His chest had stopped burning, but an unfamiliar heaviness lingered inside.
The silence pressed harder.
No sirens. No car horns. No neon signs flickering outside his window. Instead, faint bells echoed somewhere far away, crisp and clear, like morning chimes rolling across mountains.
He exhaled slowly. "So… I really did transmigrate."
As an avid webnovel reader, the idea wasn't foreign. It was just that it happened to him. Unbelievable, ridiculous—yet here he was.
He sifted through memories that weren't his.
This world was called the Divine Origin Realm.
Six continents. Sects, clans, royal families, demon beasts, and races beyond human.
And here—at the heart of the Eastern Spiritual Lands of the Azure Dragon Continent—stood the Xuan Clan along with other forces.
He sat up, the memories slotting into place.
The Xuan Clan had ruled their domain for tens of thousands of years, nestled deep within spiritual mountains.
"Xuan Yuan," he muttered, tasting the name. The same as his own back on Earth. "Typical. At least I won't need to actively remember."
The name carried weight here. His father, Xuan Han, was the Third Elder, a man of immense talent and a strong contender for clan leadership. His bloodline should have paved the way to glory.
Children of side branches condensed spiritual energy at eight. By twelve, they formed their first cores. By thirteen, they could split boulders with a strike.
And him?
Fifteen years old. Veins weaker than brittle twigs. A body that rejected qi as if the heavens themselves hated him. Every attempt at cultivation ended in sickness or collapse.
If talent was gold, he was dirt.
At least… his family treated him well. His parents were loving, his siblings affectionate. Even the clan provided him with care. No ridicule to his face, no active suppression. Just… indifference. A quiet dismissal. Pitying gazes from afar, as though he was already forgotten.
The truth was simple: the boy had worked himself to death. Literally. Pushing his broken body for three sleepless days, desperately trying to grasp even a thread of qi, until exhaustion claimed him.
The transmigrator pinched his nose. "Truck-kun, repeat offender, sends me across worlds… only to land me in a fifteen-year-old young master's body. One of the strongest clans around, too. Cliché much?"
Still, there was one difference. He had a secret—
a faint pulse inside his chest. The Codex. Silent, but alive.
Before he could dwell on it, a knock came at the door.
"Young Master," a servant's voice called respectfully. "The morning bell has rung. The instructing elder expects you at the training courtyard. Please don't be late."
The transmigrator blinked. Respect? So different from those novels where servants sneered and kicked their masters around.
He sat there for a moment, rubbing his temples. The old Xuan Yuan had been a workaholic—training every morning, meditating every night. And it killed him.
"…Hard workers never have a good life," he muttered.
Truthfully, the idea of going to a sweaty training yard filled him with dread. Back on Earth, he'd had borderline OCD. He liked clean spaces, quiet tea shops, not places that smelled like blood and sweat.
But avoiding it wasn't an option. Especially not with that elder. White-haired, sharp-tongued, the man wasn't frightening because of strength or cruelty, but because he could nag a hole through a mountain.
Still, the courtyard wasn't far.
When he stepped outside, the world struck him all at once.
Azure skies stretched endlessly, dotted with drifting spirit cranes. Peaks soared high, their summits lost in clouds. The air itself shimmered faintly with qi, denser than anything a mortal Earthling could imagine. Every breath felt like drinking honey and lightning at once.
He reached the training grounds.
Dozens of youths filled the courtyard—his cousins, his peers. They wore clan robes embroidered with flame patterns, their movements sharp and confident. Some sparred with wooden swords, others condensed shimmering wisps of qi into their palms.
Their shouts cracked the air.
When he entered, silence spread like a ripple.
Eyes turned.
Then came the whispers.
"The young master's awake."
"Fifteen and still at the starting line…"
"He works so hard, yet heaven gives him nothing."
No mockery, no cruelty. Just pity. Disappointment.
The old Xuan Yuan would have lowered his head, fists clenched.
The transmigrator only walked past, gaze steady, skin thickened by years of abusive bosses and office politics. After enduring lectures that could last entire work shifts, whispers in a courtyard were nothing.
Inside, though, his mind was turning.
This world was merciless. Strength dictated worth. Clans ruled. Sects demanded loyalty. Even kingdoms bowed before power. And here he stood, in one of the continent's great clans… with a body that rejected cultivation itself.
But not quite alone.
Deep in his soul, the Codex pulsed again. Stronger this time. Waiting.
His lips curved into the faintest smile.
"Alright," he whispered under his breath, unheard by anyone else. "With the system at hand, I'll be better off. Much better off."
Above, the morning bell rang once more, its chime echoing across the mountains.