Ling Feng didn't treat this realization with the cavalier attitude of a tourist. He was dealing with the Dark Crow. In the grand tapestry of the Emperor's Domination universe, the Dark Crow was not merely a cultivator; he was a taboo, a manipulator of epochs who had buried millions of geniuses and slaughtered Immortal Emperors as if he were pruning a bonsai tree. Even a slumbering Crow was a cosmic hazard.
Ling Feng sat in the lotus position on his ragged wooden bed, closing his eyes to sync with the alien reactor humming beneath his skin. He didn't force the energy; he let it wash over him. Immediately, he felt a magnetic pull, a sensation of his consciousness being dragged into a dark, weaponized archive.
It wasn't a standard "system" with a robotic voice. It was raw information, translated instantly by the Primal Chaos Genesis Physique into concepts his modern brain could process. Lines of data, shimmering like green code in a storm, flashed across his mind's eye.
[Chaos Boost]: Amplification of physical parameters via raw Chaos Energy. Bypass biological limits.
[Chaos Control]: The manipulation of Space-Time via the Chaos Force. Authority over the continuum.
"Chaos Force..." Ling Feng breathed out, the words vibrating in his chest.
These were his innate gifts. He didn't need to circulate energy through meridians for thirty cycles or comprehend obscure Daoist chants. The power was simply there, waiting for a command. He was grateful for it. Without these abilities, he wouldn't have a prayer of sealing away that terrifying existence known as Li Qiye.
Better yet, despite his Spirit Energy pool being currently shallow—pitifully so, given this body's trash aptitude—the Chaos Energy acted as a hyper-dense fuel source. It was like running a AA battery on nuclear fusion; his stamina would outlast cultivators realms above him.
He focused, diving into the mental fortress of his previous life. To his delight, the crossover had sharpened his mind. He possessed perfect recall. Every chapter of the web novel, every obscure footnote about the Old Villainous Heaven, every frame of the comics—it was all crystal clear.
He cross-referenced his current body's memories with the novel's timeline.
The sect is in decline. The Six Elders are desperate. Tonight is the night.
There was no terrifying prime disciple named 'Li Qiye' wrecking havoc yet. That meant the possession hadn't happened. He calculated the variables. The exact moment the Dark Crow's soul would descend was imminent.
A predatory smile curled Ling Feng's lips. It wasn't the smile of a hero, but of a man who had just realized he held the only winning lottery ticket in a rigged game.
"Time to go to work."
He vaulted out of the window, abandoning the safety of his hut.
Zzzzt.
Ling Feng moved with unnatural velocity. He activated a rudimentary form of [Chaos Boost]. Emerald sparks danced around his calves, compressing the air and space beneath his feet. He didn't run; he glided, a blur of wind and shadow that moved faster than the biological eye could track. He left behind nothing but a faint scent of ozone and static.
It was instinctual, like picking up a bicycle after ten years, only the bicycle was a jet engine. He bypassed the rotting defensive wards and the sleepy patrol disciples of the outer sect. To them, he was nothing more than a sudden, inexplicable gust of night wind.
The night air hanging over the Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect was thick with the dust of decaying glory. It was a tangible heaviness, the scent of a lineage that had forgotten its own majesty.
Ling Feng perched on the slanted tiled roof of the Ghost Pavilion. His modern sneakers—transfigured into sturdy cloth boots by the chaotic energies of his arrival—gripped the mossy clay tiles with spider-like adhesion.
Below him, the flickering light of spirit torches cast long, dancing shadows against the stone walls. He looked down into the courtyard. The Six Elders of the sect were there, their faces masks of anxiety and exhaustion. They knelt before the stone statue of the sect's founder, Immortal Emperor Min Ren.
Their chanting was a desperate, rhythmic drone that grated on Ling Feng's ears. It sounded less like a prayer and more like a beg.
"Summoning the Guardian Spirit... trying to pull the Dark Crow back from the void," Ling Feng muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. He plucked a piece of bitter grass growing between the roof tiles and chewed on it, his expression one of bored focus. "I suppose this is where the plot starts. Chapter One stuff."
His brows furrowed slightly as he watched the First Elder burn a precious talisman.
"Ideally, he's supposed to be dragged out by that Mu Shaodi guy," Ling Feng thought, analyzing the divergence. "Why the desperate ritual now? Perhaps my arrival caused a butterfly effect? Or maybe the novel didn't show this part."
He shook his head, dismissing the speculation. It didn't matter why it was happening. It only mattered that he stopped it.
"They're trying to drag Li Qiye's soul back into a mortal body to save their asses. But if he wakes up, this becomes his story. I become an NPC. I become a footnote. Can't have that."
Ling Feng closed his eyes, tapping into the core of the Primal Chaos Genesis Physique.
It didn't feel like the gentle, river-like breathing exercises described in wuxia novels. It felt like standing next to a turbine. A hum of static electricity buzzed beneath his skin, making the hairs on his arms stand up. The Chaos Force was alien, arrogant, and loud. It sneered at the natural laws of the Nine Worlds.
Deep in the void of the cosmos, beyond the comprehension of the shivering Elders below, Ling Feng felt It coming.
The Dark Crow.
The prime mover of the Nine Worlds. A soul so heavy with karma, blood, and history that its mere approach caused the fabric of space to groan. It was like watching a tsunami approach a sandcastle. The "Old Villainous Heaven" was guiding the Crow back, a scripted event of absolute destiny.
"Alright, big guy," Ling Feng whispered, his eyes snapping open.
The green nebula within his pupils flared, illuminating the dark roof tiles.
"Let's see how you handle a wrong number."
He didn't perform complex hand seals. He didn't chant a mantra. He simply raised his right hand, palm facing the statue of Min Ren below.
"Chaos Control."
It wasn't a shout. It was a command to reality itself.
In the center of his Niwan Palace, the Master Emerald pulsed. This massive gem, the "True Fate" of his new existence, acted as the ultimate authority. It didn't interact with the Grand Dao of the Emperor's Domination universe; it overruled it. The Master Emerald was an anti-magic field, a suppressor of Heavens.
A sphere of distorted space—invisible to the naked eye but blinding to the spiritual sense—erupted from Ling Feng's palm. It shot downward, enveloping the summoning altar and the statue.
The Elders didn't feel it physically. They only felt a sudden, terrifying emptiness.
The connection they were forging with the ancient timeline—the lifeline they were throwing to the Dark Crow—suddenly hit a wall of static.
Ling Feng wasn't trying to fight the Dark Crow directly. That would be suicide. Instead, he was manipulating the coordinates. He was warping the space-time receptivity of the area. He was effectively turning the "Welcome Home" sign into a "404 Not Found" server error.
Zzzzt.
The atmospheric pressure dropped. The connection snapped.
Somewhere in the deep, dark river of time, the slumbering soul of the Dark Crow drifted past the beacon, missing its exit ramp by a fraction of a second. The destiny of the Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect shuddered, confused. Finding no anchor, the timeline rewrote itself around the only anomaly present: Ling Feng.
"Done," Ling Feng exhaled, dropping his hand.
The green lightning arcing off his fingers fizzled out. He felt a wave of exhaustion hit him—not spiritual drainage, but mental strain. Using Chaos Control to prank a millions-year-old immortal entity was taxing on the psyche.
Below, the First Elder looked up, his face draining of color. The spirit flame on the talisman had extinguished instantly.
"The... the connection failed? The Patriarch... he did not answer?"
"The Heavens have abandoned us!" The Third Elder wailed, slamming his fist into the cold stone floor, cracking the flagstones. "The Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect is truly finished! We have no hope!"
Ling Feng watched their despair with a detached curiosity. In his past life, seeing old men cry would have tugged at his heartstrings. He was just a logistics worker, after all. But the Chaos Force changed his biology.
It fed on emotions. It fed on willpower.
He felt their despair not as a tragedy, but as a flavor. It was bitter, cold, and slightly spicy, like dark chocolate mixed with chilies. It rushed up from the courtyard, invisible vapors of misery, and flowed into him.
"Don't cry yet, old timers," Ling Feng said, his voice barely a whisper carried away by the wind. He stood up, stretching his back until it popped. "The show's just starting. And I need a stage."
He didn't bother climbing down. He simply stepped off the roof.
Gravity reached for him, intending to smash him into the pavement, but Ling Feng ignored it. He didn't fly; he fell with style. His body turned into a semi-fluid state for a split second—a property of his physique similar to the entity Chaos 0—absorbing the impact silently as he landed in the shadows behind a large stone pillar.
He wasn't a cultivator yet. Not really. He was something else.
He slipped away into the darkness, moving toward the disciples' quarters. The "Savior" didn't show up, so the sect would soon be looking for a scapegoat, or a miracle. He planned to be the latter, but on his own terms.
Ling Feng slipped back into his dilapidated hut, the wooden door creaking on rusty hinges like a dying man's last breath. He didn't bother being gentle with it. He kicked it shut with his heel, the dusty air of the room swirling around him.
"Home sweet hellhole," he muttered, dusting off his hands.
He sat cross-legged on the hard wooden plank that served as his bed. In the distance, the wailing of the Third Elder still echoed faintly, carried by the mountain wind. To any normal disciple of the Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect, that sound was the death knell of their future. It was the sound of a sect losing its last hope, a signal that they were destined to be swallowed by the merciless current of the Grand Dao.
To Ling Feng, it sounded like a dinner bell.
"Let's see what we're working with," Ling Feng said, his tone casual, devoid of the trembling reverence the locals held for cultivation.
He closed his eyes, shifting his consciousness inward.
According to the memories of the original owner, this body was trash. Mortal Aptitude. Phony Fate Wheel.
In the ruthless logic of Emperor's Domination, a Phony Fate Wheel was a sentence to mediocrity. It meant his blood energy was thin, his lifespan short, and his connection to the Grand Dao virtually non-existent. He was destined to be a stepping stone for some young master, a background character who dies in the shockwave of a real genius's sneeze.
"Phony Fate Wheel? Cute," Ling Feng smirked, his internal voice dripping with the arrogance of a man who had stared down a multiversal conqueror.
He didn't activate a cultivation manual. He didn't chant the sutras of the Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect. Instead, he simply willed it.
The Primal Chaos Genesis Physique awakened.
It wasn't one of the 12 Immortal Physiques. It didn't care about the constitutional hierarchy of this universe. It was an invasive species.
Zzzzt.
A neon green aura flared around Ling Feng's skin, illuminating the dark hut with a sickly, radioactive glow. The air grew heavy. Static electricity danced across the wooden table, disintegrating a few loose splinters into dust.
Trait Active: Feeds on emotions and willpower.
Ling Feng took a deep breath, inhaling not just air, but the psychic atmosphere of the sect. The Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect was drowning in misery tonight. The Elders were terrified, the disciples were anxious, and the Protectors were hopeless.
Fear. Despair. Regret.
These emotions flowed toward Ling Feng like water down a drain. They were tangible streams of energy, unseen by the naked eye but delicious to his alien physique. He felt the cold, bitter taste of the Third Elder's grief; the spicy, sharp tang of the disciples' panic.
"Tastes like... stale coffee and anxiety," Ling Feng critiqued, grimacing slightly. "But it's potent."
The energy rushed into his body, bypassing his shriveled Phony Fate Wheel entirely. It slammed into his Inner Void, swirling around the Master Emerald that sat in his Niwan Palace.
In a normal cultivator, the first step was the Palace Foundation realm. One had to open their Fate Palace, kindle the fire of life, and establish a foundation.
Ling Feng skipped the foreplay.
"Condense," he commanded.
The ambient emotional energy, refined by the Chaos Force, began to crystallize. It didn't form a Fate Palace. Instead, it coalesced into a geometric shape—a brilliant, humming gemstone.
The First Chaos Emerald.
It formed in the void next to the Master Emerald. It was deep green, pulsing with the rhythm of a heartbeat.
Chaos Emerald Mastery: Space Control.
BOOM!
A silent shockwave erupted from Ling Feng's body, shaking the dust off the rafters.
His Spirit Energy didn't just increase; it transmuted. The Chaos Force infused Chaos Energy into Ling Feng's Spirit Energy, turning the meager trickle of a mortal disciple into a dense, heavy, mercury-like substance.
He opened his eyes. The world looked different. He could see the "lines" of space, the seams where reality was stitched together.
"So, instead of a Fate Palace, I have an Emerald," Ling Feng mused, flexing his fingers. "And when I get all seven, I go Super. Equivalent to 13 Fate Palaces. Eat your heart out, Li Qiye."
He stood up, feeling the power course through him. He was technically still at the Palace Foundation level in terms of raw accumulation, but his combat prowess? The Chaos Force granted Ling Feng a baseline far higher than his realm suggested. He could definitely paste any outer sect disciple into the pavement.
Knock, knock.
A voice came from the door, followed by a polite, rhythmic rapping.
Ling Feng's green aura vanished instantly, absorbed back into his skin. He smoothed out his gray robes, his face shifting from an expression of cosmic arrogance to the bored, relaxed look of a 9-to-5 worker waiting for his lunch break.
"It's open," Ling Feng called out, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms.
The door pushed open.
Standing there was a young man with a shrewd, intelligent face, dressed in the robes of a sectional leader. He had the eyes of someone who knew how to navigate office politics—pragmatic, observant, and slightly weary.