Chapter One: Cultivation in the Land of Flowing Clouds

In a remote and untamed land, amidst towering and perilous mountains, a monstrous beast several meters tall, with fanged jaws and a crown of sword-sharp horns, was charging at full speed in pursuit of a grazing creature. After chasing for hundreds of meters, the horned beast seized its chance and, with a powerful surge of its hind legs, lunged forward.

The herbivore, showing remarkable intelligence, realized it could not outrun its pursuer; it paused for a moment and leaped aside. The horned giant missed its target and, unable to stop, crashed headfirst into a massive boulder. The rock was incredibly hard, but with a thunderous boom, it shattered into countless fragments.

Outwitted by its prey, the horned beast was furious. Seeing the herbivore already far away, it shook the debris from its head and prepared to give chase once more.

Suddenly, the ground beneath its feet darkened, a growing shadow enveloping it. Sensing something amiss, the beast looked up—only to see a colossal, thick-skinned, wrinkled foot descending from the sky. It was too late to evade. With a sickening squelch, the beast, armored hide and all, was crushed into pulp.

The giant foot landed, and as if sensing something unusual, its owner looked down. It was a behemoth known as a Mang, a colossal creature whose legs spanned hundreds of meters. The Mang shifted its front leg aside and extended its tongue to consume the mass of flesh.

But the meat, pressed deep into the earth and mixed with soil, seemed tasteless. The giant Mang gave up, lifting its head to the sky and unleashing a furious roar. Its body towered hundreds of meters high, its neck stretching into the clouds, and its bellow echoed for dozens of miles.

After its outburst, the Mang felt a chill sweep across its neck. As it turned to investigate, several more gusts of cold air streaked past.

High above, two figures flashed by like lightning, skimming over the Mang’s head. They were two human cultivators, each standing atop a flying sword, dashing through the sky. At that moment, both Golden Core experts were in dire straits, fleeing for their lives, one ahead of the other.

A flock of iron eagles, each three meters long with razor-sharp beaks and talons, pursued them. Though these eagles had not yet taken human form, their strength rivaled that of Golden Core cultivators. Facing so many at once, the two could only run.

After dozens of miles of this relentless chase, one of the eagles seized the trailing cultivator by the collar. The man twisted around, fighting desperately and shouting for his companion ahead.

His companion glanced back in haste and saw several eagles already tearing at the man, whose screams resounded through the night. Hastily, he recited an incantation and launched several violet beams of light. Three eagles were struck off guard, tumbling down before regaining their balance and soaring up once more.

Seeing the eagles closing in, the fleeing cultivator gritted his teeth and abandoned his companion, ignoring his desperate cries as he sped onward without looking back.

The chase continued for another two hours and hundreds of miles until night fell and darkness blanketed the land. As he flew over a high mountain, the twinkling lights of countless homes appeared in the distance—a city-state at last. The cultivator breathed a sigh of relief.

He descended rapidly toward the city gates, landing just outside as he arrived.

The iron eagles, relentless, pursued him to the very edge, but as the lead eagle crossed the threshold, an immense force dragged it down. The rest, sensing danger, wheeled about and circled warily outside the city, unwilling to venture further. Watching their companion cut down by the city’s defenders, they finally abandoned the chase and disappeared into the night.

In a secluded corner of the city-state, Dao Bailiu was once again drunk. Staggering through the alleyways under the sparse moonlight, he reminisced bitterly.

He had been cursed out by the gang leader yet again, but he was used to that by now. In his youth, he had dreamed of wandering the world with sword in hand, singing bold songs atop a galloping steed. Fate, however, had led him into a city gang, and now, disillusioned and unfulfilled, he spent his days in the company of wine, often too drunk to find his way home.

Dao Bailiu was not without talent; he had mastered his family’s secret techniques to a high degree, and by his twenties, he was among the elite of the gang—worthy of great trust. But many of the gang’s operations disgusted him. As with most underworld organizations, much of their profit came from shady dealings. While he could tolerate the need to feed his brothers, acts like bullying the weak or forcing women into prostitution crossed his moral line. His pleas to the leader went unheard, and with no better solution, he simply refused to participate in such deeds. Over time, he became marginalized within the gang, kept only because his skills were still useful; otherwise, he would have been cast out long ago.

Wuzhou City was vast, its labyrinthine streets confusing even in daylight—by night, impossible to navigate. Dao Bailiu, unfazed, decided to make do; he sat down where he was and resolved to spend the night right there.

Just as he closed his eyes, hurried footsteps echoed down the alley. Opening them, he saw a shadowy figure clambering with difficulty over the wall of a nearby house.

Dao Bailiu couldn't help but smirk. For ease of management, every city-state in the Cloudflow Nation was equipped with a “flight prohibition array”—even an immortal would have to climb the walls like an ordinary thief. So, this fellow was probably a burglar.

He shrugged. As a member of the underworld himself, he saw no reason to meddle.

But then came more footsteps and shouting—the authorities in pursuit, yelling to catch the fugitive.

Moments after the figure had disappeared over the wall, a squad of soldiers charged into the alley. The leaders, full of bluster, spotted Dao Bailiu sitting in the shadows and ordered their men to surround him.

One stepped forward, wrinkled his nose at the smell of liquor, cursed his luck, and kicked Dao Bailiu. “Hey, kid, did you see an injured man run by here?” he demanded.

Dao Bailiu took no offense—these soldiers were their usual adversaries, and he had no interest in helping them. He simply pointed in another direction.

Without a word, they rushed off in pursuit.

Watching them go, Dao Bailiu snorted, but he was too tired to care. Soon, he drifted into sleep.

Across the street, in that very house, sat a young man of unremarkable appearance, gazing blankly out the window.

Yang Cheng had been in this world for five years already. The initial passion for conquering the cultivation realm had long since faded. Once the owner of a small business, he had been inexplicably transported here, only to find himself even less successful in this chaotic world than in his previous life. This was a world of cultivation, and he had neither an invincible halo nor any miraculous “cheat code.” Survival here was a constant struggle, and he had endured these years in fear.

Transported abruptly, he had nothing but a frail youth’s body, a meager inheritance from the original owner, and a single elderly, loyal servant. No real foundation to speak of.

In this world, class and lifespan varied immensely. The great powers and the government controlled most resources and cultivation methods. The lower classes and most commoners had no access even to basic cultivation techniques, while everyone else was swept up in the fervor of self-improvement. For many, the pursuit of immortality, strength, power, or simply longer life was the ultimate dream.

For survival, Yang Cheng had spent several years diligently cultivating at home. But, like most ordinary people, he discovered he was not suited to becoming an immortal. Crossing worlds did not grant him a superior mind or extraordinary aptitude. The only benefit was a stronger, healthier body and a few extra years of life.

Now, almost twenty in this life, he had little to show for five years of effort—barely scratching the surface of cultivation. To become truly powerful, he would need to seclude himself for decades, perhaps centuries. Memories of his past life grew ever more distant, hard to distinguish from dreams. His original ambitions, the desire to blend in and become a strong cultivator, now seemed hopelessly impractical.

With his mediocre talent, a single low-grade cultivation manual, and dwindling spirit stones, he could hardly make progress, let alone stand out or even survive. After all, what are the odds that a comfortable, law-abiding Earthling would happen to be a prodigy, let alone someone with the ruthless courage and decisiveness so often imagined? More common was fear—of the unknown, of the powerful. Here, simply living carefully was already an achievement.

By now, as a former entrepreneur, Yang Cheng no longer wanted to hide away, eking out an existence in caution. Since the path of cultivation seemed closed, it was time to consider a new direction—to make a change. If he could not find security through strength, he would have to seek it by other means.

Over the years, he had learned that even the world of cultivation had its own rules. Despite the presence of myriad races and powers, the human race still had its own society, social stratification, economy, culture, and all kinds of professions and circles.

It was not, as he once imagined, a world governed solely by violence and cultivation. If that were so, society would be in chaos, and humanity would have long since been wiped out by other races. Strength did rule, but laws and order balanced the world; even the mightiest individual could not destroy cities at a whim, or society would collapse under the weight of a few mad cultivators. Cultivation itself was a defiance of nature, but the world did not allow differences in power to grow unchecked.

With his background in business, Yang Cheng understood that wherever there were people, there would be society, stratification, interests, and both material and spiritual needs. In the cultivation realm, too, there was demand for food, clothing, shelter, and travel. Even the strongest needed cultivation resources and could not ignore the masses, who provided labor and created wealth. Thus, after every period of chaos, laws and order had to be established to balance the interests of all classes.

Thus the Cloudflow Nation came into being—the realm where Yang Cheng now lived. It comprised one hundred and eight city-states, scattered across a vast territory, managed through five major regions: Central, East, West, North, and South, each overseeing their respective cities. Hundreds of billions of humans lived here, and by day the cities bustled with prosperity. Yet the government’s reach extended only to these cities; beyond their walls lay endless wilderness, home to uncountable other races. The cities stood isolated, connected only by lonely official roads threading through the wild.