"…Wh–where is this?" A frail voice, cracked and uncertain, slipped out of the shadows.
From the stench of rot and rusted tin, a boy no older than seven clawed his way out of a toppled garbage can. His small frame wavered as if the ground itself was unsteady.
His eyes locked on his own trembling hands and he froze.
"What the hell—?!" His shout broke the silence, raw and panicked.
This is not his body.
He was Zhao Yan—twenty-eight years old, an esports champion who had spent the previous night drunk on victory, lost in neon lights, laughter, and the warmth of a beautiful lady.
That was the last thing he remembered.
And now?
He stood in a child's skin, reeking of filth, swallowed by an alley where the world felt… wrong.
A low hum cut through the air.
Zhao Yan's head snapped up and his breath hitched.
Two streaks of radiance carved across the heavens—blades of light slicing through the dusk.
On the first sword, a boy and a girl barely into their teens clung to each other, cheeks flushed with nervous laughter.
On the second, children sat in rows, their hair whipped by the wind, while a stern middle-aged man in blue robes controlled the sword with his finger.
Soon, the sky swallowed them whole in a blink.
"No… no, this isn't real." Zhao Yan dropped to his knees, clutching his head as if he could squeeze reality back into place.
"I'm losing my mind… This can't be possible!"
His breath quickened. The alley tilted.
The world threatened to collapse around him—
Ding!
The sound wasn't from outside. It detonated inside his skull.
[Data Synchronizing Complete.]
[Status Synchronisation Complete.]
[Absolute Beggar System… Activated.]
"What…?" Zhao Yan's voice cracked.
His gaze locked on the air before him—where a faint shimmer materialized into a translucent panel, hovering inches from his face.
Name: Zhao Yan
Age: 15
Cultivation: None (+)
Techniques: None
Revulsion Points: 0
Pity Points: 0
His breath hitched.
"A system…?" The words tumbled out in disbelief, but then his eyes widened further.
"I… I transmigrated!"
The crushing weight in his chest eased, replaced by a strange relief. His lips twitched into a bitter smile as he exhaled, half-laughing, half-terrified.
"Good grief…"
But then the thought hit him, sharp and merciless. His relief cracked.
"How… did I even die?"
Memory rewound like jagged film reels.
A hotel room.
Perfume thick in the air.
A woman's flushed face inches from his.
The heat of bodies tangled in sheets. And then—an electric jolt in his chest, a violent pull, and nothing.
Zhao Yan's expression darkened. "Don't tell me… I died of a damn heart attack mid-thrust?"
The bitterness stung worse than the truth.
He clenched his fists, muttering under his breath with a humorless chuckle.
"They say the closer you get to heaven… the quicker you fall into hell."
Shaking his head, he pushed himself upright, the panel still gleaming faintly beside him.
His small feet carried him toward the city streets.
The world opened up with a rush of sound—voices spilling from vendors, footsteps on stone, the chatter of strangers in a place that wasn't his.
Zhao Yan swallowed hard, the weight of his new reality pressing in.
"My son has just been accepted into the Heavenly Sword Sect!" a man boasted, his voice swelling with joy.
"Hmph, That's nothing!" another middle-aged man shot back, his chest puffed with pride.
"My daughter has entered the Red Lotus Sect."
Before their pride could settle, a fat man nearby chuckled, smugness dripping from his every word.
"They were both accepted as menial disciples, weren't they?" he said, his tone mocking.
"But my son? He skipped all that."
"He is directly admitted as an outer disciple of the Heavenly Sword Sect."
"He's already surpassed all the other children of cloud city."
"In one year, his cultivation will surpass anything your children can dream of."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Even the Mayor of our Cloud City congratulated my boy," Lin Bo—the fat man—continued, savoring every syllable.
"In fact, the Mayor even offered his daughter's hand in marriage."
The two men froze, then erupted with sycophantic laughter.
"Oh my heavens, Lin Bo, why didn't you say so sooner?"
"Truly, your son is destined for greatness!"
Lin Bo waved them off, feigning modesty though his grin betrayed him.
"Enough, enough. Save your flattery."
"There's still half an hour before this year's disciple selection begins. Perhaps another child from Cloud City will surprise us all and rise to the rank of outer disciple… though none, I assure you, will compare to my son."
"Don't curse your son with your bragging," one of the men muttered with a strained smile.
They laughed awkwardly, but the air still carried Lin Bo's triumph.
From the shadows of a narrow alley, a boy listened. Zhao Yan's eyes narrowed, words slipping out under his breath.
"…Cultivation."
He turned his gaze toward the faint panel flickering before him.
The [+] symbol beside "Cultivation" stayed dull, unresponsive.
"System," he whispered. "How do I increase my cultivation?"
Silence. The panel did not stir.
His frown deepened. His eyes shifted to the strange metrics below.
"Revulsion Points… Pity Points… what do they mean?"
At once, faint lines of text unfolded beneath the titles like an unseen hand writing on glass.
[Absolute Beggar System]
Name: Zhao Yan
Age: 15
Cultivation: None (+)
Techniques: None
Revulsion Points: 0(When others find you repulsive and throw things at you, you gain Revulsion Points equal to the value of the thrown item.)
Pity Points: 0(When others pity you and give you something, you gain Pity Points equal to the value of the item given.)
Zhao Yan stared at the explanation, his small fists tightening at his sides.
"…A system that thrives on disgust and pity?"
The festival laughter roared outside the alley, but to Zhao Yan, the world suddenly felt darker, crueler, and infinitely heavier.
For the first time, the words "Absolute Beggar System" didn't feel like a title. It felt like a curse.