The morning sun beamed on Green Willow Village, bathing the tiled rooftops and weathered dirt roads in a warm golden hue. Farmers rose with their tools, women carried baskets of rice to dry, and children ran between alleyways, their laughter blending with distant roosters' crows.
Amid this simple, tranquil life, one young man sat alone at the edge of the river that flowed by the village. His back was straight, his black hair slightly disheveled from the night breeze. His eyes, though calm, carried a depth far too heavy for a boy of only eighteen.
His name was "Vahn", a good-for-nothing.
"Why are you still sitting there, Vahn?" An old fisherman passed by, shaking his head with a mixture of pity and scorn. "Every day you sit by the river as if the gods will bless you. Why don't you go and help your grandfather with his work instead? He is getting old. For how long your are going to be a burden for that old man?"
Vahn did not respond. His gaze remained fixed on the flowing waters. In their reflection, he saw not just his own thin figure, but the faint shadow of the grand path he longed to tread.
The Path of Cultivation
In this world, there were chosen individuals who could literally bend reality to their will. They are the legendary Cultivators.
With a single palm of their hand, they could flatten mountains and shatter rivers with ease.
The path was long and arduous. But for Vahn, the world had already judged him: a "cripple."
In yearly awakening ceremony, like majority people, he also couldn't break the Veil that separated ordinary people from the Cultivators.
Breaking the Veil was anything but easy. It required extraordinary perseverance and mental power. Something he sorely lacked.
As a fellow transmigrator from Earth, he had hoped this cultivation world would grant him immense luck or a golden finger at least. But no. Reality had slapped him hard in the face. He was still the same useless bum as in his previous life.
In his previous life, he was raised in an orphanage with no one to guide him forward. With his dull mind and pitiful talent, he could hardly make a difference in that heartless society.
At the age of twenty, he met an end too humiliating to recall. On a lonely roadside, he saw a starving dog and reached out to help. Yet kindness was answered with cruelty. The dog bit him and fled. At first, he dismissed the wound as nothing, but fate mocked him. The bite carried the rabies virus.
Thus, he perished in agony, rotting away on a cold night. The torment was so dreadful that even remembering it now made his soul shiver.
But even now his tragic fate did not loosen its grip on him. After death, he awoke to find himself transmigrated inside the body of a dying boy, just as talentless, just as ordinary.
It was not that he had never tried. He struggled day and night to develop his mental strength, but all efforts were wasted. That realm felt illusive and impossible to achieve. Even his grandfather's rare medicines and extraordinary treasures failed to stir the slightest progress.
Because of his continuous failures, the villagers looked upon him with scorn, disappointment heavy in their eyes, as though he were nothing more than a burden.
The ridicule grew worse when he attempted to join the nearby sect, only to be cast out after failing the entry test. "Talentless," they had called him. "A waste of food."
Even now, the words wounds him deep.
"Vahn, are you dreaming again?"
Suddenly a softer voice reached his ears.
He looked behind to see a girl with bright eyes and a woven basket approached him. She was Emilia Amberwood, daughter of the village chief, and one of the few who treated him with kindness. Her long braid swayed as she crouched beside him.
"You know, you shouldn't let them bother you too much. Even if you can't cultivate, you're stil you," she said gently.
Vahn smiled faintly. "But in this world, what is a man who cannot cultivate?"
Her lips parted, but she could not find an answer. Both of them knew the truth. Without becoming a Cultivator, one could not protect loved ones, nor stand tall in this cruel land.
Suddenly, a rumbling sound echoed from the north. The villagers lifted their heads in alarm. From beyond the hills, a group of armored horse riders approached, banner fluttered high in the wind. Their insignia bore the golden crane—the mark of the Ironcrest Clan, a local noble family.
The villagers quickly bowed as the riders stormed into the square. At their head was a youth in fine robes, his expression arrogant, his chin held high.
He was Cain Ironcrest, the son of the clan's patriarch.
"People of Green Willow Village!" His voice boomed with authority.
"The clan requires new laborers for the mines. Every household will provide one able-bodied youth. Refusal will be considered rebellion."
A tense silence fell. The villagers trembled. The mining here wasn't simple at all. Those Spirit stone mines were always filled with cursed remnants of forgotten eras.
But the Ironcrest Clan controlled this entire region. To defy them was to invite slaughter.
Emilia's hands tightened around her basket. Her family had only her and her grandfather. If chosen, she would be taken away.
Vahn sighed. He stepped forward instinctively, though the rational part of him knew he was powerless.
Cain's gaze swept over the crowd, finally landing on Vahn. His eyes sparkled with recognition, followed by mockery.
"Well, if it isn't the cripple who once begged to join my sect's entrance exam," he sneered. "Still pretending to be a dreamer? Perfect. Send him to the mines. At least a waste like you can break rocks if not bones."
"Hahahaha...." The horse riders broke into mocking laughter.
Vahn's clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He was angry, but before he could act, a hurried voice echoed from the crowd.
"Wait."
A figure suddenly rushed forward, his breathing haggard. It appeared as if he had ran kilometres to reach here. His hand was on his knees as he gasped for breath.
Still, he looked at Vahn and said something that shattered his world:
"Vahn, your grandfather, he...he..."
Before he could finish his words, Vahn rushed toward his old house as fast his legs could carry him.
His eyes already cloudy with unknown emotions swelling in his chest. Like someone important was being taken away from him.
Emilia followed him, her kind face tightening with worry. She had known that kind old man for years, so it was only natural.
When they arrived at the place, the old bamboo house was already packed with people. The Villagers stood together in solemn silence, gathered as though in mourning for an irreplaceable loss.
For his grandfather was not just any ordinary man. To them, he was almost a saintly figure. His extraordinary medical skills and pill-making had saved more lives than anyone could count. Nearly every household in Green Willow Village owed him a debt of gratitude.
Even Village Chief Wendelin—Emilia's grandfather—was present. He was hunchbacked, his face withered by the weight of years.
Upon seeing Vahn, the old chief sighed and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Go, Vahn. See him for one last time."
Above the bamboo house, spiraling dark crows circled in the air, making the news all the more certain.
His grandfather was drawing his last breaths.
Ignoring the scornful gazes behind him, Vahn pushed his way into the room without hesitation.
Instantly the scent of incense and burning wood drifted under his nose.
Inside, an old man lay upon the wooden bed. His once-robust frame had withered, his hair turned ashen gray, his face sunken like mummy. He stared blankly at the ceiling, his hollow eyes fixed on some faraway place.
Yet the moment he heard Vahn's footsteps, he moved. Slowly turning his head, he managed a faint smile.
"Brat, you're finally here… I was waiting for your ass for a long time. "
The words left his lips in that familiar lighthearted tone, though now they trembled, frail and thin.
Vahn knelt beside him, gazing into the pair of eyes that still shone with wisdom—and with mysteries he had never been able to unravel, no matter how he tried.
"Old man, you're dying, and still you find the strength to tease me."
His voice was steady, calm even, but only he knew the storm raging within his chest.
For the past ten years (ever since the day he had transmigrated into this world), this old man had been his pillar. His meals, his shelter, his unwavering encouragement, and his quiet support for Vahn's dreams had long been etched into his heart.
The old man looked as though he had seen through Vahn's inner thoughts and unspeakable emotions with a single glance. For a moment, he seemed gratified.
But in the next instant, he grew serious.
"Listen, Vahn. I don't have much time left. Take this…"
The old man handed him a scroll, its appearance plain and unremarkable.
"Keep it safe. This is the key to breaking your Seal."
Vahn frowned in confusion.
"Seal? What kind of Seal?"
The old man's voice grew solemn as he answered,
"The Seal of Seven Moons. Seven extraordinary women are destined to become your brides."
Vahn's jaw dropped.
"W–what?!"