Gasping for air—
A piercing pain stabbed through his brain like needles—
In his mind, memories of the past and present churned together, fragmented images flashing in chaos—
Yang Ping lay in bed.
Trapped in an unspeakable nightmare, he awoke drenched in sweat, his eyes snapping open.
By the bedside.
Yu Hui, her face etched with worry, quickly leaned in and asked with concern, "Ping'er, I heard you cry out. Was it another nightmare?"
Yang Ping took a few deep breaths, sat up, and took the damp towel from his forehead. Composing himself, he managed a faint smile. "Mom, I'm fine. Just a bad cold these past few days. My head's been fuzzy. Once it passes, I'll be alright."
"Good, good. You just rest in bed. I'll go make you something light to eat." Yu Hui rose, wiped her eyes, and forced herself to head to the kitchen.
Soon.
The sounds of clattering came from the kitchen.
Watching his mother's retreating figure, Yang Ping knew—she had been crying again out of worry.
According to the elders in the village.
His father, Yang Yongzhi, had died in the mountains before he was even born, while hunting for game to nourish his pregnant mother.
So.
Ever since Yang Ping could remember.
It had just been the two of them, surviving on the kindness of the entire village, which allowed him to grow up at all.
This filled him with deep gratitude, and he cherished every single person in the village all the more.
But he couldn't tell Yu Hui the real reason for his nightmares.
Because, a month ago, Yang Ping had suffered a tremendous shock, which triggered memories of his true origin: he was a time-traveler from the 63rd century, a different spacetime entirely.
In that era.
Humanity could travel across star systems, and technology had advanced beyond imagination.
People born in that time underwent two procedures before and after birth: memory implantation and technological infusion.
Memory implantation, also called fetal education, was performed while still in the womb.
It allowed a human to be born with the accumulated knowledge of their predecessors.
After birth, they underwent the technological infusion procedure.
Technological infusion bypassed the learning phase entirely, embedding the most advanced, complex knowledge—genetic engineering, biological cloning, weapons manufacturing—directly into the infant's mind as latent knowledge.
As the child grew, enlightened by their surroundings, this knowledge would combine with the implanted memories, rapidly transforming them into an extraordinarily erudite individual.
Furthermore, building upon this foundation to explore deeper scientific mysteries became significantly easier.
With the加持 of these two technologies.
Almost everyone in the 63rd century was a knowledgeable intellectual, artist, scientist, military strategist.
And a warrior with exceptional mental fortitude and personal prowess.
Given the right resources, it wasn't even impossible for a fifteen-year-old to construct a starship or a trans-dimensional spacecraft.
However.
The world Yang Ping had traversed to was a realm of immortal cultivation, utterly divorced from science. The living standards of ordinary humans were still stuck in the slash-and-burn agriculture of a feudal age.
Only those cultivators possessed power beyond imagination and dominated everything in this world.
They never regarded ordinary people as human, calling them "blood cows" instead, treating them as mere ingredients for their cultivation elixirs.
The most regrettable part?
As a time-traveler, Yang Ping had no talent for cultivation. He was just an ordinary person living in Yang Family Village.
Lacking sufficient enlightenment, the technological memories from his past life had lain dormant for fifteen years in some unknown corner of his mind.
Even though Yang Ping had now recalled his origins, they remained a jumble of chaotic images, still not fully accessible or utilizable.
But recently, he had been desperately trying to unearth those scientific memories, which was why he kept having these dream-like episodes, his mind wrenched with agony, leaving him in great pain.
Feeling a bit better.
Yang Ping's gaze, heavy with thought, turned towards the window.
Outside, the midsummer rain pelted down furiously onto the mountains, shrouding the entire world in a gloomy, oppressive atmosphere.
Collected rainwater poured from the eaves like tiny streams.
Yang Family Village was a small hamlet nestled on the edge of the mountains. For generations, the villagers had lived a peaceful, secluded life. But that peace was shattered completely a month ago.
Remembering the events of that day, Yang Ping clenched his jaw, threw himself out of bed, and dashed straight into the heavy rain.
Behind him, Yu Hui emerged with a bowl of congee, calling out anxiously, "Ping'er, you're sick with a cold! Why are you running out into the rain—"
Inside the main hall of Yang Family Village.
The glow of the fire cast flickering light onto the aged face of Village Chief Yang Huai'an.
He sat in his chair, stroking his severed legs, his face etched with sorrow as he tapped his tobacco pipe against the armrest. His gaze shifted to Li Huilan beside him.
"Better start preparing," Yang Huai'an said with a sigh. "The Immortal Masters will come for their tribute in ten days."
In the next instant.
Li Huilan burst into heart-wrenching sobs, clutching the infant in her arms. "Man'er is my child, the flesh of my flesh carried for ten months! I won't let him become tribute for those Immortal Masters!"
Three-month-old Man'er joined in her cries, his wails filling the entire room.
The man beside her, Yang Zhi, shot to his feet, his face twisted with rage. "What kind of Immortal Masters eat children?! They're clearly two demons in disguise! If they want my son, I'd rather fight them again than hand him over!"
Suddenly.
The atmosphere in the room grew heavy and suffocating.
The other villagers standing nearby watched.
Someone whispered, "Yang Zhi, keep your voice down! What if the Immortal Masters hear you? What happened last time could happen again."
Others looked on with desolate expressions.
But then.
Another villager pleaded, "But they're Immortal Masters! They have magic arts! They could wipe us all out with a wave of their hand. Yang Zhi, for everyone's sake... just hand Man'er over."
At that moment.
Yang Huai'an slid from his chair and knelt heavily before Yang Zhi.
His voice choked with reluctant tears, he begged, "Niece Huilan, you know what the Immortal Masters said. If we resist again this time, they'll slaughter Yang Family Village and refine us all into 'blood pills' for their cultivation. I don't know what blood pills are, but this village has already lost too many people. We can't lose any more. Please, have mercy. Sacrifice Man'er... to save the rest of us!"
One by one, the surrounding villagers also knelt silently, the thuds echoing in the room.
Seeing this.
Yang Zhi's fists clenched tighter, his face burning crimson with suppressed fury.
He swung his fist.
And slammed it into the wooden pillar beside him.
A roar tore from his throat: "If only... if only this village had someone who could cultivate!"
The burly man, a towering figure, suddenly deflated like a punctured balloon. Tears of grievance streamed down his honest, weathered face.
On the pillar, stark against the wood, his blood dripped steadily downwards.