Chapter 1: I Became the Crane Among the Clouds

At the foot of Mount Zhongnan.

The Tomb of the Living Dead.

Xu Zhimo’s consciousness slowly returned. He opened his eyes, surveying his surroundings. In the lush forest, towering ancient trees stood sentinel; the ground was carpeted with withered yellow leaves, and sunlight filtered through the canopy, scattering dappled spots across his body.

Where am I?

His uncertainty was quickly eclipsed by a sharp, piercing pain radiating through every part of his body. He felt as if he’d just been run over by a truck, collapsed on the ground, utterly unable to move.

Xu Zhimo had always been an avid adventurer. This time, he’d come to the Qinling Mountains alone, never expecting his equipment to fail and to plunge from a cliff.

“Thank goodness the rope caught me and absorbed most of the impact—otherwise, I’d be finished.”

Yet, even as he tried to reassure himself, a chill of lingering fear surged in his chest.

He rested awhile, waiting for the pain to recede, and finally forced himself upright. He’d barely taken a few steps when a gentle breeze rustled through the leaves, accompanied by faint footsteps.

Xu Zhimo instantly tensed. His body, which had only just relaxed, coiled with unease.

Could I be so unlucky as to run into a bear here?

As the footsteps grew clearer, he fixed his gaze on the direction from which they came, his heartbeat quickening, drumming relentlessly in his chest.

“You lecherous villain! For what purpose have you trespassed upon the Quanzhen Sect?”

The harsh shout came from above. The voice was stern, carrying a chill of murderous intent.

Xu Zhimo looked up. Atop a massive tree stood a man in Daoist robes, his left hand tucked behind his back, his right gripping a three-foot sword—a martial arts master’s bearing about him.

Relieved to see it was a man and not a beast, Xu Zhimo relaxed and quickly stepped forward, waving enthusiastically at the robed figure.

“Sorry to disturb your film crew. Could I borrow a phone to let my family know I’m safe?”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “So you refuse to speak? Then today, I, Zhao, shall end your wickedness with my own hands, to avenge the honor of those women you’ve defiled!”

Wicked villain?

Xu Zhimo was utterly bewildered, glancing around in confusion.

He pointed at himself and couldn’t help but laugh. “Daoist priest, you’re really deep in character! Let me introduce myself, I’m Xu Zhimo.”

“Enough nonsense! Prepare to die!”

A cold gleam flashed in the man’s eyes as he stamped his foot and dove downward.

Like a rainbow piercing the sun, his sword thrust toward Xu Zhimo’s heart with lightning speed.

Xu Zhimo’s eyes widened in disbelief. A chill shot up his spine—this wasn’t acting. The man was deadly serious.

As the sword tip neared his chest, terror seized him. He waved his arms frantically, shouting, “Wait!”

The man, suspended mid-air, saw Xu Zhimo’s wild gestures and hesitated. Still, his skills were formidable; he steadied himself and swiftly drew back his sword to block.

With an agile backflip, he landed gracefully on the ground.

Only after confirming he hadn’t been struck by a hidden weapon did the man relax slightly, though his gaze remained wary.

This man is cunning, he thought. No doubt he’s hiding darts in his sleeves. That feint just now was to make me drop my guard and strike when I least expected it.

If my enemy doesn’t move, neither will I. Let’s see what tricks he’ll try next.

Seeing that his attacker had paused, Xu Zhimo’s heart finally settled. As he calmed, he realized cold sweat had soaked his back.

Just then, a strange rush of memories surged through his mind.

What the hell?!

I’ve become Yun Zhonghe?!

Xu Zhimo—no… Yun Zhonghe’s eyes went wide with disbelief at the truth: he’d transmigrated.

Slowly, he looked up at the Daoist before him. The man wore no protective gear, there were no cameras, no film crew—nothing that suggested a set.

He struggled to accept this reality, but then a new wave of frustration hit him.

Of all the people to transmigrate into, why Yun Zhonghe?

At this point in the story, Yun Zhonghe hadn’t yet become one of the Four Great Villains—a weakling whose martial prowess was laughable.

His cultivation technique was the worst of the worst. Practicing it brought an excess of yang energy, which, without being balanced by yin, left him feverish and restless during the Dragon Boat and Double Ninth Festivals. He had to “absorb yin to replenish yang” or else his blood would flow in reverse and he’d die from bleeding out of his seven orifices.

Then again, matters between men and women are simply human nature. Yun Zhonghe was no exception.

He wasn’t wrong!

If he was at fault, it was only for his greed—his desire to give every woman in the world a home.

But others didn’t see it that way. In the martial world, his infamy was unmatched; everyone wanted him dead.

Publicly, killing him was “cleansing the martial world,” a shortcut to fame. Secretly, it was out of jealousy—Yun Zhonghe did what they all wanted to do but dared not.

His thoughts racing, Yun Zhonghe took stock of his surroundings and the man before him.

So, this must be the world of Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils.

But who was this Daoist? He didn’t remember anyone like this.

“There are plenty in the martial world who want me dead. Who the hell are you supposed to be?”

Crude words spilled from Yun Zhonghe’s mouth, enraging the man. “I am Zhao Zhijing, first disciple under Master Yuyangzi of the Quanzhen Sect.”

Yun Zhonghe was dumbfounded.

What the hell? How did Zhao Zhijing wind up in Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils?

He couldn’t make sense of it, so he shelved his questions for now. The immediate priority was to escape to safety and figure out what kind of world this really was.

As this thought took root, a flash of white light blinded him. The cold aura from the sword sent a chill through him.

In that moment of crisis, he didn’t have time to think. Twisting his body desperately, he barely dodged the incoming thrust.

“You call yourself a righteous man of the martial world, yet you resort to such despicable sneak attacks?” Yun Zhonghe glared at Zhao Zhijing, widening the distance between them.

If he’d been any slower, he’d be full of holes by now.

Zhao Zhijing showed not a hint of shame. “Demonic scum like you deserve death. There’s no need to discuss martial honor.”

Hearing this, Yun Zhonghe’s rage boiled over. He laughed bitterly, “If all so-called righteous men are like you, Zhao Zhijing, then what harm is there in being a villain?”

“Shameless lecher! Even at death’s door, you dare spout such nonsense? Face my sword!”

A gentleman bides his time for revenge, he thought. Zhao Zhijing, you bastard, just wait. One day, I’ll have your head.

With his mind made up, Yun Zhonghe stopped trying to fight. His eyes darted about, searching for a chance to escape.

“Trying to run? Dream on!”

Zhao Zhijing’s swordplay surged like a storm. Yun Zhonghe couldn’t withstand the onslaught; a sword pierced his left leg, and blood gushed out. His balance gone, he staggered and nearly fell.

A cruel grin curled Zhao Zhijing’s lips. He delivered a vicious kick to Yun Zhonghe’s chest.

Crack!

The sound of breaking ribs echoed in the forest.

Yun Zhonghe was sent flying like a cannonball, crashing heavily to the ground, utterly incapacitated.

Zhao Zhijing approached, each step pounding like a drumbeat on Yun Zhonghe’s heart.

Dragging his battered body, Yun Zhonghe tried to crawl away, but Zhao Zhijing’s eyes gleamed with malice. He stomped down on Yun Zhonghe’s wound, grinding his foot in again and again.

“Ah!” Yun Zhonghe’s face twisted in agony. Sweat poured down his cheeks as hatred burned in his eyes. “Zhao Zhijing, I’ll kill you!”

Yet Zhao Zhijing only smiled, cruel and cold, his gaze dropping lower.

His sword traced a chilling arc, circling menacingly.

A sudden coldness gripped Yun Zhonghe.

“Had your fun cursing just now? Now it’s my turn.” Zhao Zhijing’s smile grew ever more sinister. “A dying man has no use for such filth. I’ll relieve you of it, to lessen your sins.”

Goddamnit!

Was Zhao Zhijing even a man? Even on the verge of death, he would confiscate his “tool of the trade.”

Save me, save me, save me.

Yun Zhonghe’s eyelids grew heavy as darkness crept into his mind.

“I’m sorry, I’ve embarrassed transmigrators everywhere,” he muttered weakly—full of rage, yet powerless.

[Ding! Supreme Villain System successfully activated!]

A cold, mechanical voice rang in his mind, and Yun Zhonghe’s despair was instantly transformed—like a phoenix rising anew, hope and vitality surged within him.

His tightly closed eyes snapped open, shining like stars.

System, at last! Give me a Gatling gun, I’m going to turn Zhao Zhijing into mush!

[Ding. Host’s life is in danger. Would you like to check in?]

“Yes, check in! Check in!”

Yun Zhonghe’s spirits soared. What reward would he receive?

As he waited in hope, the system’s icy voice echoed again: [Congratulations, host, for successfully checking in at the Ancient Tomb Sect.]

What the hell!

System, are you kidding me?!

Zhao Zhijing’s got me under his boot—what’s the use of checking in if you don’t give me a reward?!

Yun Zhonghe was speechless.

Just delete me already.

He gritted his teeth to force out the words.

“What’s the point of merely checking in when I’m about to die?”