Volume 1: The Mortal Realm

The Qian Kingdom.

Yancheng.

Song Wen held two bran buns he had scavenged from a slop bucket, ecstatic.

The chaff mixed into the dough was coarse and clearly visible. Fortunately, there was little liquid in the bucket, so the buns hadn't been soaked through. They were relatively clean, spared from the worst of the greasy grime.

He scraped off two soggy vegetable leaves stuck to the crust, entirely ignoring the foul stench rising from the bucket beside him, and began stuffing the food into his mouth in large bites.

The cold, coarse, and abrasive bran bun was incredibly difficult to swallow without water. Yet, Song Wen could not care less, forcing an entire bun down his throat in just a few mouthfuls.

The dry mass lodged in his throat, refusing to go down, nearly suffocating him.

With great effort, he finally forced it down. It offered a modicum of relief to his growling, empty stomach, though he was still nowhere near full.

He had transmigrated physically into this world two days ago, and this was his very first meal.

As he caught his breath, a young beggar boy about ten years old appeared before him. The child stared pitifully at the remaining bun in Song Wen's hand, his eyes filled with desperation and longing.

Song Wen looked at the emaciated child, then down at the bun.

After a brief, conflicting hesitation, he brought the bun to his own mouth. He had no intention of sharing.

Having crossed over into this quasi-ancient world, he had quickly realized that the skills and knowledge he had acquired in modern society were utterly useless here. When his own survival was a struggle, how could he find the charity to pity a complete stranger?

Seeing the bun about to disappear into Song Wen's mouth, the young beggar's expression suddenly turned vicious.

The boy suddenly lunged forward two quick steps and leaped, bounding two chi into the air, his hands clawing directly for the bun.

At the same time, he bared a mouth of filthy, yellowed teeth, biting down savagely on Song Wen's forearm.

Surprised by the sudden assault, a flash of panic crossed Song Wen's eyes, quickly replaced by roaring fury.

He had been living perfectly fine back in modern society. While he wasn't a soaring success, he had never wanted for food or drink. To be inexplicably flung into this world with no immediate means to make a living had already left him simmering with suppressed resentment.

And now, even a half-grown street rat dared to try and bully him!

The rage in his chest finally found an outlet.

Song Wen's expression turned thoroughly vicious.

"Get lost!"

Song Wen swung his arm, slamming it toward the boy.

When Song Wen crossed over, his thirty-year-old body had reverted to that of a fourteen or fifteen-year-old. While he wasn't particularly tall, he was still far larger and stronger than a chronically malnourished beggar boy.

His forearm struck the boy squarely in the face, causing blood to spray from the child's nose.

Yet Song Wen had underestimated the brat's sheer desperation. The boy wasn't knocked back; instead, he rode the momentum to wrap his arms around Song Wen's limb, sinking his teeth deep into the flesh.

Throughout the entire struggle, the feral snarl on the boy's face never wavered, his gaze locked dead onto the bran bun from beginning to end.

White-hot pain shot up Song Wen's arm, making his expression turn murderous.

"You little beast, you dare bite me? I'll beat you to death!"

Song Wen raised his knee, pouring every ounce of his strength into a vicious drive straight into the boy's chest.

The heavy blow left the boy breathless and limp, losing his grip on Song Wen's arm. His small body flew backward, crashing onto the filthy ground half a zhang away.

Still consumed by rage, Song Wen had no intention of stopping there. He stepped forward and delivered two brutal kicks to the boy's chest, throwing him over a zhang away. Only when the child began coughing up dark blood, clearly suffering severe internal injuries, did Song Wen finally halt.

As Song Wen turned to leave, he was startled to find the boy staring back at him with a gaze of pure, venomous hatred.

That look sent a cold shiver down his spine, a sense of foreboding creeping into his heart.

He was a newcomer here. Without strength or backing, it was foolish to make enemies, even if it was just a street rat at the absolute bottom of society.

Who knew if the brat belonged to some local gang?

Song Wen locked eyes with the boy for a long moment as a dark, clinical thought crossed his mind: Uproot the problem completely.

They were currently in a narrow, shadowed alley where few people ever ventured. With only the two of them present, Song Wen knew that if he hardened his heart and put an end to the boy right here, no one would notice for quite some time.

Even if the body were found, the death of a common beggar wouldn't draw any scrutiny.

In this chaotic, lawless city of Yancheng, countless lower-class citizens perished unjustly every single day. The authorities didn't care, nor did they have the capacity to investigate.

Song Wen's peripheral vision caught a smooth, heavy cobblestone resting in the corner of the alley, roughly the size of a large bowl. It was dense and solid-certainly harder than a young beggar's skull.

The misery and degradation he had endured over the past two days surged into his mind all at once. A torrent of raw resentment erupted within him, overwhelming his reason and thoroughly shattering the modern ethical codes he had lived by for over thirty years on Earth. His face twisted into a terrifying, murderous grimace.

Having witnessed plenty of violence, arson, and plundering over the past forty-eight hours, the beast hidden deep within him was fully awakened.

Everyone else acts without restraint. This is a dog-eat-dog world where the weak are devoured whole. Why should I shackle myself to the morality of my past life?

Song Wen turned and walked toward the heavy stone. Seeing this, the venom in the young beggar's eyes slowly dissolved into sheer terror.

Suddenly, two servants from a wealthy estate appeared at the mouth of the alley, carrying another slop bucket between them.

The sudden presence of outsiders snapped Song Wen back to his senses. His murderous impulse retreated, and the beast within slid back into the shadows.

The opportunity was gone. Song Wen felt a strange mix of disappointment and subtle relief. Shaking his head, he turned and left the alleyway.

The moment he stepped out onto the main thoroughfare, he found a massive crowd surging down the street.

"Hurry up!" people were shouting. "The Heavenly Fiend Gang is recruiting! If we're late, we'll miss our chance!"

The name of the Heavenly Fiend Gang was something Song Wen had heard so many times over the past two days that his ears were practically calloused.

In Yancheng, the Heavenly Fiend Gang was the absolute apex power, wielding an influence that eclipsed the local government in many respects.

However, their reputation was atrocious, built upon a mountain of wicked deeds.

Intrigued, Song Wen joined the flow of the crowd, pressing toward the town square.

A recruitment call meant wages, wages meant proper food, and proper food meant never having to fight a street rat over a bucket of garbage again.

He fought his way through the dense sea of people until he finally reached a wall at the street corner where a large official notice was posted.

The script on the parchment resembled the traditional Chinese characters from his previous life. Though he had never formally studied them, he could decipher the general meaning well enough.

According to the notice, the Heavenly Fiend Gang was looking to recruit children between the ages of seven and twelve to enter the sect and learn martial arts. These youths would eventually be trained into the gang's core fighting force.

It went on to promise that the families of any chosen children would receive a handsome reward, and that the kids themselves would enjoy a glorious, prosperous future.

After finishing the notice, a wave of disappointment washed over Song Wen.

The Heavenly Fiend Gang wasn't hiring laborers; they were recruiting disciples.

Furthermore, the age limit was strictly seven to twelve. His current physical vessel simply didn't fit the criteria.

Sighing internally, Song Wen began to shoulder his way out of the crowd to leave.

But before he could take more than a few steps, a thunderous roar pierced through the ambient din.

"Hey, kid! Hold it right there!"

Song Wen heard the shout, but assuming it was meant for someone else, he didn't stop and continued pressing outward.

"You brat, I'm talking to you! Still not stopping? What, does my name, Dog Ye, mean absolutely nothing in this city anymore?!"

The voice behind him grew distinctly irritated.

As a vulnerable newcomer, Song Wen was hyper-vigilant and deeply averse to offending anyone. He halted and turned around to confirm whether he was indeed the target of this unwanted attention.

Turning his head, he spotted a man with a handlebar mustache standing with a lazy, arrogant slouch. He bore all the markings of a local thug and was glaring directly at him with predatory eyes.

Behind the man stood two burly enforcers, all three clad in the distinct uniform of the Heavenly Fiend Gang.

Song Wen's brow furrowed tightly as an ominous feeling gripped him. He had no idea how or when he could have possibly offended this "Dog Ye."

Back on Blue Star, Song Wen had been an ordinary salesman. While years in the industry hadn't lined his pockets with gold, they had thoroughly trained him in the art of reading the room, tailoring his words to his audience, and acting as the perfect sycophant when necessary.

Instantly, an obsequious smile plastered itself onto his face. He lowered his head, bowed his spine, and trotted forward a few steps until he stood directly before the thug.

"Dog Ye," he chirped ingratiatingly, offering a humble bow. "What orders do you have for this little one?"

Though he felt a pang of self-loathing for such spineless behavior, he understood perfectly that to survive in a lawless world where you possess neither strength nor backing, bowing your head was the only viable strategy.

To cross a local tyrant the moment you arrive meant you were either a hidden master capable of slaying dragons, or a complete fool rushing to an early grave.