Chapter 1: The Cautious Young Master and the Legacy of the Grave
The scent of burning sandalwood was the first thing that registered in his mind. It was a heavy, cloying aroma, rich and earthy, masking the faint underlying smell of medicinal herbs and copper—the unmistakable scent of dried blood.
He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt like they had been cast from lead. A rhythmic, agonizing throb pulsed behind his temples, beating in time with a heart that felt entirely too loud in his chest. When he finally managed to pry his eyes open, the world was a blurry mosaic of crimson and gold.
As his vision slowly focused, the ceiling above him materialized into a grand canopy of crimson silk, embroidered with intricate golden threads depicting soaring cranes and leaping carp. It was a bed fit for royalty, or at the very least, a man of exorbitant wealth.
Where am I? The thought was sluggish, struggling to form in a mind bogged down by pain and confusion. The last thing he remembered was the blinding glare of headlights on a rain-slicked highway, the deafening screech of tires, and the crushing impact that shattered his world into absolute darkness. He had been a thirty-something actuary in modern-day Earth, a man whose life revolved around calculating risks, minimizing losses, and ensuring stability. He was unremarkable, cautious to a fault, and dead.
Suddenly, a violent torrent of unfamiliar memories surged into his brain like a breached dam, threatening to tear his consciousness apart. He clamped his hands over his ears, a hoarse, involuntary groan escaping his parched lips.
Li Mochen.
That was the name echoing in his mind. Not his Earth name, but the name belonging to this body. He was sixteen years old, the third son of Li Taiyuan, the formidable Patriarch of the Li Family. The Li Family was not a lineage of supreme immortal cultivators, nor were they royalty holding court in a distant capital. They were something far more grounded, yet incredibly influential in their own right: they were the wealthiest landlords and a rising martial arts clan in Qingshui County, situated within the sprawling borders of the Great Yan Dynasty.
Qingshui County was a place where strength dictated the law, and wealth bought the strength. The world outside the towering stone walls of the Li Family estate was a brutal, unforgiving high-martial society. It was a world where a true martial artist could shatter boulders with a casual palm strike, leap over fifty-foot walls with a single bound, and withstand the slash of steel with their bare skin.
Rumors persisted of existences even higher than these martial masters—Immortals, they called them. Beings who could ride the clouds, summon lightning from the heavens, and live for thousands of years. But to the mortal inhabitants of Qingshui County, Immortals were nothing more than myths told to children, characters in theatrical plays, and legends whispered in teahouses. The reality was grounded in the grit of martial arts: Skin Refining, Flesh Refining, Bone Forging, Blood Moving, and Qi Condensation.
The Li Family possessed hundreds of thousands of acres of fertile farmland, controlled the local grain trade, and maintained a private guard of over three hundred trained men. Li Taiyuan, his new father, was a formidable expert at the peak of the Bone Forging realm, a man whose fists were as hard as iron and whose temper was equally unyielding.
As for Li Mochen himself?
The memories painted a picture that made the actuary's soul cringe in absolute horror. The original Li Mochen was the quintessential, stereotypical "wealthy young master." While not a tyrannical villain who snatched women off the streets—thankfully, his father's strict discipline prevented such blatant villainy—he was undeniably arrogant, spoiled, lazy, and utterly devoid of martial talent.
He was stuck at the initial stages of Skin Refining, unable to endure the grueling pain required to toughen the body. He spent his days frequenting high-end tea houses, betting on cricket fights, and flaunting his status to commoners.
The reason he was currently lying in bed with a splitting headache was entirely fitting for his foolish nature. Two days ago, during a spring hunt, he had tried to show off his nonexistent equestrian skills to a group of young ladies from a rival family. He spurred his horse too hard, lost control, and was violently thrown from the saddle, striking his head against a mossy boulder.
The original Li Mochen had died upon impact. The cautious soul of the actuary had slipped into the vacant shell.
"A young master in a brutal, high-martial world..." Mochen muttered, his voice raspy and dry. He slowly sat up, wincing as a fresh wave of dizziness washed over him. He leaned against the carved mahogany headboard, taking deep, steadying breaths.
His analytical mind immediately began to assess his situation, calculating the risks of his new existence.
Risk Assessment:
1. Status: Third son of a wealthy family. High target on my back for kidnapping, extortion, or rival family plots.
2. Family Dynamics: Two older brothers. The eldest, Li Changfeng, is a martial genius, already at the Flesh Refining realm, destined to be the heir. The second, Li Changhai, manages the family's vast ledgers and business caravans. Both are highly competent. As the useless third son, I am a liability. If a succession war ever brews, I am collateral damage.
3. Personal Strength: Virtually zero. In a world where a Blood Moving expert can slaughter a hundred ordinary men, I am an ant.
4. Personality Deficit: The original owner made many minor enemies through his arrogance. Petty grudges in a martial world often escalate to blood feuds.
Mochen rubbed his temples. "This is a nightmare. I am the textbook definition of cannon fodder. The kind of character who exists solely to be slapped in the face by a true protagonist, bringing disaster to his entire clan in the process."
He despised danger. He despised unpredictability. On Earth, he had insured his life, his car, his home, and even his health to the maximum allowable limits. Now, he was thrust into a world where a stray palm wind from a sparring match could rupture his internal organs.
"I need to be lowkey," he whispered to himself, etching the rule into his very soul. "Absolutely, terrifyingly lowkey. No showing off. No provoking people in taverns. No looking down on beggars, stable boys, or mysterious strangers. I will be the most polite, unassuming, and cowardly young master Qingshui County has ever seen."
Just as he solidified this life-saving philosophy, a mechanical, ethereal chime echoed within the silent confines of his mind. It was a sound that belonged to neither Earth nor this martial world.
[Ding!]
[Soul integration complete. Host detected. Transmigration successful.]
Mochen froze. His breath hitched. A glowing, semi-transparent azure screen flickered into existence before his eyes, floating serenely in the air regardless of where he turned his head.
[The 'Eternal Ancestor Feedback System' has bound to the Host.]
Mochen blinked. A system. A golden finger. The standard cheat of the transmigrator. A flicker of relief washed over him, but his cautious nature immediately tamped it down. A cheat was good, but it often required the host to do incredibly dangerous things—kill monsters, provoke powerful enemies, or venture into deadly ruins.
What do you do? he asked in his mind, testing the interface.
The azure screen rippled, and new text scrolled across his vision.
[System Core Function: Ancestral Feedback]
[Description: The Host's destiny is intrinsically tied to their bloodline. As the founding ancestor of a new legacy, the Host will not gain strength through conventional, dangerous cultivation. Instead, the Host will reap the harvest of their descendants' labor.]
[Rule 1: Upon the death of any direct descendant (child, grandchild, great-grandchild, etc.), the Host will receive 100% of their lifelong achievements as a permanent, risk-free transmission.]
[Rule 2: Transmittable achievements include: Cultivation Base, Martial Arts Comprehension, Spiritual Roots, Specialized Knowledge (Alchemy, Blacksmithing, Formations, Scholarly texts), and remaining innate potential.]
[Rule 3: The Host's physical state, lifespan, and cultivation will seamlessly integrate these feedbacks without any bottlenecks, side effects, or risk of Qi deviation.]
Mochen read the text once. Then twice. Then a third time to ensure his brain wasn't hallucinating from the concussion.
He sat there in the opulent bed, the silence of the room heavy and absolute.
"I get... everything they achieve," he murmured, his mathematical mind spinning wildly. "But only after they die."
It was a morbid, terrifyingly patient system. It didn't ask him to be a hero. It didn't demand he go out and fight the heavens. It required him to do one specific thing: build a massive family, ensure his descendants were as successful, talented, and powerful as possible, and then... outlive them.
Wait. A glaring flaw in the system's logic struck him like a physical blow.
"System," he questioned mentally, his anxiety spiking. "If I need to outlive my descendants to get their cultivation, how is that possible? I have a mortal body. I'm stuck at Skin Refining. My lifespan is, at best, eighty to ninety years if I don't get assassinated first. If I have a child who becomes a powerful martial artist, they will live to be a hundred and fifty. They will outlive me. I'll be dead before I get any feedback!"
The system screen flashed gently, a reassuring pulse of azure light.
[Ding! Host's logical assessment is correct. To ensure the Host can fulfill the role of the 'Eternal Ancestor', a Starter Gift Pack has been deposited into the System Inventory. Would you like to open it?]
"Yes. Immediately."
[Opening Starter Gift Pack...]
[Congratulations, Host! You have acquired:]
[1. Passive Ability: Ageless Immortality]
[2. Cultivation Technique: The Primordial Turtle Breathing Technique (Mortal Realm Chapter)]
[3. Bloodline Blessing: Seed of Prosperity (First Generation)]
Mochen stared at the rewards, his heart hammering against his ribs. He focused his mind on each item, pulling up their detailed descriptions.
[Passive Ability: Ageless Immortality]
[Description: The Host's body is locked in an optimal state of vitality. The Host will no longer age, and their natural lifespan is infinite. Note: The Host can still be killed by external forces, disease, poison, or severe trauma. You are ageless, not invincible.]
Mochen exhaled a long, shuddering breath. Agelessness. The ultimate dream of emperors and conquerors, handed to him in a neat little package. He would never grow old. He would look exactly as he did now, or perhaps mature slightly to his prime, and then remain there forever. He had all the time in the world. He could wait decades, centuries, even millennia for his descendants to grow, thrive, and eventually pass on, funneling their accumulated power into him.
He looked at the second item.
[Cultivation Technique: The Primordial Turtle Breathing Technique]
[Description: An ancient, supreme health-preserving technique. It does not possess any offensive capabilities. Cultivating this technique thickens the blood, fortifies the internal organs, nullifies 99% of mortal diseases, and creates a flawless foundation for future martial and immortal arts. It allows the Host to perfectly conceal their cultivation level from anyone beneath the Immortal realm.]
"Perfect," Mochen whispered, a genuine smile touching his lips for the first time since waking up. "Absolutely perfect."
He didn't need a heaven-defying sword art. He didn't need a demonic body-tempering manual that required him to bathe in the blood of magical beasts. He needed to stay alive, stay healthy, and stay hidden. The Turtle Breathing Technique was exactly what a cautious man required. It provided defense, health, and stealth. If he practiced this, combined with his agelessness, he would be the hardest person to kill in Qingshui County simply by virtue of refusing to die.
Finally, he examined the third item.
[Bloodline Blessing: Seed of Prosperity (First Generation)]
[Description: A passive blessing applied to the Host. The Host's fertility rate is increased to 100%. Furthermore, all direct children (the first generation) born to the Host will be guaranteed to possess at least an 'Above-Average' martial arts aptitude, eliminating the risk of bearing untalented offspring.]
Mochen leaned back against the headboard, his mind racing as he compiled all this information into a cohesive life plan.
The path was incredibly clear. It was a path of supreme caution, endless patience, and strategic family planning.
He would not strive for supremacy. He would not compete with the favored sons of heaven. He would let the geniuses of this era fight over secret realms, heavenly treasures, and divine weapons. They could have the glory. They could have the bloodshed.
He, Li Mochen, would simply focus on finding beautiful, healthy wives and concubines. He would have children. Lots of children. He would use his status as a wealthy landlord's son to provide them with the best food, the best medicinal baths, and the best martial arts instructors money could buy. He would foster an environment of intense, healthy competition among his offspring, encouraging them to train hard and reach the pinnacle of the martial world.
And then, he would sit back, sip premium tea, practice his Turtle Breathing, and wait.
When a son who had reached the peak of the Blood Moving realm eventually succumbed to old age or fell in battle, Mochen would instantly, effortlessly inherit a lifetime of Blood Moving cultivation. When a grandson who managed to break through to Qi Condensation passed away, Mochen would become a Qi Condensation expert without ever having to meditate on spiritual energy himself.
"It's an exponential growth model," the actuary in him concluded, his eyes gleaming in the dim light of the bedroom. "One descendant gives me one lifetime of cultivation. Ten descendants give me ten lifetimes. A hundred... a thousand..."
If he built a clan that spanned generations, producing thousands of martial artists, he would eventually accumulate enough power to rival the mythical Immortals, all while sitting comfortably in his courtyard. He would become the ultimate hidden boss, the eternal patriarch watching over the changing eras.
However, to execute this grand, centuries-long plan, he needed to secure his immediate environment. He needed to remove himself from the internal politics of the Li Family and establish his own domain.
Knock. Knock.
The heavy wooden door to his chambers echoed with a sharp, authoritative rapping. It wasn't the tentative knock of a servant. It was the knock of someone who owned the estate.
"Third Brother. Are you awake?" A deep, resonant voice carried through the thick wood.
Mochen recognized the voice instantly. It was Li Changfeng, his eldest brother. The martial genius. The future patriarch.
Mochen quickly adjusted his expression, banishing the calculating gleam from his eyes. He assumed a look of weakness, contrition, and mild confusion. He coughed twice, a dry, raspy sound.
"Eldest Brother? Come in," Mochen called out, injecting just the right amount of frailty into his voice.
The heavy door was pushed open with a squeak of iron hinges. Two men stepped into the opulent bedroom.
The first was Li Changfeng. He was twenty-two, tall, and built like a siege tower. His muscles strained against the dark blue silk of his martial robes, and his eyes were sharp, evaluating Mochen with a mixture of fraternal concern and exasperation.
Behind him stood a man who seemed to suck the light out of the room simply by existing. Li Taiyuan, the Patriarch of the Li Family. He was in his late forties, his hair peppered with gray, but his posture was as straight as a spear. His face was a mask of hardened leather, etched with the scars of a violent youth. He exuded an invisible, heavy aura—the oppressive pressure of a Bone Forging expert.
Mochen immediately made a show of trying to scramble out of bed to bow. "Father... Eldest Brother..."
"Stay still, you foolish boy," Li Taiyuan barked, his voice like grinding stones. Though his words were harsh, Mochen noticed the slight relaxation in the patriarch's shoulders upon seeing his son conscious. "The physician said your skull was nearly cracked open. It is a miracle of the ancestors that you didn't become a drooling idiot, though considering your actions, it might have been hard to tell the difference."
Mochen winced, lowering his head in a perfect display of shame. "Father is right to scold me. I was arrogant. I was foolish. I... I could have died."
Li Changfeng sighed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "You were trying to show off for the Wang family's third daughter, weren't you? Mochen, you don't even practice your horse-riding stances. How could you try to gallop an untamed thoroughbred?"
Mochen kept his head bowed, staring at the silk blanket covering his legs. He needed to play this perfectly. This was his chance to alter his trajectory within the family.
"I know, Eldest Brother. I know," Mochen said softly, his voice trembling slightly—a deliberate act. "When I was falling... when my head hit the stone... everything went black. But in that darkness, I had a revelation."
Li Taiyuan frowned, stepping closer to the bed. "A revelation? Did the concussion rattle your brain, boy?"
Mochen looked up, meeting his father's imposing gaze with clear, calm eyes. He stripped away the arrogance of the original owner, replacing it with the profound weariness of a man who had 'seen the other side.'
"No, Father. It cleared my brain," Mochen said earnestly. "I realized how utterly pointless my life has been. I have coasted on the prestige of the Li Family name, contributing nothing, while Eldest Brother bleeds to protect our territory and Second Brother exhausts his mind managing our wealth."
Li Changfeng and Li Taiyuan exchanged a surprised glance. This level of self-awareness was entirely foreign to the spoiled third son.
Mochen pressed his advantage, his tone taking on a solemn, respectful quality. "I am not a martial genius like you, Eldest Brother. The pain of Skin Refining makes me weep. I am not a cunning merchant like Second Brother. Numbers give me a headache."
He paused, letting the silence hang to add weight to his next words.
"I almost died a useless joke. I do not want to live that way anymore. But I also know my limits. I cannot lead guards into battle, and I cannot negotiate trade deals with the cunning foxes of the capital."
Li Taiyuan's heavy brow furrowed deeply. "Speak plainly, Mochen. What are you asking for? If you want to quit martial arts entirely, I will not allow it. A son of the Li Family must have some means to protect himself."
"I will practice, Father, but only for health and self-defense, not for glory," Mochen replied smoothly, already laying the groundwork for his Turtle Breathing technique. "But my true request is this: I wish to step away from the core operations of the family."
Li Changfeng's eyes narrowed slightly. In large, wealthy clans, a brother stepping back from power usually meant one of two things: they were plotting something incredibly devious in the shadows, or they were genuinely giving up the fight for succession. Given Mochen's history, Changfeng leaned heavily toward the latter, but the sudden maturity was jarring.
"Step away?" Li Taiyuan asked, his tone unreadable. "And do what? Sit in a courtyard and paint bamboo all day?"
"No, Father. I wish to fulfill a different, but equally vital duty to the clan," Mochen said, his face a mask of filial piety. "Eldest Brother and Second Brother are focused on expanding our power and our wealth. They are busy. They are in danger. They have little time for family matters."
Mochen took a deep breath, delivering his ultimate pitch.
"I wish to be given the old, quiet estate on the eastern edge of the city. I want a modest allowance to start a small, safe business—perhaps a bookstore or an herbal apothecary. And..." He hesitated, feigning a bit of youthful embarrassment. "...I wish for Father's permission to marry. To take wives and concubines. I want to focus my entire life on spreading the Li Family bloodline. If I cannot bring glory to the family through martial arts or gold, I will do it by providing the family with dozens of healthy, well-nurtured children. I will manage the internal harmony, educate the next generation, and ensure that our legacy never dies out."
Silence descended upon the opulent bedroom. It was absolute, thick, and heavy.
Li Changfeng stared at his younger brother as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head. Li Taiyuan's expression shifted through a rapid series of emotions: shock, suspicion, contemplation, and finally, a deep, profound relief.
The patriarch of a martial family carried many burdens, but the heaviest was the fear of a succession war. History was littered with powerful clans that tore themselves apart from the inside because multiple brothers coveted the seat of power. Li Taiyuan had secretly harbored anxieties about how to handle Mochen in the future. The boy was useless, but he was still a legitimate son. If he were manipulated by rival families to challenge Changfeng, it would be a disaster.
Now, Mochen was voluntarily removing himself from the board. He was openly stating he had no ambition for the Patriarchy, no desire for military command, and no interest in the family's treasury. He just wanted a quiet courtyard, a safe little shop, and a harem of women to produce offspring.
It was the request of a hedonist, yes, but a mature, self-aware hedonist. For a wealthy landlord family, having a son dedicated solely to expanding the bloodline was not actually a bad thing. In fact, in a world with high mortality rates, having a large, sprawling branch family was a strategic asset.
Li Taiyuan let out a long, slow breath, the oppressive aura in the room dissipating significantly.
"The eastern estate," the Patriarch mused, stroking his chin. "It is large, but secluded. The buildings are old. It will need renovations."
"I require no extravagance, Father," Mochen said quickly. "Just sturdy walls, a good garden for the children to play in, and peace."
Li Changfeng stepped forward, his eyes softer now. The subtle tension that always existed between brothers in a powerful clan had completely vanished. He placed a heavy, calloused hand on Mochen's shoulder.
"If this is truly what you want, Third Brother... I support it," Changfeng said, his voice rumbling with genuine affection. "You will not have to worry about the dangers of the martial world. I will hold the sky up for our family. You just focus on living well and giving me nieces and nephews to train."
Yes. Please train them hard, Mochen thought, a predatory, opportunistic joy blooming in his heart. Train them until they are absolute monsters. Teach them your best techniques. And when they eventually pass away after a long, glorious life fighting your battles, I will take all that hard work for myself.
Outwardly, Mochen smiled, a look of profound gratitude on his face. "Thank you, Eldest Brother. I will leave the glory of the Li Family in your capable hands."
Li Taiyuan nodded decisively. "Very well. Since you have survived this ordeal and seemingly gained some wisdom, I will grant your request. When you are fully recovered, you may move to the eastern estate. I will allocate ten thousand taels of silver for your renovations and to start whatever quiet business you desire."
Ten thousand taels. To a commoner, it was wealth beyond imagination, enough to live a dozen lifetimes. To the Li Family, it was a drop in the bucket—a cheap price to buy internal peace and guarantee the third son wouldn't cause trouble.
"As for marriage..." Li Taiyuan's eyes narrowed slightly. "You are sixteen. It is time. I will have the matchmakers look for suitable women. They must be of good character, healthy, and capable of bearing strong children. Since you are stepping away from the main succession line, you do not need to marry a prominent noblewoman. We will look for daughters of respectable merchants, minor martial families, or even talented commoners with clean backgrounds."
"I trust Father's judgment implicitly," Mochen bowed his head.
"Rest now," Li Taiyuan commanded, turning toward the door. "The physician will bring you a medicinal broth soon. Drink all of it. We will discuss the details of your move next week."
"Get well soon, Mochen," Changfeng added, giving his shoulder one last squeeze before following their father out of the room.
The heavy wooden door closed with a solid thud, leaving Mochen alone in the quiet luxury of his room.
He waited for a full minute, listening to the fading footsteps in the hallway to ensure they were truly gone. Only then did he let out a long, shaky breath, slumping back against the pillows.
His back was drenched in cold sweat. He had gambled heavily on his understanding of feudal family dynamics, playing on his father's fear of internal strife and his brother's martial pride.
He had won.
He was out of the line of fire. He had secured a safe haven, a massive starting fund, and official permission to begin his grand plan. He didn't have to sneak around or face the wrath of his father for "wasting his life." His father was now actively going to help him find wives and fund his lifestyle.
Mochen closed his eyes and summoned the azure system screen. He navigated to the inventory and selected the [Primordial Turtle Breathing Technique].
"System. Learn."
A rush of cool, refreshing energy washed over his mind. It wasn't the violent, agonizing influx of memories like the transmigration, but a gentle, soothing stream of profound knowledge. Chants, breathing rhythms, meridian pathways, and the philosophical understanding of stillness flooded his consciousness.
Simultaneously, the passive ability [Ageless Immortality] and the blessing [Seed of Prosperity] integrated into his physical form. He didn't feel a sudden surge of world-shattering power. He didn't feel his muscles bulge or his bones harden.
Instead, he felt an incredible, profound stillness. The throbbing pain in his head from the concussion rapidly faded to a dull ache, then vanished entirely. The sluggishness in his blood disappeared, replaced by a slow, powerful, and incredibly steady rhythm. He felt like an ancient mountain, immovable and eternal.
He opened his eyes, and though the room looked exactly the same, his perception of the world had irrevocably altered. He was no longer a mortal rushing toward an inevitable grave. He was a spectator taking his seat for a play that would last an eternity.
"The eastern estate," Mochen murmured, a slow, relaxed smile spreading across his face. "I'll need to plant some peach trees. A large courtyard for morning exercises. A sturdy bedchamber. And... a very, very large graveyard in the back for the family."
It sounded morbid, but to Mochen, it was simply practical.
He crossed his legs on the silk bed sheets, adjusted his posture according to the newly acquired memories of the Turtle Breathing Technique, and closed his eyes.
He inhaled slowly, drawing the breath deep into his abdomen, holding it for a long, impossible duration, before exhaling a thin, silent stream of air. With a single breath, the wealthy, arrogant, and useless third son of the Li Family truly died, and the Everlasting Patriarch began his long, quiet wait.
The seeds were planted. Now, all he had to do was give them time to grow.