Zhao An had once been the director of a city library on Earth. While sorting through a collection of old books, he came across an ancient-looking token, engraved with the words "Martial God Order I." The moment his eyes lingered on it, his vision went black.
When he regained consciousness, he was no longer in familiar surroundings—nor in his own body.
Almost immediately, torrents of foreign memories surged into his mind, overwhelming his just-awakened senses and leaving him dizzy, his vision swimming.
These memories flashed past like scenes in a film. In them, a young man named Liu Hei ran ceaselessly, not closing his eyes for two days and two nights, yet not daring to rest. He ran and ran, desperate to escape from that hellish place.
Exhaustion, hunger, and thirst gnawed at him. His legs felt as heavy as lead, but he dared not stop. Only by leaving the main road and slipping into the mountains did he have even the faintest hope of survival.
After running for the span of a burning stick of incense, he finally stumbled into a dense forest. His strength gave out, and he collapsed onto the soft earth. Though the fall wasn't painful, he tried twice to push himself up with trembling arms, but his body refused to obey.
Too tired… just a little rest. I should be safe now, the youth thought.
The instant the thought crossed his mind, his body slackened. The breath he had been holding escaped, and he sank into utter darkness.
Fatigue, hunger, injuries, and blood loss—all these piled together, and the once-strong youth fell asleep, never to wake again.
Because when Liu Hei opened his eyes once more, he was no longer Liu Hei.
When Zhao An's thoughts cleared, he reviewed the memories again and examined his body carefully. At last, he confirmed the truth: his soul had transmigrated—he now lived in the body of the youth called Liu Hei.
Strangely, Zhao An felt neither joy nor despair. Instead, with almost unnatural calmness, he analyzed the problems before him and contemplated his next steps. His rationality surprised even himself.
Could it be, he wondered, that transmigration altered my temperament? Or perhaps merging with this body's memories changed my very nature?
Unable to resolve these questions, he set them aside for now and began sorting through Liu Hei's memories.
The youth's past was bitter. Orphaned and reduced to begging on the streets, three years ago he was captured by an organization known as Suzaku Hall, where he was trained as an assassin's apprentice.
Suzaku Hall's methods were cruel beyond measure. Physical training was grueling, the mental torments unbearable. To erase humanity itself, apprentices were often forced to slaughter one another.
To further control their assassins, Suzaku Hall demanded every disciple sever the "root of desire." Thus, every assassin of the Hall was made a eunuch.
Yes—that was right. The body Zhao An had inherited was incomplete.
And Liu Hei's death? Suzaku Hall's headquarters had been raided. Amid the chaos, he escaped, only to be hunted down and killed.
"Are you kidding me…" Zhao An cursed inwardly, believing this was a critical blow to his dignity. Crossing into another life could have been an adventure. But to wake in the body of a eunuch? For a man, the insult is deeper than the wound itself.
And yet… despite knowing all this, Zhao An felt no natural surge of rage, shame, or despair.
His thought process was odd: his logic told him his pride had been trampled, that he should be furious—but emotionally, he remained strangely unmoved.
This must be some side effect of transmigration, Zhao An speculated. Without emotions, a man loses his drive. Efficiency falls. No, I need to set a goal for myself—strict, unwavering. If I act only by logic and plan, then my lack of emotions might actually let me focus more sharply. Perhaps this is what the Martial God Order intended—to sharpen my focus on a single path.
He thought further: Before crossing, I was thirty-seven. Married early, my son is already seventeen. We had some savings, no debts. My parents had passed away. My disappearance won't cause upheaval—nothing to worry about back home. The Martial God Order—it exists only in my mind. I can see it with a thought, yet not touch it. As its name suggests, it should be tied to martial inheritance, guiding me to cultivate or complete certain tasks. For now, it's only speculation. The only thing clear is this: it delivers information directly to my soul, but I cannot actively query it.
At that moment, he felt a sudden tug—an inexplicable urge to head somewhere. He knew at once: this was the Martial God Order's way of issuing instructions.
Following its pull, Zhao An passed through mountain forests until he came upon a sprawling royal retreat. From Liu Hei's memories, Zhao An knew this was an imperial estate, with a fine hot spring where the Emperor himself often came to indulge.
Here, however, the Martial God Order offered no further direction. With little choice, Zhao An wandered the estate carefully, avoiding the sparse patrols. Eventually, he came upon a steaming pool, white mist swirling above it.
The token stirred faintly in his consciousness, but no clear message followed.
Just as Zhao An puzzled over this, a gale rose suddenly around him. The pool's waters churned violently, as though some monstrous beast writhed below. Steam thickened, spiraling into a whirling vortex.
A terrible premonition seized him. He turned to flee—too late. The vortex expanded, pulling him in at once. With a final flash, Zhao An vanished.
The pool calmed, the winds subsided. Silence returned, as if nothing had ever happened.
When Zhao An opened his eyes again, he realized he had crossed once more. This time, fresh knowledge flooded his mind: he now stood within the world of The Smiling, Proud Wanderer.
The Martial God Order remained present in his awareness—a dark token etched with "Martial God Order I." On its reverse, tiny characters shimmered faintly.
The first line read: The Smiling, Proud Wanderer—its four characters glowing green, beside a progress bar marked 1/100. Below lay seven other lines, grey and unlit: A Deadly Secret, The Eagle Shooting Heroes, The Divine Condor Lovers, The Heaven Sword and Dragon Sabre, Sword Stained with Royal Blood, Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils, The Vast Ocean.
Eight worlds in total.
Zhao An frowned. These are all classic martial worlds. Aside from Demi-Gods and The Vast Ocean, the rest are of roughly similar power levels. It doesn't look like a simple progression from low to high—more like a set of training grounds for beginners.
Then another thought came: Wait, I also seem to have a status panel. It's called… Heavenly Eye.
[Heavenly Eye]Name: Zhao AnBone Structure: 11 + 20Comprehension: 11 + 20Physique: 13Movement: 10Spiritual Sense: 10Cultivation: UnrankedCombat Power: Equal to ten menMartial Arts Mastered: NoneSpecial Item: Martial God Order I (Primordial Glow)
The panel looked sparse, even useless. Worse, it only displayed his own stats, not others'. A glorified self-check, nothing more.
Still, the numbers told much. His natural Bone Structure and Comprehension had been average before—only 11. But now, boosted by +20, he was a peerless prodigy, the sort encountered once in a thousand years. His Physique of 13 marked him already stronger, more resilient than ordinary men.
A heaven-sent chance indeed, he thought. The Martial God Order must have empowered me directly. I now possess talent beyond imagining—perfect for martial cultivation.
Suppressing his turbulent thoughts, Zhao An looked around. He stood before a massive city gate, above which read the characters: Fuzhou.
So this is Fuzhou. The plot of Smiling, Proud Wanderer begins here. Good… but when? Has the story already begun, or do I still have time to prepare?
At once, more knowledge poured into his mind—the entire plot of the novel, granted to him as another benefit of the Martial God Order.
He had barely processed this when the thunder of hooves shook the gate. A richly dressed youth rode past, sword at his hip, bow slung across his back, mounted upon a snow-white steed. Four riders followed close behind.
Zhao An stepped aside to let them pass, his gaze lingering thoughtfully on the young rider's departing figure.
Once inside the city, he bought new clothes. His current black garments were ragged, bloodstained, and long past repair. With only two gold bars left—taken from Suzaku Hall's steward in his escape—he could afford little. Still, he found a set of black and another of blue after searching several shops.
At an inn near Xiangyang Lane, he settled in, his thoughts firming.
The Evil-Resisting Sword Manual and Sunflower Manual—both were fast-track martial arts of immense potential. Though they demanded self-castration and twisted one's temperament, Zhao An's current body was already mutilated, and his emotions unnaturally cold. He felt no inner conflict.
Perhaps this lack of emotion is a gift. It may shield me from their mental corruption. These arts may have been made for me.
Looking up at the night sky, he murmured, "Martial God Order, is this your arrangement? If so, I'll seize this chance, grow stronger step by step, and let this snowball roll until it cannot be stopped. Perhaps one day I will truly master the Dao, transcend life and death, and even repair what is broken."
Thus, on his first day in this new world, Zhao An set a simple goal—not "earn a hundred million," but to become, once again, a true man.
That night, clad in black beneath the moonlight, he slipped into the old Lin family estate. Unlike Lin Pingzhi, whose theft of the manual was watched by many, Zhao An found little resistance. Within moments, the Evil-Resisting Sword Manual—hidden within a monk's robe—was his.