Chapter 1: The Awakening

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I noticed was the overwhelming silence.

I wasn't in my room.

The realization came slowly, like waking from a heavy dream. The last thing I remembered was the truck—its headlights glaring at me, almost mocking. Then came the impact, the sharp pain, and after that… nothing.

Now, here I was, lying on hard, uneven ground. The air was damp and cold, and the faint glow of light revealed jagged rocks all around me. It took a moment to realize I was in a cave.

My head ached, and my body felt strange—as if it no longer belonged to me. Every movement was heavy, and even sitting up left me gasping for air.

Where was I? How had I ended up here? The questions swirled in my mind.

Is this a dream? The thought flashed through my mind, both absurd and strangely logical. But dreams aren't supposed to feel this real, are they? The ache in my muscles and the cold stone pressing against my skin were too vivid, too tangible. If this were a dream, why could I feel the chill of the cave, the weight of my own body? Something didn't add up. This felt too real to be just a dream.

In my past life, I was just a normal guy named Li Feng Yun.

I had been the eldest of three siblings—a role I carried with pride. My father, strict yet supportive, had raised me to be strong, and my two younger brothers had admired me, hanging on to my every word. On the surface, I was the dependable older brother who took responsibility without complaint. Deep down, however, I harbored a secret: I was a nerd.

I was a dreamer who found solace in books and computer screens. I loved reading stories about heroes, villains, and fantastical worlds. I lived through their adventures, always wishing I could escape my mundane life and become someone else. But dreams, as nice as they were, were just that—dreams.

Life, with all its everyday troubles, always pulled me back to reality.

One day, while buying groceries, I struggled with heavy plastic bags as the sun set, casting long shadows across the street. And then, I saw the truck.

It was parked oddly, its headlights slicing through the dark like twin eyes staring at me. Something felt off, but I brushed it aside—after all, I was tired, and my imagination often ran wild.

I glanced back. There was no driver.

A chill crawled up my spine, yet I laughed it off. "Just too many novels messing with my head," I muttered.

Still, a rebellious thought flickered in my mind. I turned to the truck and raised my middle finger—a silly move, but it made me feel as though I'd won some invisible battle.

Walking away, I felt a little smug. "Take that," I thought, pleased with myself.

But when I reached the crosswalk and the signal turned green, I stepped onto the road. In the middle of the crossing, a loud horn suddenly blared. Startled, I froze. A truck was speeding down the road.

At first, I thought it was coming for me, but then I realized it was aimed at someone behind me—a boy about my age, wearing a hoodie. The boy had a fragile frame and looked like a shy nerd. He simply stood there, staring at the oncoming truck, not moving an inch.

This time, unlike before, there was a driver. The man panicked, desperately slamming the brakes, but nothing worked. The truck kept charging forward.

A chill ran down my spine as I looked at the boy again. For some reason, he didn't budge. The truck should have hit him, yet at the last second, it swerved unnaturally—as if it had changed its mind.

The truck veered straight toward me instead.

It was too fast to process, too strange to understand. The headlights locked onto me, bright and unblinking, almost alive. It felt as if the truck bore a grudge, deliberately choosing me.

Before I could react, everything went dark.

There was no time to scream—no time to think. The last thing I saw were the truck's headlights, glaring at me as though laughing. And then, nothing.

Now, here I was.

The sudden sound of a voice broke the silence, pulling me back to reality.

[Congratulations, traveler. You have been chosen.]

The voice wasn't coming from anywhere around me—it resonated inside my head, speaking directly to my thoughts. A glowing message appeared, floating in the dark.

[Welcome to the world of Xiyuan. Please choose your path: Hero or Villain.]

I stared at the words, shock slowly giving way to confusion. This was the stuff I'd read in novels: transmigration, a new world, a chance to live out the adventures I'd always dreamed of. Yet now that it was happening, it felt... empty. Hollow. Like a bad dream.

Hero or Villain?

On the surface, the choice seemed simple. Heroes were the good guys, always loved by the people, always doing the right thing—even if it meant carrying the weight of the world. Villains, on the other hand, were powerful, free, and untamed. But they always fell in the end.

I knew what the system expected. I knew what everyone would choose. Yet as I stared at the glowing words, bitter anger welled inside me. Hero or Villain. Good or Bad. It was all so simple, so stupid.

Who decided this anyway? The system? The world? Some higher power pulling the strings? The very idea of being forced into these categories made me sick.

"I refuse," I muttered, my voice rough with defiance.

I didn't know if it was because of the death I had experienced or if something deeper within me resisted, but I refused. A quiet, unshakable certainty settled in my chest.

My mind still couldn't fully grasp what had happened. The sensation of dying—of my existence being stripped away in an instant—still lingered like a shadow clinging to my thoughts. One moment, I had been in my world, living the life I had always known, and the next, I was here. A different body. A different reality.

But there was no time to dwell on confusion. There was nothing to think about, no logic to dissect or rationalize.

The screen flickered, and the system paused.

[Invalid input. Please select your path: Hero or Villain.]

I repeated, louder and stronger this time, "I refuse. I won't be boxed in. I'm not some puppet in a story I didn't write."

For a moment, there was silence. Then the screen changed, the words shifting before my eyes.

[Selection overridden. Both paths assigned.]

Both? What did that even mean?

[As the Hero, you shall rise to protect the innocent and uphold justice. As the Villain, you shall wield fear and chaos, cutting down the righteous in your path. Both fates are yours to bear. Walk the line between light and shadow, and let the world decide what you truly are.]

I stared at the glowing words, my mind racing. Both paths? The thought of being forced into two roles stirred something deep inside me. I wasn't going to let anyone—not even this system—dictate who I should be. I'd make my own path. I always had.

I had worked hard for everything in my past life. I studied, worked, and built an image until people saw me the way I wanted them to: strong, capable, trustworthy. My father trusted me, and through that trust, I proved I was superior to my brothers—stronger, smarter, better.

But there was another side, a darker one that no one ever saw. I had broken them—my own brothers—forcing them to submit to my will. I pushed them to the edge until they had no choice but to listen. I demanded respect. Defiance meant consequences.

They saw me as their big brother, their mentor, but I was so much more—I was their master, shaping them to follow the rules of the world. Society doesn't value kindness as much as strength, control, and power. I learned that from every novel I read. Each story taught me something—about strategies, human nature, or simply how to win.

Through all the books, I learned to manipulate situations and shape the world around me, even if I appeared to be nothing more than a quiet nerd on the surface. In those novels, heroes were praised for their noble hearts while villains were celebrated for their sheer power. But the truth was, neither side was truly free; both were trapped by the world's expectations.

So I forged my own path. I didn't care about labels like hero or villain. I cared only about proving that I was in control. I was the talented one, the one who had it all together—handsome, smart, strong—everything society admired. I had crafted a perfect image: a balance between the peace I craved and the power I needed.

And that's how I had lived my life. Peaceful on the outside, strong on the inside. No one ever saw the real me. But now, in this new world, I had a blank slate to shape. A world where I didn't have to be just a hero or a villain—I could be both, or neither. I would do whatever it took to get what I wanted.

Then reality slapped me in the face.

I looked at my body and was struck by confusion. My hand—my new hand—resembled that of a child. It was small, delicate, and utterly foreign. I was in the body of a 16-year-old boy now. It made no sense. I had lived as an adult—an elder brother, someone strong—and now I was starting over as a teenager.

I slowly stood, trying to ignore the strange sensations in my new body. My movements felt unfamiliar, as if my limbs didn't entirely belong to me.

I noticed the robe I was wearing—a simple, dark indigo garment. It wasn't flashy, just practical and modest, clearly designed for someone who wasn't meant to stand out. On the chest of the robe, a small, brown badge caught my eye. Leaning in, I read the etched words: "Outer Sect Disciple."

An Outer Sect Disciple? My mind raced. Judging by the robe, the badge, and the terminology, this was a cultivation world. The term sent a jolt through me.

In these sects, disciples were often ranked as inner or outer—outer disciples being those of lesser talent or weaker cultivation, a tier below the prestigious inner sect members.

"Am I... really in a cultivation world?" I muttered, barely above a whisper. It all fit—the robe, the badge, the surroundings. Though I had no idea which sect or clan I belonged to, one thing was certain: this was not the modern world anymore.

And from the look of my attire, I wasn't exactly at the top of the hierarchy.

Glancing around, I took in my surroundings—a small, quiet room like cave with the faint sound of water in the distance. Curiosity drove me toward a small pool where I caught a glimpse of my reflection.

A handsome face stared back at me. Dark blue eyes, cold and piercing as if they could see right through you. dark blue hair framed my face perfectly. I couldn't help but admire myself for a moment, a small smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. Of course, I looked perfect. My body and face were just as I remembered—flawless, ready for the world to see.

Yet, as I surveyed my new surroundings, the silence of the cave pressed in on me. I was alone in a strange world with unfamiliar rules, but that wasn't going to stop me. I wasn't bound by the limits of my past life. I wasn't bound by anything now.

Thoughts of my family crept in—a pang of sorrow for my father, who had always supported me; for my gentle, loving mother, who would miss me dearly; and for my brothers, who would have to cope without their big brother, their guide. I reminded myself they would be fine—I had raised them to be strong. They knew how to survive. They would take care of each other, and I had faith in them.

But still, the emptiness lingered. My old life, perfect in its own way, had been about control and power. I had been a rich, middle-class boy, and that power had been snatched away by something as trivial as a truck.

I gritted my teeth, bitterness rising. "I will never forget what you've done to me. You bastard…" I muttered, my voice low with resentment as the image of the truck's mocking headlights flashed through my mind.

I clicked my tongue, a sharp, reflexive sound, as the memory replayed. That truck—its deliberate strike, as if it knew exactly what it was doing. The defiance I had felt in that moment was nothing but a fleeting illusion. And now, I was trapped in a new world with no escape.

"I need time to stabilize my mind…" I muttered, sitting down on a flat stone. The coolness of the stone beneath me was oddly grounding. I looked up toward the cave's entrance; it wasn't deep, and I could see the night sky beyond. A pale sliver of moonlight bathed the land, casting soft shadows on the rocky ground. It was a peaceful, serene scene—but that didn't mean I was ready to trust it.

I sat there, staring at the moon, letting the silence stretch on as my mind whirled with thoughts. Everything about this place—this world—felt foreign. Yet my new body, my new reality, was undeniably real. I could move my arms, stretch my legs, flex my fingers. This wasn't some twisted illusion.

Still, my thoughts would not settle. Then, the system's voice broke through the silence:

[Do you want to acquire the owner's body memory? This will help settle your unstable mind.]

Hesitating, I responded, "OK. Will it hurt?"