Chapter 1 – New Beginnings

Xiao Xuan sat alone in his cramped apartment, half-buried under towers of old cultivation novels, research notes, and loose manuscript pages littered with crazy scribbles. His tiny desk creaked under the weight of empty coffee mugs, printouts of realm diagrams, and a battered laptop whose fan whined like a dying beast.

He rubbed his temples, eyes heavy from another sleepless night. On the screen, the same question blinked back at him in bold letters:

"What would true immortality look like in a world ruled by spiritual power?"

Xiao Xuan had asked himself this question a hundred times. He'd built entire worlds around it — twelve volumes of a webnovel series that was cult-favorite enough to pay his bills but still haunted him every night. His characters broke heaven's laws, burned their soul essence, used forbidden techniques that shaved years off their lives. But none of them were truly immortal — not in the sense he imagined.

Immortality isn't just living forever, he thought. It's about what you lose when you do.

He leaned back in his creaky chair, staring at the cracked ceiling of his tiny apartment. In his mind, he saw the same scene replay for the hundredth time: a cultivator who could not die, surrounded by peers who feared and envied him — but alone, always alone. His pen hovered over a fresh page in his notebook, but the words refused to come.

He reached for his tea mug — stone-cold. He took a sip anyway. The taste was stale, but he barely noticed.

A sudden buzz prickled at the base of his skull. He frowned, pressing his palm to his neck. The buzzing grew sharper, louder, until it roared in his ears like a swarm of hornets. The air thickened — heavier than the Beijing smog outside his window.

"What the hell—"

A blinding white light exploded behind his eyes. Pain knifed through his skull, so sharp he couldn't even scream. He grabbed the edge of his desk, knocking over books and his mug, but the world was already fading.

No… this isn't…

Everything went black.

When he came to, the ceiling was gone. He was lying on damp earth, not threadbare carpet. Pine needles pricked his palms. His chest heaved, lungs sucking in crisp, earthy air that smelled nothing like the stale city pollution he'd known all his life.

He opened his eyes fully, blinking against the dappled sunlight filtering through a thick canopy of ancient trees. A bird called overhead — clear, piercing. The leaves rustled in a breeze that carried the scent of moss and distant smoke.

Am I dreaming?

He pinched the inside of his arm. Pain — real, sharp, immediate. He ran his hands over his body: rougher skin than he remembered, lean muscle under his shirt, and strange, shallow scratches on his forearms as if he'd been dragged through underbrush.

No phone. No wallet. No keycard. Not even shoes — just worn sandals that weren't his. He patted his sides for a pocket — nothing. He sat up, breathing hard. The forest stretched in every direction — ancient trees, creeping vines, scattered stones carved with symbols he didn't recognize.

This is a transmigration scene, he thought wildly. Except there's no system. No panel. No cheat.

He laughed, the sound echoing through the clearing — a rough, desperate noise. He was the protagonist of a story, alright. But there was no glowing prompt, no voice calling him "Chosen One." Just the heartbeat pounding in his chest.

He forced himself to stand. The world spun. His legs felt strong but awkward, like they'd been built for walking trails he'd never known. He touched his wrist — his pulse was steady, even after passing out. If anything, he felt strangely… sturdy. Odd.

In the distance, through a gap in the trees, a thin trail of smoke curled into the sky. A village? His stomach growled. His mouth was dry as sand. Answers. Shelter. Food.

He forced his legs forward, one step at a time, brushing past thorny bushes and gnarled roots. A branch snagged his sleeve, tearing it slightly. He didn't care. He pressed on.

By dusk, Xiao Xuan stumbled into a wide clearing. A simple village sat by a slow-moving stream. Wooden houses, tiled roofs patched with straw, small vegetable gardens fenced with crooked sticks. A few farmers led oxen into their stalls as children ran barefoot through the mud, giggling.

As he stepped closer, villagers paused mid-chore. Suspicious eyes flicked over his torn clothes, the scratches on his arms, his hollow expression.

One old man, his back hunched but his eyes still sharp, stepped forward, leaning on a worn walking stick. "Boy, you look half-dead. What beast chased you here?"

Xiao Xuan opened his mouth, surprised he understood the words perfectly. "I… don't know. I woke up in the woods."

The old man's brow furrowed. "No memory?"

"No," Xiao Xuan lied quickly. What would I even say? He felt the stares, the curiosity mixed with wariness. I'm from another world, I wrote novels about people like you? He'd be driven out in minutes.

A heavy silence. Then the old man sighed. "Rest first. Speak later."

He gestured to a young woman who led Xiao Xuan to a tiny hut near the stream. Inside, the air smelled of hay and boiled herbs. She handed him a bowl of warm broth and a rough wool blanket. He drank greedily, the warmth chasing away some of the hollow chill in his chest.

That night, he lay on a straw mat under a leaking roof. He could hear frogs croaking by the stream, the hush of water running over smooth stones.

No system. No cheats. Just me, he thought. He touched the scratch on his arm — it had already closed up, barely a red line left. That's… strange.

He didn't know yet that this stubborn spark inside him would one day make him untouchable — truly immortal. Right now, he was just an outsider with nothing but stories in his head.

His eyes drifted to the gaps in the roof, where unfamiliar stars glimmered cold and distant.

This is my new life now, he thought, chest tightening with both fear and a wild, reckless excitement. I have to survive.

He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and closed his eyes. Tomorrow, he would find answers.