After a few minutes, Jiang Cheng finally calmed down. The chaos of transmigrating, the rundown shack, and his desperate curses at the heavens—all of it now felt like a bad dream. He sat down on his glorious bed (a pile of straw that looked like it had been through a famine) and let out a long sigh. “Alright, let’s figure out what’s going on.”
Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his memories, hoping to make sense of this new life. It wasn’t long before a tidal wave of information crashed into his mind—a deluge of memories that didn’t belong to him. The sheer intensity of it made his head feel like it was being split apart by a thousand celestial swords.“F-Fuck!” Jiang Cheng groaned, clutching his head in agony. The pain was so intense that his vision swam, right before his vision went black, and he fainted on the spot.
Three hours later, Jiang Cheng woke up with a pounding headache, groaning as he clutched his temples. “Great… transmigrated into a broken body and got the memory migraine deluxe package. Thanks, Thief God. Really generous of you.”
Jiang Cheng sat motionless for a moment, processing the tragic tale of his predecessor. His lips trembled as he whispered, “This… this can only be described in eight words: "terrible, life hanging by a thread.”
The unlucky original owner of this body also went by the name Jiang Cheng. Born in a mortal country under the Qinglin Sect’s jurisdiction, his knowledge of the world was pitifully limited. He knew the name of the world— Tianmin —and that his location was in the Eastern Region, under a sect that ruled over countless miles with its Golden Core ancestor as the strongest local cultivator. Beyond that? A big, yawning void of ignorance.
As for the poor guy himself, his life was a tale of woe. The original owner of this body was a casual cultivator—a term that sounded almost romantic, like a free-spirited wanderer, but in reality, it was code for ‘no background, no resources, no future.’
In this world of immortal cultivation, territories rich in spiritual energy were fiercely guarded by major sects, like lions jealously guarding their kills. Independent cultivators like Jiang Cheng were left to fight over scraps—or worse, had to sell themselves out as glorified servants to the sects, working tirelessly for a few cheap spirit stones.
Jiang Cheng cringed as more memories poured in. The The original Jiang Cheng’s story began in the Dali Kingdom, a mortal nation that fell under the jurisdiction of the Qinglin Sect. This sect wasn’t a behemoth by any means, but it did have a Golden Core ancestor, which made it a major player in the region. Its territory stretched tens of thousands of miles, dotted with immortal cities and markets. The big cities had several Foundation Building cultivators guarding them, while the smaller ones having one.
At the age of 20, the original Jiang Cheng’s luck briefly turned when he stumbled upon a hidden cave belonging to a deceased casual cultivator. Inside, he found:
A spirit bag with two square meters of storage space (small, but better than nothing).
200 low-grade spirit stones (a fortune for someone like him at the time).
A cultivation manual called Changchun Kung Fu (a low-grade Qi Refining technique).
A magic sword (which was more like a glorified toothpick compared to the weapons of real cultivators).
And a bunch of miscellaneous junk—books, clothes, and odds and ends that were probably worthless.
For the first time, Jiang Cheng felt like the heavens were smiling on him. He used the manual to sense spiritual energy and successfully drew Qi into his body a year later, officially beginning his cultivation journey.
The day the original Jiang Cheng first succeeded in drawing Qi into his body was the day he began to see the world through a completely different lens—one filtered through his newfound delusions of grandeur.
As the faint wisp of Qi coursed through his meridians for the first time, the sensation filled him with an intoxicating sense of power. His muscles felt stronger, his senses sharper, and his confidence… well, his confidence skyrocketed into the heavens.
Standing in the middle of his small home, Jiang Cheng clenched his fists, letting out a long breath. He looked at his hands like they were now capable of splitting mountains. “This is it! I’ve stepped onto the path of immortality! From now on, those so-called martial artists in the rivers and lakes are no better than ants before me!”
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He picked up his low-grade sword—the one with more dents than he cared to count—and swung it a few times, nodding in satisfaction. “With my strength, I could probably take on ten bandits at once. No, twenty! From this moment on, the world shall know my name!”
With his mind filled with fantasies of glory, the original Jiang Cheng packed his belongings and set out toward the immortal market. His journey was filled with high spirits and the swagger of a man who believed the heavens themselves were watching over him.
It was on this journey, as he walked along a dusty road surrounded by rolling hills, that he spotted a commotion up ahead. A mortal caravan was under attack by bandits, their crude weapons gleaming in the afternoon sun. The merchants were shouting in panic as the bandits demanded their goods, and a few guards were already lying on the ground, groaning in pain.
Jiang Cheng’s eyes lit up. This was it—his chance to shine! Drawing his dented sword, he strode forward with what he thought was an air of majesty and righteousness.
“Stop this injustice at once!” he bellowed, his voice echoing across the hills.
The bandits turned to look at him, momentarily stunned. A single man with a sword, walking toward them with such confidence? Could this be… an immortal?
Jiang Cheng didn’t wait for them to recover. With a loud battle cry, he charged forward, his sword flashing in the sunlight. His movements were clumsy, his footwork unpolished, but the bandits were already unnerved by his aura and quickly scattered, unwilling to risk their lives.
The merchants and guards stared in disbelief as Jiang Cheng stood there, breathing heavily and pointing his sword at the retreating figures.
“It’s over,” he said, trying to steady his voice. “Your savior has arrived.”
The merchants quickly fell to their knees, their faces filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Immortal Master! Thank you for saving us!”
One of the older merchants even started crying. “We were doomed for sure, but you came to save us like a divine hero descending from the heavens!”
Jiang Cheng’s chest swelled with pride. He tried to keep a stoic expression, but the praise was clearly getting to him. He waved his hand dismissively, as if saving caravans was just another day’s work for someone like him. “Rise. It was nothing. Merely a duty for someone walking the path of immortality.”
Watching this unfold from the depths of the original Jiang Cheng’s memories, the current Jiang Cheng almost couldn’t believe it. Is he serious? he thought. He can barely swing a sword properly, and now he’s acting like some sort of legendary hero?
The scene only got more ridiculous.
A few maids from the caravan stepped forward, their wide eyes filled with admiration. They whispered among themselves, glancing shyly at at Jiang Cheng.
“Isn’t he so handsome? Look at his robes—they’re so elegant!”
“An immortal master, and so young, too! I wonder which great sect he’s from…”
Hearing their whispers, Jiang Cheng straightened his back even more, deliberately adjusting his robes to appear dignified. He nodded slightly, pretending not to notice their gazes.
“I only did what anyone would do,” he said with an air of false modesty, waving his hand again as if brushing off invisible dust. “The path of immortality is not about fame or fortune, but about upholding justice.”
Jiang Cheng, the current one, nearly choked on laughter. Justice? This guy barely managed to scare off a bunch of low-level bandits, and now he thinks he’s a righteous hero?
But the original Jiang Cheng didn’t stop there. One of the merchants approached him with a pouch of silver, offering it with trembling hands. “Immortal Master, please accept this humble token of our gratitude.”
Jiang Cheng hesitated for a moment, then nodded graciously. “Very well. I shall accept this, not because I desire wealth, but to ensure your safety in the future. Use it to strengthen your defenses.”
As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a puddle by the side of the road. He paused, admiring how majestic he looked with his sword in hand, the sun casting a golden glow on his figure.
“I truly do look like a hero,” he muttered to himself before continuing on his way, his head held high.
Meanwhile, Jiang Cheng, the current one, couldn’t help but mock him in his mind. You look like a rooster strutting around the yard. If only those maids knew how ridiculous you really are.
After the caravan had finally left, Jiang Cheng walked a few paces, his feet light with pride. He had managed to save the day with a flick of his sword—well, at least that’s how it felt to him. The merchants were undoubtedly talking about him, singing his praises all the way to the next market. Of course, they are, he thought smugly. Who else could have done what I just did?
He took a step further, then paused, his hand flying to his chest dramatically. He turned back around, his head tilted upward, his tattered, low-grade gray robe flapping in the breeze like a flag of victory. He looked toward the sky, a broad, self-satisfied grin spreading across his face.
This is it. This is my moment, he thought. I’ll show them what true strength looks like.
Raising one hand to the heavens as if challenging the entire world, Jiang Cheng’s chest puffed out, and he yelled with all the arrogance he could muster, “Who else?!” His voice echoed in the stillness of the road, a booming declaration of his newfound greatness.
His expression was full of defiance and grandeur, his chin lifted as if the heavens themselves were looking down on him in awe. His posture, too, was impeccable—his shoulders squared, his chest out, one arm flung wide as if the world itself had to answer his call.
But as Jiang Cheng posed like a true hero, his tattered robe billowed in the wind, looking more like a patchwork of desperation than a symbol of glory. It was barely held together in some places, and the faded fabric seemed a far cry from the majestic robes of a true cultivator.
And that’s when it happened. From a distance, the original Jiang Cheng—now fully aware of the absurdity of his actions—saw this entire spectacle unfold. His face turned as red as a lobster, and he nearly choked on his own breath from laughter.
The sight was so ridiculous that Jiang Cheng could barely keep himself upright. He laughed so hard that tears started welling up in his eyes. How could someone be this clueless?
In the end, as the original Jiang Cheng's laughter echoed in his mind, the new Jiang Cheng stood there oblivious to it all, still gazing at the sky, waiting for the universe to acknowledge his greatness.
After his bold proclamation and self-indulgent pose under the heavens, the original Jiang Cheng—still trying to recover from his laughter—watched as his host continued his journey with an air of exaggerated grandeur.