Pain.
Searing, all-consuming pain tore through Chen Xuan's consciousness like a thousand burning needles.
His eyes snapped open.
Immediately, he regretted it. Harsh sunlight stabbed into his retinas like daggers.
"Ugh..."
He tried to sit up.
His body refused to cooperate. Every muscle screamed in protest, and his bones felt like they'd been shattered and poorly reassembled.
What happened?
The last thing he remembered was pulling another all-nighter at the office. Debugging that hellish legacy code.
His manager breathing down his neck about the deadline.
Living on coffee and instant noodles for three days straight.
The screen had started to blur. His chest had tightened.
And then...
Nothing.
Did he have a heart attack?
He'd read about young programmers dying from overwork in China.
Karoshi, they called it in Japan. Guòláo sǐ, in Chinese.
The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd always joked about becoming one of those statistics.
But if he was dead, why did everything hurt so much?
Chen Xuan forced his eyes to focus, taking in his surroundings.
He wasn't in his cramped apartment.
Instead, he found himself in what appeared to be a traditional Chinese bedroom. Wooden beams overhead. Paper screens on the windows. Ancient-looking furniture that seemed straight out of a historical drama.
A bronze mirror hung on one wall, reflecting weak sunlight through torn paper windows.
'What the hell? Where am I?'
He dragged himself upright, ignoring the protests from his battered body.
That's when he noticed his hands.
They were smaller than he remembered. The skin smooth and unmarred by the keyboard calluses he'd developed over years of programming.
And more importantly, there were strange scars across his wrists.
Angry red marks that looked like burn wounds, forming intricate patterns like twisted branches.
"This isn't my body," he whispered.
Even his voice sounded different. Younger. Weaker. Hoarse.
Panic rising in his chest, Chen Xuan stumbled toward the bronze mirror.
The face staring back at him was a stranger's.
But what a face it was.
High, sharp cheekbones that spoke of aristocratic lineage. A straight nose with a slight arch that gave him an almost predatory elegance. Strong jawline, currently marred by bruises but still defined beneath the damage.
But it was the eyes that truly caught his attention.
Deep amber.
Not brown, not hazel, but true amber—the color of aged honey catching sunlight, with flecks of gold near the pupils that seemed to shimmer when the light hit them right.
Unusual. Striking. The kind of eyes that would make people remember him.
His hair was equally distinctive.
Long and unbound, falling past his shoulders in disheveled waves. Not pure black like most people in this world, but a deep reddish-brown—like mahogany wood, or autumn leaves in certain light. Dark enough to pass as black from a distance, but with unmistakable auburn undertones when the sun touched it.
The original Chen Xuan's mother had possessed similar coloring, a rare bloodline trait from her clan that occasionally appeared in their descendants.
He looked to be around six feet tall based on the mirror's reflection. The body was lean and athletic—or had been, before the injuries. Even now, beneath the bruises and the signs of long illness, Chen Xuan could see the ghost of what this body had been at its peak.
But the beauty of the face was marred by suffering.
Those amber eyes held pain far beyond their apparent eighteen years. Dark circles underneath spoke of sleepless nights and constant agony.
And the scars...
Gods, the scars were everywhere.
Not just on his wrists, but spider-webbing across his arms in burn patterns. More across his chest where his robes had fallen open. Even some visible along his collarbone.
Each mark a testament to where spiritual energy had burned through and destroyed his meridian pathways.
The scars formed almost artistic patterns—cruel artistry from a technique designed to inflict maximum damage while keeping the victim alive.
As if triggered by his observation, memories that weren't his own came flooding in.
Chen Xuan. Young Master of the declining Chen Family in Lianyun City, Southern Province of the Profound Yang Empire.
The memories came like a dam breaking. Overwhelming and vivid.
Genius talent since youth. Reached Body Tempering Fifth Layer by age ten—a feat that drew praise from even the Empire's cultivators.
The Chen Family celebrated, seeing their return to glory.
His father had wept with joy. His mother had held a banquet that lasted three days.
At age thirteen, he reached Body Tempering Eighth Layer—the youngest in Lianyun City's recorded history.
By age fifteen, he had advanced to Body Tempering Ninth Layer Peak.
Standing at the threshold of Foundation Establishment. On the verge of a breakthrough that would have secured his position as a true genius of the generation.
Sect scouts had already begun making serious offers. Marriage proposals from noble families flooded in daily.
The Chen Family's future seemed not just secured, but brilliant.
But everything changed three years ago.
The memory crystallized, becoming sharp and painful.
The Provincial Youth Tournament.
Not a sect entrance exam—those were held separately—but a grand competition for glory, prizes, and reputation among the empire's youth.
Representatives from the five great sects attended to scout early talent. Hundreds of young cultivators competed, each hoping to catch an elder's eye.
Chen Xuan felt the original's memories as if they were his own.
He'd been performing brilliantly. Body Tempering Ninth Layer Peak at age fifteen was exceptional. His techniques were refined, his foundation solid, his control precise.
More than that—scouts from three different sects had already approached him privately, hinting at direct recruitment offers that would skip the usual entrance procedures.
He'd advanced through the preliminary rounds with ease, defeating opponents without even using his full strength.
Then came his final match before the semifinals.
His opponent: Ye Tianlong, young master of the rising Ye Family.
The memory sharpened, becoming almost unbearably vivid.
The Ye Family had been climbing Lianyun City's power structure rapidly. Their sudden wealth and influence mysterious but undeniable.
Ye Tianlong himself was already at Foundation Establishment Second Layer despite being only fifteen.
An achievement that spoke of either extraordinary talent or extraordinary resources.
The match should have been fair. Tournament rules were strict. Killing was forbidden. Crippling injuries meant immediate disqualification and severe punishment.
But Ye Tianlong had other plans.
"You," Ye Tianlong had said, his voice carrying to thousands of spectators. "You convinced Su Qing to reject my marriage proposal, didn't you?"
Su Qing. Chen Xuan's childhood friend, a girl with exceptional beauty and decent cultivation talent.
Ye Tianlong had wanted her as a concubine. She'd refused, preferring to wait for someone she actually cared about.
"I told her nothing," Chen Xuan had replied honestly, confused by the accusation. "Su Qing makes her own decisions."
"Liar!"
Ye Tianlong's spiritual energy had begun to surge, far exceeding what should have been used in a tournament match.
His Foundation Establishment aura pressed down on the arena like a physical weight.
"You poisoned her mind against me. Made her think she was too good for the Ye Family. For that, you'll pay."
The referee had tried to intervene.
"Young Master Ye, please control your spiritual energy! This violates tournament—"
That's when Ye Tianlong attacked.
Not with a tournament-legal technique meant to disable or defeat.
He unleashed the Meridian Severing Palm—a forbidden demonic art that targeted a cultivator's spiritual pathways directly.
Designed not to wound but to destroy.
Chen Xuan's inherited body remembered the pain. Felt it as if it were happening now.
Screams had echoed through the arena as his meridians were systematically shattered.
But it was worse than just destruction. The technique was precise, calculated. It burned through each major meridian one by one, ensuring maximum suffering while keeping the victim conscious and alive.
It felt like liquid fire being poured through his veins. Each spiritual pathway burning away one by one.
The worst part? Chen Xuan had been on the verge of breaking through to Foundation Establishment. His dantian had been full of refined spiritual energy, his meridians perfectly prepared for advancement.
All that accumulated power turned against him as the technique forced it to explode through his own pathways, using his own strength to destroy him from within.
The pain transcended anything a fifteen-year-old should have endured.
It was the pain of losing everything that made him a cultivator.
The crowd erupted in chaos. Tournament guards rushed forward. Officials shouted for Ye Tianlong's arrest.
Cultivators in the audience demanded justice.
But then a figure appeared on the arena floor.
And all protest died.
An old man in black and purple robes—the colors of the Absolute Yin Palace.
His cultivation was so profound that the very air seemed to warp around him. Core Formation Fifth Layer, at least. Perhaps higher.
In Lianyun City, where most family heads were Foundation Establishment, this elder was a walking catastrophe.
"The match is over," the old man had said, his voice somehow audible to everyone despite being barely above a whisper.
"Young Master Ye has been... excessive in his methods. He will be counseled appropriately."
A pause.
"But the Chen Family should consider this a lesson about knowing one's place in the world."
No one dared argue with a Core Formation cultivator representing the Absolute Yin Palace.
One of the empire's most feared organizations.
The tournament officials declared Ye Tianlong disqualified but took no other action.
The elder vanished as mysteriously as he'd appeared.
And Chen Xuan's cultivation path ended that day.
The memories continued, each one more painful than the last.
Without functioning meridians, he couldn't circulate spiritual energy.
His cultivation didn't just stop advancing—it degraded.
Body Tempering Ninth Layer Peak slowly fell to Ninth, then Eighth, then lower and lower over the following months.
His dantian, which had been full of refined spiritual energy on the verge of breakthrough, slowly leaked power like a broken vessel.
Until he stabilized at First Layer—barely better than a normal human.
Going from the threshold of Foundation Establishment to weaker than a common mortal in less than a year.
Three years of humiliation.
Being called trash, waste, cripple in the streets where he'd once been praised as a genius.
Those striking amber eyes that had once drawn admiration now attracted pity or scorn.
That distinctive auburn hair became a mark of shame—"the fallen genius with the exotic looks."
Former friends abandoned him. Marriage proposals turned to mockery.
Business partners of the Chen Family severed ties, unwilling to associate with a family whose heir was worthless.
The family itself began to crumble.
Without Chen Xuan's promised future as a sect disciple, their credit dried up. Debts that had been overlooked suddenly came due.
Properties sold to pay creditors. Servants left for better positions.
Chen Xuan's father, Chen Zhong, had tried desperately to hold everything together.
But the stress, the shame, the heartbreak of seeing his genius son—his heir who'd been on the verge of Foundation Establishment—reduced to a cripple weaker than a servant.
It had been too much.
Two years ago, he'd died from a qi deviation induced by emotional turmoil.
The physicians said it was medical. Everyone knew it was a broken heart.
His mother, whose exotic bloodline had given Chen Xuan his distinctive coloring, had worked herself to exhaustion trying to preserve what little remained.
She'd lasted a year before succumbing to illness brought on by stress and malnutrition.
She'd been giving most of the food to her children, eating barely enough to survive herself.
Now only Chen Xuan and his younger sister, Chen Yue, remained of the direct bloodline.
A handful of loyal servants stayed—Elder Zhou, the old family cultivator; Liu Mei the maid; and a few others who served from loyalty rather than payment.
The grand compound with its gardens and pavilions had been sold piece by piece.
What remained was barely more than servants' quarters, shabby and falling apart.
Yesterday, Ye Tianlong had returned.
This final memory was fresh, the pain still raw.
Ye Tianlong had strode into the compound like he owned it, flanked by guards.
Three years had transformed him from Foundation Establishment Second Layer to Core Formation Second Layer.
A terrifying rate of advancement that spoke of the resources backing him.
"Chen Xuan!" His voice had dripped with mockery. "Still crawling around like the worm you are."
"Those eyes still have some fire in them, I see. Shame they're wasted on trash."
"I heard your family still possesses that Earth Grade technique—the Flowing Cloud Palm. Since you're too much of a cripple to use it, why not hand it over?"
"Consider it compensation for existing in my presence."
The original Chen Xuan had refused.
The technique was the last legacy of their ancestor, hidden away by Elder Zhou after the parents' deaths.
It was proof the Chen Family had once been great.
"No?" Ye Tianlong's expression had turned genuinely angry. "You dare refuse me?"
What followed had been brutal.
Ye Tianlong beat Chen Xuan personally, methodically, savoring each scream.
When Chen Xuan still refused, Ye Tianlong had done something even worse.
He'd burned the few remaining meridian pathways with his spiritual energy, ensuring that even if Chen Xuan somehow found a miracle cure, recovery would be impossible.
Those new burns added to the scarring across his arms and chest.
Then he'd left, confident the trash would die from his injuries.
And the original Chen Xuan's heart, weakened by three years of despair and qi deviation, had simply stopped.
His final thoughts had been of rage, regret, and burning hatred for Ye Tianlong and everyone who'd abandoned the Chen Family.
Chen Xuan—the programmer from Earth—stood before the bronze mirror, processing memories that now felt as real as his own.
He could feel everything the original had felt.
The pain. The humiliation. The desperate desire for revenge.
But he also saw something the original hadn't.
He saw potential.
Those amber eyes, even haunted and tired, were unforgettable. That auburn-tinted hair marked him as distinctive. The strong bone structure beneath the damage promised that with proper cultivation and health, this body could be striking.
More importantly—he'd been at Body Tempering Ninth Layer Peak at age fifteen. On the verge of Foundation Establishment.
That level of talent didn't just disappear.
The pathways were destroyed, yes. But the talent, the comprehension, the foundation of understanding—those were carved into the soul, not the flesh.
"I've transmigrated," he said aloud, testing the words.
Then stronger: "I've actually transmigrated. Like in those web novels."
The absurdity should have broken him.
He'd spent his previous life in the mundane world. Deadlines, bills, office politics.
Magic and cultivation were fiction. Stories to read during lunch breaks.
But the memories were too vivid to be false.
The pain in this body was too real.
The scars were physical proof.
And those amber eyes staring back at him from the mirror held a new light now.
Not the original's despair, but something else.
Determination.
This was his life now. His second chance. And he'd be damned if he wasted it wallowing in self-pity like the original had done.
As the foreign memories fully integrated, something else emerged.
A burning hatred that belonged to the original Chen Xuan but resonated with his own frustration from his previous life.
He'd died from overwork, exploited by a system that didn't care about him. Used up and discarded.
The original had been destroyed by people who faced no consequences for their cruelty. Crippled in public, abandoned by society, left to rot.
Different worlds. Same injustice.
'I understand,' Chen Xuan thought, clenching his scarred fists.
'This world is about strength. Power. The strong prey on the weak, and the weak have no recourse.'
He looked down at his hands.
Hands that could no longer cultivate. Hands that were supposed to be useless.
But he refused to accept that.
'The physicians said destroyed meridians are permanent. The cultivators said there's no cure. Everyone said the original Chen Xuan was finished.'
'But I'm not him. Not entirely. I have knowledge from another world. I've read hundreds of stories about impossible recoveries, about miracles, about the weak becoming strong.'
'Somewhere in this world, there must be a way. A technique. A treasure. Something.'
'I just need to find it.'
'Don't worry,' he thought, unsure if he was speaking to himself or the original owner. 'I'll take care of it.'
'Ye Tianlong, Absolute Yin Palace, everyone who stepped on this family—I'll remember them all.'
Chen Xuan's jaw set with grim determination.
'You destroyed a genius on the verge of breakthrough. You thought you'd left nothing but a broken cripple.'
'We'll see about that.'
Even as he thought this, Chen Xuan knew the odds. Destroyed meridians. No resources. Enemies powerful beyond his reach. A fourteen-year-old sister to protect.
The rational part of him—the programmer who'd dealt with impossible deadlines and demanding bosses—knew this was probably hopeless.
But the irrational part, the part that had been given a second chance at life in a world of magic and cultivation, refused to give up before even trying.
'First, I need to understand this world better. What resources exist. What's possible. What paths are available even to a cripple.'
'Second, I need to protect Chen Yue. She's all the family I have left.'
'Third, I need to find any possible way to recover, no matter how slim the chance.'
'And if I can't find a way...'
Chen Xuan's amber eyes hardened.
'Then I'll create one.'
As if responding to his determination, something stirred in the depths of his consciousness.
A presence.
Ancient.
Vast.
Awakening.
Chen Xuan's amber eyes widened as a voice echoed through his mind.
Neither male nor female, carrying a weight that seemed to press against reality itself:
[Primordial Devouring System activated]
Golden light exploded across his vision, reflecting in those distinctive amber eyes.
And Chen Xuan knew with absolute certainty that everything was about to change.