Chapter One: Transcendence

Pain!

His head throbbed as if struck by an iron hammer, thoughts scattered to nothingness. Struggling, Chen Shan forced his eyes open, only to see a gentle azure light falling upon him.

The glow suffused his body with the moist breath of early spring, as though it meant to draw him into the ocean of life itself. The body does not lie—this bizarre scene forced the words on Chen Shan’s lips to die before they could be spoken.

Was this filming a drama?

But where in the world could there be actors so convincing? A prank? That was impossible—he’d always been withdrawn, hardly any friends at all. He could not imagine anyone going to such lengths just to mess with him.

“I’ve transmigrated!”

The thought had barely surfaced when a flood of unfamiliar memories surged from the depths of his mind. Before he could resist, Yang Xuan was overwhelmed and lost consciousness under the onslaught.

…

“Venerable Wang, how is Xuan’er?” A richly dressed middle-aged man asked anxiously at the bedside. Beside him stood a beautiful woman with reddened eyes, her expression complex as she awaited the answer.

“Rest assured, Master. The second young master has successfully broken through to Foundation Establishment and is now a Foundation Establishment cultivator. He merely passed out from excessive spiritual depletion,” replied Venerable Wang, his voice weary. Evidently, the Restoration Technique he had just performed had taken a heavy toll on him.

“Excellent, excellent! Thank you, Venerable Wang…” Yang Huaiyun’s relief was palpable, the anxiety on his face vanishing in an instant.

After seeing Venerable Wang off, Yang Huaiyun called for a maid. “Take good care of the second young master. Inform me the moment he wakes.”

Perhaps emboldened by his good mood, the beautiful woman beside him could not help but plead, “Huaiyun, since Xuan’er is unharmed, can’t you release Qian’er? The dungeon is cold and damp, and there’s no spiritual energy…”

Had she not spoken, all would have been well. But at these words, Yang Huaiyun’s cheerful expression darkened instantly.

“Silence! This is your coddling at work. To attack his brother while he’s secluded in breakthrough—if word of this gets out, the Yang family of Yellow Maple Mountain would be utterly disgraced! Were it not for Xuan’er’s luck and timely breakthrough, we would have lost not only the Foundation Pill but also his life. For such a grave offense, the fact that I didn’t cripple him myself and expel him from Yellow Maple Mountain is due only to fatherly mercy. Do not mention this again—or you can keep him company in the dungeon!”

Tears are a woman’s greatest weapon, and in the past, Yang Huaiyun would have been helpless before them. But today, things were different.

With those words, Yang Huaiyun left in a huff, giving his wife not a shred of face.

…

Lying on the sickbed, Chen Shan slowly awakened, memories of the original host fusing within him. He could finally be certain—this was no dream. He had truly transmigrated.

“Yang Xuan,” second son of Yang Huaiyun, patriarch of the Yang family, a vassal clan under the Human Race’s Celestial Profound Sect in the Xuanhuang Realm.

A great cultivator who had crossed the void, the Xuanhuang Realm, demon clans, deities, and the sorcerous tribes.

As he sifted through the memories in his mind, Chen Shan’s expression grew increasingly odd.

The more he learned, the more familiar this world seemed.

After a time, he finally realized—this was one of the starter villages in the cultivation game he’d played in his previous life: “Cultivation.”

“Cultivation” was the crowning masterpiece of the new era. With no equal, it boasted billions of players worldwide who spent their sleeping hours within its world.

Efficient use of sleep was a universally acknowledged truth of the era, and full-immersion games led the way—with “Cultivation” the most popular by far, earning the title of the world’s favorite among players.

The game’s background was a tale of myriad races exploring the stars and waging wars of colonization across the realms.

Among them, the Xuanhuang Realm was a starter zone for players, gathering humans, demons, sea clans, deities, and other mighty races.

Yet, what left Chen Shan at a loss for words was that his own starter village in his previous life had not been the Xuanhuang Realm, but a place called Blue Sea World—a few star systems away.

His understanding of the Xuanhuang Realm was limited to secondhand accounts from forums—scattered and incomplete.

So, relying on familiarity with the plot to grow stronger was out of the question.

All he knew for certain was the existence of a few races, and the occurrence of several major events—such as the destruction of the famous Celestial Profound Sect…

Thinking of that, Chen Shan’s expression changed.

Damn, the Yang family he was in now was one of the vassal clans under the Celestial Profound Sect! Did this mean his family would be doomed in the very first version?

In that instant, Chen Shan almost wanted to pack his things and run.

From what he’d read on the forums, the destruction of the Celestial Profound Sect was the opening event of version 1.0 in the Xuanhuang Realm—the first major event players would encounter upon entering the game.

As the poster had written, the fall of the Celestial Profound Sect could only be described as catastrophic—devastation everywhere. Not only did the sect’s headquarters become ruins, but over seventy percent of its vassal families and sects were wiped out as well.

Whether the Yang family of Yellow Maple Mountain survived, Chen Shan did not know, but even if they had, the losses would have been immense.

For in “Cultivation,” there was a particular rule: mortals were extremely important.

They not only provided a steady stream of new cultivators with spiritual potential, but their faith could aid cultivators in their practice and prolong their lives.

Take, for instance, the annual Peach Banquet held by the Celestial Court—those peaches were nourished by mortal faith. Eating just one could extend life by thousands, even tens of thousands of years, or allow one to leap several cultivation realms at once.

Of course, to produce a peach capable of such miracles required an enormous amount of faith—far beyond the reach of low-level cultivators.

Yet, even the faith of tens of thousands could bolster a cultivator’s mana.

Thus, protecting mortals had become an ironclad law of the cultivation world.

If a feudal lord didn’t want to lose their domain—and with it, a sustainable source of mana and the risk of punishment from the Celestial Court—they had to defend their fiefdom at all costs.

As for wandering cultivators, once you’d tasted the benefits of faith, you would never willingly give it up.

So, faced with a great enemy, the Yang family of Yellow Maple Mountain could only defend to the death.

And that meant the very real possibility of annihilation.

To be thrust into such a world and immediately have to worry about life and death left Chen Shan ready to weep.

Fortunately, it was only Immortal Calendar Year 217652—three years before players would descend and the game would begin in Immortal Calendar Year 217655.

Otherwise, if he’d transmigrated at the moment players arrived, escape might not even have been an option.

At the thought of escape, Chen Shan remembered the game system.

In a world like this, without strength, one’s fate would be the same anywhere.

So, he desperately hoped the game system had transmigrated with him.

“Game panel!” he muttered.

Nothing happened—not even a hair’s worth of response.

“Heh… I’m done for.”

After a long while, having found no trace of a system, Chen Shan could only give a bitter laugh.

Accustomed to the peace of modern society, suddenly thrust into a perilous cultivation world, and without a cheat—who could accept such a thing?

Too afraid of pain to court death, he tossed and turned on his bed for two hours before resigning himself to the identity of “Yang Xuan.”

Since he was here, he might as well make the best of it.

After all, he was at least a Foundation Establishment cultivator—it wouldn’t do to give up just because his golden finger hadn’t come along.

Of course, with no cheat, Yang Xuan didn’t dare dream of ruling over others. He set himself a modest goal—survive.

In a world teeming with cultivators and monsters, the status of “Yang Xuan” wasn’t particularly exalted, but it was at least akin to that of a minor noble in ancient times—enough to confer considerable advantages, especially in access to cultivation resources far beyond the reach of wandering cultivators.

So, he had to hold on to the identity of “Yang Xuan.”

Everything else could be managed. He had inherited the original’s memories; only his mannerisms and habits might give him away. With two souls merged, such things would not be easy to disguise.

If he accidentally slipped and used slang from his former life, he might even be mistaken for a body snatcher.

At that thought, Yang Xuan didn’t know whether to thank or curse the younger brother locked in the dungeon.

Had that fool not barged in during seclusion to steal his Foundation Pill—forcing the original host to hastily consume it for a last-minute breakthrough—Chen Shan would never have had the chance to take his place.

And thanks to that idiot’s arrogance, he now had the perfect excuse: surviving a brush with death could easily justify a shift in demeanor and habits.

After sorting through his memories, Yang Xuan had a basic grasp of his situation.

He was the second son of Yang Huaiyun, lord of Yellow Maple Mountain, aged twenty-three.

He had an elder brother and sister, two younger brothers, and, of course, a stepmother.

As ever, dealing with a stepmother was rarely pleasant, and Yang Xuan was no exception.

The only comfort was that her background was weak—a scattered cultivator’s daughter. Though her father was still alive and reasonably wealthy, Yang Huaiyun held the reins in this marriage.

Thanks to the Celestial Court’s rigorous system of feudal inheritance, no matter how persuasive her pillow talk, she could not convince Yang Huaiyun to disinherit the eldest in favor of the youngest.

The right to inherit the fief was set, but resources were another matter. In a world ruled by the strong, some things couldn’t be bought—not even with wealth.

Such as the Foundation Pill.

The Xuanhuang Realm’s alliance of sects was formed of vassal families and sects under the Celestial Court, and they understood resource control well.

Common resources could be traded, but important pills like the Foundation Pill—crucial for cultivators’ advancement—were tightly controlled.

For example, Yellow Maple Mountain could only exchange for one Foundation Pill every ten years, and only with accumulated faith.

Yang Huaiyun had ruled Yellow Maple Mountain for over forty years, accruing rights to four pills, but for lack of faith he’d only redeemed three.

Of these, one was immediately returned to the Yang family of Mount Qi Yun—his birth clan, which had supported his investiture. He’d promised to repay them with a Foundation Pill and resources, and so did so at the first opportunity.

Of the remaining two, one naturally went to his heir, Yang Li—the successor could not be without Foundation Establishment, after all.

Thus, only one Foundation Pill remained for all of Yellow Maple Mountain.

Yang Xuan and his two younger brothers had vied for it fiercely.

In the end, with the help of his elder brother Yang Li and married sister Yang Cai’er, Yang Xuan secured the pill.

Perhaps out of habit, the arrogant Yang Qian, upon learning Yang Xuan had won the pill, burst into his seclusion chamber to snatch it by force.

The result, naturally, was self-evident—the fool landed himself in the dungeon.