Chapter 1 — Crushed by a Cat
Long Tianchen had always suspected the universe was run by comedians. Not the funny kind—the cheap kind. The ones who recycle the same punchlines, then slap you harder the moment you start to laugh. If fate had a script, it was written in greasy handwriting by a drunk uncle who thought pain made good entertainment.
That's why his story didn't begin with heroism, glory, or some epic ballad of destiny. No, his grand tale started the way rotten sitcoms usually did—on Earth, in the city, with him dying like a complete idiot.
He hadn't even been doing anything impressive. He wasn't in a car chase. He wasn't pulling a kid out of the fire. He wasn't holding a sword against a dragon.
He was eating noodles.
Street-side noodles. One plastic chair, leaning too far back because he thought it looked "cool." Grease-stained apron-wearing aunty ladling broth into his bowl, giving him the stink eye because he hadn't paid up front.
And that was the moment some random delivery bike clipped his chair.
BAM. Plastic snapped. His body toppled backward. His head hit the pavement with the sad little crunch of a dropped coconut.
Darkness.
Yep. That was it. That was the mighty end of Long Tianchen. The tragic hero who got defeated not by monsters or assassins or heavenly tribulations… but by a cheap plastic chair and one distracted delivery guy scrolling WeChat.
Somewhere in the dark, his last thought fizzled:
If there's an afterlife, I hope they refund my noodles.
When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't in a hospital, or in heaven, or even stuck floating above his corpse like those documentaries always claimed.
He was lying in filth.
Cold stone pressed against his cheek, sticky with something he didn't want to name. His whole body itched, as though fleas were holding a carnival on his skin. And his clothes… no, not clothes, rags—patches stitched together with grease, dirt, and bad luck. His stomach shriveled into itself, clawing with a hunger that felt ancient.
He blinked, confused, then groaned.
The groan wasn't his.
It came from inside his skull.
[System Notification: Congratulations, you have successfully activated the Immortal Growth Through Death System.]
The letters weren't floating in the air like a cute RPG. They burned straight into his mind, like somebody spray-painted graffiti across his brain.
He gasped, shot upright, and sucked in air that stank of trash, rotting food, and something disturbingly meaty. His lungs wheezed, but they worked.
His eyes darted left, then right. Narrow alley. Broken roof tiles above. Rats skittering across wooden crates.
And in front of him—a fat black cat.
No, not fat. Monumentally obese. Round like a beanbag chair, its fur oily, eyes half-lidded in contempt. It flicked its tail once and stared at him like he had personally offended its ancestors.
Tianchen's mind reeled.
Wait. Am I alive again? No… I transmigrated. Is this… another world? A cultivation realm? Some fantasy realm with swords and magic and destiny?
Before he could marvel at the "miracle," the cat made its move.
It waddled forward.
It turned.
And it sat down.
On his face.
Crunch.
His neck gave way like wet bamboo. His last sight: darkness, fur, and the jiggling avalanche of a cat's backside.
If shame could kill, that alone would've finished him. But no—the system chimed.
[Death Evaluation: D-Rank]
[Reward: 1 Skill Point]
[Additional Reward: Strength has increased]
Somewhere in the abyss of nothingness, Tianchen screamed.
Resurrection in Rags
He shot back up again with a violent cough, like a drowned man gasping for the shore. His chest heaved, eyes bulged, body trembling as if lightning had jumped through his veins.
The alley hadn't changed. Rats still squeaked. Trash still stank. And that cat—oh, that demon in fur—was licking its paw, smug as a landlord who just raised rent.
Memory slammed into him. Not his, but the body's former owner. A boy. A beggar. Skin and bones, surviving on scraps. Died hungry. Died hopeless. And worst of all… died by cat butt.
The humiliation stung worse than the hunger.
Long Tianchen clutched his head, trembling.
"So that's it? That notification earlier… was a death evaluation?" His voice cracked between disbelief and outrage. "I level up by dying?!"
He froze.
His vision blurred.
And then the system text appeared again, floating cold and merciless in his mind.
[Immortal Growth Through Death System Online]
[Total Deaths: 1]
[Skill Points: 1]
[Strength has increased]
Long Tianchen's lips trembled. He wanted to laugh, cry, and sue somebody all at once.
He grabbed at the glowing panel as if he could strangle it.
"Scam! Absolute scam! What kind of demonic system is this?! Death evaluation? Cat-butt assassination? You mean… I get stronger every time I die?!"
His voice echoed through the alley, startling rats and sending the fat cat into another lazy stretch.
Long Tianchen's jaw clenched. His eyes burned, and his voice dropped into a hoarse whisper.
"…What kind of sick joke is this?"