The Beginning of Transformation

In the dead of winter, Tianzhu Mountain stood cold and forbidding, its once familiar paths buried beneath towering mounds of snow. The biting wind howled through the valleys, whipping snow into a blinding blur. Amid this frozen landscape, a lone figure struggled forward—Paul, a youth of the Paul family, but not one of privilege. As a mere servant, barely more than a slave, Paul was far from the elite ranks of his family, who had been born into status and strength. Clad in tattered, threadbare clothing that did nothing to protect him from the cruel winter cold, he rode atop a frail yellow horse that seemed as weary as he was.

Unlike the Paul family's favored sons and daughters who rode majestic, mystical beasts capable of treading snow as if it were solid ground, Paul was forced to make his way through the deep drifts, the horse's legs sinking with every step. His breath came in ragged bursts, visible in the icy air, and the meager warmth of his body was being sapped by the freezing cold. Every movement felt like a battle against the elements, but Paul had no choice—he had been ordered to join the group at the mountain's summit. His heart weighed heavy, not just from the cold but from the knowledge that he was nothing more than a disposable servant to the very people he shared a name with.

At the top of a steep, snow-clad cliff, several figures waited impatiently. These were the true heirs of the Paul family and other prestigious clans, noble youths who had come to Tianzhu Mountain for a winter hunt. Yandong, the young master of the powerful Yan family, glanced over at Paul Ling, his irritation obvious.

"Paul Ling, where is that servant of yours? Has he frozen to death already?" Yandong's voice was sharp, filled with disdain as he paced, his breath puffing in the cold.

Paul Ling, his sharp features twisted into a sneer, answered with equal scorn. "That worthless fool... He's probably stuck in the snow. If he's frozen, it would be no great loss."

The other young nobles echoed Yandong's frustration. Xu Qian, a young woman from yet another prestigious family, crossed her arms tightly, her elegant features marred by a frown. "Honestly, Paul Ling, couldn't you have brought more people? Why rely on someone as weak and useless as him? Look at how much time we've wasted waiting."

Paul Yan, Paul Ling's younger sister, spoke up, her voice cutting through the icy air like the sharp crack of a whip. "When he arrives, I'll be sure to remind him of his place." Her lips curled into a smile that held no warmth, only a cruel promise. "Perhaps a good lashing will teach him not to keep us waiting."

At long last, Paul appeared, barely visible through the thick snow. His body was trembling uncontrollably, and his skin had turned an alarming shade of pale beneath his shabby clothing. Each step seemed to take a lifetime, and his eyes, half-lidded with exhaustion, could barely make out the figures waiting ahead. He guided his pitiful horse toward the group, the animal nearly collapsing from the cold and weight of the snowdrifts.

As soon as Paul came into view, Paul Yan's eyes narrowed with fury. Without a word, she raised her whip, the leather cracking through the air with lethal speed.

"You wretched fool! How dare you make us wait so long!" she snarled, the whip whistling as it sliced through the air and struck Paul across his back.

The impact was devastating. Paul, untrained in martial arts and weakened by the cold, had no chance to dodge or even brace for the blow. The force of the strike sent him flying from his horse, crashing into the snow with a sickening thud. Pain exploded through his body, his vision going white as the world spun around him. Blood sprayed from his mouth, staining the pristine snow a vivid red.

Paul lay there, gasping for breath, his chest heaving as he fought to remain conscious. But the pain was overwhelming. The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the quiet mountain air as the barbs on Paul Yan's whip shredded his already thin clothing, revealing the multitude of scars that crisscrossed his gaunt frame. New wounds blossomed across his skin, and blood oozed from the fresh gashes.

Paul Ling, watching from a distance, walked over with a look of indifference. He knelt beside the unconscious boy, nudging him with the toe of his boot. "Still alive," he muttered, his lips twisting into a cruel smirk. "But he won't be for long."

With a casual, almost effortless motion, Paul Ling drew back his leg and kicked Paul's limp body toward the cliff's edge. Paul's form tumbled through the air like a rag doll, plummeting off the side of the mountain.

For a brief moment, Paul's senses returned as the biting cold air rushed past him. His mind screamed in panic, but his body, broken and battered, was too weak to respond. His last conscious thought was one of bitter disbelief. They've thrown me off the cliff…

Paul's body slammed into a snow-covered platform jutting out from the side of the cliff. The thick layer of snow cushioned his fall, preventing immediate death, but his injuries were grievous. His bones had shattered from the impact, and blood poured from his wounds, staining the snow beneath him. His breath grew shallow, his life slipping away with each passing second.

But just as death seemed inevitable, something extraordinary happened. The ground beneath him pulsed with a strange energy, and a blinding golden light erupted from the platform. The light enveloped Paul's broken body, wrapping around him like a protective cocoon. It shimmered and sparkled, its warmth in stark contrast to the freezing cold.

Within the golden glow, Paul's broken body began to heal. The wounds on his skin closed, his shattered bones realigned, and his frail, malnourished form grew stronger, more robust. It was as though the light was reshaping him, transforming him into something new—something powerful. His pain faded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of calm and peace.

Deep within the cocoon, an ancient voice, barely audible, whispered through the still air, "A perfect vessel... the chaos body awakens."

Unaware of the miraculous transformation taking place within him, Paul remained unconscious, his fate bound to the mysterious power that had chosen him. His fall from the cliff, meant to be his end, had instead become the catalyst for the birth of something far greater than anyone could have imagined.