The air in the bustling market town of Havenport hummed with the vibrant discord of a thousand lives intertwined. The scent of roasted skewers mingled with the sharp tang of medicinal herbs from the apothecaries, and the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer punctuated the chatter of merchants hawking their wares. Above it all, the towering, majestic peaks of the Sky-Piercing Sword Sect loomed, their snow-capped summits piercing the cerulean sky like ancient, watchful sentinels. For most of Havenport's inhabitants, the Sky-Piercing Sword Sect was a beacon of hope, a symbol of power and prestige, the ultimate aspiration for any young soul yearning to transcend the mundane. For sixteen-year-old Long Futian, it was merely another monument to his despair.
He sat hunched on a weathered wooden bench outside the sect's outer examination hall, the rough-hewn timber digging uncomfortably into his lean frame. His clothes, though clean, were patched and worn, a testament to his life as an orphan. His dark hair, usually a messy mop, felt heavier today, laden with the dust of humiliation. Just moments ago, he had faced Elder Guan, a severe-faced man whose aura of cultivated power felt like a physical weight pressing down on him. The elder's words, devoid of malice but dripping with professional dismissal, echoed in his mind, sharp and precise as a freshly honed blade: "Long Futian. Your spirit root is, unfortunately, of the mixed affinity. While not entirely useless, it is too impure, too scattered for the disciplined path of our Sky-Piercing Sword Sect. We seek focused talent, not... diluted potential. You are unfit."
Unfit. The word resonated with every rejection he had ever faced since he was old enough to understand his predicament. Every sect, every master he'd approached over the years, had given him the same assessment, albeit with varying degrees of politeness. His mixed spirit root wasn't a rare, powerful combination, but a jumble of disparate energies—a flicker of fire, a whisper of water, a hint of earth, all warring within his spiritual channels, preventing any true flow of Qi. It was like a fractured prism, unable to focus light into a single, potent beam. In a world where cultivation was everything, where power determined destiny, a mixed spirit root was a death sentence to ambition. It meant a life of struggle, of being relegated to the fringes, never truly touching the grand paths walked by the powerful cultivators who soared through the skies or shattered mountains with a flick of their wrist.
He clenched his fists, knuckles white against his pale skin. He wasn't weak. He'd survived on the streets of Havenport since he could remember, learning to be resourceful, quick-witted, and resilient. But this problem, the very essence of his being in this world, felt insurmountable. He saw other youths, some younger than him, exiting the examination hall with beaming smiles, clutching jade tokens signifying their acceptance. Their joy was a bitter poison in his heart. He felt a familiar, aching loneliness, a yearning for something more than just survival. He longed to cultivate, not just for power, but for a sense of purpose, for the feeling of control over his own destiny. More than that, he yearned for a family, a place where he belonged, where he wasn't an orphan constantly reminded of his inherent flaws. The grand ideal of a Longevity Family, with generations living under one roof, sharing wisdom and protecting one another, was a distant, painful dream for someone who couldn't even step onto the first rung of the cultivation ladder.
A sigh escaped his lips, carrying with it the heavy weight of his sixteen years. The sun began its slow descent, painting the western sky in hues of orange and purple. The crowds thinned, and the air grew cooler. Futian pushed himself up from the bench, his legs stiff. There was no point in lingering. He had to figure out what meager job he could pick up tomorrow to buy another bowl of rice gruel. The thought was soul-crushing. His entire life seemed destined to be a mundane cycle of struggle, a stark contrast to the thrilling tales of heroes and immortals that filled the common stories. He imagined the vastness of the Mortal World, filled with hidden dangers and incredible opportunities, all locked away from him by his cursed spirit root. He often felt like an unwitting spectator in a grand play, forever trapped outside the theater.
He wandered aimlessly for a while, the noise of the market fading as he entered the quieter residential streets. His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it. His mind was too occupied with the familiar sting of injustice. Why him? Why was he given a body that yearned for cultivation, a soul that craved belonging, only to be denied the very means to achieve it? He knew of no cultivation manual that could accommodate a spirit root as chaotic as his.
All the orthodox methods required a focused affinity – fire, water, earth, metal, wood – or at least a balanced dual-affinity. His was a tangled mess, a discordant symphony of elemental energies that refused to harmonize. Every attempt he'd made, even simple Qi gathering exercises he'd gleaned from overheard conversations, had ended in discomfort or a dull ache in his spiritual channels.
He found himself walking towards the outskirts of Havenport, where the last cluster of ramshackle huts gave way to wilder, untamed lands. There was a small, secluded grove there, nestled beside a trickling stream, where ancient, gnarled trees formed a natural canopy. It was his sanctuary, a place he came to lick his wounds and dream impossible dreams. The air here was cooler, cleaner, carrying the scent of damp earth and verdant foliage.
He settled beneath the largest tree, its rough bark a familiar comfort against his back. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind, to push away the bitterness. He wished for a guide, a mentor, anything that could show him a path, any path, out of this stagnant existence. He was tired of surviving. He wanted to live. He wanted to cultivate. He wanted to build something that would last, something to be proud of, something that transcended his lonely, discarded past. He wanted a family, a real one, not just a distant, unachievable ideal. He wanted his own Longevity Clan, filled with his descendants, all cultivating, all supporting each other under one roof, free from the prejudices of the outside world.
It was in this moment, amidst the quiet desperation of his silent plea, that something changed.
A soft, almost imperceptible hum began to vibrate within his very bones. It wasn't a sound he heard with his ears, but something deeper, a resonance within his soul. His eyes, still closed, snapped open. The familiar dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves seemed to shift, coalesce. Then, the hum solidified into a distinct, melodious "ding!" – a chime so pure, so resonant, it felt as if it had echoed from the very fabric of existence.
Before his widening eyes, shimmering into being from nothingness, was a sight that defied all logic and every principle of this cultivation world he knew. A golden, holographic interface materialized directly in his line of sight. It hung in the air, translucent yet utterly solid, composed of intricate, swirling lines of pure light that pulsed with a soft, ethereal glow. It wasn't a projection; it felt like a part of his vision, yet undeniably external, floating just beyond his reach. The golden hue was mesmerizing, like solidified starlight, warm and inviting.
Long Futian blinked, then rubbed his eyes roughly, convinced he was either hallucinating from exhaustion or had finally lost his mind. But the interface remained, unwavering, its golden luminescence illuminating the surrounding foliage with a gentle aura. He instinctively reached out, his fingers passing through the light as if it were smoke, yet he felt a strange, undeniable connection to it.
Then, the first words appeared on the glowing golden screen, directly centered in his vision:
[Ding! Detecting high potential cultivator lacking fundamental method. Initiating Lineage Establishment System. Welcome, Host Long Futian. Transmigration complete.]
His mind reeled. "Transmigration complete?" The words struck him like a bolt of lightning, instantly unlocking a flood of fragmented memories. Flashes of another world—concrete jungles, flying machines, glowing rectangles he'd called 'phones,' and a pervasive sense of loneliness—swam to the surface of his consciousness. It was fleeting, like trying to grasp smoke, but the realization was profound. He wasn't just an orphan from this world; he was from another place, another time. He was a transmigrator. This explained so much, yet explained nothing at all. He had always felt an inexplicable difference, a slight detachment, as if he viewed this world through a thin veil. Now, the veil was lifted.
But the System… a "Lineage Establishment System"? What was that? And "Host"? Was he... chosen?
Another block of text appeared, shifting with a soft, almost imperceptible rustle of golden light:
[System Purpose: To assist Host in cultivating a powerful, multi-generational Longevity Clan, fostering a lineage of unparalleled talent and influence. All functions are designed to nurture and strengthen Host's bloodline and family unit.]
Beneath that, a new prompt:
[Newbie Gift Pack available! Would Host like to open it?]
Futian stared. This was too much, too sudden, too perfect. This wasn't a sect's cold rejection; this was an answer, tailored specifically to his deepest desires. A system that helped him build a clan? A lineage? His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of disbelief and burgeoning hope.
He focused his mind, instinctively understanding that this interface responded to his thoughts. Yes, he willed. Open the Newbie Gift Pack!
The golden interface rippled like disturbed water. A small, exquisite golden box, intricately carved with symbols he didn't recognize but felt ancient and powerful, appeared within the holographic display. With another "ding!", the box clicked open, revealing its contents.
[Congratulations, Host! You have received:]
[1x 'Roots of Unity' Mixed Spirit Root Cultivation Manual (Foundation Stage)]
[10x Initial Qi Condensing Pills (Grade 1)]
A gasp escaped his lips. A cultivation manual specifically for mixed spirit roots! He had searched, begged, even stolen scraps of information, and never found such a thing. And pills to aid cultivation! This was not just hope; it was a miracle.
The System's voice, a calm, benevolent presence, spoke directly into his mind. It wasn't a voice he heard with his ears, but an internal resonance, clear and reassuring, like a wise elder speaking directly to his soul.
"Host Long Futian, your journey begins now. The path to establishing your Longevity Clan will be arduous, but with diligence and perseverance, you shall overcome. This manual, 'Roots of Unity,' is tailored to harmonize your unique spiritual energies, allowing you to cultivate effectively."
As the voice spoke, the manual and the bottle of pills materialized from the golden interface, appearing with a soft thud in his open palm. The manual was thin, bound in soft, supple leather, its pages filled with elegant script and intricate diagrams. The pills, small and smooth, emanated a subtle spiritual warmth. They felt real, tangible, proof that this wasn't a dream.
"Your first step is crucial," the System's voice continued, its tone unwavering. "The foundations you lay now will determine the strength of your future lineage."
Then, a new section appeared on the golden interface,
prominently displayed under a new tab labeled [Quests]:
[Quest: Initiate Qi Cultivation.]
[Objective: Successfully complete the first cycle of Qi Condensation as outlined in the 'Roots of Unity' manual.]
[Reward: 50 System Points, Basic Martial Skill: 'Flowing Cloud Fist'.]
Long Futian's eyes gleamed. A quest! Like in the games from his previous life, yet terrifyingly, exhilaratingly real. System Points, a currency he assumed, and a martial skill. This was a system, a guide, a mentor – everything he had ever desperately longed for. It was benevolent, providing him with the tools he needed, not demanding impossible feats. And it was all tied to his dream of building a clan.
He glanced at the Status tab, mentally willing it to open. A wave of golden light pulsed, and a new screen appeared, displaying his current information:
[Status]
Name: Long Futian
Age: 16
Cultivation Level: Uncultivated (Mortal)
Spirit Root: Mixed (Fire, Water, Earth, Wood, Metal – Low Harmony)
Physique: Common Mortal Physique
Strength: 8
Dexterity: 9
Constitution: 7
Intelligence: 12
Wisdom: 11
Charisma: 6
System Points: 0
A pang of slight disappointment at his low stats quickly faded. He was starting from rock bottom, but now he had a ladder. The "Low Harmony" next to his spirit root was a stark reminder of his past struggles, but the manual was supposed to fix that. He opened the Cultivation Level tab, seeing a list of the Mortal World stages: Martial Apprentice (9 stages), Martial Disciple (9 stages), and so on, all the way to Martial Emperor. And beyond that, the Immortal World stages, glimmering in the distance. The sheer scale of the journey stretched out before him, daunting yet exhilarating.
He then checked the Inventory tab. It was empty save for the manual and pills, but it looked like a standard game inventory, a grid of empty slots. The Shop tab was greyed out, likely requiring System Points to unlock or purchase anything. The Clan tab was also mostly empty, just showing his name as the sole member, but it hinted at the Lineage Tree and other future functions, filled with empty spaces for future family members.
This was real. This was his chance. The feeling of utter despair that had clung to him just moments ago evaporated, replaced by a surge of determined energy. The System was his secret, his greatest advantage in a world that had spat him out. He would not squander it. He would cultivate, he would grow, and he would build his Longevity Clan, a family that would stand strong against all odds, guided by the very power that had saved him from oblivion.
He sat cross-legged beneath the ancient tree, the 'Roots of Unity' manual open on his lap, the Qi Condensing Pills in his hand. The golden glow of the System, visible only to him, pulsed gently, like a silent, encouraging heartbeat. His journey had truly begun.