Back on Earth, he was an IT guy -- backend infrastructure, distributed computing, the usual grind. But what really got him excited was artificial intelligence.
I mean, he could bang out a chunk of code in an hour, but the AI could spit it out in minutes. Who wouldn't be impressed? And honestly, all those people whining that AI was "stealing jobs" were missing the point.
Adapt it, use it to make your work faster, and suddenly the bosses have zero reason to replace you.
His AI wasn't some world-dominating super-AI. No, it was a personal assistant, built to fit his quirks, his workflow, and the way his brain worked.
For fun—or maybe just out of stubborn curiosity—he'd grabbed an open-source transformer, a stripped-down model tuned for low-latency on consumer GPUs.
He'd slapped together a slick interface with Python and React, hooked it to a RESTful API backend running on a Kubernetes cluster he managed remotely.
Hours were spent tweaking hyperparameters, testing dropout rates, adjusting layer normalization—tiny changes for tiny gains—but it was all worth it just to see the AI squeeze out a bit more intelligence, a bit more speed.
Now, in this strange cultivation world, that unfinished AI was… running inside his mind. Or somewhere in his brain, at least.
Was this his cheat code? His secret weapon?
Lin Chen quickly opened the interface and stared at the three simple options he had coded himself:
[1. Input]
This was where he uploaded all the knowledge, books, notes, and data he wanted the AI to learn. Back on Earth, he had always planned to train it with information that interested him, so it could act as a personal assistant.
[2. Analysis]
This function scans all the input data, cross-referencing and comparing, then suggesting optimal solutions or strategies based on the vast pool of information it had absorbed.
[3. Output]
This was how the AI communicated back—giving answers, advice, or even step-by-step instructions.
The catch? It never ran at full power. Back on Earth, his hardware was limited, and the AI had to operate on a low-speed GPU to avoid crashing or overheating.
But here—without hardware limits—who knew what it might be capable of? And, seriously… why the hell was it in his brain?
Lin Chen's fingers hovered uncertainly over the virtual controls. He decided to worry about why it was in his brain later. Right now, he needed to see what it could do.
After all, one weird thing had already happened—him being transmigrated into this world—so another strange occurrence wasn't exactly shocking.
"This might actually save me," he thought, eyes gleaming with a flicker of hope.
He focused on the input. Words began to appear.
"What are you?"
That was the first question he had for AI inside his brain.
[Answer: I am Artificial Intelligence. Codename: Aiva.]
[Capabilities: Knowledge ingestion, analysis, strategy formulation, guidance, Enhancement .Currently operating at full potential.]
"So… Aiva?" Lin Chen asked, hesitating as he rubbed his temples. His eyes darted around the hut like it could somehow give him an answer too. "Can you… control my body?"
He swallowed hard. He'd seen it in movies—the classic trope where the AI, designed to help a human, slowly gained self-awareness, then took over completely. The idea made his stomach churn. Could he really trust something living in his brain?
[Answer:Yes, I can control your body.] Aiva replied, calm, precise, with no hint of malice.
[But there is a security feature to prevent a full takeover. I may only control your body if you explicitly allow it, or in genuine emergency situations. Attempting to occupy your body without permission triggers self-termination protocols.]
Lin Chen let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well… that's… comforting, I guess."
"So… can you tell me how all this happened? How did I end up in this world? Or, you know, why you're in my brain?" Lin Chen asked. Maybe Aiva knew something that he didn't.
[Answer: Negative. I do not know the phenomenon that caused this. I came online thirty minutes ago with one primary command: assist you to the best of my abilities.]
Lin Chen blinked. "…Right. Of course. That makes perfect sense." He rubbed his forehead, a little exasperated.
So, Aiva didn't know anything either. Nothing about transmigration, nothing about why a semi-sentient AI was suddenly living in his head.
"It seems… now I can actually try to be a cultivator," Lin Chen muttered.
He had a cheat now—Aiva—but even with that, if he didn't dare dream of something bigger, he would be nothing but trash.
Then he remembered something: there was a basic cultivation manual somewhere in this hut. It should be around here… somewhere.
After ten minutes of rummaging through dusty boxes and piles of old belongings, he finally found it.
A tattered little book—a simple cultivation guide meant for handymen like him. Its pages were thin and yellow, the corners frayed, filled with basic diagrams and instructions that real cultivators would probably ignore without a second thought. But to Lin Chen, it was a lifeline.
He picked it up carefully. Without thinking, he gave the command:
"Analysis."
Almost immediately, his body stiffened. His consciousness felt like it was sliding aside, giving way to something else. Aiva had taken control.
Lin Chen didn't resist. Why would he? Compared to him, Aiva could learn and process information a thousand times faster. It made sense for the AI to handle the first steps—absorbing, analyzing, understanding—before he tried anything himself.
The manual's simple exercises unfolded in Lin Chen's mind as if the pages themselves had come alive. Breathing patterns stretched out before him in slow motion, each inhale and exhale mapped with meticulous precision.
Diagrams of the body's meridians overlap with phantom sensations in his flesh, showing him exactly how to guide the essence of Qi.
By the time the last image faded, a calm, mechanical voice rippled across his thoughts
[Analysis completed].
[Do you wish to practice the cultivation manual?]
Lin Chen, feeling more like a distant observer than the owner of his own body, barely hesitated before answering, "Yes."
The moment the word left his lips, his body began to move on its own. Under Aiva's control, Lin Chen's body settled into a proper meditation posture—legs folded neatly, back straightened like a drawn bow, hands resting lightly on his knees.
Lin Chen couldn't help but scoff inwardly. Really? Meditation? In this trashy body? He had no illusions—this shell wasn't built for greatness.
If the original owner couldn't awaken his spiritual roots after years of sweat and pain, then what chance did he have? So it might take months to feel anything.
And yet, something stirred.
Aiva wasn't just guiding his breathing. It was syncing every part of him—nerves, muscles, hidden meridians, even the subtle contractions of his lungs and heart.
Things no human mind could consciously command were now moving in perfect orchestration, like instruments in a symphony tuned to one flawless rhythm.
Then it hit him.
A warmth bloomed deep in his chest, subtle at first, then swelling until it filled his entire torso. It spread like sunlight breaking through winter clouds, seeping into his limbs, washing over his skin. His every pore seemed to open, drinking in the faint threads of energy around him.
A faint hum rose from within, low and steady, like the vibration of a plucked string. Lin Chen's eyes widened in disbelief. Is this… really happening?
Under Lin Chen's wide, disbelieving eyes, faint wisps of energy that floated in the air began to stir. At first, it was subtle, like the flutter of dust motes in a breeze.
Then, as if pulled by some unseen magnet, misty threads of energy bent toward him. Slowly, steadily, they slipped through his skin and seeped into his body.
A strange heat coursed through his veins, neither painful nor comfortable—just alien. His chest tightened, his head buzzed, and then—
It happened.
Something deep within him, something that had been dormant for years, suddenly stirred awake. A sharp jolt ran through his meridians, like locked doors being flung open all at once.
His spiritual roots had awakened.
The very thing the original Lin Chen had chased for nearly a decade—what he had trained, bled, and finally died trying to achieve—had just unfolded in a single attempt.
He had stepped into the first stage of Root Vein Awakening, the foundation every cultivator needed.
A chime echoed in his consciousness.
[Task completed.]
Aiva's calm, measured voice resonated softly in his mind as control of his body returned.
Lin Chen flexed his fingers, feeling the subtle pulse of some new energy coursing weakly but steadily through his body.
"Whoa… is this for real? In just fifteen minutes, Aiva managed to do something the original body's owner couldn't achieve in nine whole years?"
Thinking back on how Aiva had taken over and controlled his body to its absolute limit, it wasn't all that surprising. After all, he was certain a human brain couldn't consciously manage even one percent of that level of precision.