The first sensation wasn't pain, but a profound violation, a cold, alien presence within his very core. Jiang Chen's last conscious moment had been the brutal impact, the child's wide, fearful eyes burned into his memory. Now, instead of oblivion, a suffocating darkness pressed in, followed by a searing jolt that clawed him back to a hazy awareness. He gasped, but the air was thick, acrid, not the sterile scent of a hospital, but the stench of unwashed bodies and damp, ancient earth.
His eyelids felt heavy, caked shut. A rasping groan, thin and reedy, escaped him – a sound utterly unfamiliar. Panic, sharp and cold, began to claw at his throat. He tried to speak, to call out, but only a desperate wheeze emerged.
Finally, with a Herculean effort, his eyes fluttered open. The world swam into a blurry, grimy focus: rough, mud-daubed walls, a ceiling of cracked, dark wood. Dust motes danced in a single, weak shaft of sunlight piercing a narrow, filthy window slit. He lay on a scratchy straw mat, covered by a thin, patched blanket. His body felt disturbingly small, frail, and riddled with aches that resonated deep in his bones, not his own familiar strength.
"What... what is this?" he croaked, his voice a pathetic squeak.
[Divine Martial Supreme System initializing… Welcome, Host Jiang Chen. Reincarnation successful. Soul-body integration: 99.8%. Remaining glitches: Minor existential bewilderment and a persistent craving for non-gruel-based sustenance. Processing complete.]
The voice was crisp, synthetic, yet held a peculiar, almost whimsical cadence. It resonated directly in his mind, startling him so violently he almost tumbled off the mat. He bolted upright, scanning the desolate room, but there was no device, no hidden speaker.
"What was that?! Who are you?!" Jiang Chen demanded, his heart hammering against his ribs.
[That, Host, was me. Your celestial concierge to supreme power. Or, as the uninitiated might say, a 'cheat system.' Don't fret about the 'who.' Focus on the 'what.' What you are, for instance, is no longer among the living of your previous world. You died. Rather heroically, I might add. But before your soul could dissolve into the cosmic ether, I intercepted. Call it... a divine intervention. Or perhaps, a very lucrative investment.]
Jiang Chen stared blankly at the mud-caked wall. "I... I died? But I'm... here?" He pinched his arm hard. The sharp sting confirmed he wasn't dreaming. "And you're a system? Is this some elaborate prank from the afterlife?"
[Hardly a prank, Host. More of a grand cosmic repositioning. You've been reborn into the Xuanjie Continent, a brutal cultivation world ruled by sects, clans, and ancient bloodlines. Specifically, you're currently in the esteemed Azure Thunder Sect of the Eastern Skylands. As for your current standing... a servant. A very, very disposable servant.]
He scrambled off the mat, his new, weak legs wobbling precariously. His hands, small and uncalloused, were stained with grime. His arms, disturbingly thin, hung loosely from narrow shoulders. He rushed to a tarnished bronze mirror, its surface reflecting a distorted, sallow face framed by lank, dark hair. Wide, haunted eyes stared back from a face perpetually etched with fatigue. This wasn't him. Not the man he remembered.
[Indeed, Host. This vessel belonged to a young lad named Li Ming. His unfortunate demise—a rather undignified departure resulting from malnutrition, exhaustion, and a swift, disciplinary kick from a certain 'Young Master Li'—created a convenient vacancy. His loss, your gain. Serendipity, no?]
Jiang Chen's jaw clenched. "A kick? Malnutrition? So, I died saving a child, only to be reborn as... this? A bullied servant, kicked to death?!" The sheer, infuriating injustice of it ignited a spark within him, a flicker of the defiance he'd always possessed.
[Precisely! The wheel of fate often spins in unpredictable, yet ultimately beneficial, ways. But fret not, Host. That's where I, the Divine Martial Supreme System, come in. My purpose is to guide you from this pitiful existence to absolute godhood. To transcend this mundane realm and perhaps, one day, even challenge the very fabric of the Nine Heavenly Realms above, or peer into the secrets of the Forbidden Zones that whisper of lost immortal ages. Think of me as your highly advanced, infinitely superior, and occasionally sarcastic mentor.]
A small, ethereal interface shimmered into existence in the corner of his vision, displaying basic stats:
[Host: Jiang Chen (formerly Li Ming)
Cultivation Realm: None
Spirit Qi: 0/10 (Remarkably insufficient)
Strength: 0.5 (A stiff breeze might knock you over)
Agility: 0.6 (Your shadow moves faster)
Talent: Hidden (A mystery even to me, for now)
System Points: 0]
"Remarkably insufficient? My shadow moves faster?" Jiang Chen scoffed, a dry, bitter laugh escaping him. "You've got a lot of nerve for something that just dumped me into a medieval death trap with zero warning!"
[Language, Host! And speaking of immediate peril, let's address your first mission. Paramount for immediate survival, you see. Consider it your baptism by fire, or rather, by an arrogant foot.] The interface shifted, a large, bold text block appearing.
[URGENT MISSION: Avoid Young Master Li's morning rounds for the next hour. He typically uses lowly servants for personal stress relief. Success Reward: Basic Cultivation Manual. Failure Penalty: Permanent deactivation of Host's current life cycle. (Translation: You die, for real this time.)]
Jiang Chen's eyes narrowed, a surge of adrenaline cutting through his lingering disorientation. "You're serious? My first task is to play hide-and-seek with some entitled brat who kills for fun?"
[Survival is the foundational stone of all supreme power, Host. Now, chop chop! I detect the distinct, heavy thud of expensive boots and an impending tantrum. Sounds like Young Master Li's had a rather stimulating nightmare.]
A sudden, sharp series of thuds resonated from just outside the flimsy wooden door, followed by a booming, arrogant voice that sent a shiver down Jiang Chen's spine. "Ming! You wretched dog! Where are you?! I need someone to polish my spirit sword! And if you're not quick, I'll polish your face with my boot!"
The voice was dripping with casual cruelty, devoid of any hint of humanity. This wasn't a mere bully; this was a predator.
"Alright, alright! Don't just narrate, System! Where do I hide?!"
[Ah, commendable initiative! To your immediate right, Host, behind that towering stack of rat-eaten laundry. It's far from glamorous, but it beats becoming a discarded punching bag. Move!]
Without another thought, Jiang Chen scrambled, his new, uncoordinated body protesting with every strained, unfamiliar muscle. He dove behind the teetering pile of soiled rags, dust exploding around him, and held his breath, listening intently as the heavy footsteps grew closer, closer, until they stopped with a menacing finality right outside his door. His journey in this brutal new world had just begun, and it started, quite literally, with hiding in the dust, the faint whispers of ancient, unreachable realms already echoing in his reborn soul.