Xiao Fang, a cynical man, died in a traffic accident on his way home from a family gathering he had never liked. He only went to maintain relations, enduring the endless lectures of old men he regarded as nothing more than failures—parasites living off an inheritance that was dwindling due to their own incompetence.
He remembered vividly the moment the truck smashed into his car. The pain lasted only an instant before everything turned dark, severing his ties with the modern world he had long been familiar with.
His soul transmigrated into the body of an outer disciple of the RedMartyr Sect. With stagnant qi and a life barely different from that of a slave, his new existence was pathetic.
At the moment, he was doing degrading work—fetching water for senior outer disciples to wash with. Some slaves were there as well, but their paths were separated.
Xiao Fang stared at his reflection in the water. He crouched down, drank a mouthful, and let out a sigh. "Damn it, Xiao Ren… why is your body so weak…" For a full month since awakening in this straw-ridden shack of an outer disciple's dormitory, he had cursed the body's original owner, Xiao Ren.
He raised his head toward the sky. "Heavenly shit, why am I here? Where the hell is the afterlife?" He cursed, glaring at the heavens—the so-called ultimate goal of every cultivator.
Cling… Cling…
The sound of chained slaves walking away from the river echoed in the distance. Exhausted though they were, they kept working. Senior outer disciples stood watch with whips in hand, some even kicking slaves over just to make them fetch more water.
Xiao took a deep breath. "Disgusting hierarchy," he muttered. His body felt like it was about to collapse. This was already his ninth trip carrying water, since the sect's well was reserved only for Inner Disciples and above.
He sighed again, nauseated by the sight. "They vent their frustrations on slaves because they are belittled by Inner Disciples… and the Inner Disciples vent on them because they themselves are crushed by Core Disciples? Damn it. Maybe I was never meant to uphold the same ideals as this trash."
Sweat trickled down his chin. The rustling trees and cool breeze offered little comfort. He filled two buckets once more and began the long walk back to the outhouse for outer disciples. Irritation simmered in his chest—he had always despised the word "senior" when it referred only to age.
As he walked, he grumbled. "Humans over twenty years old aren't really that different." He sighed again, realizing his words held no weight in this world. "Yeah, here it's better—at least respect is determined by strength. At least things are clear, not hypocritical." He stopped, panting heavily. Sweat dripped into his mouth, salty enough to make him spit and wipe his face with the frayed sleeve of his uniform. "Tch… damn salty."
"Why wasn't my soul placed in the body of some young master? Why this worthless disciple instead? Even the way I died makes me want to puke again." He squinted as the sun rose higher, stabbing his eyes.
Crack!
The whip cracked, startling him. Water sloshed over the rim of his bucket.
"Hey, idiot, hahaha! Go fill it again, your bucket isn't full enough," a fat man sneered, whip in hand, while the slaves behind him looked as though they
wanted to die on the spot.
Xiao lowered his head and turned back toward the river. Resistance was pointless; the hierarchy here was suffocating, and the original Xiao Ren had long been branded a cripple with defective qi.
Once more, he carried water uphill. "A weak body… and a death I despise." Memories of Xiao Ren flashed—his futile struggle to grow stronger just to marry his childhood sweetheart, only to hear she had wed a noble. That news broke his spirit, and after years of fruitless training, he stole herbs and brewed poison beneath the full moon, ending his life at the very moment Xiao Fang's own accident occurred.
By the time Xiao completed his chores, his breathing was ragged as he slumped by the water tanks. No one approached him. Everyone knew he was a weakling, a loser fated to be expelled within a year for failing to advance.
On his way back to the shabby dorms, he spotted a figure from the Core Disciples. Everyone lowered their heads immediately. A young woman—Liu Fei—walked past. She was a genius who had brought glory to the sect by defeating countless opponents at the Purple Moon Empire's tournament the previous year.
She distributed bread to the outer disciples. Xiao found it strange—back in his world, women rarely surpassed men in strength, yet here, even a woman could make hundreds of men bow, not through beauty alone but through raw talent and power.
Xiao received his share. The moment Liu Fei left, chaos erupted as the disciples fought over bread. Xiao clutched his piece tightly and bolted, running until he reached a quiet bamboo grove.
There, atop a large stone, he finally ate in peace. The first bite filled his dry mouth.
"Finally… something normal to eat—" His eyes widened. Below the rock sat a ragged girl, her weary gaze fixed on him. She swallowed hard, her parched throat trembling.
Xiao tried to ignore her. He chewed again, but her gaze never left him. "Damn… this slave's eyes is annoying." He jumped down from the rock.
"Here. Eat this." Xiao shoved the half-eaten bread at her, crumbs still clinging to his lips.
The slave girl shook her head, clutching her stomach. Xiao clicked his tongue. Of course she was afraid—slaves were always beaten.
"Just eat. I won't hit you… Hurry!" He tossed the bread gently toward her.
She caught it and devoured it like a starving dog sinking its teeth into a long-absent master.
Xiao exhaled, cynical as ever. The world was simply too cruel.
And then—without warning—his body trembled. The exhaustion faded, drawn out as though plucked away. A strange whisper filled his mind.
The breath of gratitude in her parched throat opens your path.
One out of ten channels has been filled…
"What…?" Xiao's eyes went wide.