In the vast, misty expanse of the Azure Cloud Continent, where cultivators soared on flying swords and mythical beasts roamed untamed wilds, there existed a tiny speck of a place called Willow Creek Village. It was the kind of village where nothing exciting ever happened—unless you counted Old Man Zhang's prized rooster escaping its coop for the third time this month. The villagers led simple lives, farming spirit rice, brewing qi-infused tea, and occasionally dreaming of becoming immortal cultivators. That is, until Alex arrived.
Or rather, until Alex transmigrated.
Two years ago, Alex, an ordinary high school kid from Earth who spent his days binge-watching anime and dodging math homework, found himself waking up in the body of a scrawny 14-year-old boy lying face-down in a forest, surrounded by the mangled corpses of low-tier spirit beasts. The original Alex of this world had been caught in a beast wave—a chaotic stampede of feral creatures—and met a grisly end. Our Alex, however, was not so easily dispatched. The moment he opened his eyes, head pounding and clothes torn, he realized two things: one, he was no longer on Earth, and two, this world really didn't like him.
The heavens, it seemed, had a personal grudge against transmigrators. The world's laws, those invisible forces that governed the flow of qi and the balance of fate, sensed Alex's foreign soul and decided he was an unwelcome guest. Misfortune clung to him like a clingy ex, and no amount of pleading could shake it off. If there was a storm, it would aim its lightning at him. If there was a loose roof tile, it would fall on his head. If there was a rare spirit herb in the forest, he'd trip into a patch of poison ivy trying to pick it.
Yet, somehow, every disaster left Alex a little better off than before. It was as if the universe, after smacking him down, felt guilty and tossed him a consolation prize. And so, at 16, Alex had become Willow Creek Village's resident calamity magnet—a walking, talking paradox of bad luck and bizarre fortune.
The sun hung lazily over Willow Creek Village, casting golden rays over the thatched roofs and muddy paths. Alex trudged toward the village square, a bamboo basket slung over his shoulder, his patched-up robes flapping in the breeze. His black hair was a mess, as usual, and his bright green eyes sparkled with a mix of resignation and defiance. Today was market day, and he'd been roped into selling spirit turnips for Auntie Mei, the village's unofficial matriarch. It was a simple task: stand at the stall, smile, and don't let anyone steal the turnips. Easy, right?
Wrong.
"Oi, Alex!" called a voice from behind. It was Fatty Li, the baker's son, waddling over with a steamed bun in each hand. "Heard you got chased by a flock of Iron-Beaked Sparrows yesterday. How're you still alive?"
Alex groaned, adjusting the basket. "Don't remind me. I was just trying to pick some Blue Star Grass for Elder Chen's alchemy brew, and those feathered fiends decided I looked like lunch. Nearly pecked my eyes out!"
Fatty Li chuckled, crumbs flying from his mouth. "But you got the grass, didn't you? And I heard Elder Chen gave you a low-grade spirit stone for it!"
Alex's eye twitched. "Yeah, after I fell into a ditch, got stung by a Spirit Wasp, and accidentally set fire to half the meadow. The spirit stone barely covered the salve for the stings."
Fatty Li shook his head, grinning. "You're a walking disaster, Alex. But you always come out ahead. It's like the heavens can't decide whether to curse you or bless you."
"Tell me about it," Alex muttered. He'd long since stopped questioning why the world's laws hated him. The moment he'd transmigrated into this Xianxia world, the heavens had marked him as an anomaly. He wasn't a chosen one with a golden halo or a heaven-defying cheat system. No, he was just Alex, the guy who tripped into destiny and came out with bruises and a shiny trinket.
As he reached the village square, the market was already bustling. Stalls lined the dirt paths, offering everything from spirit fruits to talismans scribbled by half-drunk wandering cultivators. Alex set up Auntie Mei's turnip stall, arranging the knobby, faintly glowing vegetables in neat rows. They weren't much to look at, but spirit turnips were packed with qi, perfect for boosting a cultivator's stamina. Not that Alex could use them himself—his dantian, the spiritual energy core every cultivator relied on, was about as lively as a rock. Two years in this world, and he was still stuck at the first layer of Qi Condensation, the absolute bottom of the cultivation ladder.
"Alright, Alex," he muttered to himself, plastering on a smile. "Just sell the turnips. No disasters today. No lightning bolts, no rogue beasts, no—"
A shadow loomed over the stall. Alex looked up to see Big Bao, the village blacksmith's apprentice, grinning down at him. Big Bao was built like a small mountain, with arms thicker than Alex's thighs and a face that screamed "I punch first, ask questions never."
"Hey, Orphan Alex," Big Bao said, leaning on the stall with enough force to make it creak. "Heard you're selling turnips today. How about you give me a discount? Say, free?"
Alex sighed. Big Bao had been calling him "Orphan Alex" ever since he'd arrived in the village, a not-so-subtle jab at his lack of family. The original Alex had been an orphan, raised by the village out of pity, and our Alex had inherited that status along with the body. "Bao, you know I can't give you free turnips. Auntie Mei would skin me alive."
Big Bao's grin widened, showing a missing tooth. "Oh, come on. You're always tripping into some treasure or another. What's a few turnips to you?"
Before Alex could retort, a gust of wind swept through the square, carrying a faint hum of energy. The villagers froze, their chatter dying down. Alex's stomach sank. That hum wasn't natural—it was the kind of sound that preceded trouble. Big trouble.
"Uh, Bao," Alex said, inching back. "Maybe we should—"
The ground trembled. A low rumble echoed from the forest beyond the village, growing louder by the second. The villagers' faces paled as they recognized the sound: a beast wave. Not a full-scale stampede like the one that had killed the original Alex, but a smaller surge of spirit beasts, likely stirred up by some disturbance in the forest's qi.
"Beast wave!" someone shouted, and chaos erupted. Vendors scrambled to pack up their stalls, mothers grabbed their children, and cultivators—mostly low-level Qi Condensation folks like Alex—drew their weapons. Alex, of course, had no weapon. His only defense was a rusty dagger he'd found in a ditch last month, and he wasn't even sure it could cut butter.
"Great," Alex muttered, grabbing the turnip basket. "Just what I needed today."
Big Bao, for all his bravado, looked like he was about to bolt. "You're cursed, Alex! Every time you're around, something goes wrong!"
"Not my fault!" Alex snapped, but he couldn't deny it. The world's laws were probably cackling right now, plotting his next misfortune. He ducked behind the stall as the first beasts burst from the forest—a pack of Horned Razor Boars, their tusks glinting like steel, their eyes glowing red with feral rage. Each was the size of a small cow, and they charged straight for the village square.
The villagers scattered, but Alex, true to form, tripped over a loose cobblestone and face-planted into the dirt. The turnip basket flew from his hands, spilling its contents across the ground. One particularly shiny turnip rolled right into the path of the lead boar, which skidded to a halt, sniffed the turnip, and promptly ate it.
Alex froze, half-expecting the boar to explode or something equally ridiculous. Instead, the beast let out a contented grunt, its red eyes softening to a dull orange. The other boars stopped, sniffing the scattered turnips and chowing down like they'd found a five-star buffet.
The villagers gaped. Fatty Li, hiding behind a barrel, whispered, "Did… did Alex just stop a beast wave with turnips?"
"Don't jinx it!" Alex hissed, scrambling to his feet. But the boars, now happily munching, seemed to have forgotten their rampage. The lead boar even nuzzled Alex's leg, leaving a trail of slobber on his robe.
Of course, the heavens weren't done with him yet.
A shadow passed overhead, and a piercing screech split the air. Alex looked up to see a massive Iron-Beaked Sparrow—because apparently the universe loved recycling his traumas—diving straight for him. Its beak was sharp enough to pierce stone, and its eyes locked onto Alex like he was a walking target.
"Oh, come on!" Alex yelped, diving behind the stall again. The sparrow's beak slammed into the wooden stand, splintering it into kindling. Turnips flew everywhere, and Alex rolled out of the way just as the bird lunged again.
"Alex, run!" Fatty Li shouted, but Alex was already sprinting—straight into the path of another boar, which snorted and headbutted him into a nearby cart. The cart tipped, spilling a load of spirit cabbages, which rolled into the sparrow's path. The bird, distracted by the shiny green vegetables, paused to peck at them, giving Alex a moment to catch his breath.
"Why does this always happen to me?" he groaned, clutching his bruised ribs. The world's laws, he was sure, were laughing their metaphysical butts off.
But then, something strange happened. The ground beneath the shattered stall began to glow—a faint, golden light that pulsed with qi. The villagers, still cowering, gasped as the light intensified, revealing a small, fist-sized orb buried in the dirt. It was a Spirit Core, a rare treasure formed from concentrated natural qi, worth more than the entire village combined.
Alex stared at it, dumbfounded. "You've got to be kidding me."
Big Bao, who had been hiding behind a stack of crates, poked his head out. "Is that… a Spirit Core? Alex, you unlucky bastard, how do you do that?"
"I don't know!" Alex shouted, ducking as the sparrow screeched again. The boars, now full of turnips, wandered off into the forest, apparently satisfied. The sparrow, however, wasn't so easily distracted. It flapped its wings, sending a gust of wind that knocked Alex into the glowing Spirit Core.
The moment his hand touched it, a surge of energy shot through him. His dantian, that stubborn, rock-like core, quivered for the first time in two years. It wasn't much—just a faint spark of qi—but it was enough to make Alex's eyes widen. Was this… progress?
Before he could process it, the sparrow dove again. Alex rolled out of the way, clutching the Spirit Core, and tripped over another cobblestone. He landed in a pile of spirit cabbages, which cushioned his fall but also made him smell like a vegetable stew. The sparrow, confused by the chaos, crashed into a nearby tree and knocked itself out.
The village square fell silent. The villagers peeked out from their hiding spots, staring at Alex, who was sprawled in a pile of cabbages, clutching a glowing Spirit Core, with an unconscious sparrow twitching nearby.
Fatty Li was the first to break the silence. "Alex… you're a menace."
Auntie Mei stormed over, her face red with fury. "My stall! My turnips! Alex, you're paying for this!"
Alex sat up, still holding the Spirit Core. "Uh, can I pay you with this?" He held up the orb, which pulsed with an almost mocking brilliance.
Auntie Mei's jaw dropped. "Where did you—how did you—?"
"Don't ask," Alex said, standing and brushing cabbage leaves off his robe. "I don't know either."
The villagers crowded around, murmuring in awe. A Spirit Core was the kind of treasure that could fund a cultivator's journey for years. Even low-level cultivators like Elder Chen, who was now pushing through the crowd, couldn't hide their envy.
"Boy," Elder Chen said, stroking his wispy beard, "you're either the luckiest or unluckiest soul I've ever met."
"Unluckiest," Alex said firmly. "Definitely unluckiest."
But as he looked at the Spirit Core in his hand, feeling the faint stir of qi in his dantian, he couldn't help but wonder. The world's laws might hate him, but they kept tossing him treasures after every disaster. Was this their way of apologizing? Or were they just setting him up for an even bigger fall?
"Alright, everyone, back to work!" Auntie Mei barked, shooing the villagers away. "And Alex, you're cleaning up this mess!"
Alex sighed, tucking the Spirit Core into his robe. As he started picking up scattered turnips, he muttered, "One day, I'm gonna figure out why this world hates me. And then I'm gonna punch it in the face."
Somewhere, high above the clouds, the heavens rumbled with what sounded suspiciously like laughter.