Agony.
A piercing, bone-deep pain—as if his entire body had been dismantled and hastily reassembled—was the first thing Ling Yun felt as consciousness returned.
He struggled to open his eyelids, his vision blurred for a long moment before finally focusing. Above him was a low, cobweb-covered ceiling, and the air carried a musty, medicinal stench.
Where am I?
He tried to sit up, but the movement tugged at his injuries, sending a fresh wave of pain through him. A low groan escaped his lips as he realized he was lying on a hard wooden bed, covered by a rough, threadbare blanket that felt almost stiff with age.
Memories flooded back, chaotic and disjointed. He remembered being in the library, researching ancient historical texts for a thesis on dynastic conspiracies. Then—the chandelier above him had swayed violently before crashing down amidst screams. Darkness had swallowed him whole.
But now…
He looked around. The room was pitifully bare—crumbling earthen walls, a rickety table, and a crooked wooden cabinet were all it contained. The dim light filtering through the window suggested either dawn or dusk.
This wasn't a hospital. Nor was it anywhere he recognized.
Just as he tried to make sense of his situation, a torrent of foreign memories—bitter and overwhelming—forced their way into his mind, merging violently with his own.
The headache was so intense he nearly blacked out again.
When the pain finally receded, Ling Yun—or rather, the memories of the body's original owner, also named Ling Yun—gave him an impossible truth:
He had crossed worlds.
He was no longer the history student he once knew himself to be. Instead, he was now a young man named Ling Yun in a world called Nine Heavens Continent, a brutal, martial arts-dominated realm where strength ruled supreme.
His current location? The rear courtyard of the Ling Clan, one of the three great families of Tianfeng City. His status? A nobody—an orphaned, distant relative with no backing or influence.
The memories were humiliatingly clear: The original "Ling Yun" had been beaten half to death for the crime of daring to stand in the way of a direct descendant's entourage. The sheer rage and injuries had been too much for his frail body, and he had died—only for this Ling Yun's soul to take his place.
"Hah…" Ling Yun exhaled slowly, his breath tinged with the bitterness of herbal medicine. His emotions were a tangled mess. Transmigration? Something straight out of fiction had happened to him. And his starting point? A discarded, bullied side-branch clansman with no allies.
He assessed his body's condition—severe injuries, possible cracked ribs, and only the faintest trace of yuan qi (the foundational energy of this world) circulating within him. According to the memories, the original owner had trained for over a decade and was still stuck at the first level of the Yuan Qi Realm—his talent was abysmal.
Just as he was processing this grim reality—
BANG!
The already-unstable wooden door was kicked open with brutal force, nearly tearing off its hinges.
Harsh sunlight spilled in, illuminating two elongated shadows. Dust swirled wildly in the light.
Squinting against the glare, Ling Yun saw two youths swagger inside. The leader—a boy around his age, dressed in luxurious silks—held a perfumed handkerchief to his nose as if the air itself was poison.
Recognition flashed in Ling Yun's mind: Ling Xiao. Grandson of the Ling Clan's Third Elder. A direct descendant. And the very person who had led the beating that killed the original owner.
Behind him stood a hulking, sycophantic figure—Ling Hu, Xiao's lackey. One of the main enforcers of yesterday's violence.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Ling Xiao's mocking voice cut through the cramped room. His eyes swept over Ling Yun's immobilized form, brimming with disdain. "What's this? Not dead yet? Your trash life is tougher than I thought."
Ling Hu laughed obsequiously. "Xiao-ge, I bet he's just playing dead to win sympathy!"
Ling Yun's heart sank. Just my luck—enemies at the door the moment I wake up. The modern part of him recoiled at this blatant bullying, but reason warned him: Fighting back now would be suicide.
Silence stretched as Ling Yun refused to speak.
Ling Xiao's smirk twisted into irritation. "Whatever. I'm feeling generous today, so I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself." He paused, his tone dripping with false magnanimity. "The West Mountain Mine needs guards this month. Since it's our branch's turn, but none of us want to dirty our hands… you'll go in our place. Pack your things. Report at dawn tomorrow."
Ling Yun's pupils contracted.
The West Mountain Mine. A hellhole where the Ling Clan extracted low-grade yuan stones. The environment was toxic, the yuan qi thin and impure, and cave-ins were frequent. Being sent there was practically a death sentence—grueling labor, no resources, and no time to cultivate.
This wasn't redemption. It was exile.
Cold fury surged through him. The original owner had died because of them, and now they were pushing him further into the abyss.
Ling Hu, annoyed by Ling Yun's continued silence, stepped forward threateningly. "Deaf? Xiao-ge gave you an order! If you're late—or if you dare skip—" He cracked his knuckles. "Let's just say yesterday's lesson wasn't enough."
His meaty hand shot out to grab Ling Yun's collar—
SLAP!
With a burst of desperate strength, Ling Yun smacked Ling Hu's hand away.
The sound echoed sharply in the sudden silence.
Both Ling Xiao and Ling Hu froze, stunned by the defiance.
Ling Yun panted, his ribs screaming in protest. But his gaze—sharp as an unsheathed blade—locked onto Ling Hu with a cold intensity that made the larger boy instinctively retreat half a step.
"You—you dare hit back?!" Ling Hu roared, face flushing with humiliation. He lunged forward—
"Enough." Ling Xiao's voice cut him off. The noble-born youth studied Ling Yun's defiant eyes with amused curiosity, as if discovering a new toy.
He chuckled. "Well, well. One night on death's door, and you grow a spine? Interesting."
Stepping closer, he used his perfumed handkerchief to pat Ling Yun's sweat-damp cheek—a gesture so condescending it burned worse than any slap.
"Spirit is good. You'll need it at the mine." His voice turned icy. "Remember: Dawn tomorrow. If you're not there…"
A cruel smile.
"I'll break your legs and make you crawl."
With that, he tossed the handkerchief aside like trash and strode out, Ling Hu shooting one last glare before following.
The broken door swayed in the wind, letting in a frigid draft.
Alone again, Ling Yun lay trembling—not from pain, but from rage and helplessness. The spot where Ling Xiao had touched him burned with humiliation.
Power. In this world, without strength, you were nothing but an ant beneath others' feet. The original owner's fate was proof enough.
Was this his destiny too? To die in a mine or be beaten to death like trash?
No.
A fierce will to survive ignited in his chest. He came from an era of boundless knowledge—his modern mind was his only advantage. He had to find a way out.
But how? Injured, penniless, friendless, with enemies at every turn…
His thoughts raced, only to crash against the walls of reality. Exhaustion and pain dragged at him, his consciousness wavering—
Then, just as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, he felt it.
A faint warmth pulsed against his chest.
The tattered, grayish jade pendant—his parents' only legacy, something the original owner had worn since childhood but never thought special—was reacting.
The warmth grew stronger, rhythmic, like a dormant heart awakening.
And then—
A voice, cold and mechanical, resonated directly in his mind:
[Host's mental fluctuations and survival instincts detected… Binding conditions met…]
[Energy absorption in progress… Soul frequency synchronizing…]
[Omni-Simulator System… Initializing…]
Ling Yun's eyes snapped open.
What the—?!