The dull thud of a fist striking wood echoed through the still air like a hammer hitting a war drum.
"Oi! Wake up already!"
With a groan, Wang Ming's eyelids fluttered open.
His eyes scanned the unfamiliar surroundings, immediately narrowing with alert confusion. He was lying on a hard wooden bed, the texture beneath him rough and aged with time. The room around him was dimly lit by a small window, where weak sunlight filtered in through a cracked wooden frame. Dust motes danced lazily in the golden rays, and the air carried the faint scent of aged wood, mold, and ink.
The architecture was primitive, archaic even, reminding him of structures from ancient times ornate yet weathered, hand-carved beams with patterns he couldn't quite recognize. The walls bore faded murals of landscapes and mythical beasts, and a roughly carved wooden desk sat in one corner, papers strewn across it in disarray.
His head throbbed violently.
"Agh… where the fuck am I?" Wang Ming cursed aloud, pressing his palm to his temple as if that would soothe the sharp, pulsing pain behind his eyes.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than a flood of foreign memories surged into his mind, overwhelming him like a crashing tide. His vision blurred. Images, emotions, and experiences not his own clawed their way into his consciousness.
An orphan.
His name was Gu Chen now—no, that was this body's name.
He had lived in Nanyang City since he was a child, scraping through life with nothing but grit and instinct. Two months ago, a prominent cultivation school known as Miaoshou Garden had opened its gates, recruiting apprentices with the promise of free instruction. Dozens had rushed to join—Gu Chen among them.
For two months, he trained relentlessly, preparing for the upcoming examination that would decide their fate. Those who passed would be officially recruited into the sect… and those who failed? Cast out without mercy.
Wang Ming's chest heaved as he absorbed the torrent of memories. His back was damp with cold sweat, and his breaths came short and sharp. The pain subsided slowly, replaced by a calm clarity.
"So… I transmigrated into this Gu Chen?" he murmured to himself, running a hand through the strands of his newly inherited hair—longer, rougher than he was used to. His fingers brushed against his forehead, wiping away the sweat still dripping from his brow.
Knock knock!
The door vibrated again.
"Gu Chen! I'm warning you, this is the last time I'm calling you! If you're late for the test, it's your loss. I'm already heading out!"
The voice was youthful, slightly exasperated but familiar.
Wang Ming blinked. Meng Tao…
From Gu Chen's memories, he instantly recalled the identity of the voice's owner—Meng Tao, a fellow orphan who had joined Miaoshou Garden with him. He was one of the few people this body had ever trusted. Loud, stubborn, loyal to a fault.
"I'm coming, Meng Tao!" Wang Ming shouted back, his voice hoarse but clear.
There was a pause outside the door, followed by a laugh. "You'd better hurry then! I'll go on ahead—you know how the instructors are!"
Wang Ming listened to the fading footsteps as Meng Tao ran off into the distance, his presence disappearing into the morning bustle of what must be the sect compound.
Left alone once more in the room, Wang Ming sat up straight, still breathing heavily. The wooden boards beneath his feet creaked as he stood, and he instinctively staggered slightly—this body was strong, but unfamiliar.
His mind raced.
"What the hell is going on…?"
He paced slowly, his bare feet silent on the cold floor.
"I remember… the Zerg… Yes, I was devoured by one of those alien creatures on the base camp. That bastard ambushed us. My entire team… gone."
His eyes narrowed as the memory played vividly in his mind—blood, pain, the sharp shriek of the alien's cry, and then… the purple door.
"That door…" he whispered. "I remember it now. Just before everything went black, that… thing… that door appeared. And then there were those words that echoed in my mind."
He clenched his fists.
Suddenly, without warning, a faint shimmering hum reverberated in the air, and a glowing purple screen materialized in front of his eyes. It hovered silently, weightless and translucent, yet pulsing with mysterious energy.
His eyes widened.
The screen displayed glowing lines of text, written in elegant, otherworldly script, yet perfectly readable to his mind:
[Name]: Gu Chen (Real: Wang Ming)
[Age]: 19
[Identity]: Controller of the Door of the Myriad Realms
[Transcendence Path]: Primordial Consciousness
[Authority]: Top-level Comprehension (No lifeform of the Myriad Realms at the same life level possesses greater comprehension than you)
[Travel Time]: 10 Years
[Goal]: Eliminate Lin Fan, the Son of Luck of this World
Wang Ming read each word carefully, his brows furrowing deeper with each line. The phrases Controller of the Door and Primordial Consciousness buzzed ominously in his ears, their implications both grand and terrifying.
"What the hell is this? Controller of the Door of the Myriad Realms?" he muttered. His heartbeat quickened as he stared into the ethereal screen.
His thoughts raced.
"Wait… the purple door… Could that have been the Door of the Myriad Realms? Did it send me here? Or… was I chosen by it?"
His mouth ran dry. His hands clenched into fists again, this time not out of fear,but anticipation. The implications of this identity were massive. Something or someone had brought him here, reborn in the body of Gu Chen, in this unfamiliar world of cultivation and destiny.
Then, without warning, the screen flickered and dimmed.
Ding.
Another screen appeared with a soft chime, accompanied by a voice that echoed directly in his mind—not loud, but impossibly ancient and vast, like the whisper of the universe itself brushing against his soul:
[Do you wish to inherit the Inheritance of Primordial Consciousness?]
Wang Ming stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat.
Everything around him the musty scent of wood, the low murmur of wind outside, the distant cries of other disciples preparing for the test—faded into the background.
His heart pounded like a war drum. The weight of destiny had descended, and the path ahead shimmered with an unimaginable light.
"…Primordial Consciousness," he murmured, the words tasting strange yet powerful on his tongue.
"This… is just the beginning."