"Truly born an idiot, always resisting, always getting beaten, such a disgrace!"
"I never thought being a garbage collector could make so much money. Is there any justice left in this world?"
"Haha, the more his grandfather makes as a garbage collector, the more we can steal from him!"
"This fool is going to get fired today. I bet he won't be able to pay us his tribute anymore."
The three boys, holding tightly to the silver coins they had just stolen, spat and mocked, as Xue Hao scowled darkly and cursed, "This idiot is really useless, cutting off my source of income!"
Not far from the trio, on the ground, lay a fifteen or sixteen-year-old boy, his clothes disheveled and covered in dust, yet his appearance was graceful and his features clear and refined.
The boy's previously dull and murky gaze cleared up, his brow smoothing into a calm expression. As he gazed at the vast world before him—the brilliant sun, the expansive blue sky, and the boundless sea—his heart surged with overwhelming emotions.
"This is... my body!" he thought, a long sigh escaping his lips.
His eyes shone with a maturity and weariness far beyond his age.
At this moment, the boy was Yang Qingxuan, the soul of a powerful cultivator from Earth, now inhabiting this body.
After vanishing from the ancient bronze formation, his consciousness—or rather, his soul—had fused with this body, as if a wandering soul had returned home.
If the Yang Qingxuan of Earth was the primary soul, then the soul that originally inhabited this body was merely a fragment.
Now, with the merging of the two souls, everything had come together in perfect harmony.
Soon, fragmented memories from the original soul began to surge into his mind, granting him a vague understanding of himself and the world around him.
He was a student of Tiancong Academy, and his grandfather, Yang Zhao, worked as a janitor at the academy to support his education.
Today was the academy's annual assessment. On his way back to the school, he was ambushed by Xue Hao and his friends, who stole his living expenses.
"Idiot, I'm in a bad mood today. How about you bark like a dog to entertain us? If you get it right, I'll let you go."
"Haha, this idiot's not all there in the head. He's perfect to bark like a dog!"
As Yang Qingxuan tried to sort through his thoughts, he heard the trio's mocking and insulting words, filled with malice.
"Dammit, we're talking to you, don't play dead on the ground!"
Xue Hao aimed a kick at Yang Qingxuan's head.
Seeing the force behind the kick, Yang Qingxuan instantly sat up, narrowly dodging it.
Xue Hao was momentarily stunned, thinking it was just a fluke. Cursing, he walked up and kicked again.
Yang Qingxuan suddenly turned his body, his eyes flashing coldly, and said, "Do you seek death?"
Xue Hao, caught in his gaze, felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine, a fleeting trace of fear creeping in. He subconsciously asked, "What do you mean?"
"I mean—are you looking for death?!" Yang Qingxuan's voice grew cold.
As his words landed, his face darkened. With a flick of his fingers, a cyclone of energy appeared in his palm.
That seemingly casual motion was actually the "Formless Destruction Finger," a deadly technique from Chinese martial arts. Now that his two souls were merged, his body was overflowing with boundless energy.
The finger struck with terrifying precision, piercing Xue Hao's calf with ease, creating a bloody hole.
"Ah! It hurts!" Xue Hao screamed, his voice echoing through the area, sending birds flying and leaves scattering.
Xue Hao's face turned pale as he stared in disbelief at the blood flowing from the hole in his leg.
The hole was the size of a baby's fist, and blood poured from it, staining the ground in an instant.
He was in a daze, unable to comprehend what had just happened.
Zhou Cang and Hu Ding were equally stunned, but they quickly regained their composure and shouted angrily, "Idiot, what are you doing?!"
Without warning, the two lunged at Yang Qingxuan, one using his palm and the other pointing his finger.
In their eyes, Yang Qingxuan was nothing more than the lowest form of scum, someone they could bully and exploit. For three years, he had been their punching bag, and they believed it would always be that way.
They were deeply ingrained with disdain for Yang Qingxuan, for the weak.
Yet, the weak boy they considered to be trash had dared to resist. This infuriated them, and they attacked with killing intent.
Yang Qingxuan remained still after his strike, his mind filled with fragments of past memories…
In this world, the strong were revered, and the weak were like ants—easily crushed, exploited, and humiliated.
"You are the descendant of the Yang family. Even if your grandfather has to sacrifice everything, he will make you into a true martial artist!" Yang Zhao's voice echoed with hope, though his deep, dark eyes held a hidden sadness and worry.
Young Yang Qingxuan couldn't understand the sadness, but he saw his grandfather's graying hair and the hunched figure walking along the desolate road, a cold wind ruffling his back.
That figure, heavy as a mountain, never left his mind, constantly pushing him forward.
At that time, Yang Qingxuan may not have understood the harsh laws of the world, nor did he think of rising above others.
But he held onto a small, steadfast desire: no matter how much hardship, ridicule, bullying, helplessness, frustration, pain, or confusion he faced, he would never give up!
For fifteen years, through scorching heat and freezing cold, through changing seasons, he never wavered.
"Because I have a dream!"
"I want to become a true martial artist!"
The seed of his dream, buried deep in his heart, finally began to sprout as the main soul returned, growing roots and branching out…
With his thoughts returning to the present, Yang Qingxuan slowly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a faint light gleamed in the corners of his eyes, and a sharp killing intent shot out from his gaze.
He casually brushed the dust off his robe, and his white garments fluttered without wind, flowing like water in front of him.
Zhou Cang and Hu Ding shuddered, a sense of foreboding rising in their hearts. Their attacks grew fiercer, and they shouted in unison, "Idiot, you dare resist?!"
"It's time to collect the debt!"
Yang Qingxuan's expression turned cold. With a single strike of the "Falling Wild Goose in the Desert," he sent a flying kick straight into Xue Hao's groin.
A loud cracking sound rang out as Xue Hao let out a blood-curdling scream. His face turned purple as his body was sent flying through the air.
Zhou Cang and Hu Ding quickly followed with their attacks, shouting angrily, "Idiot, how dare you?!"
Yang Qingxuan smiled coldly, unhurriedly drawing a circle with his hands in front of him.
With a single movement, a gust of wind whipped up as his palms danced through the air, forming a vortex of energy in front of him. The wind howled, growing larger and larger.
"Dragon's Wrath and Regret!"
Leaves scattered across the ground were lifted into the air, swirling around like a dragon's tail, floating in the void. Yang Qingxuan stood amidst the falling flowers and leaves, like a divine soldier descending from the heavens.
In the Hua Xia Empire, martial arts flourished, and the Dragon-Descending Palm was known for its eighteen powerful techniques. When this palm was unleashed, it was as if mountain ranges were unfolding in succession, endless and unbroken!
Yang Qingxuan had spent over a decade mastering this palm technique. With one move, all eighteen waves of energy were released in a single breath. His true energy flowed through his meridians like a river, unstoppable and endless!
Even the most advanced warriors from Earth would be obliterated under the might of this strike.
With the perfect integration of his spirit and body, he unleashed the full power of this technique. The sound of bones cracking echoed as his blocked meridians cleared, and vitality surged through him like bamboo shoots after a rain, rising steadily.