Chapter 79: Into a Martial Arts Novel, Day 1

Chapter 79: The First Day of Transmigrating into a Wuxia World

Consciousness slowly floated up from chaos, like a sunken ship wrenching free from the grip of silt.

The anticipated rebirth arrived on schedule once again. His body was now filled with a strange lightness from being completely reset—weightless, and he still wasn’t quite used to it.

And... the first breath he took carried a wisp of crisp, cold sandalwood that lingered faintly in his nostrils.

An Yi snapped his eyes open.

What met his gaze was not the familiar ceiling of his bedroom, but an intricately ornate black silk bed curtain, its edges embroidered with dark gold thread in patterns of some ferocious beast baring its fangs and claws, faintly shimmering in the dim light.

The cold sandalwood scent in the air grew clearer; when he focused, he sensed a trace of an extremely faint, almost undetectable medicinal smell hidden beneath it.

He could feel this body with unusual clarity—young, brimming with vibrant vitality, skin taut, muscles filled with strength, with not a single mark of aging.

Just as expected, when his life came to an end, he transmigrated again.

He knew the drill: die in one life, transmigrate into a book in the next.

Almost instinctively, he tried to mobilize his psychic power—that force which had accompanied him through an entire lifetime and had become almost second nature to him.

Buzz.

A wisp of bone-chilling cold spread silently from his fingertips. Moisture in the air instantly condensed into fine ice crystals, dancing and flickering on his pale fingertips, then vanishing without a trace.

His spatial sense unfolded as well. That vast, boundless space, loaded with countless "spoils" and supplies, still floated peacefully deep in his consciousness, its contents not a single item missing.

The spatial ability was still there.

Could his ability really follow his soul?

An Yi propped himself up with his arms and slowly sat up.

The smooth black silk of his inner robe brushed against his skin, feeling cool to the touch. He looked around, carefully scrutinizing his surroundings.

This was an extremely spacious bedchamber, the furnishings antique and heavy, giving off an air of understated luxury.

The blackwood furniture had sharp, clean lines; on the walls hung ink paintings, not of ordinary landscapes or flowers and birds, but a fierce and murderous "Picture of the Ferocious Beast Yazi," with bold, aggressive brushstrokes.

In the corner, a bronze beast-shaped censer released wisps of blue smoke—the source of the cold sandalwood scent.

He looked down at his body, clad in a soft black inner garment. His fingers were long with pronounced knuckles, his skin pale from being out of the sun, giving him the unhealthy look typical of a pampered but sickly young master.

Yet there were calluses on his fingers and palms.

At that moment, a torrent of jumbled, chaotic memories, brimming with resentment, malice, and violence, surged into his mind!

The fierce impact came, but thanks to the experiences of previous lives, his soul was already accustomed to such shocks, so he felt little discomfort, only frowning slightly.

An Yi raised a hand to his forehead, silently beginning to receive and sort through these unfamiliar memories.

Fragmented images and information flashed by:

A gloomy main hall, with a plaque bearing the two words "Fuyi," whose strokes were arrogant, hanging above. Beneath the hall, countless fearful or reverent gazes addressed him as—"Young Master."

The piercing pain of meridians caused by cultivating some extreme practice, and the almost uncontrollable frenzy and bloodlust that followed.

Images from the original owner’s memory of him bullying people and committing cruel acts, countless enemies, and a thoroughly infamous reputation.

And the cold gaze of a man called the "Cult Leader," whose presence was like an abyss or the sea, his face blurry, always watching him.

And recently, during practice, overly eager for results, it seemed... he had a qi deviation?

The memory ended with a vast, pitch-black darkness and the agonizing pain of his meridians snapping.

An Yi slowly lowered his hand, his gaze calm.

The body he now wore—its meridians were completely severed?

He sorted through the original owner’s memories.

This world was not one of any historical dynasty he knew, but a fictional ancient wuxia world with inner energy and martial arts.

The identity of the original character was the Young Master of the Fuyi Sect, a powerful but infamous demonic cult in the current martial world. His name was also An Yi.

This Young Master was not old, but due to cultivating the sect's ultimate technique, the Heart Erosion Art, which had drastically changed his temperament, combined with growing up in such a demonic environment, he had become violent, erratic, and temperamental.

Though skilled in martial arts, all his methods followed a deviant path. Inside the sect, everyone feared him; outside the sect, his infamy was even greater, practically a public enemy of the martial world.

And this fainting was precisely because he had forcibly tried to break through to a higher level of the Heart Erosion Art, leading to qi deviation.

It seemed the original owner had truly died in this backlash, allowing him to transmigrate over.

An Yi gently breathed out.

So he really was a fast transmigrator, just as he had guessed in his last life.

This made it four times.

First, from a modern novel to another modern one, becoming a domineering CEO. Second, transmigrating into an ancient dynasty as the Chief Secretary of the Imperial Secretariat. Third, being a background character in a post-apocalyptic novel. And now, he had become the Young Master of a demonic cult in a martial arts world.

Judging by this identity, it was most likely another transmigration, and with the standard villain template.

Was his transmigration really so fixated on roles like "villain" or "supporting character"?

He tried to sense the power within him.

A sinister, icy inner energy with corrosive properties lurked within his meridians. This should be the corrosive inner force cultivated through the Heart Erosion Art.

Perhaps affected by qi deviation, this energy was now somewhat sluggish and chaotic, but he could still feel its deep foundation and the viciousness of its nature.

At the same time, he clearly perceived that his ice-water ability and spatial ability lay quietly dormant beneath this raging internal force, ready to be called upon at any time.

And they were slowly beginning to repair his blocked meridians.

Did his ability have this function as well?

That was interesting.

It seemed his abilities overrode the internal energy rules of this world, becoming a part of his soul.

He got up and walked to the bronze basin in the corner. Using the reflection in the water, he examined his current appearance.

Reflected in the water was a young, pale face, about seventeen or eighteen years old. The features were extremely delicate, even carrying a kind of androgynous handsomeness, but his eyes and brows naturally carried a look of disgust and coldness. His lips were pale, and the combination formed a kind of aggressive, morbid beauty—beautiful but poisonous.

But at this moment, those eyes held the calm and wariness he had accumulated over three lifetimes, softening some of the original hostility.

An Yi gave a very slow, slight curl of his lips at his reflection. The young man in the water returned a very faint, elusive, unreadable curve of a smile.

Young Master of the demonic cult... a troublesome identity.

It meant countless enemies, strict sect rules, tangled internal power struggles, and a "father" who obviously wasn’t easy to handle.

During his first transmigration, he might have felt uncertain. But now... he was afraid of nothing.