Volume One: Frost Wind Stained with Blood Chapter 1: Entering the Immortal Cave, a Soul Transcends to Taiyang

“Ah…”

In the boundless gloom of the cavern, Yu Mulian, having missed his step, plunged into the darkness, his consciousness adrift…

He had no idea how much time had passed before he opened his eyes again, only to find himself lying in a dilapidated old house from ancient times. By the bedside sat a woman in traditional attire, her eyes red-rimmed from weeping, her breath shuddering with each sob.

“Shuangjiu, if you die, your mother won’t live either!”

The woman seemed just past thirty, her brows tightly knit, her face streaked with tears, worn and haggard.

The moment she saw him awaken, her sorrow melted into joy. “Shuangjiu, you’re finally awake! You nearly scared your mother to death!”

“Shuangjiu? Mother? Where am I?” Yu Mulian sat up, bewilderment clouding his face.

“Shuangjiu! You—you can speak? Wonderful!” The woman’s delight swept away all traces of worry, and her face blossomed with happiness as she rose to her feet.

“What’s going on? Could I have transmigrated?” Yu Mulian mused inwardly. “I heard the elders say that there’s a legendary immortal cave in Xiangming Mountain that leads to another world, but no one’s ever found it. Did I just stumble into that fabled cave?”

Earlier, while working at a scenic park, Yu Mulian had chased after three mountain apes that had abducted a beautiful tourist. The pursuit led him into a forbidden area of Xiangming Mountain, where he entered a strange cave—and then, muddle-headed, he fell into an abyss, setting the stage for all that followed…

Now, Yu Mulian stared in astonishment at the woman before him, when suddenly a piercing headache overtook him. The memories of this body’s original owner surged through his mind.

Yes, he truly had transmigrated—his soul had crossed into another world, the Taiyang Continent, in the land of Xuanyuan, into the body of a fourteen-year-old idiot boy.

This body’s former owner was named Jing Shuangjiu, the ninety-ninth child of his father, born dull-witted and slow, unable to speak even at the age of fourteen. His favorite pastime was running on his hands in the fortress, and when the mood struck, he would even streak naked through the halls…

Jing Shuangjiu’s father, the owner of this stone fortress, was called Jing Bo. A man of formidable martial prowess and unmatched strength, he was tall, stalwart, and striking, famed across Xuanyuan as a heroic champion.

Jing Bo was fabulously wealthy, honored and respected, with seventy-one wives and concubines of rank, and uncounted lovers—his entanglements had long since exceeded ten thousand, earning him the title of Xuanyuan’s own Casanova. He acknowledged a total of one hundred and eight sons and daughters.

The woman who now wept and smiled before him was Jing Shuangjiu’s mother, He Guifang, daughter of the family’s stablehand. Her father had been a penal conscript; her mother, a camp prostitute.

At eighty-eight, one drunken night, Jing Bo had returned to the stables and, in a moment’s whim, forced himself upon He Guifang. Thus, Jing Shuangjiu was conceived…

All of Jing Bo’s wives and concubines were renowned beauties, and their children were mostly clever, attractive, and fair-skinned.

Compared to the bevy of exquisite wives, the low-born He Guifang was plain at best, hardly worth mentioning. Her son, dull and unremarkable in appearance, was a withered weed among blossoms, a speck of rust in a mountain of gold—utterly beneath Jing Bo’s notice.

After giving birth to Jing Shuangjiu, He Guifang was not even taken as a concubine. Jing Bo regarded his slow-witted son as a mere accident, no more significant than a pair of underpants or a scrap of tissue, not even bothering to grant him a proper name.

Yesterday, Jing Shuangjiu’s elder brother—Jing Mingying, the youngest son of the principal wife Lady Zhao—had come to the stables to have a newly purchased steed groomed. The horse was white as driven snow, its mane cascading like silver, an exquisite creature that Jing Mingying had bought at great expense and cherished dearly.

At that moment, Shuangjiu, swept up in a whim, had been running on his hands through the stables. He slipped, knocking over a dung fork that jabbed the prized horse’s haunch, startling it into a frenzy. The horse leapt the fence, crashed about, and ended up with several bleeding wounds.

Jing Mingying, furious and heartbroken, summoned several servants and had Shuangjiu beaten within an inch of his life.

To Jing Mingying, Jing Shuangjiu was no brother, but a base-born, idiotic servant.

After the brutal beating, Jing Shuangjiu lay bedridden, his breath weak and body growing cold.

He Guifang had wept from dawn till deep night, watching her son’s life ebb away. In her despair, she resolved to hang herself after his burial. But just as all hope faded, her son awoke—not only alive, but suddenly able to speak, no longer seeming a simpleton.

“My son, you can finally speak? Quick, call me mother!” Overjoyed, He Guifang gazed at Jing Shuangjiu with tearful affection.

“Mother!”

Jing Shuangjiu called out.

From the original owner’s memories, Yu Mulian understood this pitiful woman’s hardships—how she had poured all her love into her foolish son, never once resenting him, enduring endless humiliation and mockery…

Now, hearing her son call her “mother” for the first time in his life, He Guifang’s tears flowed like springs and she clasped him tightly in her arms.

“My son, call me again!”

“Mother! Mother!”

“Mother, you have suffered so much for all these years!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, He Guifang’s eyes widened in astonishment, and she broke into fresh tears of joy. “Not at all! Not at all! It’s no hardship for me!”

She hugged him tighter, pride in her voice. “My son is truly sensible. I always said he wasn’t stupid—just a late bloomer!”

With that, He Guifang rushed outside, fell to her knees, and kowtowed several times, hands clasped in prayer.

In this moment, she offered heartfelt thanks to Heaven for returning her son’s wits. This sudden blessing was, to her, the greatest gift of all these years.

“Am I dreaming?” Inside, Yu Mulian bit his arm hard, feeling nothing but pain.

He looked at his mother outside, then at his own rough, sturdy body, and felt utterly lost, not knowing what to do.

“Maybe—maybe if I sleep, everything will be back to normal… right?!”

~~~

The next morning, Yu Mulian woke full of hope, only to find himself still trapped in Jing Shuangjiu’s body.

Day after day passed—seven days in all—yet his spirit never returned to Blue Star. At last, he came to accept the truth, comforting himself:

“There must be a reason for all things! Perhaps it’s fate!”

“Jing Shuangjiu’s fourteen years of idiocy—unable to speak, an empty shell without a soul—maybe he was just waiting for me to arrive.”

By now, his body had almost recovered. At dawn, he rose to help his mother clean the stables, fetch water and feed for the horses, and shovel dung.

Under the morning sun, the Jing family fortress stirred awake, its many inhabitants bustling with a new day’s work.

The fortress sat atop a high ridge, built like a stone castle, with inner and outer quarters and a main road leading down to Caishi Town.

The inner fortress housed the Jing clan and their wives, concubines, and personal servants—white walls, green tiles, carved beams, painted rafters, lush flowers and bamboo, winding stone paths, all as splendid as a royal garden.

The outer fortress was home to retainers and slaves—dilapidated thatch huts everywhere, with only the occasional tiled house. All roads but the main one were muddy tracks, making it look more like a mountain village.

Two worlds: one noble, one humble.

Jing Shuangjiu and his mother lived in the outer quarters. The stables, built near the main gate for the convenience of the noble horse-lovers, were better appointed than any other servant’s quarters, with white walls and green tiles.

Half a year ago, Jing Bo, on his hundredth birthday, had married his seventy-second concubine. On their wedding night, however, the old master, seized by sudden excitement, died of a heart attack, ending his tumultuous life…

With Jing Bo’s passing, his second son Jing Mingjiang inherited the family headship.

A few days ago, the new master hosted a grand succession banquet in the fortress, entertaining heroes and champions from across the realm.

After days of feasting, the guests were now departing, so the outer fortress bustled with crowds from early morning.

By the hour of Chen, Jing Shuangjiu had already cleaned the stables till they gleamed.

At this moment, Lady Zhao’s son Jing Mingying and his twin sister Jing Mingluan, surrounded by servants, led Miss Gu Wenze, the daughter of the Qingchen Sect, to the stables to gift her a fine horse.

Seeing them approach, Shuangjiu hurriedly turned away, pretending to busy himself with the saddles, not wanting to engage.

From the original memories, he recalled how Jing Mingluan and Jing Mingying had bullied him since childhood, mocking and tormenting him without restraint for his idiocy.

They would stuff horse dung in his mouth, and on his tenth birthday, had pushed him into the dung pit—if not for his mother’s timely rescue, he would have drowned in filth…

Dressed in splendid finery, the strikingly handsome twins strode confidently with Gu Wenze in tow, flanked by servants, prancing past Jing Shuangjiu like a parade of proud peacocks.

Only after they passed did Jing Shuangjiu let out a breath of relief. He turned to slip away, trying to keep his distance from the siblings, when—

“Idiot, you’re still alive?”

“Ugh, here we go again!”

That sharp, arrogant voice rang out behind him. Jing Shuangjiu rolled his eyes, pretending not to hear, and kept walking.

“How dare you ignore me? Stop right there!” Jing Mingying strode up, grabbing him by the arm and barking.

“Sorry, brother—I didn’t hear you just now. What can I do for you?” Jing Shuangjiu forced a smile, seeing Jing Mingying’s thunderous glare.

“You—you can really talk now?!”

Jing Mingluan stepped forward in surprise, scrutinizing him from head to toe.

She’d heard rumors these days that the mute, dull-witted Shuangjiu could speak, but had assumed he could only manage a few simple words. She hadn’t expected him to reply so fluently.

Seeing his steady composure, no longer the drooling, giggling fool of before, Jing Mingying was stunned, then erupted with fury: “Pah! You little bastard, you’re not fit to call me brother! Who do you think you are?”

With that, he struck out at Jing Shuangjiu’s face. Shuangjiu dodged, and Jing Mingying’s hand met only air, nearly throwing him off balance. The watching servants stifled their laughter, making Jing Mingying even angrier.

Yu Mulian, in his previous life, had been a police cadet, skilled in various forms of combat. After transmigration, those skills remained with him.

“How dare you dodge!”

Jing Mingying shouted and swung again. Shuangjiu ducked, and the blow landed with a thud on a nail-studded post, tearing a bloody hole in Jing Mingying’s palm.

“Ah! It hurts—hurts—”

His wails reverberated through the stable. Burning with rage, Jing Mingying turned on the servants. “What are you idiots standing there for? Beat him to death!”

At his command, the servants closed in, menacing.

“You’re sixteen, I’m fourteen—so it’s not enough to bully someone younger, you have to gang up on me too? Shame on you! If you have any guts, fight me one-on-one!” Jing Shuangjiu bellowed, then continued to shout:

“Bullying the young, ganging up on the few—shame on you, shame on you!”

“Shame on you, shame on you, all the way home!”

His cries drew a crowd of martial heroes, Jing family members, and servants to the stable door.

Faced with so many onlookers, the servants hesitated, their fists faltering in embarrassment.

Seizing the moment, Shuangjiu pointed at Jing Mingying and yelled, “You only dare to bully people with numbers on your side. Do you dare to fight me one-on-one?”

Jing Mingying glanced around, seeing the disdainful looks of Gu Wenze and the others, panic flickering in his eyes. But he forced himself to appear calm and proud. “Fine, one-on-one it is! I’m not afraid of you!”

Jing Shuangjiu strode out of the stable, turned, and beckoned with a finger. “Come on, then!”

Jing Mingying tore off his outer robe and stepped onto the open ground outside. The crowd pressed close around the fence, sealing off every gap…