Zhao Yi was a teacher. Weather-beaten lines already etched his face, and streaks of gray had begun to pepper his hair. In his early forties, he was well into middle age, yet he remained free-spirited, indifferent to fame and fortune, and unconventional in his ways. At home, he had a loving wife and a devoted son; the family lived in peace and harmony, full of filial piety and maternal warmth.
As summer arrived, the weather grew much hotter. Usually, after finishing work, Zhao Yi would stop by somewhere for a cup of open-air tea. Today, however, the heat was oppressive, and a wind was beginning to kick up. Dark clouds piled across the sky, threatening a downpour, so Zhao Yi skipped the tea and rode his electric scooter straight home.
June weather was like a child's face, changing at a moment's notice. Following a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder, rain began to pelter down. Gradually, pedestrians vanished from the streets, leaving only cars driving to and fro with their hazard lights blinking. Raindrops struck the surface of the nearby river, splashing up droplets that rose like wisps of green smoke.
Suddenly, he faintly heard cries for help. Following the sound, he saw an old man struggling in the river, bobbing up and down. The old man could not swim, was already frail of health, and was now fighting for his life in a torrential downpour—it would be nearly impossible for him to make it to the bank on his own. If no one helped, he would surely drown. Zhao Yi's swimming was passable, but he had never rescued anyone in his life. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to save the old man anyway. Perhaps the water by the bank wasn't all that deep.
Zhao Yi parked his scooter, stripped off his shirt, and plunged swiftly into the river, swimming toward the old man. With a burst of effort, he reached the man's side in a few strokes.
Just as he was about to grab the old man's hand, a streak of lightning tore across the sky and struck Zhao Yi dead center. In an instant, a powerful current surged through his body, and his consciousness slowly faded into darkness...
When Zhao Yi opened his eyes once more, he found himself in a completely unfamiliar place. It was a retro-style, clean, and tidy room. Zhao Yi discovered he was lying on the floor, where a diagram resembling a bagua symbol was drawn, its faint lines seemingly shimmering with light. A pool of blood lay before him. Struggling to his feet, Zhao Yi had no idea where he was, only wondering how he could possibly still be alive after what had happened. Why wasn't he in a hospital or back at home?
Suddenly, a splitting headache assailed him as countless fragments of memory surged into his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, clutched his head tightly with both hands, and struggled to process this sudden influx of information.
After an unknown length of time, the pain subsided. He lowered his hands, opened his eyes, and let out a gaze tinged with confusion and astonishment. He looked down at his own hands, and as he instinctively circulated his internal energy, he felt an unfamiliar force flowing through his body.
An Immortal Cultivator! He already recognized this as the movement of Spiritual Energy.
As it turned out, his soul had transmigrated to another world and possessed this current body, which also belonged to a man named Zhao Yi. This was a world of cultivators, and the Imperial Sword Sect to which he belonged was a cultivation sect that ruled over the mortal realm of Zhao Country.
Zhao Yi was an outer disciple of the Imperial Sword Sect, around twenty years of age, with a cultivation base at Qi Condensation Layer 5. According to the sect's rules, any disciple who failed to reach at least the seventh layer by age forty would be dispatched to guard a mortal nation for thirty years, after which they could return to the sect upon completing their mission. Unless they achieved a breakthrough in their realm and applied for a transfer, they were strictly forbidden from leaving their assigned country without authorization. Shortly before, the original Zhao Yi had just broken through to the fifth layer and been sent to Zhao Country to serve as an imperial protector. At this moment, he could clearly feel the strength of his Qi Condensation Layer 5 cultivation.
Zhao Yi shook his head and continued to sort through the information in his mind. He discovered that he should not have been sent here as a protector at all; rather, he had been dispatched because he was framed by a petty villain. Although the original Zhao Yi possessed a Spiritual Root, it was a four-attribute spiritual root—tantamount to trash. Moreover, he was timid and cowardly, always submissive to others and frequently bullied by fellow disciples.
Originally, this protector assignment was supposed to go to someone else, but that person was on good terms with Steward Hu of the Mission Hall, and seeing that the original Zhao Yi had just broken through to the fifth layer, they had him sent out instead. The cultivation world was a place where strength was paramount; lacking strength meant your life could be thrown away at any moment. He was already twenty years old and had only cultivated to this stage, whereas others in their twenties had generally reached around the seventh layer. No wonder he was bullied by others.
The present Zhao Yi did not enjoy fighting, but if trouble was forced upon his doorstep, he would fight back. A streak of pride still ran deep in his bones: "I mind my own business unless others harm mine!" Zhao Yi let out a soft sigh, feeling a sense of injustice for the former Zhao Yi. He silently vowed in his heart: *In the future, I will seek justice for you, fulfill the unfulfilled wishes in your heart, and lead you onto the path of the strong.*
At that moment, Zhao Yi felt a wave of relaxation wash over his body. It was as if an ethereal presence had quietly detached itself from his body and dissipated into the air, and only then did Zhao Yi truly take full control of this body.