In the Chongqing region, where neon lights crowned skyscrapers like jeweled halos, an old apartment block hunched beneath their glittering shadows. Four stories of weary concrete, green-painted doors lined up with utilitarian precision, and a side stairwell of rusted steel that trembled with every step. The structure seemed to endure out of stubbornness alone, as though gravity had forgotten it for the moment but would soon remember.
Inside one of those cramped rooms lived Zhang Wei, twenty-two years old, professional shut-in, and devout worshiper of cheap instant noodles. Despite his lifestyle, his apartment was not the nest of chaos one might expect. Empty cans and ramen cups filled the trash can but rarely the floor. His bed was tucked neatly against the corner. A single closet sagged against one wall. And at the center of his universe, a rickety desk bore the weight of an ancient computer humming like an exhausted beast.
Zhang Wei sat hunched in a frog-like posture on a wooden chair that complained with every shift of his weight. The only illumination came from the glow of the monitor, bleaching his already pale face. His messy black hair cast shadows over his sharp but ordinary features, his eyes reddened from long hours of staring at pixelated hopes. Fingers clattered across the keyboard; the mouse scraped endlessly against a worn mousepad.
"This damn gacha game," he muttered, exhaling his frustration. "Why is it so unfair for free-to-play players?"
On the screen was his obsession: Celestial Chronicles Online. Tonight, he was determined to summon Synipom, an elusive five-star heroine whose design seemed less inspired by martial virtue and more by the fantasies of desperate gamers. For hours he had chased her, burning through the meager resources the game allowed him, his soul tightening each time the screen flashed disappointment.
Finally, he leaned back, lungs heaving as though he had run a marathon. He reached for the energy drink beside him, uncapped it with a snap, and drained it in one long swallow. The bitter sweetness burned down his throat.
"Break time," he announced to no one. "I'll try again later. Maybe this damn game will show mercy."
He lobbed the empty bottle into the trash, stretched until his spine popped, and surveyed his tiny kingdom. White walls, clean floor, a simple bed, a closet, and his loyal computer. That was his world.
Should he drag himself to work tomorrow? Or call in sick again? He weighed the options with the seriousness of a general planning a campaign. His manager was already skeptical of his "illnesses." Perhaps one more excuse would work. Perhaps not.
"My life is literally on hard mode," he sighed.
The words slipped out heavier than intended. He sat on the bed, staring at nothing. His chest ached with a hollowness that even gaming could not fill. No parents. No family. Just himself and a city that demanded he earn his right to exist.
Frustration boiled over, and he sprang to his feet. "Why wasn't I reborn in a fantasy world? Why not me?" he shouted at the ceiling. He stomped around like a child throwing a tantrum, waving his arms dramatically. "Dragons, swords, magical beauties, immortal sects, anything would be better than this! I swear, next life, I'm reincarnating in some novel world and living like a protagonist. That's the only way I'll ever have fun!"
He flopped back onto his chair, muttering bitterly. His neighbors, less amused by his outburst, made their displeasure known. From below came a thud, the floor reverberating with an angry thud, followed by a muffled curse. Zhang Wei winced, guilt prickling. He shut his mouth, swallowing his bitterness.
Then came a knock at the door.
"Package delivery," a man's voice announced.
Zhang Wei blinked. Package delivery? He tilted his head, trying to remember. He had ordered noodles online, but they weren't supposed to arrive until tomorrow. Still, the thought of hot, salty broth lured him from his chair. He shuffled to the door.
"Coming," he called.
When the door swung open, he was greeted not by a friendly courier but by a figure that exuded unease. A man in a black hoodie, face obscured by a white cap emblazoned with the word Hello, and a mask covering everything else. His gloved hands clutched a cardboard box.
Zhang Wei hesitated. "Uh… is that my noodle package?"
"Yes," the man replied, voice deep and flat. He extended the box.
Zhang Wei took it, frowning at how suspiciously light it felt. "There's… nothing inside?" he murmured. His eyes flicked back up. Something about the figure set his nerves on edge.
Before he could react, the gloved hand shot forward, smashing into his face with brutal force. Zhang Wei stumbled backward, skull cracking against the floorboards. Stars burst behind his eyes, his limbs jerking uselessly as though his body no longer obeyed him.
The stranger stepped inside and quietly shut the door.
Zhang Wei groaned, blood rushing in his ears. "Who… who are you? Why are you doing this? I don't even… remember messing with anyone."
The man sneered beneath the mask. "Don't remember? Think harder. Do you recall cursing someone online? Telling a player disgusting things about his mother?"
Zhang Wei blinked through the haze of pain, memory surfacing with cruel clarity. Months ago, in the heat of digital battle, he had hurled words sharper than any blade. A cheap insult. A forgettable spat, at least to him.
"You… you tracked me down for that?" Zhang Wei asked, disbelief dripping from his voice.
"Yes," the man said, eyes burning. "I did everything to find you. You insulted my mother."
Zhang Wei's lip curled despite the fear pressing down on his chest. "Are you insane!? Petty enough to what? Hunt me down over a damn trash talk?"
"You brought this on yourself," the man snapped. "This is not a beating. This is justice. I am going to kill you."
A knife gleamed in the dim light as it emerged from his hoodie pocket. He advanced, each step deliberate, the blade trembling with malice.
Zhang Wei struggled to crawl backward, his voice ragged. "You're… you're insane! Help! Somebody!" His throat caught, voice breaking into hoarse gasps. He could only shout as loud as his battered lungs allowed, a pitiful sound muffled by walls too indifferent to listen.
The blade arced downward.
Zhang Wei's last words, spat with desperate spite, echoed through the small apartment: "Your mom… is still ugly as shit!"
Steel met flesh. The darkness closed in, suffocating and absolute. Zhang Wei's thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm until a metallic chime echoed in the void.
[Ding. The Supreme Hermit System has met its activation condition. Initializing…]
His fading consciousness snagged on the words. Supreme Hermit System? He mouthed them in confusion, the syllables foreign and heavy on his tongue. Before he could untangle their meaning, a piercing light tore through the black, flooding his vision.
"So this is what death looks like?" he wondered aloud, dazed. He thought briefly of the man who had killed him, petty enough to hunt him down over a single insult. Rage flickered for a heartbeat, then ebbed away. The light was too consuming, too vast.
"If I really reincarnate into a fantasy world… I'll honor that lunatic for it," he whispered to himself. "And if not… then I'll haunt him every chance I get."
The brilliance swallowed him whole.
When it receded, Zhang Wei found himself looking at the misty, late-afternoon sky. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves. In the distance, mountains rose like silent guardians, their peaks shrouded in drifting veils of fog.
Beneath his feet stretched a broad, paved courtyard. At its center stood a lone tree, its foliage aflame with red and gold. Encircling the courtyard were modest houses of gray brick and slanted roofs, their style reminiscent of an ancient siheyuan. The stillness of the place pressed on him, unfamiliar yet strangely serene.
He blinked, his mind sluggish. "Where… is this?"
The answer came with another chime.
[Ding. Congratulations, Host. You have been selected and reincarnated into the world of cultivation, accompanied by the most powerful system ever devised.]
A translucent blue screen hovered in the air before him, glowing with lines of text. Zhang Wei stared at it, unblinking, his brain stalling as though the world had frozen. Minutes crawled by. His lips parted, but no sound came.
Then, like a dam bursting, joy surged through him.
"YES!" He leapt from the wooden rocking chair that he was seated on, fists pumping the air. He rushed into the courtyard, spinning, laughing, shouting with wild abandon. "I knew it! I knew it! Take that, miserable reality!"
He punched at the sky as though challenging the immortals themselves. Breathless, he even began humping at the air, his face glowing with childlike glee.
"Thank you, oh mysterious petty killer!" he cried. "If not for your grudge, I wouldn't be here! When I become a great immortal, I'll tell the world of your pettiness, and they will sing of it for generations!"
He paused, hands on his knees, already brainstorming titles. "Hmm… The Tale of the Petty Avenger Who Accidentally Made a Legend… or maybe Mother's Wrath, Immortal's Birth… ah, this is gold!"
[Ding. Congratulations once more, Host. You have been reincarnated with the most powerful system in existence.]
The words snapped his attention back to the screen. His eyes widened, mouth falling open.
"System?" he whispered. Then louder, "Ahh, yes a system! Just like in the novels!" His voice cracked with glee. He began hopping again, thanking his killer, thanking fate, even thanking his past self for having been toxic enough to insult that stranger's mother.
[Host, it would be wise to control your excitement. There are more important matters to discuss.]
Zhang Wei froze mid-hop, then nodded frantically. "Right, right! You're absolutely correct, my dear system." He hurried to the center of the courtyard, folded his legs into a lotus position, and pressed his palms together as though in prayer. His eyes shone with reverence. "Speak away. I am ready."
For a moment, silence. If a system could sigh, this one surely did.
[What an unrefined host. May the passing years temper you into something resembling wisdom. One can only hope.]
Zhang Wei tilted his head, confused. "What was that?"
[Nothing of importance. Now, let us begin.]
And so the lessons of the Supreme Hermit System began.