Merak Palace, located in a remote region of the Celestial Dragon Empire, was built upon a snow-capped mountain.
It boasted a legacy hundreds of years old, yet within the vast Celestial Dragon Empire, it was merely a lower-mid tier sect. Merak Palace was home to nearly a thousand disciples, most of whom were women, each one a stunning beauty.
With so many female disciples, even amid the swirling snow and barren, plantless landscape, they were like a garden of beautiful flowers blooming in defiance of winter, creating a spectacular view.
Though Merak Palace's influence was only average, its abundance of women made it a popular place for disciples from other sects to find themselves a life partner.
At this moment, amidst the swirling snow, numerous female disciples practiced with longswords in the training grounds. Their spirited cries echoed throughout Merak Palace, sounding like a captivating melody.
Beneath the sound of their synchronized, powerful shouts, the winter chill seemed to lose some of its bite.
Meanwhile, in one of Merak Palace's courtyards, a pale-faced young man wildly brandished a wooden spear, thrusting forward again and again with frantic energy.
Each thrust seemed to drain him completely, pouring every last ounce of his strength into the attack. As a snowflake drifted down, one of his sharp thrusts shattered it into countless tiny white specks that scattered to the winds.
After a few more thrusts, he stopped, gasping for breath, and raised his head to look at the sky.
In a daze, his thoughts drifted to the memories of his past life.
...
His name was Yi Tianyun, and he was a video game fanatic. One stormy night, a bolt of lightning struck, and he lost consciousness.
In his final moments, he was certain he was about to die. It would have been a miracle to survive a direct hit from such a terrifying lightning strike.
When he came to his senses, he found himself in this new world, his mind flooded with a host of strange memories. The original owner of this body had died from cultivating too hard, a consequence of his exceptionally poor constitution. And now, here he was, doing the exact same thing.
He knew that if he didn't, he wouldn't last much longer. His body was just that fragile.
'Is there really no other way?'
His face was pale and his body frail. He wasn't burly like other Cultivators; instead, he looked as delicate as a young woman, so fragile it seemed a single touch might break him.
"Hah!"
With a great shout, he thrust forward with all his might. A vortex of air shot from the spear's tip, blasting apart a nearby snowdrift. The snow burst into the air, once again becoming a cloud of countless beautiful flakes that drifted slowly back to the ground.
The pale hue of his skin was hardly any different from the snow itself.
His skin was frighteningly pale, completely devoid of Blood Qi—a fatal flaw for any Martial Artist.
A Martial Artist without Blood Qi was not only destined for a short life, but it was also impossible for them to ever become truly powerful.
It was like trying to live without blood. How was that possible? The young man was in exactly this state: pale, lacking Blood Qi, and on the verge of dying an early death at any moment.
To practice martial arts in his condition was simply rushing into an early grave. Thus, what he did could barely be called exercise, let alone martial training.
"COUGH, COUGH, COUGH..."
His face suddenly flushed crimson—a rare touch of color—as a violent coughing fit forced him to his knees.
He was no Martial Artist; he was just a sickly invalid. He had pushed himself too hard just now, and his body couldn't withstand it.
"Ah, Young Master, you're out training again! You're going to injure yourself!"
A female attendant came running out of a nearby palace. She looked at the endlessly coughing young man, her eyes holding a hint of blame, but far more concern.
She quickly grabbed a cloak from nearby and draped it over his shoulders. He was dressed lightly for his training, wearing next to nothing.
To be dressed so sparsely in this freezing weather, one was either a madman or had a death wish.
"Lian, I'm fine. I just wanted to stretch my muscles a bit..."
Yi Tianyun suppressed his cough and forced a smile onto his pale face, trying to show he was alright.
He had another identity: Young Master of Merak Palace. The current Palace Master was his aunt—not by blood, but his mother's sworn sister. His mother had entrusted him to her for safekeeping, and her own whereabouts remained a mystery.
As he spoke, he pushed himself to his feet without any help from Lian, as if to prove he was truly fine.
Lian looked him over from head to toe, only letting out a small sigh of relief when she confirmed that Yi Tianyun seemed unharmed.
Then she said, "The Palace Master sent me to bring you to the main hall. I was looking all over for you. I should have known you'd be out here training... Young Master, I know you want to train, but in your condition, if you keep pushing yourself like this..."
She trailed off, unable to bring herself to finish the sentence.
"If I keep training, I'll die. Is that what you were going to say?"
Yi Tianyun gave a nonchalant smile, his tone unexpectedly carefree. "I've always known. My body doesn't have a shred of Blood Qi, and a Martial Artist without it isn't even qualified to train. But I refuse to let it end like this. I refuse to believe that the heavens can be so cruel!"
His innate talent wasn't bad, but the lack of Blood Qi was a fatal problem. No matter how gifted he was, without Blood Qi, he wouldn't even have a life to live. What good was talent then?
"Young Master..."
Lian's eyes grew red. She was a few years older than Yi Tianyun and had practically watched him grow up. If he were to die just like that, she would be heartbroken for the rest of her life.
"Enough talk. Let's hurry to the main hall. I wonder what Aunt wants with me."