The first thing Jett Voland realized upon waking up was that he was definitely not in his cramped, one-bedroom apartment anymore. The second thing he realized was that someone was screaming at him, and they had very poor breath.
"Get up, you useless waste of silk! The Matriarch is already at the table, and you're still drooling on the linens like a lobotomized hound!"
Jett's eyes snapped open. Above him stood a man in a stiff, high-collared livery that screamed 'low-level antagonist.' The man's face was twisted in a sneer so practiced it probably required daily facial exercises.
Wait, Jett thought, his brain feeling like it had been put through a blender. I remember dying. There was a truck. A very fast truck. The 'Isekai Express' usually comes with a goddess and a cheat code, not a middle-aged man with a halitosis problem.
Suddenly, a flood of memories surged into his mind, hitting him with the force of a moving train. He wasn't just Jett; he was Jett Voland, the third-born son of a failed merchant family, married into the prestigious Vane Duke Estate as a "political lubricant." In simpler terms, he was the resident punching bag. His wife, Sera Vane, was a cultivation prodigy, and he was the guy who struggled to open a jar of pickles.
"Are you deaf as well as incompetent?" the steward barked, reaching down to shove Jett's shoulder.
Jett rolled out of bed with a grace he didn't know he possessed, narrowly avoiding the steward's hand. He stood up, blinking at his new surroundings. The room was sparse, bordering on damp. It was the kind of room you'd give to a guest you secretly hoped would leave in the middle of the night.
"I'm up, I'm up," Jett said, his voice sounding smoother and more sarcastic than he remembered. "And might I say, Grevin, your morning enthusiasm is truly the highlight of my day. Have you considered a career in alarm clock manufacturing? You'd be a natural."
Steward Grevin froze. The "useless son-in-law" usually spent the morning apologizing or staring at his feet. He didn't make quips.
"Go. Now. Before I have the guards drag you there by your heels."
Great start, Jett, he thought as he threw on a set of robes that looked expensive but felt like they were designed to restrict movement. Transmigrated into a xianxia world where everyone has superpowers, and my only skill is being the most disliked person in the building. Truly, I have won the cosmic lottery.
He navigated the corridors of the Vane Estate, guided by the residual memories of the original Jett. The place was a monument to excess obsidian pillars, floating lanterns, and relics that probably cost more than a small village. Every servant he passed gave him a look that varied from pity to active disgust.
Ah, the classic face-slapping setup, Jett noted internally. I can practically hear the genre tropes clicking into place. If I don't get insulted at least five times before the soup is served, I'll be genuinely disappointed.
He reached the Great Dining Hall. The heavy oak doors swung open, revealing a table long enough to host a bowling tournament. At the head sat Lyra Vane, the Grand Matriarch. She was a woman who radiated authority like a space heater radiates warmth, if that space heater was also capable of executing you for treason. To her left sat Sera, his wife.
Sera Vane was, quite frankly, a problem. She was breathtakingly beautiful in a way that felt dangerous, like a very pretty glacier. She didn't look up when Jett entered. She didn't even twitch.
"Ah, the guest of honor has arrived," a voice drawled from the far end of the table. It was Revas, a distant cousin who looked like he spent a lot of money on hair oil. "I was worried you'd drowned in your washbasin, Jett. It would have been a tragic loss for the estate's wine supply."
A few of the younger relatives snickered. Jett took his seat at the very end of the table, the "kiddy table" equivalent of high-society seating.
"The wine is safe, Revas," Jett replied, picking up a spoon and examining his reflection. "Though I appreciate your concern for the cellar. It's nice to see you've finally developed a personality trait that isn't 'unearned arrogance.'"
The table went silent. Even the servants paused their pouring. Revas turned a shade of red that matched the wine.
"You!"
"Enough," Lyra Vane said. Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the room like a razor. She looked at Jett, her eyes narrowed. "Jett, your presence was requested twenty minutes ago. In this house, we value discipline. Since you have none of your own, perhaps you should learn it through silence."
"Understood, Matriarch," Jett said, giving a mock-humble bow. She's scary. Note to self: do not make 'mother-in-law' jokes to her face until I have a way to survive a fireball to the chest.
The meal proceeded in a heavy, stifling atmosphere. Jett focused on the food, which was actually quite good, while the family discussed "aether thresholds" and "meridian expansion." It was all gibberish to him, but he listened intently, his strategic mind already cataloging the players.
Revas was a blowhard. The other cousins were sycophants. Lyra was the undisputed apex predator. And Sera? Sera was a void. She ate with mechanical precision, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the middle distance.
"Sera," Lyra said, her tone softening slightly. "The Canton Festival is in seven months. The Council expects a demonstration of your breakthrough into the Fourth Tier. Failure is not an option for the Vane name."
Jett noticed a tiny flicker in Sera's hand. Her grip on her chopsticks tightened for a fraction of a second. She's stressed, Jett realized. No, she's more than stressed.
"I will not fail, Mother," Sera said quietly. Her voice was like ice cracking on a lake.
"See that you don't," Lyra replied coldly. "We already have one disappointment at this table. We don't need another."
The "disappointment" comment was followed by a collective glance toward Jett. He just took a large bite of a steamed bun and winked at Revas.
By the time dinner ended, Jett felt like he'd been through a mental boxing match. He excused himself as quickly as possible, ignoring the final round of jeers from the cousins. He needed to be alone. He needed to figure out how to survive in a world where "disgraceful son-in-law" was a death sentence.
He returned to his shabby quarters, locking the door behind him. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a strange, humming warmth in his chest.
"Okay, Jett. Think," he whispered, sitting cross-legged on the bed. "I'm in a world where might makes right, and I have the muscle mass of a wet noodle. There has to be a catch. There's always a catch."
He closed his eyes, trying to focus on that warmth. Suddenly, a translucent blue interface flickered into existence against the back of his eyelids.
[Primal Resonance Core (PR-C) Initializing...]
[Host: Jett Voland]
[Status: Despised Son-in-Law]
[Current Essence: 0.0]
Jett stared at the floating text. Oh. Oh, thank the gods. It's a system. I thought I was going to have to win people over with my winning personality, which would have seen me dead by Thursday.
[Core Rule: Forge Aetherial Wives to stabilize the Concord.]
[Warning: All Wives must be handled with proper care to prevent anchor destabilization.]
Jett's eyebrows shot up. "Handled with care? Anchor destabilization? What kind of chaotic nonsense have I landed in?"
As if in response, a deep, resonant pulse thrummed from his heart, spreading through his limbs. The warmth turned into a searing heat, and for a moment, Jett felt like he was being rebuilt from the inside out.
He clutched his chest, gasping. Through the thin walls of his room, he heard a soft footstep in the hallway.
The door didn't open, but a cold, familiar voice drifted through the wood.
"Jett? Why is there Aether leaking from your room? If you're trying to cultivate in secret to avoid more embarrassment, don't bother. You're only hurting yourself."
It was Sera.
Jett looked at the system screen, then at the door. The heat in his chest reached a fever pitch, and the PR-C flashed a new notification.
[Target Detected: Sera Vane]
[Compatibility: 87%]
[Condition: Critical Cultivation Instability]
"I'm fine, Sera!" Jett called out, his voice strained as the PR-C began its first real activation. "Just... having a mid-life crisis! Go back to being cold and impressive!"
He heard a frustrated huff, and then the footsteps retreated.
Jett collapsed back onto the bed, the blue light reflecting in his eyes. He didn't know much about cultivation, but he knew one thing: his life was about to get a lot more complicated, and a lot more dangerous.
[Aetherial Wife #1: Ice-Veil (Sera Vane) - Path to Bonding Initiated.]
Jett let out a hysterical little laugh. "So I'm in a rom-com cultivation novel. Great. My tombstone is going to be hilarious."