Liu Zheng sprinted through the forest, his feet pounding against the uneven ground. His breath came in ragged gasps, and a sharp stitch burned in his side. But he dared not stop. Liu Zhang, his cousin, was hot on his heels. Stopping meant punishment, and Zhang's wrath was not something he could afford to face.
Zheng slapped away the branches that lashed at his face, wincing as small cuts stung his arms. He had to keep running. His cousin was far stronger and faster—already at the seventh level of the Qi Condensation realm, compared to Zheng's pitiful third level.
After a few minutes of frantic running, Zheng dared to glance behind him. That moment of distraction was enough to trip him on a tree root. He went sprawling, his body crashing to the ground, barely managing to avoid slamming face-first into the dirt or colliding with a tree. For a heartbeat, he lay still, catching his breath. His chest heaved, and his clothes were a tangled mess of dirt and leaves. He didn't care. He was safe, at least for now. If his cousin had truly been serious, he would have caught up by now. The fact that Zhang hadn't meant one thing: he had escaped a beating—at least for today.
Panting, Zheng raised a hand, reaching for the pendant that hung around his neck—the cursed object that had brought so much suffering to him and his family. It was small and simple: a golden ball suspended on a plain iron chain. This pendant was the greatest treasure of the Liu family, but its possession by the weakest member of the family was an insult to his cousin, Zhang. It had once belonged to Zheng's father, who had passed it down to him after his untimely death.
His father had likely hoped that Zheng would rise to the occasion and one day lead the family. But Zheng had always been a disappointment. Now fifteen, he was only at the third level of Qi Condensation. If he didn't reach at least the fifth level by the next year, the golden core he carried would legally pass to his uncle—Zhang's father. His uncle, a cultivator at the Foundational Establishment realm, would use the core as it was meant to be, and the Liu family would once again boast a cultivator at the Golden Core realm. The mockery they faced would end. Those who scoffed at them would be forced to eat their words.
But it wasn't Zheng's uncle they laughed at. It was him—the weak, worthless Liu Zheng.
He had heard this a thousand times: from his cousin, from servants gossiping in the halls when they thought he couldn't hear, from strangers on the street who pitied him or mocked him behind his back. He was sick of it. A bitter anger swelled within him—not just for his own weakness, but for his family's treatment and for the sheer unfairness of the world.
Zheng pushed it down with the ease of long practice. What good was his anger? All the bitterness in the world wouldn't change a thing. He could be treated a thousand times worse, and no one would lift a finger to help him. He was weak and worthless. By next year, his uncle would claim the golden core, rise to become the lord of the family, and a Baron of the Celestial Phoenix Empire. He would take the position that Zheng's father had once held. And with that, Zheng would lose whatever worth he had left in the family. He would be cast out—or worse.
Once, Zheng would have protested, refused to believe that his uncle would go that far. But with each passing year, his uncle's disregard for him had grown. As Zheng proved time and again that he would never gain any real power, as the core in his possession remained utterly useless, his uncle became bolder. He allowed his son to beat up the nominal next head of the family without consequence.
The truth, though Zheng hated to face it, was that he was heading toward his death. A death that would come at his uncle's command as soon as he could get away with it. And his whole family knew it—but none would raise a hand to shield him or even protest. To them, he was as good as dead. He was worthless.
Sighing, he rose from the ground and began brushing the dirt and leaves from his clothes. There was no point in lying here, wallowing in self-pity. If he didn't get back to the palace before nightfall, he'd be punished anyway. It was better to avoid that, at least for now.
Sometimes, Zheng wished he was a little braver. Strength would have made things easier, but that wasn't what really tempted him. If he was braver, could he have been more like his father? Could he have stood up to his cousin? Could he have confronted his uncle, instead of always looking down at his feet, submitting to their every command? He didn't know, but the thought of it lingered in his mind like a half-formed dream.
He wished he wasn't so afraid—that he could be bolder, take some sort of action, anything to prove that he existed beyond the shadow of his failures. But while such thoughts came easy when he was alone, away from his family, his courage always failed him when confronted with them. He had never once raised his voice. Even the servants talked more than he ever did. He had never once defied any of his uncle's "wishes," treating them like the veiled commands they were.
Just once, he wished he could do something. If he was going to die—and he was sure he would—then he wanted to leave behind something that showed he existed, that he wasn't simply a ghost in his own life. Even if it was nothing more than a doomed act of rebellion, he wanted someone to remember him. He wanted proof that Liu Zheng had lived, that he had dreams, thoughts, desires of his own.
His hand instinctively reached for the pendant around his neck, the cursed object that had been his father's and now weighed heavy on him like a reminder of everything he could never live up to. He gazed at the sky, his heart heavy, his voice barely a whisper.
"Father," he murmured, "What should I do?"
The sky gave no answer. It was a dull, oppressive grey, the fading light of day leeching out of it. The sun was already dipping below the horizon, hidden behind the treeline, and Zheng doubted much color remained in the world anymore. The twilight had become grim today. In that colorless world, even the soft rustling of the leaves seemed to mock him, a reminder of how insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things. His entire life had been a series of disappointments—each failure weighing heavier than the last. He had no real power, no future. His family saw him as nothing but a burden, a shadow of the legacy he was supposed to carry. And soon, even the golden core would slip through his fingers, passed to his uncle, who would wear it like a crown and take his place as the true head of the Liu family.
He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. Anger swelled up inside him, but it was a hollow, bitter anger. He was angry at his family, at his weakness, at the entire world for being so cruel. But none of it mattered. He had always known it was only a matter of time before his uncle made his move, before they all turned their backs on him for good.
Zheng's breath became more rapid as his thoughts spiraled, each one a knot tightening around his chest. The bitter reality of his situation slammed into him again: he had no way out. There was no escape from this life of mockery and scorn. The only future awaiting him was death—at the hands of his own uncle, no less. His anger flared once more, but it was mingled with a sharp pang of helplessness.
He looked down at the pendant resting against his chest. The golden core. The cursed object that had been the source of all his suffering. His only inheritance, a token of a father he barely knew, and a symbol of the family that had abandoned him. A gift meant to ensure his strength, to carry the legacy of his bloodline, yet it had only served to mark him as weak and unworthy.
Zheng's mind raced. He knew the truth of the golden core—it was the legacy of the Liu family's founding ancestor, a legendary Golden Core cultivator. Passed down from one family head to the next, it was a symbol of the family's power, a beacon of strength and authority. To use it, though, one needed to be at least at the fifth level of Qi Condensation, the threshold required to absorb its power. Without that, it was nothing more than a decorative trinket.
And Zheng, stuck at the third level, knew he was far from the strength required. His body, so frail, couldn't handle the force within the core. His attempt would end in failure—a painful, gruesome failure.
But what did it matter? What was there left to lose?
If I'm going to die, then I'll die on my terms.
His hands gripped the pendant tightly, and for the first time, he didn't care about the consequences. Let them laugh. Let them mock him. Let them think he was weak. If death was the only thing left for him, then he would face it head-on, with all the rage he had left. He would take the golden core, force its power into his body, and if it killed him, then so be it.
He wasn't going to go down quietly.
His fingers closed around the golden sphere, the iron chain cool against his skin. He took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest, and he pulled it toward his chest.
The moment the core touched his skin, a violent pulse of energy surged through his body. It was like a wave crashing over him, a force so powerful it felt as though his very soul was being ripped apart. Zheng gasped, his body jerking violently as the core began to hum with an unearthly energy. His heart raced, thumping in his chest like it might explode. Every fiber of his being screamed in protest. It was too much. He wasn't ready for this.
But he refused to let go. His fingers tightened around the chain, clutching the core as if it were his last lifeline.
The pain intensified. It was unbearable—raw, savage pain that tore through him with an intensity he could never have imagined. His veins burned as though molten metal was flowing through them, searing his insides.
But still, he held on.
The energy surged again, and for a brief moment, it felt as though his body was being split in two. The world around him warped and blurred, everything fading into a haze of agonizing light. His mouth opened in a scream, but no sound came.
Then, everything went black.
...........
When Liu Zheng woke, the pain was unbearable—like a jackhammer relentlessly pounding against his skull. Groaning, he clutched his head, trying to remember what had happened. Had he gone to bed drunk? This didn't feel like a hangover, but what else could explain it? Had he fallen off the bed and cracked his skull?
Liu Zheng struggled to open his eyes. The light pierced his vision like a blinding spear. The pain shot directly to his brain, and he hissed in agony. He tried again, squinting, and this time, the pain was still there, but at least he could see.
He was in a forest clearing. Towering trees surrounded him, their trunks standing tall, while the ground beneath him was a blanket of fallen leaves and moss. Sunlight filtered through the branches, casting slanted rays that pierced the canopy. Liu Zheng sat directly beneath one of those beams, the light hitting his face like a spotlight.
He shakily got to his feet, his head spinning. As he staggered out of the sunlight, his headache seemed to ease, but confusion settled in. How had he ended up in a forest? The last thing he remembered was getting home from work. He was tired, but he didn't remember falling asleep. Had he dozed off in front of the TV? How did he end up here?
Liu Zheng looked around, bewildered. Who would kidnap someone and leave them in a forest like this? Was it a lucid dream? He'd heard of dreams so vivid they felt real, but the headache was proof against that theory. No one felt pain in a dream.
He checked his clothes, hoping for his phone, but the reality set in when he found himself wearing unfamiliar robes. His eyes scanned the ground, and something caught his attention.
A necklace. A thin chain with an empty clasp for a pendant.
The moment he saw it, something shifted within him. It wasn't just a thought, but a flood of memories. An overwhelming rush of memories that flooded his mind, memories that weren't his own. They were so vivid, so real, it was as though they were forcibly shoved into his consciousness, each one a piece of a puzzle that didn't quite fit. A Liu Zheng, but not the man he thought he was. This other version of him had once lived in a vast empire—the Celestial Phoenix Empire. He had been a cultivator, stuck at the third level of Qi Condensation. His family had been powerful, noble, and revered. But it had all fallen apart. The memories whispered of a Liu Zheng who had carried the weight of a legacy he couldn't live up to, a young man burdened by expectations too heavy to bear. He was meant to be the next head of his family, the torchbearer of a proud lineage, but his failure had sealed his fate. His weakness, his inability to rise above, had made him the target of mockery. His cousin, Zhang, had been the source of much of his torment, his own strength and cruelty a reminder of everything Liu Zheng lacked. And then, the pendant. The golden core, the family heirloom, which he had foolishly consumed in a desperate attempt to seize power. The memory of the pain—the searing agony, the overwhelming surge of energy that threatened to tear him apart—it was all too vivid.
The recognition hit him like a freight train, leaving him breathless and confused. He was still Liu Zheng, but not the same Liu Zheng. He was something else now—someone else.
Liu Zheng stood frozen, eyes wide with shock.
Somehow, he had ended up in a cultivation world.