Chapter 1: Transmigration, Once Again

Mount Hua, Jade Maiden Peak.

It was early summer. The trees and grasses flourished in lush abundance, but this perilous cliff was barren—no growth, no insects, no birds. Only a cave yawned here, and within it sat a smooth, rounded boulder.

At this moment, a boy in green robes perched atop the stone.

He looked no more than seven or eight years old, his features delicate and handsome, but in his eyes there was a maturity that belied his age.

“Sigh, it’s been a year already! Should I tell Master the secret here or not…” Zheng Jian muttered idly, his face knotted with hesitation and indecision as he stared at the empty cave.

Zheng Jian—the protagonist of this tale—was one among the countless ranks of transmigrators, but unlike others, who arrived in new worlds with cheats and loyal followers, he possessed nothing at all.

He had crossed into the world of “The Smiling, Proud Wanderer” a year ago, and had joined Mount Hua’s sect under Master Yue’s tutelage. The initial excitement and anxiety had faded, leaving only a sense of resignation and acceptance.

Disciples of Mount Hua were ranked by order of entry. Zheng Jian, having arrived early, had become the eldest disciple; when he joined, Linghu Chong had not yet appeared. Over time, Linghu Chong, Lao Denuo, Liang Fa, Shi Daizi, Gao Genming, Lu Dayou, and even Master Yue’s young daughter, Ling Shan, had all successively entered the sect.

He had come to the Reflection Cliff countless times this past year, for the reason was simple: as one with foreknowledge, he knew the sect’s ultimate hidden boss, the legendary “Sword Saint” Feng Qingyang, lay concealed here. And as a transmigrator, who wouldn’t covet the “Nine Swords of Dugu”?

But after countless visits and all manner of transmigrator tricks, he had never once glimpsed Old Man Feng.

If not for the fear of disrupting fate and inviting unpredictable danger, Zheng Jian would have shouted for Feng Qingyang outright. But that was only a passing thought—he dared not act on it.

“Forget it. Old Feng hasn’t shown himself after all this time; clearly, he doesn’t want to see me!” Zheng Jian thought, frustration welling up. How could he resign himself? The “Nine Swords of Dugu” was a legendary sword art, ranking among the finest in all the worlds of Jin Yong’s wuxia. Now, here he was, standing at the gates of the treasure house, yet leaving empty-handed. How could he not be bitter?

Aside from the “Nine Swords of Dugu,” Reflection Cliff hid another secret—a trove of sword techniques carved into the inner wall by a former elder of the Sun Moon Sect, moves that broke through the sword styles of the Five Mountain Sword Alliance!

Zheng Jian had thought, once he obtained the “Nine Swords,” he would reveal this secret at the right moment, letting his master—who dreamed day and night of restoring Mount Hua—find hope anew, and perhaps avoid the tragic path described in the original story.

But his plan had stalled at the very first step, and Zheng Jian could not accept it.

Who hasn’t dreamed the dream of the wandering swordsman? Dressed in finery, sword in hand, roaming the martial world!

“But without the ‘Nine Swords of Dugu,’ how could I ever dominate the martial realm?” Zheng Jian sighed. Now that the imagined world of heroes was real, he understood how hard it truly was.

To live in this world is to realize its dangers—one careless word, and blood would be spilled within five paces! Worse, entire families could be annihilated; Lin Pingzhi’s tragedy in the original tale was proof enough—a carefree young master forced into a monster by fate.

“No, I won’t leave the mountain until I have absolute confidence!”

“Senior Brother… Senior Brother…” called a voice from afar.

Zheng Jian immediately knew who it was. Who else could it be? On Mount Hua, there were only a few disciples, and little Linghu Chong followed him everywhere like a shadow.

“Senior Brother, Master says it’s time to eat!” Linghu Chong, with his delicate, cherubic features, was as adorable as any child could be.

Zheng Jian looked at the panting Linghu Chong and shook his head. “Guess it’s just not meant to be…” With that, he dusted himself off and stood up.

“Come on, what’s for dinner today?”

Linghu Chong quickly replied, “Senior Brother, Mistress is cooking herself today! She says it’s to celebrate your one-year anniversary of joining the sect. She wants to make sure you’re well fed!”

“…That’s a fine excuse,” Zheng Jian muttered, but he couldn’t deny it—Ning Zhongze truly treated him well, always finding reasons to give him and Linghu Chong extra helpings. Gentle and virtuous, she was the very model of an ancient wife. The thought of her tragic fate in the original story left Zheng Jian’s chest tight with sorrow.

This was not a game.

They were not mere NPCs, but living, breathing people.

When he first arrived, Zheng Jian might have kept his distance, an observer at the edge of the story. But after a year spent together, this place had truly become home, and Master and Mistress were elders he respected and loved.

As for Master Yue Buqun, Zheng Jian’s feelings were complex. If he hadn’t known the original tale’s “Gentleman Sword” and his later fate, he never would have suspected the current Yue Buqun could turn dark. Young as he was, the man was already a sect leader of the Five Mountain Sword Alliance—a renowned figure in the martial world, second only to Left Alliance Leader.

Most crucially, Old Yue was truly kind to Zheng Jian. Strict, yes, but the affection hidden in his eyes was clear as day.

“If I get the chance, I must stop Old Yue from going down the dark path! All he wants is to revive Mount Hua, right? Leave it to me—no, leave it to Linghu Chong, and it’ll be fine…” Zheng Jian thought. He longed to shoulder that responsibility, but lacking the “Nine Swords of Dugu,” he simply couldn’t muster the dedication needed to master the ordinary techniques of Mount Hua.

“If it were the ‘Nine Swords of Dugu,’ I’d risk half my life for it,” Zheng Jian told himself.

On the road down the mountain, Zheng Jian chatted absently with little Linghu Chong, his thoughts wandering far beyond their mundane conversation.

He was the very picture of “the Lord who loved dragons”—full of longing in theory, but in practice, he shied away from the real thing.

In his past life, he’d fantasized about learning martial arts, but now, in the world of swordsmen, he found himself just as lazy as he’d been with his studies before.

No matter where he went, he couldn’t escape his laid-back nature.

Before long, the two returned to the foot of the mountain. As they entered the courtyard, they saw Yue Buqun in his azure robe, hands behind his back, folding fan in hand, the very image of grace. But at the sight of Zheng Jian, Yue Buqun’s face, already tinged with purple, began to darken further.

Zheng Jian’s heart skipped a beat and he hurried forward to pay his respects. “Greetings, Master.”

Old Yue snorted coldly. “You spend all day neglecting your training, running about—tell me, how is your internal practice coming along?”

Zheng Jian quickly turned his head. “Second Brother, Master is asking you!”

Linghu Chong pouted but obediently replied, “I just made a breakthrough two days ago.”

Old Yue’s face darkened further. “I was asking you, Zheng Jian!”

Zheng Jian was instantly embarrassed. Linghu Chong had joined half a year after him and was already making progress—how could Zheng Jian admit his own slacking? His eyes darted toward the backyard. “Mistress! Ah, I’m starving!”

With that, he dashed away.

Old Yue stood there, his face iron-dark, muttering “eldest disciple, eldest disciple” to calm himself. He found this cunning boy an endless headache.

…

(End of Chapter One)