The heavens, it seemed, had heard his venomous promise.
Ao Yifan awoke to a damp, suffocating cave. The air was thick with the stench of rot, and his frail body ached with hunger. He looked down to find himself inhabiting the body of a young beggar—skinny, malnourished, and clad in tattered rags. His limbs were weak, trembling under his weight as he tried to stand. A sharp pain in his stomach reminded him of days without food. The boy's fragmented memories began to flood his mind: this was Luo Yang Empire, a sprawling dominion rife with corruption, sects vying for supremacy, and mortals crushed under the weight of cultivators' schemes.
The boy whose body he now claimed had been discarded, abandoned by the slums that once sustained him. Hunger and disease had marked him for death, but fate intervened when Ao Yifan's soul claimed his frail vessel. His heart burned with disdain—not for the boy but for the pathetic world that had allowed such weakness to persist. His hands, skeletal and trembling, balled into fists. "Ao Yifan," he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse yet brimming with a sinister determination, "This world will kneel before me."
It took hours for him to crawl to the cave entrance. The light of the setting sun greeted him, casting long shadows over a desolate wilderness. Sparse vegetation and jagged rocks stretched for miles. In the distance, he could make out the faint silhouette of a decrepit village. Hunger gnawed at him like a relentless beast, but even as his stomach growled, his mind remained sharp. "First, I survive. Then, I conquer."
A Test of Resolve
Ao Yifan stumbled into the village under the cover of night, his sunken eyes scanning the area for sustenance. The place was nothing more than a cluster of mud huts, its inhabitants barely eking out a living. Children with hollow cheeks and adults with defeated gazes moved like ghosts. Yet, Ao Yifan felt no pity. In this world, the strong preyed on the weak, and he had no intention of remaining among the latter.
He approached a shabby food stall where a middle-aged man was packing up stale bread. Without hesitation, Ao Yifan lunged forward, snatching a loaf and retreating into the shadows. "Thief!" the man shouted, his voice hoarse and tired. A few villagers turned their heads but made no effort to pursue.
In the darkness of an alley, Ao Yifan devoured the bread, ignoring its dryness and the mold that clung to its edges. Each bite was a reminder of his pathetic state, but it also stoked the embers of his resolve. "This indignity will not last," he muttered. "I will rise, even if I must crawl through the filth to do so."
A Fateful Encounter
As days passed, Ao Yifan survived by scavenging and stealing, his actions unnoticed in the squalor of the village. But his fortunes changed when he stumbled upon a dying old man outside a dilapidated shrine. The man's robes, though tattered, bore the faint markings of a demonic sect—an insignia Ao Yifan recognized from his past life.
The man's bloodshot eyes fixed on him. "You... you have the scent of ambition," he rasped. "Take this... and survive."
From his trembling hands, he produced a small jade slip and a crude dagger. Ao Yifan accepted them without hesitation, watching as the man's life ebbed away. "Foolish old man," he murmured, "to think your legacy would end in the hands of another."
The jade slip contained fragmented knowledge of a demonic cultivation technique: the Nine Hells Demonic Codex. Though incomplete, it detailed methods to draw power from suffering, pain, and death. Ao Yifan's eyes gleamed as he studied the text by the dim light of a stolen candle. "This is it," he whispered, "the beginning of my ascent."
First Steps into Darkness
Over the next weeks, Ao Yifan began cultivating, enduring excruciating pain as he forced demonic energy through his frail body. Each night, his screams echoed in the wilderness beyond the village, startling the crows that nested nearby. The Nine Hells Demonic Codex was merciless, requiring him to absorb the life force of living creatures to strengthen his own. He started small—rats, stray dogs, and even insects. Their vitality, though meager, became fuel for his growing strength.
By the end of the month, Ao Yifan was no longer the frail boy who had crawled out of the cave. His body, though still lean, radiated a dark aura. His once-sunken eyes now burned with a crimson light. The villagers avoided him, whispering of a demon lurking in their midst. Ao Yifan paid them no mind; they were beneath his notice.
One night, a group of thugs from a neighboring settlement arrived in the village, demanding tribute from its impoverished inhabitants. Their leader, a burly man with a scarred face, struck down an elderly villager who dared to resist. The sight stirred no sympathy in Ao Yifan, only an opportunity.
As the thugs reveled in their dominance, Ao Yifan approached, his presence cloaked in shadow. "Leave," he commanded, his voice cold and unyielding. The leader sneered. "And who's going to make us? You?"
Ao Yifan's response was swift. He activated the first technique of the Nine Hells Demonic Codex: the Soul-Devouring Claw. His hand, wreathed in dark energy, pierced the leader's chest, draining his life force in seconds. The remaining thugs froze in terror as their leader's lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
"Run," Ao Yifan said, his voice a chilling whisper. They fled, leaving behind their spoils.
The villagers, too frightened to approach, watched from the shadows as Ao Yifan turned his gaze upon them. "Remember this moment," he said, his tone devoid of emotion. "Weakness invites exploitation. Strength demands respect."
As he walked away, the villagers fell to their knees, muttering prayers to ward off the demon among them. But Ao Yifan paid them no heed. His path was clear, and it was paved in blood.