A will to supremacy
Echoes of a Forgotten Dream
In the dim glow of a flickering desk lamp, Su Meng hunched over his cracked smartphone screen, the only luxury he could afford in his cramped one-room apartment on the outskirts of Beijing. The year was 2025, but for Su Meng, time felt like an endless loop of drudgery. Born to a family shattered by debt and misfortune—his father lost to a factory accident, his mother scraping by as a street vendor—he had learned early that the world was a rigged game. Not the kind where heroes rose through sheer grit or lucky breaks, but one where invisible strings pulled by the elite decided fates.
By twenty-five, Su Meng had clawed his way through odd jobs: delivery boy, warehouse loader, even a stint as a tutor for spoiled kids whose parents could buy them into top universities. He watched as classmates with connected families soared—internships at tech giants, startups funded by uncles in high places. “Strength? Talent? Forget it,” he’d mutter to himself during smoke breaks. “In this world, the strong rule with wallets and whispers in boardrooms. Politicians and businessmen are the real cultivators, hoarding power like dragons guard gold. You? You’re just fodder unless they deem you useful.”
It burned him inside out. He yearned for something purer, a realm where personal might dictated destiny. No nepotism, no bribes—just raw power earned through blood and sweat. That’s when the novels found him. Stolen moments in dingy internet cafes led to worlds of xianxia and wuxia: tales of cultivators shattering mountains with fists, defying heavens through meridians pulsing with Qi. In those stories, orphans became immortals, weaklings toppled sects . Although there are some has grow up with silver spoons in this world their parents works for it through their strength “Fist rules all,” the protagonists declared, forging empires from nothing but willpower. Everyone had a shot—if you could endure the trials, absorb the essence of heaven and earth, you’d rise. Wealth followed strength, not the other way around. No one handed you power; you seized it.
Su Meng devoured them: Martial God Asura, Against the Gods, endless web serials where protagonists transmigrated or reincarnated into brutal realms. He imagined himself there, breaking free from Earth’s chains. “If only,” he’d whisper, closing his eyes after another exhausting shift. But dreams were just that—until the night everything shattered.
It was a stormy December evening, rain lashing the streets like divine punishment. Su Meng, rushing home on his battered scooter, didn’t see the truck swerve. A screech, a blinding impact, and darkness swallowed him. No regrets flashed; only a fleeting thought: If only death could take me to that world… where fists carve fate.
