Chapter One: Zhou Tian

"Young master, the master asks you to go to the front hall. There are guests."
Inside a lavishly decorated room, jade pillars carved with dragons and phoenixes, crimson lacquered furniture, the atmosphere imposing and grand. In front of a large bed, an elderly man with a somewhat aged appearance bent slightly at the waist, spoke in a low voice to the person lying upon it.
The bed was carved from a single block of crystal-clear precious jade, edged with golden threads glimmering like clouds, a faint mist swirling within whose purpose was unknown.
On the golden silk coverlet lay a young man, his features still somewhat boyish, his face fair and delicate, his five features regular and pleasant. Though not fully grown, he already possessed a hint of handsomeness, marred only by his tousled hair and empty gaze.
The young man on the bed seemed not to have heard the old man's words, his vacant eyes fixed upon the ceiling etched with mysterious patterns, his body remaining motionless.
"Young master!"
Seeing this, the old man raised his voice slightly, sighing inwardly. He could not fathom what had happened to his young master, who had suddenly become like this—a salted fish that had lost its dreams. The master had been greatly troubled, trying all sorts of remedies and inviting renowned physicians, but nothing had improved his condition.
"Ah!"
At last, the young man responded, his gaze focusing slightly as he tried to sit up. He exerted himself, but his method was all wrong... and failed to rise.
At the sight, the old man's eye twitched. Oh, my young master, you are still just a mortal. If you only move your head and not your torso, do you expect some powerful inertia to lift your body?
Seeing the young man's head and body at odds, the old man quickly called out, fearing the youth would injure himself.
"Attendants, assist the young master with his attire!"
At these words, the young man paused, his head ceasing movement, slumping back onto the bed.
Two young women entered from outside, their faces gentle and demure, eyes lowered, as they helped the young man up and attended to his clothing.

The so-called changing of attire meant stripping off his current clothes and donning another set, often accompanied by scenes of subtle allure. Moreover, the attendants deliberately flirted with him, hoping to catch the young master's eye and thus rise above their lowly station.
But when one of the girls, perhaps for the umpteenth time, inadvertently brushed against the young man's private parts, he finally could not endure it any longer.
"Could you stop touching my privates? If you want one, just get your own!"
Both attendants and the old man froze, the girls' expressions bordering on the bizarre.
The atmosphere became awkward, even spiraling out of control. In this strange and inexplicable mood, the young man's clothes were finally changed. Now clad in a luxurious purple robe, with golden threads outlining a pattern resembling a divine dragon across his chest, his hair tied at the back, and standing nearly six feet tall, he cut a dashing figure—if only his gaze were less despondent.
"Young master, let us go. The master and guests are waiting."
The old man made a gesture of invitation. The young man walked out slowly, and after he left the room, the old man's expression turned cold. He shook his head slightly. The two attendants' faces turned pale, and before they could speak, a jet-black arm emerged from the shadows behind them, holding a short obsidian dagger, and gently drew it across their throats.
The dagger seemed to possess a sinister power, opening only a small wound on their necks, but their eyes filled with darkness, life extinguished. The black arm caught their bodies and retreated into the shadows once more.
The old man gazed at the now empty room, his eyes narrowed. His body vanished in an instant, reappearing where one of the attendants had disappeared. Bowing, he held a white handkerchief near the floor, catching a drop of bright red blood as it fell, spreading across the cloth like winter plum blossoms.
Satisfied, the old man nodded; fortunately, the room remained clean. He spoke coldly,
"Next time you are so careless, it will be you who disappears."
A hoarse voice echoed from the void:
"Yes!"
The old man folded the handkerchief and tucked it into his breast, his face once more wearing a smile as he walked out.

His task was to solve problems for his master. The incident during the changing of clothes, if spread by the two attendants, could lead to rumors detrimental to the young master. Thus, they had to be dealt with. The young master didn't care, but he cared very much.
The old man left the room. The young man had only walked a few dozen meters. Hearing the sound behind him, he turned to see only the old man emerging from his quarters, his vacant eyes narrowing slightly, but he said nothing.
He was not of this world; he was a transmigrator. His name in his previous life was no longer important. Now he was called Zhou Tian, the third son of the Zhou family of the Heavenly Qin Empire.
Having read countless online novels in his previous life, he had long yearned for such an experience. But when transmigration truly befell him, he was still flustered and lost, unable to adapt even now. Perhaps this was what they called "Ye Gong's fondness for dragons."
The Zhou family controlled the Heavenly Qin Empire; the current emperor was his uncle. His lineage was illustrious, and if that were all, he could happily live as a pampered parasite. Yet from the scattered memories of this body, he learned that this world possessed supernatural powers—beings who could destroy heavens and earth, divine abilities that could seize stars and moons, and myriad strange and formidable secret arts, all unique to this world, and extremely perilous.
To make matters worse, he was a cultivation cripple, born with only one open acupoint, immune to spiritual energy. The rarity of his condition surpassed even the most exalted bloodlines. After a year of fruitless practice, unable to sense spiritual energy, he had given up, sinking into decadence and vice.
Thinking of this, Zhou Tian could not help but sigh. He possessed all the external trappings of a protagonist, but where was his golden finger?
How could he survive without a cheat?
Zhou Tian walked slowly, having been in this world for three days now. He knew the general layout of the Zhou residence well enough not to get lost.
In an unknown space, a vast formation was carved into the ground, each line as thick as a man's thumb, with wailing souls faintly visible, attesting to the evil of its materials. The formation spanned tens of thousands of miles, its black runes floating within, corroding the very space and leaving cracks everywhere.
In the center of the formation stood a towering altar of bones, a thousand feet tall. It was not, or not merely, constructed from human bones. The largest feature was a hundred-foot skull embedded at its center, its origins unknown, glowing with a violet hue. Lightning runes flashed across its surface, hinting at the power it possessed in life.