Lingyuan City — Old District, Mei's Tranquil Teas — 5:32 a.m.
Zhao Ming woke before dawn.
No alarm. No lingering grogginess. His body young, resilient snapped to full awareness like a blade drawn from its sheath.
The small bedroom was spare: thin mattress on a creaking frame, faded posters of ancient martial heroes peeling from the walls, a single narrow window fogged with condensation. Outside, the city stirred faintly distant cart wheels on wet cobblestones, the muffled chant of early morning cultivators in the alley below.
He sat up slowly, cataloging the silence.
Lin Mei's door remained closed across the hall. He could hear her soft, even breathing through the thin walls rhythmic, vulnerable.
The thought of her sleeping form twisted something deep inside him.
Those crimson eyes closed. That black silk qipao discarded on the floor. Her pale back exposed completely.
He exhaled once, forcing the heat down.
Not yet.
First understand this world.
The original Zhao Ming's memories provided fragments: a life of scraping by, underground fights, university lectures on basic economics warped by clan politics. But the Earth Zhao Ming needed more. He needed the full picture. Differences. Weaknesses. Opportunities.
He rose soundlessly, pulling on a worn gray hoodie and jeans from the dresser. The apartment had a small corner desk with an outdated computer blocky monitor, keyboard yellowed from use. No sleek laptops here. No smartphones buzzing with notifications.
He powered it on. The fan whirred like an old engine, the screen flickering to life with a basic operating system: clunky icons, no voice assistants, no cloud integration. It felt like stepping back to Earth's early 2000s tech.
Stagnant, he thought. Why?
He opened the browser a primitive search engine called "LingNet," restricted by clan firewalls. No global connectivity. No endless streams of data.
He typed: "History of Lingyuan City."
Results loaded slowly. State-approved articles, clan-sponsored wikis.
As he read, the differences crystallized with unsettling clarity. This world was not Earth's China, but an alternate reflection twisted by the existence of qi, an internal energy capable of amplifying the human body through martial cultivation. Its presence had rewritten the direction of progress itself. Firearms still existed, yet they were little more than crude relics from a pre-qi era. Bullets, knives, and explosives lost meaning the moment someone rose beyond the most basic levels. A cultivated body could harden until skin rivaled steel, move faster than the eye could follow, and shatter concrete with a single descending palm.
Society had stagnated because of it.
Why innovate when personal power rendered technology irrelevant? Clans hoarded ancient manuals, refined elixirs, and spirit herbs, devoting themselves to bloodlines and cultivation rather than experimentation or science. Electricity remained widespread but primitive, sufficient only for survival rather than advancement. There were no smart grids, no artificial intelligence, no ambition toward automation. Transportation reflected the same divide. High-speed trains served the elite corridors of Lingyuan City, while rickshaws and aging buses carried the masses through fog-choked streets. Medicine followed tradition as well, relying on pills refined from rare beasts instead of vaccines or genetic development.
Innovation had died beneath the weight of tradition. The wealthy pursued longevity and higher realms, while the poor labored unseen beneath them, their lives measured in endurance rather than potential.
The divide was ruthless.
People were not classified by merit, intelligence, or effort, but by family net worth, a rigid hierarchy enforced by the Central Cultivation Bureau. That single figure determined access to education, job permits, residential zones, and even the legality of marriage. Clans registered annually, submitting their holdings for audit beneath the gaze of Bureau enforcers. Rise too quickly without approval, and there was no punishment to appeal.
You simply vanished.
At the bottom existed the Mortal Tier, a vast population permitted only basic education and menial labor. They possessed no access to cultivation resources and were allowed weapons only in the loosest legal sense, tools that provided comfort rather than protection. Against cultivators, steel was meaningless. Life expectancy rarely exceeded seventy years, not because of disease, but because exhaustion accumulated faster than hope. Zhao Ming and Lin Mei currently lived here, scraping by unnoticed, statistically invisible.
Above them stood the Bronze Tier, minor clans and small business families who gained limited privilege through modest wealth. Their children accessed novice cultivation manuals and diluted elixirs, enough to strengthen the body but never enough to challenge the hierarchy. Better schools opened to them. Minor government posts became attainable. Firearms were restricted, not out of concern for safety, but because reliance on weapons suggested weakness. Martial strength was encouraged instead.
The Silver Tier marked the threshold of true influence. Families at this level controlled regions, maintained private training halls, and possessed mid-grade techniques. Clan alliances, tax privileges, and enforcer protection followed naturally. Conventional weapons ceased to matter entirely. Cultivators at this stage could evade or deflect bullets with ease, rendering modern arms ceremonial at best.
The Gold Tier ruled openly. Entire districts fell under their authority. Cultivation academies operated under their banners, shaping future elites from childhood. High-grade resources circulated freely within their bloodlines, and life-extension pills were common enough to be considered routine. Seats within the Central Cultivation Bureau were available to them, as were monopolies over inter-city trade.
Beyond that lay the Platinum Tier. These apex clans exerted national influence, commanding private armies composed of masters. Ancient cultivation grounds, rare artifacts, and bound spirit beasts served as their guardians. Laws bent instinctively around their presence. Even marriage became a calculated exchange, designed to preserve or enhance bloodline purity.
At the summit stood the Diamond Tier. Fewer than ten families across all of alternate China occupied this height. Their inheritances predated modern governance, their resources bordering on the mythical. They did not rule publicly, nor did they need to. Policy shifted long before reaching official chambers, shaped quietly by their intent. They were emperors in all but name.
Net worth was not merely currency. It encompassed spirit stones, cultivation territories, relic weapons, and inherited techniques. Audits were merciless. Any falsification resulted not in fines or demotion, but dissolution.
Martial cultivation reinforced every layer of the hierarchy. At the Novice Realm, practitioners learned to gather qi, enhancing strength and speed beyond normal limits. With cheap manuals, even mortals could step into this stage, though progress slowed rapidly without sustained resources. Under rare circumstances, a blade might still wound them.
The Warrior Realm represented a fundamental shift. Qi circulation became refined, the body hardened until iron felt fragile by comparison. Bullets could be dodged or deflected, and ordinary weapons lost all relevance. Entry beyond this point required Bronze Tier backing or higher.
At the Master Realm, qi could be projected beyond the body itself. Wounds could be sealed mid-combat. Firearms altered trajectory before impact, bent aside by invisible force. Access was effectively limited to those with Silver Tier resources.
Grandmasters crossed into territory bordering myth. Elements responded subtly to their will. Wind steps carried them beyond normal movement. Fire palms scorched through steel. Aging slowed dramatically, transforming mortality into negotiation. These techniques were guarded fiercely and remained exclusive to Gold Tier bloodlines.
Above them stood the Sovereign Realm. Legends rather than citizens. Individuals capable of shattering mountains and briefly defying gravity itself. Entry was restricted to Platinum and Diamond families alone. Against such beings, mortals were not opponents.
They were scenery.
As Zhao Ming leaned back, the structure revealed itself completely. Wealth purchased power. Power preserved wealth. The cycle closed without flaw. Innovation had no place here. Why build machines when a single Grandmaster could level a factory with a gesture?
The world felt stagnant to the point of suffocation. No space race. No internet revolutions. No disruptive enterprises threatening the established order. Entertainment revolved around clan tournaments and qi operas. News headlines celebrated heirs achieving breakthroughs they had been born to reach. The rich remained rich, and the poor waited for miracles that rarely came.
A thin smile formed on Zhao Ming's lips.
Opportunity.
Earth's knowledge burned quietly in his mind. Business models, logistics networks, supply chains, branding psychology, financial leverage. Concepts this world had never refined. Even a standardized product line could fracture entire markets if introduced correctly.
He glanced at Lin Mei's door.
She'd be part of it. His rise. His possession. His first altar.
The fog outside lightened to gray dawn.
Zhao Ming powered off the computer and stood.
Time to move.
The city waited dull, divided, ripe for conquest.
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