Before Xiao Ning could comprehend what was happening, the void around him began to shift.
Images appeared one after another, flooding his consciousness with unfamiliar memories. They weren't his own, yet they felt strangely familiar, as though they were echoes of a life buried deep within his soul.
He was seven years old.
A skinny, barefoot orphan with dirt-streaked cheeks and eyes dulled by hunger. For two years, he had survived on scraps, stealing whatever he could find and enduring beatings whenever he was caught.
Then, one day, he made a mistake.
He stole from the wrong person.
It had seemed like an easy target: a dried meat bun tucked beneath the sleeve of an old beggar sitting motionless by the roadside. The man wore a black silk band over his eyes and looked no different from the countless other beggars scattered throughout the city's slums.
But the moment the boy's fingers touched his sleeve, his wrist was caught.
There was no sudden movement, no visible effort. One moment, the boy was reaching for the bun; the next, he couldn't move at all, as though time itself had stopped.
The old man slowly turned his head.
"You dare steal from me, child?"
His voice was hoarse and faint, yet the pressure behind those words weighed upon the boy like a mountain.
The boy froze, terror gripping him so tightly that he could barely breathe.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Even the wind seemed to have stopped blowing through the alley.
"Hmm..."
The old man released his wrist.
Then, to the boy's astonishment, he tossed him the bun.
"You're lucky. You possess something rather rare."
The boy stared at him blankly, unable to understand what was happening.
"Tell me, boy. Have you ever heard of cultivators?"
He nodded hesitantly.
To the poor people living in this small city, cultivators were little more than legends. Mortals called them Immortals, beings capable of flying through the skies, shattering mountains, and living for centuries.
"What you mortals call Immortals are merely low-level cultivators. There are realms far beyond anything you can imagine."
The old man smiled faintly.
"As for me, I am a Nascent Soul cultivator."
The boy didn't understand what those words meant, but he could sense the extraordinary presence of the person standing before him.
And the old man was no ordinary Nascent Soul cultivator.
He was Death Eye Daoist, a name whispered with dread throughout the cultivation world. A thousand-year-old monster whose hands were stained with blood, and whose existence had once brought entire sects to ruin.
Yet instead of killing the boy for attempting to steal from him, he took him in.
He brought the orphan back to his sect, gave him food and clothing, and eventually accepted him as his disciple.
The reason was simple.
The boy possessed a spirit root.
Without one, no matter how hard a mortal trained, they could never embark on the path of cultivation. They would remain trapped within the limits of ordinary life, destined to grow old and die.
With a spirit root, however, the possibility of transcending mortality became real.
Spirit roots were divided into five grades: Yellow, Human, Earth, Heaven, and Divine.
The boy possessed a Heaven-grade spirit root.
More importantly, his spirit root was perfectly suited to Death Eye Daoist's cultivation technique, a rare method combining Dark and Earth attributes that could destroy the bodies and souls of those unable to withstand its power.
The chances of finding such a suitable successor were almost nonexistent.
Yet somehow, the blind old monster had found one in the city's slums.
And so, the boy's life changed.
He was no longer an orphan struggling to survive. He had become the disciple of one of the most feared Nascent Soul cultivators in the world.
The images began to blur, and time rushed forward.
Years passed in the blink of an eye.
The skinny boy disappeared, replaced by a young man dressed in dark robes. His gaze was cold, his presence oppressive, and his name alone was enough to make countless cultivators hesitate.
He had become a Nascent Soul cultivator himself.
His path had been paved with blood, betrayal, and countless corpses. Under his master's influence, he had come to regard sentiment as weakness and kindness as a chain that bound the strong to the weak.
He had learned his lessons well.
Enemies were slaughtered, rivals eliminated, and sects that dared obstruct his rise were crushed without mercy.
The boy who had once trembled at the sight of a powerful cultivator had long since disappeared.
And yet, even such a ruthless man could meet an unexpected end.
The scene shifted.
He now stood in a ruined valley beneath a dim, twilight sky. Craters scarred the ground, and blood stained the shattered earth. Corpses littered the surroundings, among them Core Formation and even Nascent Soul cultivators.
At the center of the devastation stood Li Feng.
A sword had pierced his chest, its blade buried deep within his heart. Blood soaked his robes as the last remnants of his strength rapidly faded.
Behind him knelt a woman, her robes torn and her face pale. She struggled to breathe, her injured hands trembling as she reached toward him.
Li Feng raised a hand, stopping her from approaching.
The scene froze.
Xiao Ning finally understood what he was witnessing.
This was another villain's story, one that bore an uncomfortable resemblance to his own. Like him, Li Feng had climbed from obscurity to become a formidable cultivator, only to fall victim to an ambush.
However, unlike Xiao Ning, Li Feng's physical body had survived.
It was his consciousness that had been shattered beyond repair.
A suitable vessel.
"This body belonged to Li Feng, a Nascent Soul cultivator who perished during a raid by the Azure Dragon Sect," the jade book explained. "He was ambushed before he could unleash his full strength. Although his physical body remains intact, his consciousness has been destroyed. You may take possession of it, restore its functionality, and retain your own identity."
Before Xiao Ning could respond, the jade book acted.
A surge of soul force erupted, enveloping his consciousness in brilliant light. His awareness was pulled from the void and thrust toward the shattered consciousness within Li Feng's body.
Then came the pain.
His consciousness collided with the remnants of Li Feng's mind, and fragments of memories flooded into him. Each fragment felt like a shard of broken glass, cutting through his awareness as the two sets of memories intertwined.
This time, the images were far clearer.
Li Feng had also been born a mortal, rising from obscurity through cunning and ruthlessness. Eventually, he seized control of the Shadowclaw Sect, earning a reputation that commanded fear even among fellow Nascent Soul cultivators.
Ambushes, poison, blood oaths, and assassinations had been his preferred methods. He trusted few and showed mercy to even fewer.
Yet none of it had saved him.
Xiao Ning witnessed the final battle through Li Feng's fading memories.
The Azure Dragon Sect had prepared a thorough ambush. Their cultivators descended upon the mountain pass from every direction, while formations sealed the surrounding area. Traps activated one after another, and sword-light tore through the sky.
Li Feng fought desperately, but the situation rapidly deteriorated.
Then he saw her.
The woman knelt amid the chaos, wounded and unable to defend herself.
A sword flashed toward her.
For reasons Xiao Ning couldn't understand, Li Feng stepped in front of the blade.
It pierced straight through his chest.
A Nascent Soul cultivator had died protecting someone else.
Watching the scene, Xiao Ning sneered inwardly.
Pathetic. After climbing so far, he threw his life away over a woman.
It seems that no matter how ruthless a person becomes, sentiment can still be their undoing.
The memories finally settled, and the fusion came to an end.
Xiao Ning opened his eyes.
The endless void was gone. Instead, he found himself inside a dim stone chamber carved into the mountainside.
A dull ache spread throughout his body. His bones were fractured, his ligaments torn, and several meridians severely damaged.
This body was in terrible condition.
But it was alive.
And for now, that was enough.
Xiao Ning slowly sat up, ignoring the pain as his body protested against the movement. Compared to the agony of the soul transfer, these injuries were insignificant.
He examined his surroundings briefly before turning his attention inward.
This body belonged to Li Feng.
But from this moment onward, it would belong to him.
He had only just begun regulating his breathing when a trembling voice came from behind him.
"Y-You... who are you? What have you done to Li Feng?"