The young boy remained leaned against the tree, his back pressed firmly to the rough bark, his breathing shallow and uneven. Confusion churned violently inside his mind. Nothing made sense. One moment he had been reduced to nothing under the Chaotic Black Thunder, and now he was here—alive, breathing, surrounded by strangers.
Then, without warning, a sharp pain exploded inside his head.
His eyes flew open, pupils shrinking as agony flooded his senses. This pain was different. It was not the overwhelming, destructive torment of the heavenly tribulation. This was something more intimate, more invasive, as if countless needles were stabbing directly into his soul.
He clenched his teeth and grabbed his head with both hands, fingers digging into his scalp. His shoulders trembled as he fought to suppress any sound.
This was unbearable.
Suddenly, fragments began surfacing in his mind.
Images. Voices. Emotions.
They did not belong to him.
Scenes of a poor village, endless training under the scorching sun, unyielding desire to rise above mediocrity surged into his consciousness. Each memory crashed into him like a wave, one after another, forcing itself into his awareness.
They were the memories of the original owner of this body.
So this is the guy whose body I'm using now… he thought, his expression twisting in pain. But why the fuck does my head hurt this much?
The pain intensified as the memories continued to merge.
Not far away, several disciples waiting for recruitment noticed his strange behavior. Their eyes flicked toward him, curiosity quickly turning into disdain. Whispered voices spread through the crowd.
"Hey, who is this guy?"
"Look at him, acting all weird."
"What a creep."
"Someone like him dares to come for the recruitment test?"
"Yeah, that's a fucking disgrace to the sect."
Their words stabbed into his ears, but he had no strength to react. Sweat trickled down his temples as the final pieces of memory settled into place.
His name.
Zhuo Huan.
So this body's name is Zhuo Huan… he thought, his face pale as the last wave of pain surged through his mind.
Then, slowly, the agony began to fade.
His breathing steadied. The pressure inside his head loosened. The memories stopped flooding in and instead arranged themselves neatly, as if they had always been there.
He exhaled deeply.
A faint smile appeared on his lips as he reviewed everything he had inherited.
I don't know how this kid died, he thought calmly, but now I'm in his body.
He pushed himself up from the tree and stood on his feet. His legs felt weak, unfamiliar, but functional. From not far away, he could still hear the whispers and mocking laughter of the disciples gathered on the platform.
He ignored them completely.
Cultivation is hard, he thought quietly. But this body's original owner wanted to join this sect more than anything. He worked his ass off for it. His parents supported him despite everything. I can't disappoint them.
With that thought, he lifted his head and walked toward the crowd.
As he moved, he sorted through the remaining memories. Everything confirmed it—this was still his world. The Dragon Continent.
Just not his body.
This kid never met me, he thought. And I'm already dead in my original body. If I want answers, I'll have to find them myself.
He quietly took his place at the very back of the crowd, standing in the last line, at the last position.
Lowering his gaze, he examined his current body more carefully.
Thin limbs. Weak meridians. Almost no visible spiritual qi.
Annoyance flashed through his eyes.
From my past life experience, he thought, cultivation is fucking worthless. Even if I reach the Mahayana Stage again, I won't be able to break the barrier between this world and the Immortal World. I already proved that.
This time… I'll just live peacefully.
Just as that thought settled, something strange stirred inside him.
He froze.
Focusing inward, he sensed his dantian.
It was empty.
No cultivation.
Yet… something was there.
A vast, unfathomable presence, compressed beyond measure, slumbering deep within his body. It was like a sealed ocean hidden inside a cracked jar.
His heart skipped a beat.
He probed further.
His body was weak—pathetically weak—but the power he sensed was unmistakable.
Ninth Level of the Mahayana Stage.
His eyes widened.
Wait… don't tell me my cultivation came with me into this body?
He examined himself again, more carefully this time. Understanding dawned slowly, followed by disbelief. His cultivation had not disappeared. It had been suppressed, restrained by this fragile body that simply could not bear it.
If his body grew stronger…
His cultivation would return.
Back to its peak.
A sharp breath escaped his lips.
What the fuck… he thought. This is crazy.
Zhuo Huan was still trying to comprehend the strange condition of his body when a surge of pressure rolled down from above. Five stair levels higher, two male senior disciples stood side by side, their robes fluttering as spiritual energy poured from them and spread across the platform like an invisible tide.
One of them, a man with a scar running close to the left side of his nose, spoke first. His tone was polite, yet it carried unquestionable authority. "From this moment onward, all disciples who have arrived may only participate in the recruitment test. The Celestial Dignity Sect Recruitment Test officially begins now."
The disciple beside him, a man with a mole centered on his forehead, smiled faintly as he continued, "I'll only say this once. To pass the recruitment, you must clear two tests. Fail either of the first two, and you will be immediately disqualified."
The scarred disciple stepped forward and added, "The first test is gravity pressure. The staircase we're standing on contains a gravity formation. For every twenty-five steps you climb, the gravity will double. To pass the first test, you must reach the fiftieth step within one hour."
As soon as his words fell, the crowd below erupted into noise. Some faces turned pale with fear, others burned with confidence.
"Can I really do that?"
"Please, God, I want to enter this sect."
"I'm so scared."
"Hah, this is easy. A piece of cake."
"It'll be hard, I think."
The disciple with the mole raised his hand slightly. "Your time starts now."
The moment he finished speaking, both senior disciples vanished from their positions, leaving only the crushing spiritual pressure behind.
The crowd instantly broke apart. Some disciples rushed toward the staircase, sprinting as if afraid a single second might cost them everything. Others chose to move slowly, conserving their stamina for the long climb ahead.
Zhuo Huan remained where he was for a brief moment, calmly watching the chaos unfold. As everyone began running or walking toward the stairs, he murmured to himself, "This is a great opportunity to train and strengthen my body through this formation."
He stepped forward at an unhurried pace, walking toward the staircase as a faintly evil smile crept across his face.
The moment Zhuo Huan placed his foot on the first stair, his expression changed.
Boom.
An invisible force slammed down on his body as if a mountain had suddenly been placed on his shoulders. His knees bent instantly, muscles trembling, bones creaking under the pressure. Zhuo Huan nearly fell forward, barely managing to steady himself by gripping the edge of the stair.
"So heavy…?"
His breathing turned rough in an instant. Compared to the others who had already rushed several steps ahead, his condition looked miserable. Sweat seeped out of his pores, his weak body screaming in protest.
"Hey, look at that guy!"
"Hahaha, he can't even stand on the first step."
"Is he here to take the test or to embarrass himself?"
From a higher platform, a few senior disciples who had stayed behind to observe sneered openly. Their eyes were filled with mockery.
"With that trash body, he won't even pass the first stair," one of them said coldly.
Zhuo Huan heard everything.
But instead of getting angry, he lowered his head and laughed softly.
"So this is gravity pressure… good."
He didn't move forward.
He didn't retreat either.
Right there on the first stair, Zhuo Huan slowly adjusted his breathing. His muscles tightened, veins bulging slightly as he circulated the faint spiritual energy within his body. Though thin and weak, his meridians began to warm under the constant pressure.
Crack.
A dull sound echoed from within him.
Pain surged through his limbs, but Zhuo Huan clenched his teeth and endured it. His muscles were being forced to adapt, compressed and reforged by the gravity formation.