He really should not have been exploring the Glade alone. No matter how skilled and well-prepared you think you are, the Glade has bigger, more skilled, better prepared things that want to eat you.
He activated a trap. Or triggered some absurdly unlucky coincidence that brought together immensely powerful swirls of anam of three different types he barely recognized- So. He should be dead. Luckily, somehow, this one appears to have landed him in... Another world. One utterly starved of anam, teeming with strange products of industry that do not have a speck of real life in them at all. Everything seems ugly and dead and worthless. He has none of his built-up resources, here. No good name or friends or home. No knowledge of or place in society.
He's a cultivator who's taken the Soldier's Step and who is working on the Farmer's Step, though. He is strong and fast and tireless enough to make the degrading lot of the homeless much less of a peril than it is to many. The chilly air is little threat to him. The idea that whatever foulness breeds in the water here could hurt him is laughable. Subsisting on stolen food is equally disgraceful as sifting through garbage, and less disgusting, and he can get away with it pretty easily without even needing the barest touch of the Fading Deeps technique.
He starts learning the local language. He tries to cycle Sun anam from merely sitting in a park on a cloudless day, attempting to reconstruct the Twelve Year Sunholder techniques for lack of a more efficient source - and completely fails.
He learns of a place where he can earn money and perhaps prestige by fighting. That seems like a better plan than continuing the pitiful existence as a hobo.
Abyssal Fist Warden walks to Heavens Arena- auspicious name, at least - in his filthy but clearly once-fine robes and picks out someone who seems to work here.
"Hello," he says in a stilted, slurred accent, "I will fight. For money."