A meeting

Yang Qi, his face still marked by pain and memories of a body that was no longer his own, struggled to his feet. The icy air of the river bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the agony he had endured before. If he wanted to survive in this world, he had to first return to the city, where answers, resources, and revenge awaited him.

Qingfeng City was not far away, perhaps an hour's walk through the pine forest that bordered the icy lake. The scenery was peaceful, but in this frozen environment, Yang Qi knew that tranquility was deceptive.

This world was unforgiving, and he had learned that in his past life, as well as in Yang Qi's. The trees stretched high, forming a natural dome above his head, and shards of light pierced the foliage, casting shifting shadows on the ground.

As he walked, he felt fatigue weigh down his limbs. This body was weak, still scarred by the torture that the real Yang Qi had put himself through.

But John, in his mind, refused to be defeated. Anger and a desire for revenge fueled every step, every breath. He would not be crushed.

The city of Qingfeng lay modestly at the foot of the mountains. Compared to the large cities John had known in his original world, this one seemed almost insignificant. The streets were paved with rough stones, some already broken by time, and shops lined the roads, their wooden signs creaking in the wind.

Smoke billowed from the chimneys of many houses, creating a thin veil that enveloped the city like a morning mist. It was a modest city, but in this world of cultivation, it was also filled with underlying dangers.

The citizens of Qingfeng seemed accustomed to the sight of young cultivators walking through their streets, each proudly displaying the emblem of their clan or school. The Yang clan, although weakened in recent years, still retained a certain notoriety in the region.

However, in the eyes of the majority of the inhabitants, the name Yang Qi evoked nothing but contempt and sneers. As he crossed the main street, John couldn't help but notice the discreet glances and murmurs that accompanied him.

— "That's him, the traitors' son..."

— "He looks even weaker than usual. How can he still claim to be part of the Yang clan?"

— "They say his cousin cut his meridians... A good-for-nothing."

John clenched his fists, but didn't react. He just walked straight ahead, ignoring these poisonous words. If he wanted to change his situation, responding to these insults would get him nowhere. He had to focus on what mattered: regaining his strength, training, and eventually getting revenge.

He eventually left the main street and took a more secluded path, the one that led to the Yang estate. Entering through the large gate of the manor, he went to the surrounding houses that were increasingly smaller, simple shacks for the most part, until he finally reached his own home.

The very term home was an understatement. Before him stood a wooden hut, barely big enough to hold a bed. Its walls were cracked, and the roof showed holes through which the wind leaked. This was where Yang Qi lived, far from the Yang clan's main mansion, relegated to a miserable existence.

John pushed open the door, which creaked ominously, and stepped into the tiny space.

The wooden bed, located at the back of the hut, seemed barely holding together. There was no other furniture, nothing but cold, bare walls. John sighed as he sat down on the bed.

"That boy has really lost everything…" he muttered to himself.

He leaned against the wall, thinking about his next step. Physical training was a priority, but he also had to understand this world more deeply. Cultivation in this world was different from what he remembered. However, before he could think further, a contemptuous voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Well, well, well, here is our dear cousin Yang Qi, the survivor of the traitor clan."

Yang Wei, accompanied by one of Yang Fen's retainers, stood in front of the hut, a smirk tugging at his lips. Yang Wei, a sixteen-year-old young man, stood tall and imposing, dressed in the clan's traditional clothes, which bespeak his high rank. His eyes glowed with sadistic satisfaction as he threw a canvas sack in front of Yang Qi.

— "Here's your food for the day, cousin," he sneered. "Scraps and bones. You should be grateful that you weren't forgotten."

The servant, an equally contemptuous young man, burst out laughing at these words. Yang Wei crossed his arms, amused by the situation.

— "So, how's the traitors' son doing? You know, I don't understand why you continue to stay here. The clan barely tolerates you.

Maybe it would be better for you to disappear, right?"

John, or rather Yang Qi, felt anger boiling inside him. Yang Wei's arrogance, this overwhelming sense of superiority, was unbearable. For years, Yang Qi had suffered these humiliations without being able to respond. But John was not Yang Qi. He had no intention of remaining inactive, much less tolerating this kind of behavior.

He stood up slowly, his fists clenched.

—"How about I wipe that smile off your face, Yang Wei?" he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

Yang Qi was still the most powerful cultivator on his planet in his previous life. He was extremely proud and arrogant. How could he let someone treat him like that?

The servant, who was standing next to Yang Wei, burst out laughing.

—"As if you could do anything in your condition. Look at you! A poor piece of trash without even the ability to cultivate."

Without warning, Yang Qi rushed towards the servant. Despite the apparent weakness of his body, John's experience showed in the precision of his movements. In an instant, he had landed a direct blow to the servant's stomach, doubling him in pain.

Yang Wei, surprised, took a step back before letting out a nervous laugh.

—"Impressive, Yang Qi. But you're forgetting one thing…"

Yang Qi tried to throw a blow at Yang Wei, but the agile and experienced Yang Wei dodged effortlessly.

Unlike his acolyte, Yang Wei had spent years honing his cultivation skills. Yang Qi could feel the power emanating from him. At the ninth level of the disciple realm, it was far beyond the reach of Yang Qi's weakened body.

— "You're too weak, Yang Qi. Too weak to touch me," Yang Wei sneered.

For several minutes, Yang Wei dodged every attempt Yang Qi made, laughing at every missed blow. The humiliations continued, and John, although angry, knew he couldn't beat him. But he refused to give up.

Finally, Yang Wei had had enough of playing.

— "Enough."

With a sharp blow, he struck Yang Qi right in the chest. The force of the blow sent John to the ground, gasping for air. A sharp pain radiated through his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

— "Don't strain yourself too much. You might end up dead anyway." Yang Wei turned away, accompanied by the servant, leaving

Yang Qi on the ground.

For a long time, John lay there, breathing hard. The cold was starting to seep into his bones, and the pain made every movement difficult. But despite this, he gritted his teeth, refusing to let the pain take over.

This body was weak, yes. But it had survived worse.

After several hours of recuperation, Yang Qi struggled to his feet. There was nothing in his hut to ease the pain, no food either. He had to go out and buy something to eat before nightfall or else getting through the night under these conditions would be difficult.

With the few coins he still had, he slowly made his way to the center of the city.

The streets had emptied as dusk fell, casting long, eerie shadows on the ground. As he walked, he saw an old man sitting under a tree by the side of the road. His clothes were in tatters, and his body bore visible scars, as if he had been through many battles. His eyes, tired but sharp, settled on Yang Qi.

"My little guy," the beggar said hoarsely. "Do you want to become stronger?"

The words echoed in Yang Qi's mind like an invitation from the darkness itself. He stopped short, his eyes fixed on the beggar.