Chapter 1: Not a Dream, Not a Blessing
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🕯️ Opening Quote:
> "The world doesn't owe you fairness. Stop waiting for your turn."
— Tian, Age 35
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Chapter 1 — Not a Dream, Not a Blessing
Tian groaned as his eyes fluttered open, pain creeping in before his consciousness fully settled. His breath came in short rasps, and everything was cold — not cold like a chilly winter morning under blankets, but cold like the kind that seeps into your bones and tells you you're sleeping in the dirt. The kind of cold that only comes when you've got nothing between you and the world.
His nostrils filled with the stench of sweat, dried piss, rot, and despair. It hit him harder than the cold.
He was lying in an alley.
Naked, almost.
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"What the fuck?"
He sat up abruptly — too fast — and a stabbing pain in his ribs made him collapse back onto the cobblestones. He hissed, one hand reaching to touch his side. Skin. Bruised. Dirty. Small.
Too small.
Too smooth.
Child-like.
What?
His eyes blinked rapidly, struggling to adjust to the dim light bleeding through broken wooden planks above him. Around him, discarded trash, the sort of refuse that even rats didn't find appetizing. A few kids his size — dirty, sleeping, snoring — huddled in a corner of what seemed to be an abandoned shack.
He looked down at his hands.
Small. Filthy. Bones pressing against skin.
Six... maybe seven years old?
His breath caught.
He wasn't home.
He wasn't in his shitty apartment.
He wasn't in his adult body.
And this... this wasn't a dream. He could feel pain. Real pain.
He wasn't lucid dreaming.
He wasn't tripping.
And no, this wasn't some hyper-real VR experience. He couldn't afford that even in his dreams.
No phone.
No mirror.
No clothes — save for a ragged cloth barely tied around his waist like some medieval diaper.
"This isn't a dream."
And then, as if on cue, his memories flooded in.
Not the memories of this child.
His own.
All of them.
Working temp jobs.
Buying discount cup noodles.
Avoiding credit collectors.
His small victories — pirating Soul Land manhua chapters and binge-reading late into the night.
Tang San. Spirit Hall. Martial Souls. Spirit Rings. Soul Beasts.
The whole plot of Douluo Dalu 1 through 5 came back to him in perfect clarity.
That's when the shiver ran down his spine.
That name.
Spirit Hall.
The strongest religious cult on the continent.
A political superpower.
Bibi Dong — the Pope.
Tang San — the God of Sea and Asura.
And he — Tian — a random beggar child on the street of what was definitely not Earth.
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Part I: Social Instincts Kick In
The noise outside the shack pulled him from his racing thoughts.
Kids — real kids — yelling.
"Old Su's coming! He's really here!"
"Awakening day is today, stupid!"
"He's gonna give us martial souls!"
"Maybe I'll get a dragon!"
Tian staggered up.
He peeked out from a wooden plank gap in the wall.
Villagers. Dirty ones. Tattered robes. Leather sandals. A few looked better off — worn boots, a silver coin pouch, a wooden staff. Nothing looked modern.
Then he saw the man they were all surrounding.
Su Yuntao.
Holy fuck, he recognized him.
Dark green robes. Spirit Hall insignia. That long, stupid silver staff. And those small, sharp eyes like a rat pretending to be important.
Su. Yuntao.
The starter-pack spirit master who awakens kids' martial souls.
This was the beginning.
This was Holy Soul Village.
And this was the fucking start of Soul Land 1.
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Part II: Awakening and a Humiliation
Tian scrambled.
He followed the other orphans — at least six of them — toward the village center where the awakening ritual would happen.
He was trembling. Not out of fear. Out of anticipation.
Every transmigrator had one.
That golden finger.
A cheat.
A blessing.
A divine martial soul.
Surely his would awaken now.
He'd walk the same path as Tang San — maybe better.
He'd laugh last.
He lined up.
One kid got a sickle. Another got a hoe. One girl got a cooking spoon. Useless martial souls. All spirit power zero.
Then came him.
Su Yuntao placed the crystal orb in front of him.
Tian placed his small palm on the orb.
A glow. Dim. Weak. Almost imperceptible.
And then — materialization.
A chunk of rusted metal. Dirty brown. Bent. Sharp-edged. No shine.
Everyone laughed.
One boy yelled, "Look, he got trash! What is that, a broken pan?"
Another girl shrieked, "No! It's worse! It's junk metal! It doesn't even have shape!"
Su Yuntao frowned. "Martial Soul: Unknown. Appears to be… scrap iron. Spirit power: 0.2."
Silence.
Then laughter.
From kids. Adults. Even Yuntao almost smirked.
Tian blinked.
0.2.
Not one. Not zero. 0.2.
The system minimum was 1 to get the spirit master license.
He didn't qualify.
This couldn't be happening.
Not again.
Not this life.
But he wasn't without pride.
He fell to his knees and begged.
Begged Yuntao for a license.
Lied. Talked. Reasoned.
"Please… please. I feel power inside. I-I swear I'll work hard! You said yourself I have something!"
He used every social tactic in the book.
Sympathy. Logic. Flattery. Obedience.
After long hesitation — mostly to avoid a scene — Su Yuntao threw him a half-burned parchment.
Spirit Master ID. Rank 0.
Marked as:
> Tian
Age: 6
Martial Soul: Scrap Iron
Innate Spirit Power: 1 (Rounded Up)
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Part III: Trash of the Village
The news spread.
The boy with a trash soul.
The lowest of the low.
He was mocked.
Spat on.
Some adults whispered: "Should've just let him starve."
Kids chased him, threw rocks, tried to take his food.
He endured.
He always endured.
Then he remembered.
Tang San.
If he could reach Tang San, things would turn.
The boy genius. The plot-armored hero.
He'd tail him.
Copy his steps.
Steal his fate.
And if the gods were merciful — replace him.
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Part IV: Tracking the Protagonist
He eavesdropped on the village elder — Old Jack — praising Tang San.
He stole maps from merchants. Got beaten.
Snuck food from farmers. Got caught. Almost executed.
Escaped, barely.
Five days of crawling, begging, and bleeding.
He reached Holy Soul Village.
Starved. Dirtied. Hollow.
He collapsed at Old Jack's gate.
Begged.
Pled.
Wasn't even pretending anymore.
He just wanted to live.
Old Jack let him stay — barely.
No respect. No affection.
He was a stray dog allowed to curl near the fire — but not at the fire.
And when he tried to approach Tang San?
Stone cold.
Indifference.
Disgust.
Tang San didn't buy the "I'm your fan" act. Not even a little.
Then one night…
Tang San called him out.
Offered him "help."
Tian followed.
They walked to the riverbank.
There were no stars.
Only cold steel in Tang San's eyes.
Tian knew.
Too late.
He got beaten.
Broken nose. Cracked jaw.
"This world doesn't need dead weight," Tang San said.
He raised his hand for the killing blow.
Tian coughed blood and scrambled.
Voices. Villagers.
Tang San couldn't risk it.
So he smiled. Knocked Tian out.
Threw his body into the river.
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Part V: Death and Awakening
He didn't die.
He drifted.
Floated.
Drowned.
Burned.
Froze.
But he didn't die.
His eyes opened in the mud of a distant riverbank.
Every part of his body hurt.
But his soul burned.
He screamed.
Cursed.
Laughed.
"You think this is over?"
He crawled.
And that night — his true Martial Soul responded.
Not a broken pan.
But a piece.
A barrel.
Of a gun.
SIG MCX SPEAR.
His golden finger was real.
Not divine.
Not flashy.
Not unlimited.
But enough.
With time, spirit power, and hatred — he would assemble it.
And when he did?
Tang San would be the first target.
And then Spirit Hall.
And then the world.
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[To Be Continued in Chapter 2: "The Trigger and the Hunt"]