A ray of sunlight fell upon the earth. The boy lying on the grass opened his eyes under the sting of the glare.
When he did, the first thing he saw was not a ceiling, nor a familiar room, but a stretch of sky shattered into fragments by overlapping leaves.
Sunlight filtered through towering trees, scattering irregular patches of light across the ground.
He was lying beside a grassy clearing within the forest.
The ground beneath him was rough and unmistakably real, delivering a clear tactile sensation. Li Changsheng blinked. A sharp pain pulsed at the back of his head. He reached up and touched the crimson blood on his fingers, forcing himself to rapidly accept the scene before him.
—Where is this? Wasn't I in the school dormitory?
The air carried the scent of soil, the bitter freshness of crushed grass, and a faint yet lingering metallic tang.
He sat up and lowered his gaze to examine himself.
Gray cloth garments, the stitching coarse and obviously hand-sewn. The cuffs were worn, yet cleanly washed. His hands were small, the knuckles not fully developed, the skin lacking any traces left by modern life.
—Is this… me?
He tried to stand, only to realize that his legs did not support him as easily as expected. This was a child's body.
Li Changsheng had originally been an ordinary middle school student—his grades neither good nor bad. His only real hobby was reading web novels after classes. He remembered being in the dormitory, following a story online, when drowsiness crept in. His blinking became strangely irregular—each blink lasting longer than the last, so long that he could no longer tell whether it was merely blinking, or a brief loss of consciousness.
The scene before his eyes began to dissolve, its outlines blurring. He only remembered a warmth spreading across his chest, a flash of golden light before his eyes—and then nothing at all.
As Li Changsheng lingered in these memories, a stream of information surfaced slowly in his mind. It was not violent or overwhelming, but exceptionally clear—like carefully organized recollections rather than forcibly implanted knowledge.
—Qingshi Village, northern border of the Heaven Dou Empire, son of an ordinary farming household, six years old this year.
There was no melodramatic trope of dead parents, no hidden line of noble blood—just a life record so plain it could not be more so.
Li Changsheng closed his eyes and spent over ten seconds sorting through the two sets of memories.
The conclusion came quickly.
He had transmigrated.
And not into some unknown world, but unmistakably into the Douluo Continent.
This judgment did not come from the village's name, but from the sight before him: a powerfully built man in the midst of absorbing a black soul ring. The man's shoulders were broad as mountains, his arm muscles drawn taut, every movement radiating strength. Behind him loomed the indistinct figure of a giant bear. From that bear emanated a suffocating bestial aura, making the man resemble a solid statue—one that exuded pressure even while standing still.
Having once studied the system and structure of Douluo, Li Changsheng immediately realized—
This was a world constructed upon soul power as its underlying logic.
He slowly rose to his feet and brushed the dust from his clothes, moving with extreme caution, afraid of alerting the man nearby. After confirming that the man had no attention to spare for him, he quietly left the area.
Panic was useless. Excitement was even more unnecessary.
He understood one fact very clearly—transmigration did not mean he would become the protagonist of the world, and knowing the plot did not equal safety. In a place like the Douluo Continent, where the law of the jungle prevailed, hierarchies were rigid, and strength commanded absolute respect, any fantasy divorced from reality would ultimately be erased—either by the claws of a soul beast or by a casual strike from a stronger individual. Only by surviving quietly could one earn the chance to live on.
At present, the only advantage he could be certain of was information. And information, when used well, was capital; when used poorly, it was a death warrant.
Following the routes preserved in his memories, he walked toward the village.
Qingshi Village was small—so small that it could even be called remote. Low stone houses lined the dirt road, their walls mottled, yet clearly patched and repaired over the years. At the village entrance stood an old wooden sign. Its lettering had been worn away by wind and rain, but was still barely legible—
—Qingshi Village.
Li Changsheng's steps paused slightly.
This name did not even qualify for a footnote in the original story. No soul masters were born here, no epic battles ever took place. It was nothing more than a tiny dot easily overlooked at the edge of the map.
Yet now, he was standing here.
Cooking smoke had already risen within the village. The light of dusk softened everything, lending it a sense of warmth and reality. Several children chased and played in an open space, their clothes caked with dust, their laughter completely unguarded.
Li Changsheng watched the scene, his mind unusually clear.
He knew exactly what six years of age meant on the Douluo Continent—it meant that martial soul awakening was approaching.
That moment was a watershed.
Before awakening, nearly all children stood on the same starting line. Afterward, fate began to diverge—some soared in a single step, while others remained trapped in mundanity for life.
Li Changsheng did not believe himself to be an exception. He did not expect a twin martial soul, nor did he indulge in fantasies of innate full soul power. What transmigration brought was never favoritism from fate, but merely a chance to place a new bet.
What truly decided victory or defeat were the choices made after the bet was placed.
By the time he returned home, night had already fallen. The so-called "home" was nothing more than a slightly cramped stone house, simply furnished yet clean and orderly. The "father" from his inherited memories was repairing farm tools. Seeing Li Changsheng return, he merely nodded, offering no extra words.
It was a quiet, pragmatic world.
Dinner was simple: coarse grains, vegetables, and a small bowl of clear soup. Li Changsheng ate slowly. He was not accustomed to vegetables in his previous life, but until the situation was clear, he could not afford to display behavior different from the original owner of this body. All he could do was sense the condition of his body and think through his next steps.
He did not know whether anyone would come to this remote village to conduct martial soul awakenings. He looked at his right hand—the place where a martial soul would manifest, though it might just as well remain empty.
Late at night, Li Changsheng lay on the bed, staring at the rough wooden beams of the ceiling.
He began to plan his future in this world:
First, confirm the result of the martial soul awakening, and do not reveal any abnormality beforehand.
Second, if the martial soul was ordinary, take a steady path, prioritizing survival and growth; if the martial soul was special—evaluate the risks with caution, and never flaunt it lightly.
Third, avoid becoming entangled in large-scale causal events of the early main plot as much as possible. He did not know whether his existence would alter the story, nor whether it would bring danger upon himself.
Tang San was the protagonist—of that, he had never doubted. And the foremost duty of a supporting character was to live long enough.
Outside the window, the chirping of insects rose and fell.
Li Changsheng slowly closed his eyes, his breathing steady and long.
He was not in a hurry, because being in a hurry would achieve nothing.
On the Douluo Continent, what truly determined fate had never been the brilliance of the moment of awakening, but whether, after that brilliance faded, one could still continue moving forward.
Yet if he possessed no martial soul at all, then all of this would amount to nothing more than futile contemplation.