Jiang Cheng sighed as the memories of the original owner's journey played out in his mind. From a young man full of fiery ambition and delusions of grandeur to a steady, cautious spirit farmer—what a transformation it had been.
After abandoning his dreams of rising in the cultivation world, the original owner spent the next three years in quiet toil, farming spirit rice on his small rented plots. Surprisingly, he excelled at it. The once-naive and reckless youth became a diligent farmer, mastering the delicate balance of spiritual energy needed to nurture his crops.
In time, he built a modest but stable life for himself. His neighbors were mostly other spirit farmers, mortals, or low-level cultivators like him. Though their relationships were superficial, there was a sense of camaraderie that came from living simple lives and facing the same daily struggles. He would occasionally share a drink with Old Liu, a fellow farmer who had more wrinkles than teeth, or chat with Auntie Zhang , who often scolded him for not finding a wife.
But even this peaceful life was not without its burdens. Farming spirit rice was backbreaking work. The taxes demanded by the pavilion owner overseeing the farmland were steep, leaving little room for indulgences. Still, the original owner accepted his lot, finding contentment in the small victories—a bountiful harvest, a rare sunny day, or the satisfaction of paying off his dues.
That contentment, however, was shattered on one fateful evening.
---
The memory unfolded vividly in Jiang Cheng’s mind. It was just yesterday. The original owner had spent the entire day harvesting his crops under the scorching sun, carefully storing the spirit rice before delivering his taxes to the pavilion overseer. By the time he returned home, his body was aching, and his mind was clouded with exhaustion.
He didn’t even bother to light a lamp. Collapsing onto his simple straw bed, he let out a heavy sigh. His tattered robes still clung to his sweat-soaked skin, and his hands were calloused and rough from years of toil. Within moments, sleep claimed him.
But that sleep would be his last.
Somewhere in the darkness, a faint figure crept into his small hut. The memory blurred slightly, but Jiang Cheng could sense the malicious intent lingering in the air. A faint, sickly sweet smell—poison—wafted through the room, and the original owner’s breathing grew labored. He stirred briefly, but the exhaustion weighing down his body was too great.
By the time the sun rose, the original owner’s life had already ended.
As Jiang Cheng fully absorbed the memories of the original owner, he couldn't help but feel a strange unease creeping up his spine. His mind buzzed with the knowledge of how the original owner had died, poisoned in his sleep.
Wait a minute, Jiang Cheng thought. " Who would waste precious poison on someone like him?
The original owner had been poor, simple, and utterly unremarkable. Not even a mouse would bother to nibble at his meager meal, let alone some high-level cultivator who'd go through the trouble of poisoning him.
This is ridiculous, Jiang Cheng mused, still in disbelief. A poor ghost like him? Who would even waste a drop of poison on someone who doesn't even have a decent sword or a few good clothes? This guy’s a walking cautionary tale. His best weapon was his ability to pull off the world’s least impressive "I am the hero" speech!
He couldn't help but chuckle and then Jiang Cheng’s laughter abruptly died when a sudden thought hit him. He glanced toward where the original owner’s spirit pouch should have been. His brows furrowed as he searched the tattered bed and even patted himself down.
Nothing. The spirit pouch was gone.
“Wait... no way,” Jiang muttered, his face darkening. He leapt to his feet, searching the room frantically. But as the memories of the original owner fully sank in, a realization hit him like a slap to the face.
Someone robbed him. And half the spirit rice he harvested yesterday? Gone.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
Jiang Cheng sat back down, rubbing his temples. “Let me get this straight,” he muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Someone poisoned him, killed him silently, and robbed him of—what? A couple of spirit stones, some cheap rice, and... that garbage sword?!”
His lips twitched, a mix of irritation and disbelief. He could almost imagine the thief sneaking into the shabby hut, shaking their head at the lack of valuables, and muttering, “What a waste of poison.”
But as Jiang started piecing things together, his mind began to calm. Based on the use of poison and the silent approach, it was clear that the thief wasn’t very strong. If they had been a powerful cultivator, they wouldn’t have needed to go through the trouble of poisoning the original owner.
“So,” Jiang Cheng said aloud, leaning back with a sigh of relief, “the thief is either weaker than this poor sap or about the same level. At least they weren’t confident enough to fight him directly.”
That thought brought some comfort, though there was still a small worry nagging at the back of his mind. What if the thief came back to finish the job—just in case?
Jiang grimaced and muttered, “I hope they’ve had their fill of rice and broken dreams, because that’s all they’re getting from me!”
His gaze drifted toward the door, his thoughts racing. He’d have to stay alert and tread carefully. After all, whoever had killed the original owner clearly didn’t like loose ends.
Suddenly, a memory flickered in Jiang Cheng’s mind—a faint recollection from the original owner. His eyes widened, and he sprang to his feet. Without hesitation, he moved to a corner of the shabby room, knelt down, and began digging into the dusty ground with his bare hands.
After several moments of frantic digging, his fingers hit something hard. His heart raced as he pulled out a small wooden box, caked in dirt. Jiang opened it eagerly, and his face lit up with relief.
Inside were 150 spirit stones, neatly stacked, and—most importantly—a worn manual titled "Introduction to Talisman Crafting" .
Jiang Cheng’s grip tightened on the manual as he let out a deep sigh. “At least I didn’t start from zero,” he muttered, a small smile tugging at his lips. The original owner, for all his flaws and naivety, had left him something valuable—a foundation to rebuild from.
He sat back for a moment, looking at the dusty ceiling. “Thank you, Original Jiang,” he said softly, his tone sincere. “I’ll avenge you and reach the heights you could only dream of. That’s my promise to you.”
As the words left his lips, a strange feeling washed over him—like a weight he hadn’t noticed before had suddenly lifted. His body felt lighter, his thoughts clearer. It was as if unseen shackles had been undone, binding him fully to this new life.
Startled, he glanced up and froze. There, hovering quietly in the dimly lit room, was the translucent figure of the original owner. His expression was calm, almost serene, as he looked at Jiang Cheng.
Jiang’s throat tightened as he instinctively stood and bowed deeply. The original owner gave him a slight nod of acknowledgment, his form flickering faintly before fading into a soft light. As the figure disappeared completely, Jiang Cheng felt a sense of closure, as if the lingering resentment and regrets of the original owner had finally dissipated.
Straightening his back, Jiang Cheng looked at the now-empty corner with determination. “Don’t worry, fellow Taoist,” he said firmly, his voice steady. “I’ll fulfill my promise. Your dreams won’t be buried with you.”
With that, he picked up the manual and spirit stones, his resolve growing stronger by the second. This wasn’t just a second chance for him—it was a legacy to carry forward. And Jiang Cheng had no intention of wasting it.
Jiang Cheng’s stomach growled loudly, interrupting his deep thoughts. His eyes darted around the room, and with an exaggerated sigh, he muttered, “Well, before I avenge anyone, I suppose I should eat something. Can’t go on a grand revenge spree with an empty stomach.”
He shuffled over to the kitchen, where the remnants of the original owner’s simple dinner awaited. There was a small plate of cold, congealed rice and a few dried vegetables. Jiang Cheng winced. “Ugh, I’d call this a meal, but even a stray dog would turn its nose up at it,” he muttered, spooning the rice into his mouth with less enthusiasm than he had hoped for.
After a few bites, he pushed the plate aside, grimacing. “This is not good,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “No wonder this poor guy didn’t make it past thirty. If I had to eat this every day, I’d drop dead too.”
His gaze turned toward the crumbling walls of the shabby little house. The roof had more holes than a sieve, and the wooden floorboards creaked like they were about to collapse at any moment.
He stood up dramatically, throwing his arms wide. “This is not a house! This is a dog hole ! What kind of place is this for a human to live?!” he shouted at the empty room, as if the walls were personally insulting him. “I can’t believe I have to live here! A mere mortal would deserve better! The great Jiang Cheng should not dwell in a shack like this!”
He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “No, no, I’m going to rebuild this place. I’ll turn this...this...hovel into something that humans live in! Not this thing that only someone who’s given up on life would even consider calling a home!”
Jiang Cheng paused, then looked around once more. “I’ll need to go to the market first. I need a robe. A decent one, not one that makes me look like I’m hiding from the authorities. And a Detoxifying Pill. I can still feel that poison in my system, sneaking up on me like a rat in the dark.”
He let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning against the doorframe, his hand on his chin as he stared into the distance. “And while I’m at it, I need a lot of things. A weapon, some decent food, a place that doesn’t smell like moldy rice... I need everything! Oh, and I need some actual offensive spells. How did the original owner survive in this cruel world without even a single ' attack ' spell? Not even a slap or a punch spell?!"
He looked down at the floor and shook his head. “This guy was too honest for his own good. He was a walking target. He couldn’t even defend himself properly. He didn’t even have a little trick up his sleeve, like summoning a puff of smoke to distract an enemy. No, he just relied on his ‘honesty.’ In a world where immortals reign and human lives are as fragile as grass, honesty doesn’t get you far.”
Jiang Cheng paused again, glancing at the ceiling with a sigh. “It’s not an injustice that you got killed, if you don't die, who will..
Meanwhile in the under world the original owner "_" "Wait... he... did he just... mock me?
He floated around in a small circle, muttering to himself in indignation. “No wonder I never got anywhere! I could never even defend myself from a simple poisoning... No wonder my luck was so bad. But mocking me now? Seriously? Maybe I'll find some way to pull his leg in the next life!”
Then, with a sigh, he floated off into the void, muttering, “I was a good person... Why do the good guys always get the short end of the stick...”
So Jiang Cheng straightened up, determination in his eyes. “This world is ruthless, but I’m going to do it differently. No more simpleton life for me.”
And so, with no idea he had just enraged his own spirit, Jiang Cheng continued plotting his grand transformation into the greatest cultivator this world had ever seen. Little did he know, the original owner was in the underworld, probably plotting some passive-aggressive revenge.