Rain lashed against the slate roof of the Li estate. Thunder rumbled, a deep, guttural growl that shook the floorboards beneath Yang Yi's feet. He didn't feel it. He felt only the stillness in his own chest, the perfect, silent void he had chased for thirty years.
Across the courtyard, Elder Li wiped blood from his lip. The old man smiled. A grim, jagged expression.
"You see it now, Yang? The end of the road."
Yang Yi didn't speak. He stepped forward. The stone beneath his cotton shoe cracked. Not from weight, but from intent. He launched a fist. The air screamed.
Li met him. Bone collided with bone. The impact didn't just break ribs; it shattered the rhythm of Yang's heart. He felt the organ stutter, seize, and fail. He had pushed the 'Reverse Kill' technique too far. His blood flowed backward, a chaotic tide tearing him apart from the inside.
He fell. The cold stone pressed against his cheek. Darkness didn't creep in; it slammed shut like a steel door.
Light.
Blue, blinding, and searing.
Yang Yi gasped. Air rushed into lungs that felt too small, too tight. He smelled pine needles and rotting leaves.
He wasn't on the Li estate. He lay on dirt, staring up at a canopy of strange, towering trees that bled a violet sap.
"Look at this one. scrawny thing. Probably died of fright."
A boot slammed into Yang's ribs.
Pain flared. Sharp. Real.
He cracked an eye open. A man stood over him. Broad shoulders, leather armor stained with grease, a serrated dagger glinting in his grip. The man squatted, reaching for the pouch at Yang's waist.
"Easy pickings."
Yang Yi's instinct screamed. Enemy.
He didn't think. He moved.
His hand shot up, fingers hooking into the man's throat.
The man gagged. His eyes bulged. He tried to pull back, but Yang Yi held on. This wasn't the grip of a grandmaster. The muscles were weak, the tendons loose. It was the grip of a child holding onto a ledge.
Weak. This body is garbage.
The man roared and drove the dagger down.
Yang Yi twisted his hips. He rolled, dragging the man with him. The blade buried itself in the dirt, inches from his ear.
"You little rat!"
The man yanked the dagger free. He was strong. Unnaturally strong. A simple backhand sent Yang Yi skidding across the forest floor. His head slammed into a tree root.
Stars danced in his vision.
Power. Pure, raw power. This thug hits harder than a heavyweight champion.
Yang Yi scrambled to his feet. He spat a mouthful of blood. He needed a weapon. He needed an edge.
The man charged. He swung the dagger in a wide, clumsy arc.
Yang Yi ducked. The wind of the blade ruffled his hair. He stepped inside the man's guard. He didn't have the strength to punch through bone, so he used leverage. He drove his elbow into the man's solar plexus, using the attacker's own momentum.
The man grunted, doubling over.
Yang Yi didn't stop. He wrapped his arm around the man's neck, locked his hands, and dropped his weight.
The Guillotine.
The man thrashed. He slammed Yang Yi into a tree. Bark bit into Yang's back. He held on. He squeezed until his forearms burned.
"Die."
A wet crunch echoed through the clearing. The man went limp.
Yang Yi let the body slide to the ground. He slumped against the tree, his chest heaving. His hands shook. Not from fear. From exhaustion. This body was pathetic.
He looked at his hands. They were pale, calloused from manual labor, not martial arts.
Who am I?
Memories assaulted him. Not his own.
Yang Yi. Hunter. Mountain village. Father died last year. Sister... no, not sister. Rescued girl. Yang Shan.
The headache split his skull. He gritted his teeth and forced the foreign memories to settle. He was in a world where blood dictated fate. Humans created by the essence of Dragons, Phoenixes, and Kirins. Cultivation wasn't about qi; it was about waking the beast in the blood.
Coagulation. Shapeshifting. Heaven Reaching.
This body was trash. Tier 1 Coagulation. Barely strong enough to lift a heavy rock. The man he just killed? Tier 3. A thug with the strength of a bear.
Yang Yi looked at the corpse.
"You have something I need."
He rifled through the man's pockets. He found a small porcelain bottle. He popped the cork. A copper scent wafted out. Blood. But not normal blood. It hummed with energy.
Refined Beast Blood.
He pocketed it. His fingers brushed against something hard in the man's inner vest pocket. A token. Cold to the touch. He pulled it out.
Five colors. A dragon carved in relief, its eyes seeming to follow him.
The Dragon Transformation Token.
The memory surfaced. A ticket to power. A ticket to the Dragon Transformation Palace.
A twig snapped nearby.
Yang Yi froze. He grabbed the dead man's dagger. It felt heavy, unbalanced.
He wasn't a grandmaster anymore. He was prey.
But looking at the token, feeling the strange, thrumming energy in the blood vial, a smile touched his lips. A smile that belonged to the man who had challenged death in another world.
"Let them come."
He stood up, wiped the dirt from his face, and vanished into the shadows of the violet trees.