You are not a worthless person

Unbeknownst to him, the golden light that had cocooned Paul like a silkworm chrysalis had vanished without a trace. However, there were still no signs of him waking from his unconscious state. The Great Flame flew across the sky, and snowflakes, light as feathers, gently floated down, slowly covering Paul's body. Eventually, the snow entirely buried him under its icy blanket. In time, the snow that had been scattered by Paul's fall once again accumulated, enveloping him completely.

If no miracle occurred, Paul might just sleep here forever.

Time passed in silence. The sky darkened and brightened again, marking the passage of a full day and night. Paul had now been unconscious on the cliffside platform for what seemed like an eternity.

Had Paul died?

Suddenly, the thick snow that covered him began to tremble. A muffled voice emerged from beneath the snow.

"Huh? I'm not dead? Where am I? What is pressing down on me so heavily?"

Without knowing when or how, Paul had regained consciousness. The moment he woke up, he realized he was suffocating under an immense weight. He opened his eyes, but all he saw was darkness.

"What the hell…" Paul struggled slightly, then pushed up with both hands.

Bang!

As soon as Paul pushed with his hands, he felt a surge of warmth burst from between his arms, rapidly rushing outwards. What followed was an incredible sight—everything above him was blown away as if it were nothing. Only then did Paul realize that the "thing" he had just shoved aside was nothing more than thick snow.

With the snow no longer pinning him down, Paul shot to his feet, confusion evident on his face.

"Where is this? Wasn't I kicked off the cliff by that b*st*rd Paul Ling? How am I not dead?" Paul muttered to himself, a cold glint of fury flashing in his eyes.

Whenever he thought of Paul Ling and his sister, Paul felt a deep, seething hatred. He had no real connection to the siblings, yet they seemed to take perverse pleasure in tormenting him for no reason. Over the years, Paul had been trapped in a living hell because of them. If not for his tenacity and sheer will to survive, he might have been dead long ago.

"One day, I will kill both of you with my own hands and make you pay for the years of inhuman suffering you've inflicted on me!" Paul gritted his teeth, his voice dripping with venom.

But soon, a bitter smile crept onto his face. He was, after all, just a weakling—a worthless nobody with no status or ability to practice martial arts. What could he possibly do to exact revenge? Paul Ling and his sister were geniuses in the family, and he was merely a disposable figure.

Still, the power he had just unleashed—it was real. Somehow, he had pushed aside the snow with an almost supernatural strength. How could that be? Could it be that falling off the cliff had brought him some kind of unexpected fortune?

"What was that power just now? Was it internal energy, like in the legends? But that can't be... I've never been able to cultivate martial arts. Or maybe... could I have stumbled upon some heavenly treasure after falling from the cliff?" Paul's eyes shone with excitement as the possibility of a miraculous transformation crossed his mind.

But just as quickly, Paul's hope faded. Even if he had gained some mysterious power, he was still trapped on this desolate platform at the edge of a cliff. With no way up or down, he would either starve to death or freeze to death. His newfound abilities seemed useless in the face of such dire circumstances.

"If only I were like those cultivators who can ride the clouds, shift mountains, and fill seas with a single thought, I could escape this place with ease." Paul sighed, lamenting his misfortune.

As the cold wind whipped around him, Paul suddenly noticed something strange: he wasn't cold at all. Nor was he hungry. Even more bizarre, the wounds that had once marked his body had completely disappeared. He ran his hands over his skin in disbelief. How could this be?

"Did something go wrong with my body? I can't feel the cold, and I'm not even hungry anymore. My injuries are all gone too." Paul's eyes widened in shock as he jumped around the platform, testing his body.

"Am I dead? Could this be the underworld? I heard that only souls are free from hunger, cold, and pain…" Paul's voice trembled with fear as he considered the possibility.

Suddenly, a voice rang in his ear: "Kid, stop jumping around. You're not dead."

"Who—who's there?" Paul was startled, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest. He frantically looked around, trying to find the source of the voice.

"No need to look for me. You can't see me," the voice continued, calm and unbothered. "Do you see the place where you were lying just now? Do you see that painting on the ground?"

"Who are you?" Paul forced himself to stay calm as his eyes locked onto the painting the voice had mentioned.

"Pick up the painting, and you'll be able to see me," the voice instructed.

"You're not trying to trick me into doing something, are you? I've heard about people who steal bodies—are you trying to possess me?" Paul asked, his mind flashing back to some rumors he had overheard about body-snatching.

"Kid, if I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead. Besides, do you really think I'd want your body? With your lousy constitution? You'd be doing me a disservice." The voice spoke with obvious disdain.

Paul laughed bitterly. "True, I'm just a good-for-nothing."

Without further hesitation, Paul stepped forward and picked up the slightly yellowed painting. It depicted mountains, rivers, and cities, though Paul didn't understand what he was looking at.

"How can I see you?" Paul asked, staring at the painting in his hands.

"Focus your mind and channel it into the painting. Then, you'll be able to see me," the voice replied.

Paul gritted his teeth and, without any hesitation, focused his thoughts on the painting. As soon as his mind touched it, he felt a massive pull, dragging him into another realm. The world around him shifted, and in an instant, Paul found himself in a completely unfamiliar space.

"How is it, kid? I told you I wasn't lying," the voice said from somewhere in front of him. Paul looked up and saw a young man, around twenty years old, smiling at him.

"It was you who spoke to me?" Paul asked, still in disbelief.

The young man nearly stumbled. "Of course it was me! Who else could it have been? A ghost?"

"Who are you? Where is this place? What's going on?" Paul fired off his questions in quick succession, his mind racing.

"This place is inside the painting you just picked up. As for me, you can call me Hetu Luoshu. I'm the spirit of the painting, what you mortals refer to as an artifact spirit," the young man explained.

Hetu Luoshu! Paul's eyes widened with recognition. The painting he had picked up was no ordinary object—it was the legendary Hetu Luoshu, a treasure fought over by the strongest of cultivators!

"An artifact spirit?" Paul's eyes lit up with excitement. He had heard of such things. Only the most powerful weapons and treasures, wielded by cultivators, could manifest a spirit.

"You're really an artifact spirit? Do you have any cultivation techniques? Or divine pills that could help me change my body and start practicing martial arts?" Paul's voice was filled with eagerness, a desperate hope in his eyes.

The young man, Hetu Luoshu, smiled proudly. "I am the first and greatest treasure of the world! Of course, I have everything you could dream of. Cultivation techniques, divine pills, treasures—they're all here, countless in number."

"Can you give me some? I don't want to be a worthless weakling anymore!" Paul asked, his heart pounding with anticipation.

Hetu Luoshu shook his head. "No, I can't. Those things are far too powerful for you right now. If I gave them to you, they'd destroy you instantly."

Paul's excitement instantly deflated. "You're so stingy."

The artifact spirit chuckled. "Kid, it's not about being stingy. It's about your own limitations. If you take something too strong for you, it'll kill you before you can use it."

Paul sighed in frustration but then asked, "Is there no way you can help me change my body? I've been called a weakling all my life."

Hetu Luoshu looked at Paul seriously. "Kid, you're not a weakling. In fact, you possess the rarest of all physiques—the Chaos Heavenly Body."