The first thing Alex noticed wasn't the pain.
It was the smell.
Thick, wet straw. Mildew. Old piss soaked into dirt floor. A faint metallic tang of blood long dried. Rain dripping through a thousand tiny holes in the thatched roof, pattering onto his cheek like cold spit. The air tasted sour and heavy, the way a room smells when no one has opened a window in months.
He tried to sit up.
His legs refused.
Not the dramatic refusal of paralysis in movies—no dramatic numbness, no clean break. Just grinding, bone-deep agony that radiated from ankles to hips like someone had poured molten lead into the marrow and let it cool wrong. Every tiny twitch sent fresh needles up his spine. He wheezed—a thin, reedy sound that made him hate the throat producing it.
He was lying on a filthy straw mat in what passed for a hut. One wall was half-rotted planks, the other was packed mud patched with straw and shit. A single oil lamp flickered on a crate, throwing long shadows that made the room look even smaller and more miserable.
Voices drifted through the wall—coarse, laughing, uncaring.
"…that crippled fuck still alive in there?"
"Caravan comes at first light. They'll take anything that can carry a sack. Three coppers at best."
"Waste of food. Should've just slit his throat last winter."
Laughter. Boots squelching away through mud.
Alex—Alexei now—closed his eyes and let the panic roll over him like cold water.
This was real.
Not a dream. Not a coma hallucination.
He had jumped. He remembered the railing, the rain, the moment gravity stopped being polite. And now he was here, in the body of a nineteen-year-old cripple who was about to be sold into slavery in some xianxia backwater village.
He should have felt despair.
He should have felt terror.
Instead… something else flickered.
A tiny, vicious spark.
Because this body might be broken, but the mind inside it was still his. And that mind had spent ten years marinating in every power fantasy ever written. He knew the script. He knew the tropes. He knew exactly what kind of world this was supposed to be.
And in every single one of those stories, the loser started at the absolute bottom.
So maybe—just maybe—this was the beginning of the montage.
He lay there breathing shallowly, cataloguing the differences.
The pain was worse than anything he'd felt on Earth.
The cold was deeper.
The hunger gnawed sharper—his stomach hadn't been fed properly in days.
And yet…
He was still here.
Still thinking.
Still angry.
Angry at the villagers. Angry at the body that betrayed him. Angry at the universe that let him rot for twenty-five years only to dump him into a new cage.
But anger felt alive.
For the first time in years, something inside him felt alive.
He hated the hut.
He hated the smell.
He hated the laughter outside.
He hated how weak this body was.
But he didn't hate being here.
Not yet.
Because if this was real—if this was the start—then maybe the rules were different now. Maybe the world finally owed him something. Maybe the endless parade of nothing was over.
He was terrified.
He was in pain.
He was filthy, starving, and about to be sold like livestock.
But beneath all of it, a small, ugly, honest part of him whispered:
*At least something is happening.*
And that whisper felt more honest than any emotion he'd felt in the last five years on Earth.
He was still cataloguing the sensations—trying to decide whether he was happy or broken—when the blue light appeared.
It bloomed directly in his vision, clean and sharp like a game UI that didn't ask permission.
[Harem Emperor System – Activated]
The letters glowed electric blue, hovering an inch in front of his eyes, impossible to look away from.
A voice followed—cold, synthetic, faintly amused, dripping with the kind of smug confidence only a machine could pull off.
"Welcome, Host."
"Previous identity: Alex Turner. Age at death: 25. Cause: voluntary high-altitude exit."
"Current identity: Alexei of the ruined Clear Stream Clan. Age: 19. Status: Crippled. Virgin. Worth three copper coins to the next slaver caravan."
"Core directive: Become the ultimate Dual Cultivation Overlord."
"Method of ascension: Fuck. Conquer. Fuck harder. Conquer bigger."
"Pleasure is your ladder. Pussy is your currency. Every dripping cunt you claim becomes another brick in your empire."
Alex blinked.
His heart kicked hard against ruined ribs.
The interface shifted. New panels slid into view like greedy fingers.
[Initial Gift Unlocked]
Charm Aura (Trial Version)
→ Passively turns your presence into walking aphrodisiac.
→ Any woman within ten meters begins to feel her nipples stiffen, her clit throb, her cunt grow slick whether she wants to or not.
→ Duration of trial: Until first successful bond.
[First Mandatory Quest]
Objective: Form your First Bond
→ Seduce, fuck, and fill a woman until she screams your name and her womb drinks your seed.
→ The deeper she cums, the stronger the bond.
→ The harder she cums on your cock, the more Qi you steal from her core.
Rewards on completion:
→ Complete removal of Cripple status
→ +500 Pure Yang Qi
→ Permanent first harem slot
→ Bonded female receives minor cultivation boost and obsessive loyalty
→ Additional system functions will unlock
Failure condition: None.
Reminder: The heavens themselves bend for a man who can make a woman squirt rivers.
A new sensation arrived—low, liquid heat curling through his lower belly.
His cock—previously limp and useless in this ruined body—twitched.
Then thickened.
Then rose.
The erection was obscene in its suddenness. Thick veins pulsed along the shaft. The head flushed dark and glossy. A bead of pre-cum welled at the slit and slowly rolled down the underside like an invitation.
For the first time in this new life, Alex felt something other than pain between his legs.
He felt hunger.
Not the hollow kind in his stomach.
The kind that made his mouth water and his balls tighten.