Three days had passed since Tian Zun opened his eyes in the body of Lin Zun, a servant boy scrubbing floors in a grand yet weathered manor. The initial disorientation had faded, replaced by a quiet intensity as he pieced together the fragments of this new world—Hongmeng World, a realm as vast as it was fractured. He worked in silence, folding rugs and hauling water, his hands moving through chores while his mind devoured every whisper, every glance, every scrap of information the servants let slip.
Hongmeng World was unlike any he'd known in his nine trillion lives. Its people cultivated through a tapestry of paths, each as distinct as the stars yet woven into the same chaotic fabric. The Taoists summoned wind and thunder, their chants bending the elements to their will, their foundations rooted in harmony with nature's fury. The Erudites—though Tian Zun preferred the term Erudites for their air of mystique—built their power on literacy and knowledge, wielding brushstrokes and ancient tomes as weapons, their minds sharp enough to unravel the cosmos. Martial Artists harnessed ki, forging their bodies into unbreakable steel, their internal energy a furnace that fueled every strike. The Astrologers peered into the heavens, tracing the ley lines of earth and sky, seeking enlightenment through exploration and the secrets of the stars. And then there was the Way of the Emperor, a path reserved for royals of kingdoms and dynasties, its methods shrouded in pomp and blood-soaked legacy.
Internal energy coursed through all these systems, a universal thread binding Hongmeng's cultivators, yet the world itself was tiered like a grand chessboard. Towns fed into cities, cities into provinces, provinces into kingdoms, and kingdoms bowed to sprawling dynasties. Sects rose alongside them, ranked from the feeble Third Tier to the near-mythical First Tier, their influence waxing and waning with the tides of power. But beneath it all, Tian Zun sensed a mystery—a faint pulse in the air, a shadow cast by no visible source. The servants spoke in hushed tones of the Shattered Epoch, a time when the sky bled crimson and the earth swallowed entire dynasties. No one knew why, only that the ruins dotting the land whispered of a truth buried deep.
He was in Chen City, a bustling hub within the sprawling Jinshui Province, a region known for its jade rivers and mist-cloaked hills. The manor belonged to the third son of the City Lord, a man named Liang Wei. The City Lord had three sons and one daughter, but Liang Wei stood apart—not for ambition or cruelty, but for kindness. A rare trait in a world where power often sharpened men into blades. Liang Wei had a son, Tianyi, a bright-eyed boy of ten who darted through the halls with a wooden sword, and a daughter, Meilin, a quiet girl of thirteen whose laughter was a melody the servants adored. His wife, Lady Xiu, moved with grace, her gentle commands laced with warmth. The household loved them—the cooks who slipped extra rice to the children, the maids who sang praises of Lady Xiu's compassion, the guards who swore to die for Liang Wei's quiet strength.
Tian Zun observed it all from the periphery, a shadow among the servants. They respected him too, in their way, mistaking his silence for diligence. "Lin Zun, you're a good lad," an old cook had said, pressing a steamed bun into his hand. "Work hard, and maybe the master'll notice." He'd nodded, the bun untouched, his mind elsewhere. This body was weak, its meridians clogged with disuse, its ki a faint flicker. But weakness was a canvas, and Tian Zun was an artist of war and transcendence.
On the third evening, as he swept the courtyard beneath a sky streaked with amber, a thought struck him like a thunderbolt. Cultivation must begin anew—but how? The paths of Hongmeng unfurled in his mind: the Taoist's elemental fury, the Erudite's intellectual mastery, the Martial Artist's brute force, the Astrologer's cosmic dance. The Way of the Emperor was beyond his reach, tied to blood he didn't possess. Yet none felt right—not fully. He was Tian Zun, the Supreme who'd burned his dao to ash. He needed something greater, something that fused these fragments into a whole.
He paused, broom in hand, and closed his eyes. The courtyard faded, and he reached inward, probing the faint spark of ki in his core. It pulsed, weak but alive. Then, unbidden, a memory surfaced—not his, but Lin Zun's. A night years ago, the boy hiding in the shadows of this very courtyard, watching Liang Wei meditate beneath the broken fountain. The man's breath had stirred the air, a ripple of energy that made the vines tremble. Ki and intent, Tian Zun realized. A foundation built on will. Liang Wei was no grand cultivator—likely a mid-tier Martial Artist—but his kindness had tempered his strength into something unique.
Tian Zun opened his eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Will," he murmured. "The root of all paths." He set the broom aside and sat cross-legged by the fountain, its cracked stone cool against his back. The servants had gone to bed, the manor silent save for the rustle of leaves. He drew a breath, slow and deliberate, coaxing the ki within him to stir. It resisted, sluggish as mud, but he pressed harder, his soul flaring like a silver flame. The ki sparked, then flowed—a trickle at first, then a stream, threading through his meridians.
A sound broke his focus—a low hum, rising from the fountain. He turned, eyes narrowing. The stone glowed faintly, the vines curling as if alive. The hum deepened, and for a moment, he glimpsed something—a shadow within the water's reflection, a figure cloaked in mist. Then it was gone, leaving only the night's stillness. Tian Zun's pulse quickened. The Shattered Epoch, he thought. Its echoes linger here.
He stood, resolve hardening. Cultivation would be his blade, but Hongmeng's mysteries would be his map. The wall between dimensions loomed in his mind, closer now, its whispers louder. Whatever lay beyond, he would find it—starting with the secrets of Chen City.