Jake Thompson died on a Tuesday.
It wasn't dramatic. No heroic last stand, no tearful goodbye, no slow-motion replay of his life flashing before his eyes. Just another overtime shift that bled into 2 a.m., another flat energy drink, another walk home because the car had finally coughed its last breath two weeks earlier.
He stepped off the curb without looking.
The delivery truck didn't even slow down.
The impact was instantaneous—metal meeting flesh at 60 km/h. No pain, no scream, just a sudden blackout like someone yanked the plug on existence itself.
When consciousness returned, it didn't come with hospital lights or the smell of disinfectant. It came with the heavy scent of sandalwood incense, polished cedar, and the coppery undercurrent of dried blood.
His eyelids felt heavy, but not from injury—from disuse, as though the body hadn't been awake in days.
He sat up slowly.
The room was dimly lit by floating qi lanterns that cast soft amber glows across wooden beams and silk hangings. A low table held a jade teapot and an untouched cup. The bed beneath him was wide, canopied in crimson silk embroidered with coiling dragons. Expensive. Old. Faded.
Jake looked down at himself.
No beer gut. No slouched shoulders. Lean muscle under pale skin. Long black hair falling into his eyes. Hands that looked strong, fingers calloused from sword grips rather than keyboard typing.
He flexed them experimentally. The joints moved smoothly, no arthritis, no carpal tunnel. Power hummed faintly beneath the skin—like a dormant engine waiting for ignition.
"What the hell…?"
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. The silk robe whispered against skin that felt strangely sensitive, alive in a way his old body never had. He crossed to the bronze mirror standing in the corner.
The face staring back was not his own.
Sharp jawline. High cheekbones. Piercing dark eyes framed by thick lashes. Handsome in that effortless, dangerous xianxia way—beautiful enough to make people jealous, strong enough to make them afraid.
Memories flooded in, not gently, but like a dam bursting.
Huo Xuanyang. Nineteen years old. Third young master of the Huo Clan, once a minor power in the southern provinces of the Azure Mystic Continent. Two years ago, during a "friendly" spar with his cousin Huo Tianlong, his meridians had been deliberately shattered. Dantian cracked. Spirit roots crippled. Cultivation base plummeted to Qi Condensation Layer 1—barely enough to sense heaven-and-earth qi, let alone gather it.
Since then: endless mockery, open bullying, servants who "forgot" to bring food, cousins who "accidentally" tripped him in the halls. The engagement to Su Qing霜, daughter of the powerful Su Clan, had become a joke—everyone knew she intended to annul it the moment she reached Foundation Establishment.
Classic trash young master template. The kind Jake had read about in webnovels during lunch breaks.
He laughed—once, sharply.
"So this is it. Isekai'd into the body of a cultivation world loser. Classic."
Before the existential crisis could fully take root, a glowing interface materialized directly in his field of vision. Crimson borders. Gold text. Pink heart accents pulsing like a dating app notification from hell.
**[Ultimate Dual Cultivation System – Activated!]**
**Host: Huo Xuanyang (Soul: Jake Thompson)**
**Current Cultivation: Qi Condensation Layer 1 (Crippled Trash – Even the dogs pity you)**
**Harem Count: 0 (Virgin Loser – System is judging you)**
**Congratulations on your death and rebirth! Old life sucked. New life can be paradise—if you figure out how to use your dick as a cultivation cheat.**
**Core Mechanic: Dual Cultivation = Yang Essence + Yin Harmony = Exponential Breakthroughs**
**First Mission: Seduce and dual cultivate with your fiancée, Su Qing霜.**
**Reward: Breakthrough to Qi Condensation Layer 5 + 250 Harem Points + Random Yin Technique Scroll**
**Failure Penalty: 14-day Impotence Curse (limp forever—don't test us)**
**Shop Unlocked at 250 Points. Start collecting jade beauties, host!**
Jake—now Huo Xuanyang—stared at the floating text. Then he laughed again, louder this time, head thrown back.
"A harem system? Explicit dual cultivation? Truck-kun, you magnificent, murderous bastard… I forgive you."
He paced the room, testing the body. Every step felt lighter, stronger. The meridians were blocked, yes—but the potential was there, coiled like a spring waiting to be released. He could almost feel the qi in the air brushing against his skin, hungry to be drawn in.
A knock rattled the door—sharp, impatient.
"Young Master Huo!" The voice belonged to a servant girl, barely hiding her contempt. "The elders summon you to the main hall. Don't embarrass the clan again with your uselessness."
Huo Xuanyang grinned at his reflection.
"Time to stop being trash," he muttered. "And start building something eternal."
He straightened the silk robe, ran a hand through his long black hair, and opened the door.
The servant girl—sixteen or seventeen, plain robes, wide eyes—froze when she saw him.
He looked… different.
Not just the posture. Not just the lack of the usual defeated slump. Something in his eyes had changed. They were sharper, brighter, almost predatory.
"Young Master…?" she stammered.
"Lead the way," he said mildly.
She nodded quickly and hurried ahead, stealing glances over her shoulder as though expecting him to collapse at any moment.
The Huo Clan compound was sprawling: courtyards lined with spirit bamboo, training fields where disciples practiced sword forms in neat rows, pavilions floating on small artificial lakes. Qi lanterns drifted like fireflies. In the distance, misty mountains rose—classic cultivation world scenery.
But Huo Xuanyang barely noticed.
His attention was locked on the mission window still hovering in his vision.
**[Harem Target Detected: Su Qing霜]**
**Compatibility: 68% (Tsundere Ice Type – High Yin Purity)**
**Current Status: Engaged (reluctantly). Annulment pending.**
**Hint: She despises weakness. Show strength. Compliment her hidden heat. Tsunderes melt when you see through their facade.**
He smirked.
"Challenge accepted."
The main hall doors loomed ahead—massive red-lacquered wood carved with blazing suns and chained dragons. Guards in Huo Clan armor stood at attention, spears glinting.
They stared at him as he approached. One actually blinked in confusion.
"Young Master Huo…?"
Huo Xuanyang walked past without slowing.
"Announcement," he said casually. "The cripple is here."
The guards exchanged looks but opened the doors anyway.
Inside, the atmosphere was thick with incense and judgment.
Elders sat on the raised platform. Younger clan members lined the walls. And in the very center, like a blade of frost thrust into warm flesh, stood Su Qing霜.
She turned slowly.
Crimson ponytail swaying. Ice-blue eyes narrowing. Frost mist curling around her feet.
She looked at him the way one might look at a disappointing stain on silk.
"So," she said, voice cutting through the silence, "the trash finally crawled out of his hole."
Huo Xuanyang stopped five paces away.
He let his gaze travel—slowly, deliberately—from the silver phoenix hairpin down the flowing crimson-and-white robes, lingering just long enough on the dramatic curves hidden beneath to make a point, then back up to her face.
"Qing霜," he said, voice low and warm. "You look even more breathtaking up close. That frost aura of yours… it's doing interesting things to the temperature in here."
Her ears turned pink.
She noticed immediately.
Her hand twitched toward Bingfeng's hilt.
The elders stirred. Whispers rippled through the hall.
Huo Xuanyang smiled.
This was going to be fun