Hua Shirong opened his eyes and found himself looking at a lifelike and exquisite embroidered picture. It came to life before him, vibrant and vivid.
This embroidery was created stitch by stitch on a piece of white translucent gauze, spanning about a zhang in width.
The gauze, as ethereal as clouds and as pure as snow, covered the ceiling above Hua Shirong's lying bed, visible as soon as he opened his eyes.
The embroidered picture depicted a group of flying birds, five in total. With the movement of the needle and thread, they showcased various postures such as standing, leaping, flying, soaring, and pouncing. Each form exuded a sense of fierceness, dominance, and uniqueness.
One of the flying birds was entirely unfamiliar to Hua Shirong—red beak, golden claws, black feathers resembling an eagle, but with a large and imposing body, its sword-like feathers far surpassing the size of an eagle. It could rival the dinosaurs from the Jurassic period.
Beneath him was no longer the worn-out and sagging mattress in a rented room. It was more comfortable and cozy, and a faint fragrance filled the air, giving off a sense of home.
Hua Shirong turned his slightly dizzy head and surveyed the room. It was a simple yet quaint architectural style, with a space of about ten square meters. Besides the large bed he was lying on, there was a closed window adorned with a crimson wooden desk. On the desk, the four treasures of the study were neatly arranged.
In the corner of the room stood a crimson bookshelf, with several rows of books displayed on it. A small table next to the bed held some clothes, presumably the ones he had changed out of.
The room had an antique and minimalist charm, every piece of furniture exuding a nostalgic flavor.
Where is this?
Why am I lying on a bed?
Why does my body feel weak?
This was the second time Hua Shirong woke up, and his first thought was, "I'm still alive!"
But before he could be overjoyed, a surge of unfamiliar information flooded his mind, causing his head to feel as if it were being trampled by thousands of horses, a piercing pain that threatened to burst his skull.
Finally, unable to withstand this torrential onslaught, he slipped back into unconsciousness.
When he woke up again, his mind was slightly clearer, and the pain wasn't as intense as before. However, he still couldn't believe the reality before his eyes: he had transmigrated!
The fused and abundant information in his mind confirmed that Hua Shirong had indeed transmigrated!
He now found himself in a different world from Earth, a parallel dimension: the Nine Continents!
It was different here, with different writing systems, different languages, and a prevalent cultivation of martial arts. It was a continent where strength reigned supreme.
A multitude of information in his mind informed him that the living conditions on this continent were a hundred, no, a thousand times harsher than Earth. It was a land filled with fierce competition and brutality among people.
Even more brutal was the competition between humans and nature: the existence of strange creatures called Demonic Beasts on this continent.
These Demonic Beasts dared to encroach upon human territory, seemingly gaining the upper hand.
Humans were forced to retreat within walled cities protected by formations, engaging in long-term battles against the Demonic Beasts.
Despite the harsh living conditions, the air was incredibly fresh and vibrant, carrying a refreshing fragrance that invigorated the lungs, providing an indescribable sense of comfort.
After assimilating a vast amount of information, Hua Shirong finally understood his current predicament.
The body that my soul occupies is also called Hua Shirong, a fourteen-year-old member of a family of over three hundred people in Yishui Town, currently attending the town's academy.
This Hua Shirong is timid, cowardly, and lacks ambition. He is often looked down upon and mocked within his family.
It all started because the young master of another family, Hua Shixuan, had a conflict with Hua Shirong at the academy. The young boys and girls from both families engaged in a fierce fight, igniting a chaotic brawl.
Unfortunately, the young master emerged unscathed, while Hua Shirong, who was merely an outsider to the conflict, became the victim.
During the chaos, someone attacked him from behind with a heavy blow to the back of his head, causing him to immediately lose consciousness.
Coincidentally, at the same moment, on Earth, he was hit by a speeding car on a crossroad and his soul crossed over, taking possession of this body.
As a result, both Hua Shirongs were resurrected simultaneously.
One was revived due to the presence of a body that provided a home for the soul, while the original owner of the body gained vitality through the attachment of the soul, perfectly coinciding and fitting together.
Being alive is undoubtedly good, but he can never return to Earth.
Well, there's no attachment to that little person struggling at the bottom of a big city. It's just that he caused suffering for his parents, who forever lost their only son they could rely on and take care of in their old age.
So, who should he consider himself to be?
Is he the Hua Shirong from Earth or the Hua Shirong of the Nine Continents?
And at this age...
Hua Shirong couldn't help but smile bitterly in his heart. Fourteen years old, the youthful years! How many people dream of returning to their youth, and he achieved it just by being hit by a car!
Hua Shirong has lived on Earth for over thirty years. Can he truly embody the youthfulness, sunshine, purity, and innocence of a teenager?
The door was gently pushed open, revealing a little head with two shining black eyes blinking. Seeing Hua Shirong lying on the bed with wide eyes and a bewildered expression, the girl cheerfully walked into the room.
She was a twelve or thirteen-year-old girl, with two small pigtails on top of her head, rosy cheeks, sweaty forehead, uneven breath, but an excited expression.
"Brother, you're awake!"
The little girl skipped to the front of the bed.
Unlike the language on Earth, Hua Shirong understood it as soon as he heard it.
Having assimilated a vast amount of information from this body, he naturally accepted everything it possessed, including the language and writing.
"Are you alright?" Hua Shirong asked with a smile.
As soon as these words came out, his heart trembled. The genuine concern, without any concealment, carried the subconscious of the original body's owner.
Moreover, when he spoke this language, it was so natural and fluent, without any sense of awkwardness or hesitation.
It seems that it's not as simple as my soul occupying this body alone. Two fragmented souls have merged into a brand new soul within this body. However, my soul is much stronger, occupying the dominant consciousness, while certain imprints deep within the original owner's soul instinctively react when touched.
It is evident that this sister named Hua Zhao is extremely significant in the memories of the original body.
"I'm fine, what could be wrong?"
Flower Zhao smiled and clenched her fist, saying, "I was just practicing martial arts in the courtyard."
She reached out her small, white, slender, and slightly warm hand and gently touched Flower Yichong's forehead, saying in a mature manner, "It's not hot anymore."
Flower Yichong looked at the bright sky outside the window and asked, "What time is it?"
"It's already past mid-morning. I've visited you three times already."
Flower Zhao sat in front of the bed and chattered, "Brother, you don't know, during your six or seven days of unconsciousness, your whole body was burning hot, and you kept talking nonsense. It worried Mom and Dad."
"I was talking nonsense?"
Flower Yichong frowned, hoping he hadn't said anything he shouldn't have.
"Yes, you kept cursing! Sometimes you cursed about speeding cars, probably rich kids or something, and sometimes you cursed that damned qigong scammer who harmed you. Brother, when did someone deceive you? What is a car? Who are the rich kids?"
Flower Yichong was taken aback and finally understood why he got hit while crossing the road.
Huaxia Country, at some point, qigong had become prevalent. Various masters emerged, and different schools of qigong sprouted up, dazzling people's eyes.
Flower Yichong distanced himself from his parents and settled in a big city with a third-tier university degree. Although he was just a nobody at the bottom of society, he considered himself a trendy youth with his own pursuit of popular culture.
He had many dreams like many adults do: fantasizing about becoming a martial arts hero one day, capable of shaking the world with a wave of his hand or foot, enjoying endless glory.
Flower Yichong started practicing qigong. Every morning and evening, he would practice in his rented room or in the park. He persevered, rain or shine, without slacking off. He didn't become diligent because he was passionate about it but rather because he persevered, never giving up.
Like all trendy elements, qigong quickly gained popularity and then faded away. When it returned to mediocrity after losing its glamour, the qigong craze rapidly declined.
Flower Yichong was one of the few who persisted.
Although he tried countless qigong techniques during that time, none of them made him stick with it because he had never experienced the so-called "qi sensation" that those self-proclaimed masters confidently talked about.
Until he met an old man named "Old Li" in the park.
The two met while practicing qigong in the park, and they got along well. After Flower Yichong expressed his confusion, the old man laughed and took out an ancient book, asking him to transcribe a copy and practice with it.
It was a qigong called the "Mortal Technique."
When Flower Yichong first saw the name, he couldn't help but smile and ask, "Mortal Technique? Are there immortal techniques too?"
At that time, "Old Li" just chuckled and remained silent. He told Flower Yichong that by practicing this technique, he would quickly gain the sensation of qi.
"Old Li" gave the impression of being wise and virtuous, speaking sparingly but always striking a chord with people's hearts.
Seeing his confident appearance, Flower Yichong gave up all other qigong techniques and devoted himself to practicing the "Mortal Technique."
And as "Old Li" had said, three months later, Flower Yichong felt the "qi sensation" in his abdomen, igniting his interest and motivating him to persist even more.
He persisted for a whole ten years!
Although the qigong craze had passed by then, he never gave up.
Over the course of these ten years, he had only felt the sensation of qi in his abdomen and nothing else. If anything, the only thing worth mentioning was that his body had been free of any ailments for these ten years.
"Old Li" often spoke about the importance of persistence and relentless effort in cultivation. He emphasized the need to practice immediately and continuously in order to achieve results.
Therefore, whether walking or riding a car, he would occasionally practice the "Mortal Technique."
One day, while crossing the road, a warm flow suddenly emerged from his lower abdomen. It passed through the "Huiyin" point, straight through the "Mingmen" point in the lower back, and traveled up the spine to the back of his head.
When it reached the "Baihui" acupoint in his brain, his mind experienced a sudden and tremendous shock, instantly becoming clear and empty.
In that moment, his body was struck by immense force, soaring into the air, while his soul seemed to leave his body in an instant, traversing through time and dimensional planes, arriving at the Nine Continents.
"Could it be that the Mortal Technique has had a breakthrough?"
Flower Yichong recalled the sudden surge of warmth in his abdomen.
"Brother, are you feeling unwell?"
Seeing Flower Yichong lost in thought and remaining silent for a long time, Flower Zhao looked at him with concern.