Inauspicious Omen

Bullhorn Mountain Range, Green Curtain City, Main Entrance Gate.

The sun was two fingers above the horizon. The empty, dusty road leading out of the city was like a grey snake chasing after its golden glimmer. The vast expanse past the mountain range carried no signs of the vibrant life that flourished within the city, desolate and ugly.

This desolate atmosphere was marred suddenly when a young man in tattered robes appeared at the far end of the road. His silhouette became a line of ink highlighted by the rising sun behind him.

Black for mourning, gold of prosperity, mixed in harmony under the shadow of the underworld—his appearance certainly did not strike any auspicious bells.

The populace around the entrance of Green Curtain City frequently cast disgruntled looks at the approaching silhouette. Especially the street hawkers and shopkeepers who believed in superstitious folktales.

The young man was unaware of the displeasure he had incurred even without any contact with the city. As he drew closer to the main entrance, his eyes were glued to the welcoming plaque hung on the archway.

His face was a bit dazed, as if he couldn't understand what was written there.

He muttered incessantly to himself like a madman, and people passing by gave him a wide berth. Had anyone paid attention to his soliloquy, they would've learned some interesting things.

"No, no, no, this can't be right! I'm dreaming, I must be!

"That's right! I binged that book for so long that I've started dreaming about it! But how am I so self-aware?

"Is this a lucid dream? Can I do anything I want?"

A look of excitement appeared on his face as he darted over to a hawker sitting near the archway.

"Dude, how much does this robe cost? It looks mad comfy!"

The hawker grabbed the robe's corner as if afraid that he was going to rob it. Then he loudly replied, "Gunkhai Hundan!"

"...."

The young man stood stunned for a moment. The indecipherable writings on the stone archway, he could justify. After all, reading anything inside a dream was known to be impossible for most people.

But why did this man just speak in a tongue that resembled Chinese? What did those words mean? They didn't sound like numbers!

Although he was a fan of Chinese cultivation novels, his knowledge of the language was limited to words like 'Long (Dragon), 'Feng' (Phoenix), 'Yang' (male), 'Yin' (female); and the most sophisticated Chinese word in that list was 'Chunyao' (Aphrodisiac).

Could he use those words here? Uh...

If this was really a dream, language barrier couldn't be a real issue. Even utter gibberish made sense in dreams.

So he imitated the hawker's tone and shouted, "Ni... Ni... Hao, no, Ni Cao ma!"

His memory was a little vague, but he could recall that this was an integral part of exchanging pleasantries. The hawker, however, looked far from pleased. He picked up a weathered bamboo from his stall and chased after him with a murderous aura!

Staggering away with his weak legs, the young man cursed fluently in English.

"Motherfucker! That hurt like hell! This isn't a dream, it's a damned nightmare!"

Past the city gates, the road turned steep, and he didn't make it far down before his legs gave up. Rolling across the street like a ragdoll, he smashed into an old man who was squatting over a gutter.

The impact, however, didn't quite match the visual information. He felt like he had hit a leather-covered brick wall. Half the bones in his body felt a deep vibration.

"Hack... Cough, cough..."

Something splashed on his chest, and as his vision stabilized, he discovered that he was covered in bloody phlegm.

The old man was coughing blood! Just like in the novels! Did the collision hurt him that severely? It didn't even move him from his squatting spot, did it?

Enveloped by an instinctive terror of a potential lawsuit, he forgot that the old grandpa was spitting the filth on his clothes. Quickly standing back up on his feet, he tried to apologize, holding the old man's hands respectfully.

"Accident! It was an accident! I lost balance—"

Seeing the flabbergasted gaze the old man was giving him, he had a terrible premonition. This grandpa couldn't understand him either, could he?

Right then, a ghostly red light flickered in his vision, and a semi-transparent panel appeared before his eyes. Violating the science of dreams, this panel was filled to the brim with readable alphabets.

The hawker managed to catch up with him while he was distracted by the panel. As the man brandished the bendy bamboo at his back, the old man suddenly stood up to shield him from it.

A furious verbal confrontation broke out behind the dazed young man, where the old grandpa seemed to have the upper hand. But he couldn't be bothered to pay attention to any of it, not when the contents of the panel were so shocking...

[ Congratulations to the host for coming into contact with a son of destiny! The system can assist you now in influencing the main timeline! Complete the quests to survive this brutal world! ]

[ Trial Quest: Your Story (Unique) ]

[ Hint: To know your past self is to see your future selves. To unlock your own story, you must peer at the forces driving you towards it. Convince this son of destiny to help you, and you will grasp the truth! ]

[ Quest Difficulty: Very Easy ]

[ Quest Reward: 1. Memory Awakening; 2. Full Version of the Survival System. ]

"What kind of dream is this? It's too detailed to be one! Did I transmigrate for real?! How did I die? Is this the world of cultivation? Oh hell nah...."

A thousand questions stormed his distressed mind, all culminating into a sense of horror.

His rising panic was interrupted when a hand suddenly patted him on the back, making him jump in fright. It was the old man, smiling victoriously as he pointed at the hawker retreating in the distance.

"I... Thank you?" the young man said, feeling doubtful about everything in front of his eyes.

Didn't the 'system' label this man as a Son of Destiny? Shouldn't the label have been 'Grandfather of Destiny?' He looks one bad winter away from death!

The grandpa thoughtfully pointed at himself and said in a gravelly tone, "Ming. Zi."

"Ming Zi, right!" the young man nodded.

"That's definitely a name. Got it. The last book I read had an unimportant side character named Ming Zi. So there's still a chance that my sleep-deprived brain is making this all up."

Seemingly satisfied by his response, the grandpa flashed him a wide smile and pointed the fingers back at him, clearly asking for his name.

"...Erm, Long Aotian?" he said in an unsure tone. This was a very generic name for the hero of a cultivation novel. Sometimes, big-dick young masters in the upper realms also had such names.

Its potential was unquestionable.

But the grandpa clutched his stomach and started laughing like a madman. The fingers that were pointed inquisitively seemed to turn into a gesture of ridicule.

By now, a small crowd had gathered around them, almost all of them in a soldier's attire. Meeting their curious eyes, the old man pointed at him and kept repeating in a snide tone, "Long Aotian! Hahaha! Long Aotian! Wooo!"

It was evident that even the soldiers thought it was funny. He could see many of them trying not to laugh.

"Fine! Have it your way, then." he spoke up, unable to take the humiliation. Pointing at himself, he said, "I am Hans Schwann. Me. Hans! Schwann!"

The old man's laughter eventually stopped. Wiping off some snot and bloody phlegm from his beard, he nodded in acknowledgement.

"Han Xuhan. Mm hmm!"

"That's not what I- fine, Han Xuhan it is," the young man was forced to say, feeling utterly helpless. Pointing at his own mouth, he tried to convey a crucial question through gestures.

"Do you have any way we can communicate more easily? Like a jade slip or mental information transfer method..."

It was impossible to translate the latter part of his enquiry with mere gestures. But the old man seemed to get the hint. Signing at him to wait, he strode over to a tent not too far away from them. Hans couldn't help but get excited.

If this was really not a dream, he was about to witness the first wonder of the world of cultivation! He was going to master a language in one shot!

He couldn't help but fantasize. What level of knowledge would be imparted to him right now? Would it have anything to do with cultivation?

Speaking of cultivation, how many levels of it did this world have? Even if this was some kind of wild hallucination, he wanted to reach the top level before it could end.

The grandpa came out of the tent a minute later, holding a... fat book. He handed it to Hans and patted him on the head encouragingly.

Feeling a terrifying premonition, Hans opened the book. His pupils shrank at the very first page.

"This... This is a kindergarten-level picture book!"