Chapter 1 - A World Ruled by Strength

Cold.

That was the first thing Mo Wuchen felt.

A freezing wind swept across the narrow alley, carrying with it the scent of snow, damp wood, and smoke from distant hearths. His thin black robe fluttered weakly as he slowly opened his eyes.

His vision blurred before gradually becoming clear.

Ancient buildings lined both sides of the street.

Wooden signboards hung from shops written in unfamiliar characters.

Horse-drawn carriages rolled across stone roads.

Men and women dressed in flowing robes walked by with swords hanging from their waists.

Above them...

A streak of blue light shot across the sky.

Someone...

Was flying.

Mo Wuchen narrowed his eyes.

"So the novel wasn't fiction."

He lowered his head and examined his body.

His hands were rough and covered with small cuts. His clothes were torn beyond repair, and his stomach twisted painfully from hunger. This body had clearly gone several days without proper food.

Weak.

Too weak.

He hated weakness.

In his previous life, weakness meant death.

Nothing had changed.

He calmly searched through the memories left inside this body.

Fragments appeared one after another.

No family.

No surname.

No identity.

A homeless orphan who had wandered from town to town begging for scraps. Beaten by stronger beggars. Mocked by children. Ignored by everyone else.

Three days ago, the boy collapsed from starvation.

Then he died.

Now...

Mo Wuchen occupied the empty shell.

"...Convenient."

He didn't mourn the previous owner.

The dead no longer had use for sympathy.

He stepped out of the alley.

Immediately, countless sounds filled his ears.

Merchants shouted.

Blacksmiths hammered glowing steel.

Children laughed.

Cultivators in luxurious robes walked proudly through the streets while ordinary people quickly lowered their heads.

Respect?

No.

Fear.

Power created obedience.

The city itself revolved around strength.

Exactly as expected.

He quietly observed every detail.

People.

Roads.

Escape routes.

Possible hiding places.

Potential threats.

Old habits never disappeared.

Even in another world, he instinctively analyzed his surroundings like an assassin searching for targets.

A loud slap echoed nearby.

A middle-aged shopkeeper kicked an elderly beggar onto the road.

"You filthy rat!"

"You scared away my customers!"

The old man struggled to stand.

"I... I was only asking for food..."

Another kick landed on his ribs.

"Know your place!"

Pedestrians merely watched.

Nobody intervened.

Mo Wuchen kept walking.

Compassion accomplished nothing.

The old man wasn't weak because he was unlucky.

He was weak because he lacked power.

Powerlessness invited cruelty.

It was an unchanging law.

As he passed the crowd, he noticed something interesting.

A steamed bun had fallen from a nearby cart during the commotion.

No one had noticed.

Without hesitation, he picked it up and continued walking.

His movements were smooth.

Silent.

Invisible.

Years of surviving on the streets had never left him.

Several minutes later, he sat beneath a dead tree outside the city walls.

He calmly ate the bun one bite at a time.

Every movement conserved energy.

Every bite was measured.

Rushing only wasted strength.

After finishing the last piece, he closed his eyes.

The novel's memories resurfaced.

Cultivation.

Qi.

Meridians.

Spirit roots.

The path to immortality.

According to the story, ordinary people absorbed spiritual energy from heaven and earth before refining it into Qi.

Simple.

At least in theory.

Mo Wuchen crossed his legs.

He slowed his breathing.

His heartbeat became steady.

His mind emptied.

The world around him faded.

A faint current brushed against his skin.

Invisible energy drifted through the air like countless tiny stars.

"So this is spiritual energy..."

Instead of forcing it into his body as described in the novel, he merely observed it.

He remembered something from his life as an assassin.

Never rush into unfamiliar territory.

Watch first.

Understand first.

Act later.

That principle had kept him alive for years.

It would keep him alive here as well.

Hours passed.

The winter sun slowly descended.

Without realizing it, Mo Wuchen discovered something strange.

The spiritual energy around him wasn't uniform.

Some streams felt warm.

Others were sharp like blades.

A few carried an eerie darkness that frightened nearby beasts away.

Interesting.

Most cultivators probably absorbed whatever spiritual energy they encountered.

He refused.

If there was a better choice, he would find it.

If there was a stronger path, he would create it.

At that moment, hurried footsteps echoed through the forest.

Three young men wearing green robes burst through the trees.

Each carried a sword.

Blood stained their sleeves.

One of them shouted,

"Search everywhere!"

"It escaped this way!"

Mo Wuchen slowly opened his eyes.

A wounded shadow stumbled out from the bushes.

A girl.

She couldn't have been older than seventeen.

Her white robes were soaked in blood.

She clutched a small jade box tightly against her chest.

The moment she saw Mo Wuchen, hope appeared in her eyes.

"Please..."

She staggered toward him.

"They're trying to kill me..."

"If you help me escape..."

"I'll reward you with anything."

Behind her, the three swordsmen drew closer.

Their killing intent filled the air.

Mo Wuchen remained seated.

Expressionless.

He looked first at the girl.

Then at the jade box.

Then at the three pursuers.

Within seconds, countless possibilities unfolded inside his mind.

Who was stronger?

Who was lying?

Who held the greatest value?

Who was most useful?

He wasn't deciding whom to save.

He was deciding who should die first.

A faint smile cold enough to freeze the winter wind appeared on his face.

For the first time since entering this world...

An opportunity had arrived.

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