The Weakling’s World

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the small, dilapidated courtyard. Zhuan Ming stepped outside, his new body feeling foreign and fragile. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint aroma of medicinal herbs. Around him, the sect's outer disciples bustled about, their chatter filling the air with a mundane hum.

"This place… is a cesspool," Zhuan Ming muttered under his breath, his dark eyes scanning the surroundings with disdain. The sect was small, its buildings worn and crumbling, and the disciples' cultivation levels were laughably weak. He had gone from plundering Solar Soul worlds to being surrounded by ants.

"This has to be karma," he smirked to himself, recalling the countless lives he had trampled in his previous life. The irony wasn't lost on him.

As he walked, a group of disciples noticed him. Their expressions shifted from indifference to mockery as they approached.

"Well, well, if it isn't the sect's punching bag," one of them sneered, a tall, lanky youth with a cruel grin. "Did you finally crawl out of your hole, Zhuan Ming?"

Zhuan Ming stopped, his gaze cold and unflinching. He recognized this boy from the memories of his new body—a bully named Li Feng who had made the previous owner's life a living hell. In his past life, Zhuan Ming would have crushed such an insect without a second thought. But now, he had to tread carefully.

"Move," Zhuan Ming said, his voice low and steady.

Li Feng laughed, his companions joining in. "Or what? You'll cry to the elders again? Face it, you're nothing but a waste of resources. You should've been kicked out of the sect years ago."

Zhuan Ming's lips curled into a faint smirk. "You talk too much."

Before Li Feng could react, Zhuan Ming stepped forward, his movements swift and precise despite his weak body. He drove his fist into Li Feng's stomach, the force knocking the wind out of the bully. Li Feng doubled over, gasping for air, while his companions stared in shock.

"You—!" one of them stammered, but Zhuan Ming's glare silenced him.

"Next time, think twice before wasting my time," Zhuan Ming said, brushing past them as if they were nothing more than insects.

As Zhuan Ming retreated to a secluded spot within the sect, the Qi Pill Ancestor's voice echoed in his mind once more.

"Not bad for a weakling's body," the ancient voice said, its tone dripping with amusement. "But you'll need more than brute strength to survive in this world. After all, you wouldn't want others finding out you're not the real Zhuan Ming."

"I don't need your commentary," Zhuan Ming replied coldly. "If you have something useful to say, say it. Otherwise, stay silent."

The Qi Pill Ancestor chuckled. "Very well. Since you're so eager, I'll give you your first lesson. Your new body is weak, but it has potential. The pill you swallowed has begun to refine your meridians, but the process will take time. For now, focus on gathering resources and rebuilding your foundation."

Zhuan Ming frowned. "Resources? In this pathetic sect?"

"Even the smallest sect has its uses," the ancestor replied. "There's a hidden storeroom in the eastern wing of the sect. It contains low-grade spirit stones and medicinal herbs. Steal them. Use them to begin your cultivation."

Zhuan Ming's eyes gleamed with interest. "And how do you know about this storeroom?"

"Let's just say I've been around for a very long time," the ancestor said cryptically. "Now, go. Time is not on your side."

Under the cover of darkness, Zhuan Ming made his way to the eastern wing of the sect. The storeroom was poorly guarded, a testament to the sect's incompetence. With practiced ease, he slipped past the lone guard and entered the room.

Inside, shelves lined the walls, filled with spirit stones, herbs, and low-grade cultivation manuals. Zhuan Ming's lips curled into a smirk as he began gathering the resources.

"This will do for now," he muttered, stuffing the items into a makeshift bag.

As he turned to leave, a voice called out from behind him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Zhuan Ming froze, his hand instinctively reaching for a nearby dagger. He turned to see a young woman standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression stern. She was dressed in the robes of an inner disciple, her cultivation level far above his own.

"Stealing," Zhuan Ming replied bluntly, his tone unapologetic.

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by his audacity. "Do you have a death wish? If the elders catch you, you'll be expelled—or worse."

Zhuan Ming shrugged. "Then I suppose you'll have to stop me."

For a moment, the woman studied him, her gaze piercing. Then, to his surprise, she stepped aside.

"I didn't see anything," she said, her voice low. "But don't make a habit of this. The next person might not be so lenient."

Zhuan Ming nodded, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "I'll keep that in mind."

Back in his secluded spot, Zhuan Ming laid out the stolen resources and began his cultivation. The Qi Pill Ancestor guided him through the process, his voice a constant presence in his mind.

"Focus your Qi on refining your meridians," the ancestor instructed. "The pill's energy is still within you. Use it to rebuild your foundation."

Zhuan Ming obeyed, his body trembling as the energy surged through him. It was painful, but he welcomed it. Pain was a reminder of the past—of the days when he was also a rank 1 cultivator, struggling to survive in a world that had no mercy for the weak.

As the hours passed, he felt a faint change within him. His Qi reserves grew slightly, and his body felt stronger, more resilient. It was a small step, but it was a start.

"Good," the Qi Pill Ancestor said. "You're making progress. But remember, this is only the beginning. The path ahead is long and fraught with danger."

Zhuan Ming opened his eyes, his gaze steely. "I've faced danger before. I'll face it again."

The ancestor chuckled. "We'll see. For now, rest. Tomorrow, you'll begin your true training."