Qian Jue trudged along the dirt road, not knowing how long he had been walking. Still no sign of a town.
The ache in his feet didn't matter. What mattered was keeping his eyes sharp.
First, in case someone who knew this body showed up. What if they asked him something he couldn't answer? That would be a disaster.
Second, in case he ran into someone on horseback or in a carriage. For all he knew, this world might have bizarre rules where commoners had to kneel on sight. If he messed up, he might get cut down before he even understood why.
So the whole way, he walked like he was treading on thin ice—tense, cautious, exhausted.
Eventually, after what felt like forever, he finally spotted another person.
It was a middle-aged man, dressed much like himself, balancing a carrying pole across his shoulders. Qian Jue didn't dare approach. Instead, he followed from a distance, quietly observing.
The man's skin was tanned, his steady steps making the pole creak rhythmically—*squeak, squeak*—while he muttered some kind of work chant under his breath.
Normal. Completely ordinary. His appearance was no different from people back in China.
That was a relief.
Qian Jue hadn't even seen his own reflection yet and was worried what he might look like now. Whether it was his childhood face or the original owner's, at least he wouldn't stand out too much.
Speeding up slightly, he overtook the man and kept moving. By then, the sun was already sinking close to the horizon.
As he pressed on, more people appeared on the road—travelers, villagers, groups chatting in a language he didn't recognize. Yet strangely, he understood every word.
The sounds were unfamiliar, but the meaning flowed naturally into his mind.
Qian Jue frowned. This had to be the body's influence.
And then, as he listened more closely, piecing together conversations, the truth hit him like a hammer.
Douluo Continent.
He froze in place, stunned.
Of all worlds… it had to be this one.
He had read the novel in his past life, of course. He knew exactly what this place was: a world where everyone was born with a Martial Spirit, awakened around the age of six. If you had a weak spirit, you lived as a commoner. But if you had a strong one, you could cultivate soul power, fight, grow stronger—just like Tang San, the protagonist, who rose from nothing to overthrow Spirit Hall and ascend to godhood.
This was the Douluo Continent.
A world where everything depended on talent.
And not just one book—there were four series in total. Before he transmigrated, the fourth, *Ultimate Douluo*, was still ongoing.
A chill ran down Qian Jue's spine.
The personal combat power here was absurd. If someone strong wanted you dead, nothing could save you. Like the saying went: *when martial strength rules, laws mean nothing.*
This was no safe world.
But what choice did he have? He was already here.
"Forget it. Dangerous or not, there's no going back."
Still, he needed to know when in the timeline he'd landed. If it was before the original story started, maybe he could track down Tang San, stick close to him, and ride the protagonist's coattails. Safer, and maybe he'd even get stronger himself. But if he'd fallen into the later sequels? That would be a nightmare. His memory of those plots was hazy at best.
Pushing aside the worry, he continued down the road.
Before long, a city gate came into view—three or four stories high. For ordinary locals, it might seem imposing, but to Qian Jue, who had grown up surrounded by skyscrapers, it looked downright shabby.
Still, the name carved on the gate caught his attention:
Nuoding City.
The name tugged at his memory, but he couldn't place it. Shaking his head, he stepped inside.
The guards barely glanced at him. They only checked adults—kids like him passed through without notice.
Nuoding wasn't bustling by modern standards, but to Qian Jue, its streets were alive with a raw, old-world charm. Merchants hawked their goods, laborers rushed about, lanterns swayed in the wind. It was fascinating, yet he kept his guard up, careful not to speak or touch anything.
As evening fell, he bought two flatbreads to fill his stomach and started worrying about lodging.
An inn was out of the question. No innkeeper would rent to a child traveling alone. Even if they did, staying there felt too risky. His coin pouch was small, and his identity even smaller.
He needed another option.
Fortunately, Qian Jue was adaptable. He could live in a hotel, sure—but he could just as easily pull an all-nighter in an internet café. The only problem was, there were no internet cafés here.
After searching a while, he stumbled across a stack of wooden crates in a deserted alley. They looked rough, but when he pushed one aside, the ground beneath was clean and dry. Inside, it was surprisingly decent—airy enough to breathe, empty enough to curl up in.
"Good enough."
Still, he didn't settle in immediately. Even dead tired, he wasn't reckless enough to sleep soundly on his first night in another world. Instead, he memorized the spot, then went wandering again.
And to his surprise, Nuoding transformed after dark.
By day it was simple; by night, it glittered. Lanterns and torches lit the streets, vendors shouted their wares, the moon and stars sparkled overhead. It was dreamlike, almost more dazzling than the neon lights of his past world.
A line of lyrics drifted through his mind: "If only this dream would never end, the city awash in falling willow fluff…"
He snorted at himself. "Great, still a hopeless romantic, huh?"
As he muttered, his steps slowed in front of a building.
Yinchun Pavilion.
Through the open doorway, he caught glimpses of painted faces and flirtatious laughter. He didn't need a signboard to know what kind of business this was.
Qian Jue looked down at his tiny hands.
"Tch. What a waste."
He sighed dramatically.
But his thoughts were cut short by a sudden *crash!* Somewhere ahead, wood splintered, voices rose, and a crowd began to gather.
Curiosity tugged at him. Using his small size, he squeezed through the crowd until he reached the front.
But before he could see clearly, a cold voice rang out:
"Third Spirit Skill—Invisible Sword!"
Something sliced past his cheek. Warm droplets spattered his face.
Behind him, someone screamed, clutching their thigh as they collapsed.
The crowd scattered in panic, leaving Qian Jue exposed beside the wounded man.
He touched his cheek, staring at the blood on his fingertips. Only then did he grasp what had happened.
Without hesitation, he shoved his way through the crowd and bolted.
He didn't stop running until he'd made it back to the crates, panting hard as he ducked inside.
Two Spirit Masters had clashed in the street. One wielded a glowing sword, the other was cloaked in the phantom of some beast spirit. Qian Jue had barely witnessed the exchange before a wave of sword energy pierced one man's chest. The strike weakened as it passed through, but still lashed out at bystanders.
By sheer dumb luck, the slash had skimmed past his face instead of cleaving him in two.
His heart hammered. That was the first time he truly felt how thin the line between life and death could be here.
"Idiot! You knew this was a dangerous world, and you still went to gawk at a fight?!"
He cursed himself bitterly.
He'd spent the entire day cautious as a mouse, only to grow careless at night. That lapse had nearly cost him his head.
Breathing deep, he forced himself to calm down.
The truth was, he had gotten comfortable. Seeing Nuoding, hearing the familiar names—it had lulled him into forgetting just how perilous Douluo Continent really was.
"Lesson learned. No matter what, don't forget where I am."
He slapped his thigh hard, as if to brand the warning into himself.
Tonight, he stayed put. Lying low in his makeshift hideout, he began reviewing everything he remembered of the Douluo story. From what he'd seen, Soul Tools weren't widespread yet, which meant this was probably during the first two arcs.
So… should he find Tang San?
That was the safest bet. Stick with the protagonist, enjoy the protection of plot armor, grow stronger alongside him.
Yes, that had to be the plan.
Except—he had no idea where Tang San was right now. Holy Spirit Village, maybe? But if the plot had already begun, Tang San wouldn't be there anymore.
"Tomorrow. First thing, I need to figure out what point in the timeline this is."
Decision made, Qian Jue went over the plot again and again in his head, piecing the story back together from memory. The more he repeated it, the clearer it became—until exhaustion finally dragged him into sleep inside the crate.