The blinding white light receded, replaced by the sterile scent of antiseptic. Groaning, Jiang Li opened his eyes, disoriented. The room, stark white and devoid of any warmth, was unfamiliar. Panic clawed at his throat. Where was he? What had happened?
The last thing he remembered was the screech of tires, the searing pain that had erupted in his chest, and then… nothing.
He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain lanced through his ribs, forcing him back down. He was weak, his body feeling strangely light, as if he'd shed a heavy burden. Confusion warred with a nagging sense of deja vu. This… this wasn't his room.
He looked around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The minimalist decor, the sleek, metallic bed frame – nothing about this room screamed "home." Where was he? Who was he?
A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he closed his eyes, trying to piece together the fragments of his memory. A name surfaced, fleetingly, like a bubble in a stream – Jiang Li. No, not his name. This body… it belonged to someone named Jiang Li.
Panic surged again. He wasn't in his own body. He had… transmigrated?
The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. He'd always been a voracious reader, devouring fantasy novels about cultivation, martial arts, and otherworldly realms. And now, he was living in one.
He tried to recall the details of his new life, the fragments of memory surfacing like shards of broken glass. He was Jiang Li, the youngest son of the Second Elder of the Jiang family, a prominent family in Nanjing. His father, a man of considerable girth and an even greater appetite, was known throughout the city for his cultivation techniques, or so he bragged.
The Jiang family, though powerful, was a minor player in the grand scheme of things. Their influence was dwarfed by the likes of the Lin family, whose scion, Lin Xuan, was a prodigy blessed by heaven. Lin Xuan, the "Invincible Young Master," was a legend in his own right, a cultivator whose talent was unparalleled.
And Jiang Li… he was a thorn in Lin Xuan's side. A minor villain, a fly buzzing around the Invincible Young Master, constantly trying to trip him up, though always failing miserably.
Jiang Li shuddered. He didn't want to be a villain. He wasn't a bully, not in his previous life. He was just a regular guy, an office worker trying to make ends meet.
But the memories kept flooding in, each one more vivid than the last. The humiliation, the constant belittlement, the near-death experiences at the hands of Lin Xuan and his entourage. Jiang Li, the "invincible" Jiang Li, was more like a punching bag for the Invincible Young Master.
He remembered the last confrontation, the one that had landed him in this hospital bed. Lin Xuan, enraged by a petty prank, had unleashed his fury, his attacks leaving Jiang Li barely alive.
This world, he realized with a sinking heart, was far more dangerous than the fantasy novels he'd read. There were no cheat codes, no hidden quests, no benevolent system to guide him. It was a dog-eat-dog world, where strength was the ultimate currency.
He was a minor villain, a weakling, a nobody. And the Invincible Young Master was out there, waiting for him to recover.
Fear, cold and clammy, gripped him. What was he supposed to do? He was a fish out of water, a man thrown into a world he barely understood.
He needed to understand this world, its rules, its power dynamics. He needed to learn about cultivation, about the different sects, about the dangers that lurked in the shadows.
He remembered reading about cultivation techniques, about Qi, the life force that flowed through all living beings. He had to learn how to cultivate, to harness the Qi within himself.
But where to begin? He had no master, no resources, no support. The Jiang family, while powerful, wouldn't be of much help. They were more concerned with maintaining their social status than with cultivating their own strength.
He spent the next few days observing his surroundings, trying to piece together the puzzle of his new life. He eavesdropped on the conversations of the nurses, the doctors, the visitors. He learned about the different factions vying for power in Nanjing, about the underground markets where forbidden techniques were traded, about the rumors of hidden masters lurking in the shadows.
He discovered that the hospital was a microcosm of the city itself, a place where the powerful preyed on the weak, where alliances were forged and broken in the blink of an eye.
He also learned about the fear that clung to the city like a shroud, the fear of the Invincible Young Master. Even the most powerful families trembled at the mention of his name.
Jiang Li knew he had to be careful. He couldn't afford to make any enemies, especially not enemies with connections to the Lin family.
He had to be cunning, he had to be patient. He had to learn to play the game, to survive in this cutthroat world.
But how?
He spent hours poring over the medical records, trying to understand the extent of his injuries. He discovered that his internal organs had been severely damaged, his meridians disrupted. He was lucky to be alive.
He needed to heal, to regain his strength. But how?
He remembered reading about a healing technique in one of his novels, a technique that could accelerate the healing process. He tried to recall the intricate hand movements, the precise incantations, but his memory was hazy.
Frustration gnawed at him. He was trapped, a caged bird yearning for freedom.
He needed information, knowledge. He needed a teacher, a guide. But where could he find one?
He spent days wandering the city, his eyes constantly scanning the crowds, searching for clues, for any sign of a hidden master, a secluded training ground.
He visited the city library, hoping to find ancient texts on cultivation, but the library was heavily guarded, access restricted to the elite.
He tried to infiltrate the underground markets, hoping to find a rare herb, a forbidden scroll, but he was quickly discovered and chased away by the guards.
Discouraged, he returned to the hospital, his hopes fading. He was alone, lost in a sea of unfamiliar faces, a stranger in a strange land.
He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He was a minor villain, a nobody, a leaf tossed about by the winds of fate.
But he wouldn't give up. He wouldn't let himself be crushed.
He would find a way. He would survive.
He would rise.
The first step, he decided, was to heal. He would focus all his energy on recovery, on regaining his strength.
He closed his eyes, trying to calm his mind, to focus on his breathing. He tried to visualize the flow of Qi within his body, to feel the subtle energy currents.
It was difficult, frustrating. His body was weak, his mind clouded with fear and uncertainty.
But he persisted, day after day, hour after hour. He meditated, he visualized, he tried to connect with the Qi within him.
And slowly, gradually, he began to feel a change. A tingling sensation, a warmth spreading through his limbs.
He was starting to feel it.
He was starting to cultivate.
A flicker of hope ignited within him.
Perhaps, just perhaps, there was still hope for him, for the minor villain.
He had a long way to go. But he would get there.
He would rise from the ashes, stronger, more powerful than ever before.
He would show them all what a minor villain could do.