CHAPTER 1: Reincarnated in a Parallel World Similar to Battle Through the Heavens ( How My Life Went from Zero to "Why Me?")
My name is Li yang. I was an ordinary person in the modern world. No ambition. No dreams. No expectations. My greatest life goal was to get through the day without inconvenience. Miracles were things that happened to other people—preferably very far away, and definitely not during my commute.
I lived with absolutely no hope for anything extraordinary, and I was perfectly comfortable with that. Ordinary was safe. Ordinary didn't involve destiny, prophecies, or mysterious old men popping out of nowhere just to ruin your schedule.
This, unfortunately, was what I believed.
Then an accident happened.
"Hey! Yes, you! Pay attention!"
And—of course—the universe decided this was the perfect time to be dramatic.
A massive bolt of lightning struck me square in the back. I went flying like a rejected anime side character, arms flailing, hair standing straight up like a porcupine on caffeine. Sparks flew. Smoke rose. For a brief, deeply confusing moment, I was fairly sure I smelled popcorn.
It wasn't cool.
It wasn't cinematic.
There was no slow motion. No heroic sacrifice.
Just a very sudden, very unfair interruption to my extremely average life.
One moment I was minding my own business.
The next, reality said, "Surprise! Character development."
"Well," I thought, "this is it. Goodbye, cruel world. Tell my plants I loved them. Also, I'm sorry I forgot to water you yesterday."
But instead of peaceful darkness—or at least a respectful fade‑to‑white—I woke up somewhere… weird.
Really, really weird.
My consciousness flickered in and out, like my brain was closing browser tabs to save memory. First went higher thought. Then dignity. Then whatever clever comment I'd been preparing five seconds ago.
The world dimmed around the edges, like someone was slowly lowering the brightness on reality. Sounds stretched and warped. Time became optional. My thoughts arrived late, half‑formed, and immediately lay down for a nap.
I tried to hold on, but my mind had already made a decision.
Alright, it said. We've existed enough for today.
I drifted away peacefully, a little dramatically—and just like that, my precious life ended.
When my consciousness returned, pain was the first thing to greet me. Then cold. Then pressure—my body's cheerful way of saying, "Congratulations! You're awake. Please enjoy the suffering."
My chest rose with effort, each breath scraping through my lungs like I'd inhaled a bag of broken glass. The smell of damp earth and snow filled my nose. Not antiseptic. Not comforting. Just wet dirt and despair.
I tried to move.
My body ignored me like a teenager who'd just discovered existential dread.
I should be dead.
The thought came calmly—far too calmly. No panic. No screaming. Just a flat realization, delivered by an inner voice that sounded suspiciously like a bored YouTube documentary narrator.
I forced my eyes open.
There was no hospital ceiling. No gray city sky. Only a vast, pale expanse streaked with drifting clouds. Cold wind slapped my face, metallic and bone-chilling, like nature was giving me a very enthusiastic welcome hug.
This was not my world.
Then the memories arrived—foreign, fragmented, yet uncomfortably intimate. A boy's childhood. A poor household. A life shaped by hardship. A name I had never used, yet somehow knew was mine.
Oh.
Oh no.
I hadn't survived the accident.
I had replaced someone—and whatever life he'd been living was now mine to carry.
Fantastic. Just what I needed. A body swap. Except instead of a cool sci‑fi montage, I got snow, mountains, and the sudden realization that I probably inherited someone else's laundry responsibilities.
As the pain dulled, another realization settled in—heavier than the cold. A faint energy moving through this unfamiliar body. The mountains looming in the distance like passive‑aggressive neighbors. The instinctive urge to bow whenever someone had slightly bigger biceps than me.
Wait a second.
I knew this world.
I blinked.
I swallowed.
Oh great.
I had ended up in Battle in Through the Heavens…
And I was absolutely not prepared for it.
Chapter 2
Chapter 2 – Welcome to Glacier Valley (Unfortunately)
The first thought that hit me?
Well… I'm screwed.
Out of all the worlds I could've ended up in, why—why—did it have to be iceGlacier Valley? Poison in the air, snow on the ground, and freezing winds sharp enough to shave my eyebrows off. And let's not forget the most important detail: the only people who survive here are ice cultivators.
Me?
I can barely survive a cold shower. This wasn't the Central Plains, where energy flows like a lazy river and life is generally forgiving. No, this was the frozen VIP section of death itself—and somehow, I'd been personally invited.
Thanks, universe. Really thoughtful.
Every breath felt like I was inhaling tiny needles, and every step made me rethink every life decision that had led me here. Crossing worlds was supposed to be exciting. Adventure‑y. Heroic.
Instead, I got:
"Welcome to Glacier Valley. Hope you brought a parka… and also your will to live."
At this point, my options were limited:
Cry dramatically in the snow and hope someone writes a tragic legend about me.Yell at the sky and demand cosmic justice (unlikely to get a refund).Find an ice cultivator and beg them to teach me magic, because apparently that's a basic survival skill here.
Then the realization hit again.
Oh. I'm dead.
Not "maybe I'll die eventually" dead. I mean ice Glacier Valley dead—the kind of place where even seasoned cultivators squint at you and ask,
"Uh… are you sure you belong here?"
Why here? Out of all the possible destinations—Jia MA MA Empire, where the air smells like herbs and cultivation feels like a spa retreat. Wuutang City, where cultivators sip tea, practice sword forms under the sun, and casually save the world before lunch.
So why did I end up in a valley that looked like it was designed by Satan on a particularly bad winter day?
Turns out, the universe has a twisted sense of humor—and irony is its favorite joke.
Glacier Valley, officially known as The Frozen Poison Vale, was famous across the Central Plains for exactly three reasons:
Poisonous mists that drift around like lazy snakes. One breath in, and your internal organs start filing complaints.Ice cultivators who treat outsiders like dessert. And by dessert, I mean meat to be ground into seasoning.Winters so brutal they make Siberia look like a tropical vacation. Temperatures hover around "freeze your eyebrows off" and occasionally dip to "instant regret."
Seriously, the Central Plains had way better options. Wuutang City for socializing and learning secret arts. Jia Ma Empire for elegant cultivation, libraries, and the occasional tea ceremony.
Glacier Valley?
This place wasn't meant for outsiders unless they were insane, suicidal, or already dead.
And here I was—none of the above.
My body strongly agreed. My lungs burned, my skin went numb, and my fingers were halfway to becoming decorative ice sculptures. Every step felt like a negotiation between gravity, frost, and bad luck.
I glanced at the distant peaks—jagged ice cliffs stretching into the clouds like they'd been carved by a vengeful god—and sighed.
This wasn't a place for casual cultivation.
This was where monsters, maniacs, and extremely unlucky transmigrators survived.
And, unfortunately…
Here I was.
Crossing worlds was supposed to be exciting. Adventure‑y. Heroic. Maybe even glamorous.
Instead, I got:
"Welcome to Glacier Valley. Hope you like pain, snow, and suffering. Also, good luck."
As my teeth chattered, my dignity froze solid, and my inner monologue screamed in silent despair, I finally understood one undeniable truth:
The universe wasn't cruel.
It was hilariously sadisti
Chapter 3: Outer Disciple Life — The Dou Ling Comedy Saga
So there I was, reincarnated into a new world, thinking:
Finally. Second life. Legendary prodigy. Future Dou Wang who shakes the heavens.
Reality… laughed like it had just watched a very bad sitcom.
I got a 9-star Dou Ling body.
At thirty years old.
Strong? Sure. Enough to make regular mortals cry tears of admiration.
Elite? Ha. If Dou Wang were a gourmet steak, I was the garnish that nobody eats but they don't throw away because it looks cute.
And Glacier Valley? Glacier Valley doesn't care. It doesn't care about your Dou Ling rating, your reincarnation stats, or that you brushed your hair this morning. Cold, poison, jagged cliffs, and sadistic elders—these are the real bosses.
The Ice Dragon Incident: How I Learned to Hate Heroism
During a "simple" mission, I ran into a 6th-grade Ice Dragon.
Already dying. Probably planning a peaceful death.Naturally, I thought: Perfect! Easy glory! Maybe a medal or heroic theme music!
Nope. Universe laughed. Hard.
As the Ice Dragon collapsed, it released a final Ice Breath—basically a dragon-sized freezer, designed to turn humans into popsicles with excellent comedic timing.
Being a 9-star Dou Ling didn't make me invincible. Apparently, it just made me "slightly less crunchy than a novice."
I leaped in, channeling my inner hero… and immediately discovered that:
The Ice Dragon could still block my Dou Qi flow.My meridians screamed in protest.My organs considered filing a restraining order.
Result? Severe internal organ damage and meridian blockage.
Translation: I am now a frozen fish in human skin, and ordinary pills? Hilariously useless. I needed a 6th-grade medicinal elixir, basically a Dou Ling life-reset smoothie.
Repairs blocked meridians (aka "traffic jam in your veins")Heals ruptured organs (aka "no, really, my kidneys are not okay")Restores collapsed Dou Ling energy circulation (aka "Qi? What Qi? Mine ran away.")
And then the Ice Dragon, clearly auditioning for a dramatic role in my life, expelled another Ice Breath.
Did I retreat? Nope.My meridians threatened to explode.My lungs now contain frozen glass shards.And yes, I screamed at the universe like a toddler who just discovered taxes.
Glacier Valley Life: 9-Star Dou Ling Edition
Survival here is an absurd combination of:
Strong enough to not die instantly.Weak enough to almost freeze from a dying monster's spiteful last breath.Chaotic enough to wonder if reincarnation was a prank.
After barely surviving, I curled up in my dormitory, shivering, staring at jagged cliffs, silently muttering:
"If I survive this, I either become a hero… or the funniest cautionary tale in history."
Thirty years old.
Outer disciple.
9-star Dou Ling.
Peak among mortals… and still totally at Glacier Valley's mercy.
The Cosmic Roast (AKA Comparing Yourself to Everyone Else)
"God… are you sure you didn't reincarnate me just for comedic relief? Because this… this is peak comedy."
Yun Yun: Breaks through to 3-star Dou Huang at early 30. Halfway to heaven while I'm still figuring out which end of my sword is sharp.Xiao Yan: Breaks through Dou Ling at 18–19. Doing backflips over mountains while I trip over my own shoes.Me: 30, 9-star Dou Ling, trying to hit Dou Zong? HAHAHAHAHAHA.
If cultivation were a video game:
Xiao Yan = rocket shipYun Yun = jet planeMe = tricycle with a missing wheel, a flat tire, and a squirrel glued to the pedals
And the gods are watching like:
"Cute. Keep trying, mortal. Comedy gold right here."
Glacier Valley Outer Disciple Life: The Daily Struggle (Meme Edition)
At 30, I should've felt accomplished. I was a Dou Ling expert in my old life. I could fight, cultivate, and apparently survive poison puddles… sometimes.
Then I became an outer disciple of Glacier Valley.
Outer disciple life doesn't care about talent, age, or accomplishments. Survival here depends on:
Not freezingNot getting poisonedNot being thrown off cliffs by sadistic eldersAnd remembering that you are a glorified snowball
My first morning, Elder Zhao descended like a walking avalanche. His eyes scanned me like a Yelp review.
"Li Yang," he said, voice sharp as icicles, "you are an outer disciple with average talent. Report daily. Fail, and survive at your own risk."
Average talent. My luck. 9-star Dou Ling in the human world, average talent in Glacier Valley. Fighting fish in a snowstorm. Not weak, not strong, not special. Just… cold.
First Few Weeks: Comedy Survival Training
Morning drills: Run across ice cliffs while the wind tries to hurl you into oblivion. Check.Qi refinement: Focus Dou Ling energy. Partial success. Fingers tingle. Lungs file complaints.Poison mist training: Mostly survived. Occasionally coughed up ice crystals in dramatic arcs.Daily chores: Chop ice, fetch water, clean dorm. Still alive. Barely.
Average talent Dou Ling experts: noticed by elders, punished for not being exceptional, barely alive, yet somehow still meme-worthy.
Nighttime Reflection (Or: Why My Life Is a Comedy)
I huddled in my frostbitten dormitory, staring at jagged cliffs, thinking:
"Tomorrow, I will survive. Or I will freeze trying. Either way, I am hilarious."
30 years old.
Outer disciple.
9-star Dou Ling expert.
Somehow, if I survive, I might actually become more than mediocre. Or maybe the Glacier Valley gossip will tell stories of a Dou Ling who tried to heroically intercept a dying Ice Dragon… and failed spectacularly.