"BOOM—"
The thunderous sound, one that could supposedly rip the sky apart, felt like a mere pop in the grand scheme of things. Shan Hu's vision spun, and then the familiar, smoggy air of a modern metropolis rushed into his lungs. He found himself standing on the rooftop of a twenty-story apartment building in the heart of Longcheng.
The apocalyptic crash was nothing more than the residual sound of his failed Celestial Tribulation. For an Immortal Emperor, it barely registered—less noise than a vigorous sneeze.
He took a breath, trying to draw in the almost nonexistent spiritual energy swirling above the cityscape, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Seriously, this isn't a cultivation world. It's a spiritual desert!"
Shan Hu griped internally. A thousand years in the cultivation world had conditioned him to an environment where every inhale brought in torrents of vital energy. The current concentration on Earth felt like trying to hydrate an elephant with an eyedropper.
He glanced around. The towering modern architecture formed a steel jungle, yet through the gaps, he could make out the familiar sights from ten years ago: Old Wang's pancake stall down the street, the lottery shop across the way, and the alley where his parents used to buy groceries…
Ten years might feel like an eternity to mortals, but to an Immortal Emperor, it was just a brief lapse in focus during a long meditation session.
He had expected the world to be unrecognizable upon his return, but aside from a few new skyscrapers and wider roads, even the familiar, complex smell of oil and frying rice hadn't changed.
"Familiar. Too damn familiar." Shan Hu couldn't help but crack a smile that held a thousand years of history.
He looked down at himself. The black robe, scorched and shredded by heavenly lightning and smelling faintly of burnt toast, made him look less like an all-powerful deity and more like a rejected contestant from a large cosplay convention.
He frowned slightly. Walking the streets of Longcheng in this outfit would likely make the headlines tomorrow: "Local Madman Spotted in Charred Robe—Escapee from Mental Institution?"
"Nah. Haven't worn mortal clothes in a millennium. Guess I'll have to do a little 'remodeling' first."
The simplest shape-shifting spell for an Emperor was a return to basics. Shan Hu pointed a finger. No flashy lights, no spiritual energy ripples.
The tattered robe instantly disintegrated into ash. In its place, a set of brand-new, modern, and slightly laid-back clothes appeared on his body.
A crisp white crew-neck T-shirt, dark gray chinos, and a comfortable pair of white sneakers. The outfit was clean and understated, completely shedding the pretense of an Immortal Emperor and perfectly fitting his new identity as a man coming home.
Shan Hu flexed his wrist, testing the young body now inhabited by his ancient soul. He realized the laws of time had protected his original mortal vessel; he was back with the physical prowess of an eighteen-year-old in his prime.
"Mom, Dad, little sister… wait for me. I'm back."
The thought of his family melted the millennium-old ice around his heart, leaving only a warm rush of eagerness.
He skipped the slow elevator and opted for a casual jump off the rooftop ledge. To a mortal, it would be a suicidal plunge, but for the Emperor, it was just a quicker, more elegant way to take the stairs.
His figure sliced through the air in a blur, without disturbing any air currents or making a sound. The next second, he was standing in the small alley behind the apartment building.
The alley was unchanged after ten years—piled high with shared bicycles and smelling of a familiar, complicated mix of kitchen waste and fried rice. This was the authentic, everyday flavor of Longcheng.
Shan Hu was about to step onto the main street when he froze.
"Scream, little piece of trash! Go on, scream louder! You owe Tiger Brother money, and you think you can skip out on the debt, huh?"
From the alley's entrance, a crude, arrogant voice rang out. A young man with cheap rivet leather and bright yellow hair, flanked by two lackeys, had cornered a young woman in a white dress against the wall.
The woman was pale but held a stubborn fire in her eyes. She fiercely guarded a smashed cardboard box in her arms. "I told you, my brother is hospitalized. Just give me two more days. I promise I'll pay it back."
Yellow Hair sneered, raising his hand to touch her face. "Two days? I could make a lot happen in two days, sweetheart. Either you pay me now, or…"
Before Yellow Hair's fingers could graze her cheek, Shan Hu's eyes narrowed, and a faint thread of lethal intent leaked out.
It wasn't just his Emperor-level hatred for injustice; it was the side profile of the woman. That stubborn, delicate profile looked strikingly similar—maybe seventy percent—to his younger sister, whom he hadn't seen in a decade!
The Emperor's protectiveness was an instinct etched into his soul. Even if it wasn't her, he wouldn't allow anyone to bully a woman who might share his blood on the very day of his return.
Shan Hu allowed a playful smirk to spread across his face, cleared his throat softly, and strolled toward the commotion.
"Excuse me, guys. You're harassing a girl over a debt in broad daylight. Isn't that a little… low-rent?"
The voice was too sudden, too easygoing. Yellow Hair and his two buddies spun around to face a harmless-looking guy in a T-shirt and sneakers.
Yellow Hair blinked twice, then his face contorted in frustrated rage. He pointed a finger at Shan Hu. "Get the hell out of here, kid! Who the f are you? Trying to be a hero? Do you even know who I am?"
Shan Hu simply raised a brow. He casually walked right up to Yellow Hair, standing less than two feet away.
"Nope. Never heard of you. But I know you have two choices right now."
As he spoke, he gently patted the crown of Yellow Hair's dye-covered head. The motion was as light as petting a small, annoying dog.
"First: Apologize to the young lady right now, zip your mouth, and get lost."
"Second…"
Yellow Hair didn't wait to hear the second option. The sheer contempt in Shan Hu's gesture enraged him. He lunged, whipping his fist toward Shan Hu's face. It was a practiced, heavy punch.
"Screw your second! I'm going to cave your head in first!"
Shan Hu shook his head, a hint of ancient weariness for mortal martial arts crossing his face. He didn't move an inch. He didn't even activate a trace of spiritual energy. He just slightly raised the hand that was patting Yellow Hair's head, and with two fingers, he effortlessly pinched the incoming fist.
Crunch.
A tiny, almost imperceptible sound, like crushing a potato chip, echoed in the quiet alley.
Yellow Hair's punch was halted—pinched between two fingers. The furious anger on his face instantly solidified into a look of sheer, unbelievable terror.