Inside the lavishly decorated carriage, Zong Shou stared expressionlessly at the round mirror before him.

The reflection showed clearly an adolescent boy, perhaps thirteen years old, with a pale complexion, yet possessing rare, exquisitely refined handsomeness.

A pair of narrow phoenix eyes shimmered with light, though currently they held a touch of bitterness and helplessness.

He distinctly remembered, only a short while ago, possessing an utterly unremarkable, common face—the kind that would vanish instantly in a crowd. His identity was merely that of an administrator in the library of a small kingdom’s capital city in the Cloud Realm, living day-to-day, his status utterly ordinary.

Yet, upon waking from this 'dream,' his body had transformed into this handsome man. Though somewhat sickly and frail, he was undoubtedly handsome of the highest order. Even the top male stars renowned for their looks in his past life couldn't compare. If anything was lacking, it was merely the bearing, the qi.

But now, Zong Shou felt no joy, only a profound sense of distress and helplessness.

It was like a fish, once free to roam the vast ocean, suddenly finding itself stranded on dry land.

Beyond the suffocating strangeness and the astonishment, there was a consuming feeling of fear and isolation.

Refusing to give up hope, Zong Shou forcefully pinched his own cheek, immediately feeling a sharp sting of pain. Naturally, he found no trace of cosmetic alteration on his face.

"—There's pain; this can't be a dream? But what exactly is my status now? And where is this godforsaken place?"

'Zong Shou' was the name etched into the memories of this body. He had a different name in his former life, but situated in this time and place, that name held no significance for him now.

Muttering to himself a few times, Zong Shou sighed and averted his gaze. Despair filled his chest, having completely given up hope of returning or 'waking up.'

In truth, he had inhabited this body for several days now. Nearly every time he woke from sleep, he repeated the actions just described. Today marked the seventh day.

Judging by the style of decoration inside the carriage, it seemed to be set in ancient times, yet it felt strangely out of place.

Pulling back the curtain again, he saw vast, endless plains outside, lush with vibrant greenery that soothed the chest. The air was crisp and refreshing, entirely free from the pollution of his own era.

Looking further down, he realized that although the carriage had wheels, it hovered three feet above the ground. The sixteen unicorn-horned horses pulling it in front also moved through the air, capable of rising and dipping smoothly.

Consequently, despite the carriage being immense—the cabin alone spanning forty square meters—it traversed any complex terrain as if it were flat ground.

Currently, no one was driving it; it sped straight ahead, rushing toward the distant horizon.

The numerous sword and blade marks scarring the carriage sides were also intensely noticeable.

Zong Shou felt a wave of dizziness and slumped onto the soft couch cushioned with velvet.

The horses were clearly tamed spirit-beasts, and the vehicle was a Cloud-Flipping Carriage. As far as he knew, both of these items only appeared in the Cloud Realm twelve thousand years prior—ancient relics from a distant past.

With a slight shift of thought, a cascade of memory images surfaced in his mind.

They were fragmented, incomplete. Many scripts and faces appeared. Sometimes he was practicing martial arts, sometimes studying. He witnessed life-or-death struggles and saw people flying and (moving through the earth). Furthermore, there was a colossal mountain piercing the sky, and an unbelievably large academy occupying more than half of a lake-island.

The experience was simultaneously alien and familiar, tinged with an elusive sense of dread. This mixture of feelings was incredibly bizarre.

Finally, deep within his mind, was the only segment of memory that remained completely intact. Countless mysterious characters were arranged together, forming a complete, whole book.

These characters were intimately familiar to him; he knew them like the back of his hand. He had dedicated considerable study to them during his student years, even publishing specialized theses on the subject.

“The Wuding Linghuang Jue [Indeterminate Spirit Emperor Art], and these demon scripts. Could it be that this place is truly the era ten thousand years ago when Martial Cultivators and Spirit Masters reigned supreme? The characteristics in these memories should not be wrong—”

Recalling the incantations and various spiritual energies practiced daily by those Spirit Masters in the fragmented memory of the academy, Zong Shou's lips twitched slightly, though his face remained utterly bewildered.

He had seen similar scenes before, but only within games.

In the later era of the Cloud Realm, private combat was banned, and the world's spiritual energy had dwindled, only remaining dense in special territories called 'Sacred Lands.' Martial arts and incantation practices began to decline, giving way to flourishing technology driven by the emergence of various machines.

However, the people of the Cloud Realm still carried down the spirit inherited from their ancestors who struggled against heaven and earth—a tenacious, combative instinct.

Unable to cultivate martial arts normally, they sought solace in virtual gaming worlds.

The most famous among these was a full-immersion holographic online game called Divine Emperor. It was rumored to have invited all contemporary martial arts masters still alive, along with hundreds of historical scholars, to perfectly recreate the era thirteen thousand years ago, before the coming of the Divine Emperor—an age teeming with heroes. The martial arts and incantation cultivation, even the daily life and customs, were rendered almost entirely real.

Yes, he remembered that his final consciousness in his past life was within the Divine Emperor game.

The Seven Emperors of the Cloud Realm were battling fiercely. He, alone with his sword, fought against countless powerful figures. But at the critical moment, a jolt of electricity surged through his body, and he lost all awareness.

When he awoke, he was in a different body. Everything before his eyes was no longer the familiar world.

So, was he in the game now, or in the actual era thirteen thousand years in the past?

His head spun once more, and Zong Shou simply let go of everything, resolving not to dwell on it.

Since he was idle inside this carriage anyway, Zong Shou took out a Qing Steel sword, about three feet long, and began practicing his swordsmanship in the relatively spacious cabin.

His footwork shifted forward and back, complementing his movements, causing sword light to flash within the modestly sized carriage.

Just as in his previous life, every stance, every foot placement, was precise down to the finest degree—virtually perfect.

However, after practicing this basic swordsmanship for only half an hour, Zong Shou was already panting, his entire body slick with cold sweat.

The light of the sword strikes inevitably wavered slightly. He relied solely on his innate, never-say-die conviction to force himself to keep going, preventing himself from collapsing onto the floor.

Only when every last reserve of strength was utterly depleted did Zong Shou cease his sword practice and sit heavily on the couch, gasping for breath.

When his intense concentration finally dispersed, he instantly felt a burning pain, as if his bones, limbs, and organs were being scorched by fire.

This action was not merely due to boredom; it stemmed from simple anxiety. This world and his own circumstances filled him with a pressing sense of crisis. He urgently needed to gain some strength, at least enough for self-preservation.

In his former life, for the sake of that game, he had researched and cultivated all foundational martial arts to the Grandmaster realm. Across the entire Cloud Realm, only about a thousand people had achieved this level.

He had already mastered the underlying sword principles and their variations. What he needed to do now was simply to make this body firmly memorize them, turning them into instinct.

But this body was terribly inadequate. Even ordinary practice was only sustained for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, his stamina less than half that of a normal person.

What was even more frustrating was that he couldn't cultivate the basic internal energy exercises at all.

It wasn't that Zong Shou’s body was truly weak. In fact, in terms of brute strength, agility, and quickness, he even surpassed ordinary people. Even his bone structure and five-element spiritual roots suggested he should be a genius. It was just that his physical stamina, for some unknown reason, was surprisingly weak.

However, through his explorations over these seven days, Zong Shou had begun to form some theories. It was likely due to the bloodline he carried: being a half-demon, a human-fox hybrid, which accounted for this handsome face, and which also resulted in such a weak constitution.

Furthermore, if he wasn't mistaken, both his paternal and maternal lineages must have extraordinary origins.

"The characteristics of the human bloodline are still unclear. But this demonic lineage is distinctly that of the Seven-Tailed Celestial Fox. Across the entire Cloud Realm, there might only be fewer than a hundred individuals with this lineage! If one side could suppress the other, it would be one thing, but they are in a stalemate. In the Cloud Realm, regardless of the era, almost everyone studies martial arts; even an adolescent youth often has one meridian cleared. Ordinary folk often possess respectable martial skill. A body like mine, completely devoid of inner power, unable to lift a chicken—that is truly rare—"

Lying on the soft couch, the thoughts that Zong Shou had forcefully suppressed surged back into his mind.

Subconsciously, his mind drifted toward that segment of mysterious demonic script deep within his memories.

The Wuding Linghuang Jue in his memory came equipped with the Wuding Shazhou Quan [Indeterminate Killing Fist] set and the Yulong Fengyun Bian [Fish Dragon Wind and Cloud Transformation] movement technique—both martial arts techniques worthy of being called supreme skills.

And those four words, ‘Wuding Linghuang’ [Indeterminate Spirit Emperor]—Zong Shou felt as if he had heard them before, yet couldn't recall the source.

"A top-tier supreme skill, actually paired with a set of fist techniques and a movement technique. Possessing two high-level bloodlines, this identity cannot be ordinary; he is likely the descendant of some distinguished family in the Cloud Realm. Is Zong Shou perhaps a scion of a noble house? The surname Zong? Descended from that Celestial Fox Clan that was entirely wiped out? This name, somehow, feels vaguely familiar. Right, and those two servants—"

Thinking of the pair who had accompanied him for these seven days but were temporarily absent now, Zong Shou couldn't help but feel another wave of dizziness.

Given the extraordinary nature of those two individuals, the status of 'himself' was likely far higher than he could imagine.

Reflecting again that the world of the game had become reality, and he himself was trapped within it, Zong Shou found it even more incredible.

While nursing his headache, a sudden whooshing sound came from outside the carriage. Zong Shou raised an eyebrow and turned to look out the window.

He saw a woman dressed in colorful robes flying toward them. Though she was walking, her speed of movement actually surpassed that of the sixteen horned horses. And in her delicate hands, she was carrying the corpse of a massive beast!

Noticing Zong Shou looking out from the carriage, the woman immediately looked up and offered a sweet smile. Her appearance was beautiful, her features like a painting, and on either side behind her ears were a pair of adorably cute white cat ears. This was Su Chuxue, one of the two servants he awoke to in this world.

Trailing behind her was a towering, burly man. He was the driver of this carriage, named Yin Yang, standing at least nine feet tall, his entire body corded with muscle, as if cast from steel.

His aura was majestic and grand; his pace was neither fast nor slow, yet each stride covered several yards. His square face was solemn as still water, subtly overlaid with worry.