The world dissolved in a symphony of shattering glass and twisting metal a final, brutal concert for Lin Feng's ears. Then nothing. Then everything.
A torrent of sensations and fractured memories, not his own, flooded his consciousness. The acrid scent of medicinal herbs, the dull ache of bruised ribs, the bitter taste of humiliation lingering at the back of a teenage throat. He was lying on a hard, wooden pallet, rough-spun blankets scratching his skin. A single, persistent thought, sharp and desperate, cut through the mental chaos. I don't want to die in this place.
He wasn't Lin Feng, psychology graduate anymore. Or rather he was, but he was also someone else now. A sixteen-year-old outer disciple of the fading Azure Cloud Sect, sharing the same name and a body currently swimming in a cocktail of pain and despair.
Transmigration. Rebirth. Cultivation world.
The terms, borrowed from a lifetime of devouring webnovels on a glowing screen in another reality, clicked into place with terrifying clarity. He had not been granted a peaceful retirement. He'd been thrown into the deep end of the most vicious, dog-eat-dog setting imaginable.
He forced his eyes open. The room was small, stone-walled, and held the pervasive damp of a mountain dwelling. Two other pallets were empty. His "roommates," fellow outer disciples, were likely already performing their morning chores. A sliver of grey dawn light cut through a high, narrow window.
With a groan that was half his, half the original owner's, Lin Feng pushed himself up. A wave of dizziness and a sharp, stabbing pain in his lower dantian made him gasp. Right. The memories clarified. Yesterday, during a "friendly" sparring session with a disciple named Zhang Hai, who had the backing of an inner disciple cousin, the "friendliness" had evaporated after Lin Feng had accidentally gotten a lucky strike in. The subsequent "correction" of his form had involved a fist infused with sharp metal-attributed spiritual energy, deliberately aimed to damage his already tenuous meridian channels.
The purpose was clear, cripple the competition. Outer disciples were like crabs in a barrel, pulling down any who showed even a hint of upward mobility. Resources were thin, and the quarterly evaluations were coming. One less functional disciple meant slightly better odds for the rest.
"Charming," Lin Feng muttered, his voice hoarse. He swung his legs over the side of the pallet, the cold stone floor biting into his feet. The first order of business was assessment.
He closed his eyes, trying to remember the basic cultivation method every disciple was taught the Azure Cloud Breathing Technique. It was a simple method to draw the world's spiritual energy into the body, refine it in the dantian, and circulate it to strengthen the physique. He assumed the meditation posture, back straight, and began the rhythmic breathing.
Nothing.
Well, not nothing. He could feel a faint, chaotic trickle of energy entering his body. But it was like trying to catch smoke with a net made of wide-spaced ropes. Most of it slipped through. What little was captured felt sluggish, refusing to cohere, its attributes conflicting a flash of heat, a prickle of cold, a sense of heaviness, a whisper of sharpness.
He opened his eyes, a cold certainty settling in his gut. He consulted the inherited memories, focusing on the day of the Sect's disciple selection three years prior.
The Disciple Assessment Plaza. The massive Spirit Root Testing Monolith glowing under the Elders' hands. A hush falling over the crowd as the monolith above his head flickered weakly through five different colors—red (fire), blue (water), yellow (earth), green (wood), white (metal)—none of them bright or pure. A senior disciple's sneering voice echoing: "Miscellaneous Spiritual Roots. All five elements, lowest-grade affinity. Trash constitution. Barely fit for the outer sect."
Miscellaneous Spiritual Roots. The garbage-tier spiritual foundation. Cultivators with pure single spirit roots were prodigies. Dual or triple elemental roots were respectable. But five weak, conflicting elements? It meant his body had no affinity, no natural pull toward any particular type of spiritual energy. Cultivating would be dozens of times harder, slower, and more unstable than for the lowest-ranked single-spirit-root disciple. His ceiling was pathetically low.
No wonder the original Lin Feng was despairing. No wonder he was easy prey. In this world, talent was destiny. And his destiny, according to the monolith, was to be a background character who gets casually stepped on.
A familiar, dry cynicism, his old armor, began to seep into his bones. So this is the hand I've been dealt. A broken body, the worst possible starting specs, in a sect that's itself on the decline, surrounded by vicious children with supernatural powers. Wonderful.
Just as the weight of it threatened to crush him, a flicker at the edge of his vision made him start. It was not a physical thing. It was in his mind.
Words, formed of stark, shimmering grey light, etched themselves against the darkness behind his eyelids:
Subject: Lin Feng (Bound User)
Physiological Status: Minor Meridian Damage (Metal-Attributed Contamination), General Malnourishment, Qi Deviation Risk (High)
Spiritual Foundation: Miscellaneous Spiritual Roots (Grade: Inferior) - Conceptual Analysis Available
Cultivation: Qi Condensation Stage, 2nd Heaven (Unstable)
Artifact Detected: Demiurge's Ledger (Status: Fragmentary, 0.07% Integration)
Available Functions: Conceptual Analysis (Cost Variable), Karma Ledger (Balance: 0), Basic Manual (Incomplete)
Lin Feng's breath hitched. His heart, which had been languid with pain and defeat, began to hammer against his ribs. This wasn't part of the memories. This was new. This was his?
A system? A golden finger?
Hope, sharp and dangerous, flared for a second before his analytical mind ruthlessly quashed it. He examined the words. Fragmentary. 0.07% Integration. Cost Variable. Balance: 0. This was not an omnipotent cheat code. It was a tool, and a broken one at that. Its language was cold, analytical. It spoke of concepts and karma, not of instant power-ups.
But it was something. In a world ruled by immutable laws of talent and strength, it was a variable. A wild card.
Tentatively, he focused his will on the line "Spiritual Foundation: Miscellaneous Spiritual Roots (Grade: Inferior) - Conceptual Analysis Available."
A new set of lines shimmered into existence below, and a strange, hollow sensation bloomed in his dantian, as if a tiny portion of his already-meager spiritual energy had been siphoned away.
Analysis Initiated.
Subject: Host's Spiritual Root Matrix.
Deconstruction:
[Concept: Spiritual Conduit] - Integrity: 12% (Critically Deficient)
[Concept: Elemental Affinity (Fire)] - Purity: 8% (Diffuse)
[Concept: Elemental Affinity (Water)] - Purity: 7% (Diffuse)
[Concept: Elemental Affinity (Earth)] - Purity: 9% (Diffuse)
[Concept: Elemental Affinity (Wood)] - Purity: 6% (Diffuse)
[Concept: Elemental Affinity (Metal)] - Purity: 10% (Diffuse)
Inter-Concept Conflict: All elemental affinities exhibit mutual interference patterns. Energy capture and refinement efficiency reduced by approximately 94%.
Conclusion: Current matrix is non-viable for standard cultivation progression.
Potential Pathways: N/A (Insufficient Data. Karma Points required for advanced simulation.)
Karma Cost of Analysis: 1 Point. Current Balance: -1. Warning: Karmic Debt Incurred.
The information was fascinating. It didn't just call him trash; it told him exactly why he was trash, in a language of systems and conflicts. But the final lines were a bucket of ice water.
*Karma Cost. Balance: -1. Debt.*
Before he could process what "Karmic Debt" might mean in practical terms, the world provided a demonstration.
The worn wooden door to the dormitory room flew open with a bang, cracking against the stone wall. Framed in the doorway was Zhang Hai, a bulky youth with a mean set to his eyes, flanked by two lackeys. His gaze landed immediately on Lin Feng, sitting pale and weak on the pallet.
"Well, look who's still breathing," Zhang Hai sneered, striding in. "I thought my guidance yesterday might have been too enlightening for you." His lackeys chuckled dutifully.
Lin Feng said nothing, his mind racing. This was a targeted visit. Harassment to ensure he didn't recover, to break his spirit before the evaluations.
Zhang Hai stopped in front of him. "You missed morning bell, trash. Lazy as well as weak. The chore hall overseer is looking for you. The spirit latrines on the West Peak need scouring. Consider it meridian-cleaning practice." The cruelty in his smile was palpable. Cleaning the latrines reserved for spirit beasts was the most humiliating, spiritually taxing chore in the outer sect, their foul residues actively repelling and staining spiritual energy.
This was the play. Public humiliation, further physical and spiritual degradation, all to cement his place at the very bottom.
In the original Lin Feng's memories, this was a common occurrence. He would bow his head, take the punishment, and spend the next week coughing up phlegm that smelled of beast-dung and despair.
But the soul looking out through those eyes now was different. It was a soul that had studied game theory, social dynamics, and the psychology of bullies. It saw not just a threat, but a system, and a potential entry point.
He also saw the Demiurge's Ledger flicker again in his vision, a new line appearing:
Karmic Opportunity Detected: Subversion of 'Bullying Encounter' Trope. Potential Yield: 1-3 Points.
Lin Feng didn't look up at Zhang Hai's gloating face. Instead, he let his shoulders slump further, exaggerating his weakness. He coughed, a wet, pathetic sound. When he spoke, his voice was a threadbare whisper, perfectly calibrated to force Zhang Hai to lean in slightly to hear.
"Senior Brother Zhang your guidance was indeed enlightening" He paused, drawing a ragged breath. "It made me realize my own inadequacy."
Zhang Hai's smirk widened. This was the expected script.
Lin Feng continued, his eyes downcast. "The West Peak latrines I will go. But" He let a tremor enter his voice. "I heard Overseer Mu is in a fury today. The Moon-Tailed Lynx in the menagerie it's ill. He thinks its enclosure wasn't cleaned properly last week. He's looking for the disciple responsible asking about who had the duty."
He left the sentence hanging. It was a complete fabrication. He had no idea about the Moon-Tailed Lynx or Overseer Mu's mood. But Overseer Mu was a famously irascible Foundation Establishment expert who managed the spirit beast pens, and the lynx was a relatively prized, temperamental creature. It was a plausible lie.
He saw it in the slight twitch of Zhang Hai's eye. A flicker of doubt. The lackeys exchanged a glance. The chore assignments were notoriously byzantine and easily misremembered.
Lin Feng pressed his minuscule advantage, still looking at the floor. "I wouldn't want Senior Brother to be delayed on my account if Overseer Mu wished to discuss last week's schedules" He trailed off into another weak cough.
The power dynamic in the room subtly shifted. It was no longer a simple bully imposing his will. A seed of complication a potential, greater threat from a higher authority had been introduced. Zhang Hai's primary goal was to advance himself, not get embroiled in a beast master's wrath over a latrine-cleaning subordinate.
Zhang Hai straightened up, the sneer less confident. "You think you're clever?" he growled, but the heat was gone. He was reassessing. The risk-reward of pressing the issue now seemed less favorable. "The latrines can wait. But don't think this is over, trash. I have my eye on you."
With a final glare that lacked its original conviction, Zhang Hai turned and shoved past his lackeys, stalking out of the room. The lackeys hesitated, then followed, pulling the door shut with less force than it had been opened.
Silence returned, broken only by the sound of Lin Feng's own, carefully controlled breathing. He hadn't won. He'd merely forestalled a battle, using a bluff and knowledge of institutional fears. He was still injured, still weak, still possessed of the worst spiritual roots imaginable.
But he hadn't lost today.
And in his mind, the Ledger glimmered:
Karmic Thread Altered. Trope Subversion: Successful.
Karma Points Gained: +2.
Current Karma Balance: +1.
Debt Cleared.
A faint, almost imperceptible warmth spread through Lin Feng's chest, different from spiritual energy. It felt like a slight easing of a pressure he hadn't known was there. The world seemed a fraction less oppressively aligned against him.
He looked down at his thin, bruised hands. A slow, calculating smile touched his lips the first genuine expression on this new face. It held no joy, only a sharp, focused intelligence.
He had a broken tool, a mountain of disadvantages, and a world built on ruthless hierarchies. But he also had a modern mind, a psychology degree, and now, a ledger that traded in the currency of subverting expectations.
"Alright," Lin Feng whispered to the empty, damp room. "Let's see what we can do with a balance of one." The game, it seemed, was far from over. In fact, for him, it had just begun on a completely different board.