where one area ended and another began without trying to impose authority over it.
The ground inside had been leveled carefully, the soil compacted just enough to remain firm underfoot while still retaining a natural texture, and faint signs of previous use could be seen in the subtle patterns of wear, suggesting that this place had not been neglected, only left undisturbed for a short time.
Near the entrance, a cherry tree stood slightly to one side, its branches light and graceful as pale petals drifted lazily downward, carried by a breeze that seemed to move through the courtyard with gentle familiarity rather than random direction.
A few steps further in, closer to the center, a ginkgo tree rose with quiet dignity, its fan-shaped leaves catching the light in soft flashes of gold and green, the trunk thicker and older than the cherry tree, as if it had been there long enough to observe several lifetimes without comment.
Khun Ming stopped just inside the gate and looked around slowly, allowing his eyes to take in the arrangement without rushing to interpret it, his attention moving from tree to ground to structure in a calm, deliberate sequence.
"…This is not random," he said after a moment, his tone thoughtful. "The spacing, the placement, even the direction of the trees… someone planned this with intention."
He walked toward the cherry tree first.
Not because it was closer.
Because it felt lighter.
His hand reached out naturally, fingers brushing against the bark with a gentle touch as he leaned slightly closer, examining the surface, the branching pattern, and the condition of the leaves.
"…Healthy and growing well," he murmured, his thumb tracing a small section of the trunk as he checked for irregularities. "No sign of disease, no insect damage, and the growth pattern is balanced."
A petal drifted down and landed briefly on his sleeve before sliding away.
He watched it fall.
"…You are living well," he added quietly.
He turned next toward the ginkgo tree.
The shift in atmosphere was subtle but noticeable, the space around it carrying a slightly heavier, more grounded presence, not oppressive but steady in a way that made him slow his steps instinctively as he approached.
"This one has been here longer," he said, placing his hand against the trunk as his gaze moved upward through the branches. "You do not grow like this without time."
The bark felt firm beneath his palm, the texture consistent and stable, and when the breeze moved through the leaves, the sound carried a soft, layered rhythm that felt almost… reassuring.
Khun Ming stood there for a moment longer than necessary, not analyzing, not measuring, just letting the quiet settle around him before finally nodding once.
"…Good," he said.
Then he stepped back.
The workshop stood to one side of the courtyard, partially covered by a simple extension of the roof that provided shade without fully enclosing the space, and as Khun Ming approached it, his pace shifted again, his posture straightening slightly as if he were entering familiar territory.
"This is the important part," he murmured.
He stepped inside.
The layout was simple.
Functional.
Everything was placed with purpose.
A worktable stood near the center, its surface clean but marked by use, the faint lines and subtle wear patterns suggesting repeated activity rather than neglect.
Shelves lined one side of the wall, holding basic tools arranged in a way that made sense without needing explanation, each item positioned where it would be easiest to reach during work rather than displayed for appearance.
Clay vats rested near the edge of the covered area, their surfaces intact, their interiors clean, and when Khun Ming leaned slightly to inspect one, he could still smell the faint trace of water and earth.
"…Not recently used," he said, straightening again. "But more like maintained properly."
He ran his fingers lightly along the edge of the table, checking for roughness, warping, or damage, and when his hand came away without resistance, he gave a small nod of approval.
"This is a working space," he added. "Not decorative. Whoever arranged this understood that tools should serve the work, not the other way around."
He paused briefly.
Then exhaled.
"…I approve and like this conditon."
The cottage itself stood quietly beyond the workshop, its bamboo structure blending naturally into the surroundings without trying to stand out, and as Khun Ming approached the entrance, his steps slowed once more, not out of hesitation but out of the same quiet respect he gave any space he intended to live in.
He reached out and slid the door open.
The interior was clean.
Neither empty nor crowded and quite balanced.
A low table sat near the center, accompanied by simple seating that showed signs of use without wear, while a bed rested along one side of the room, its frame sturdy and its surface neatly arranged as if someone had prepared it recently.
Light entered through the windows in soft angles, illuminating the space without harshness, and the air inside carried a faint scent of wood and clean fabric that suggested care rather than abandonment.
Khun Ming stepped inside slowly and looked around, his gaze moving across each detail with quiet attention as he began forming an understanding of the space.
"…This is comfortable," he said after a moment, his tone calm. "Not luxurious, but properly arranged."
He walked toward the bed.
A small drawer sat beside it.
He crouched slightly and opened it without much expectation, his attention casual at first, until the contents came into view.
Gold.
Not coins.
Ingots.
Stacked neatly.
Khun Ming blinked once.
Then leaned a little closer.
"…That is… unexpectedly direct," he said, his voice lowering slightly as he reached out and lifted one, testing its weight in his hand.
It was real.
Solid.
Not decorative.
"…Alright," he continued after a moment, nodding slowly. "That answers the question of financial stability in a very straightforward way, and I appreciate the lack of ambiguity."
He placed it back carefully.
Then closed the drawer.
".... Let's not spend everything immediately," he added to himself. "That would be irresponsible, even in a new life."
He stood and turned toward a wooden cabinet nearby, sliding it open to inspect its contents, his expression returning to calm curiosity as he examined what had been prepared for him.
Inside lay another set of clothing.
Identical.
Same fabric.
Same quality.
He reached out and touched it briefly, confirming the texture.
"…A spare set," he said. "That is practical."
He paused.
Then nodded.
"Yes, this is very reasonable."
Beside it, another set of clothing rested, folded separately, and the difference was noticeable immediately, even before he touched it, the structure, the layering, and the subtle detailing suggesting something more formal than everyday wear.
Khun Ming lifted it carefully.
"…This is not for work," he said, his tone thoughtful as he examined the design. "This is the kind of clothing you wear when someone expects you to look like you know what you are doing."
The fabric carried a slightly heavier presence, the construction more refined, and the overall appearance leaned toward ceremonial use without becoming excessively ornate.
"…Formal wear," he concluded, folding it back neatly. "Which implies that at some point, I may need to pretend to be respectable."
He closed the cabinet gently.
Then he stood in the center of the room.
Quiet.
Still.
Letting everything settle.
The courtyard.
The workshop.
The cottage.
The trees.
The tools.
The gold.
The clothes.
All of it.
"…Alright," he said softly, exhaling as a faint smile formed.
"This is workable."
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Chapter 2 complete.