Chapter One: The Emperor-Slaying Technique

Vastness Sect, behind the Pill Peak.

Beside the cesspit, a young man dressed in the garb of a menial laborer knelt on both knees. In his hands, he cradled a jade slip, dripping with filth, and appeared half-mad—one moment wailing in despair, the next laughing wildly to the heavens.

He muttered, “Six months… I’ve been shoveling dung here for half a year! At last, I’ve made it through! Heaven has shown me mercy! Oh, thank the heavens!”

Once his excitement faded, Wan Yi hurried to the well, drawing clear water to wash the filth from the jade slip. As the grime rinsed away, three words emerged: “Emperor-Slaying Art.”

...

Wan Yi, in his previous life, had been an explosives specialist in a special forces unit. During a bomb disposal mission, a teammate’s error detonated a block of C4.

After the explosion, he assumed death was certain. Yet when he opened his eyes again, he found himself transmigrated into a world where immortals could be cultivated.

The body he now occupied had also been called Wan Yi, a menial disciple of the Vastness Sect.

The original owner had abysmal talent for cultivation, and his dull, awkward nature left him ostracized by his peers. In the end, an elder from the Internal Affairs Hall relegated him to the filthiest task on Pill Peak: collecting dung.

In this world, once cultivators reached the Foundation Establishment stage, they could subsist on fasting pills and needed no longer answer nature’s call. But for the outer disciples still at the Qi Refining stage, life was no different from that of ordinary folk—they ate, drank, and relieved themselves daily.

Pill Peak alone had over a hundred Qi Refining disciples. After being banished there, Wan Yi’s daily routine began before dawn, wheeling his dung cart up the mountain to empty the chamber pots of the disciples. He then hauled the collected waste down to the cesspit at the foot of the mountain to rot into fertilizer.

Every five days, he was also tasked with lugging fertilizer up to the back hills, tending the spiritual herb fields. Thus, he earned the nickname: “Dung Lord.”

Introverted and friendless, the original owner toiled in the sect’s dirtiest, most exhausting role, all while enduring ridicule and contempt. The more he brooded, the deeper he spiraled into despair—until, one day, while working by the cesspit, he blacked out and toppled into the pit, dying instantly.

It was at that moment that Wan Yi transmigrated into his body. Only after a Herculean struggle did he manage to claw his way out of the pit.

Having absorbed the original’s memories and pieced together his predicament, Wan Yi was left speechless. Of all the transmigrators in history, he was likely the only one to arrive in a cesspit.

...

Still, the heavens had not treated him too harshly, granting him a second life. Returning to his original world was out of the question; for now, he could only bide his time, hiding within the Vastness Sect.

So, having accepted his reality, Wan Yi continued to live under his predecessor’s name, performing his predecessor’s duties. Fortunately, the original had no friends or social ties—there was no one to notice the soul that now resided within.

But the job of “Dung Lord” was truly inhuman. For six months, Wan Yi endured humiliation and hardship, relying on the original’s memories to cultivate, hoping to reach Foundation Establishment and escape his fate as a menial servant.

Yet the body he’d inherited was feeble beyond belief. Six months of cultivation yielded no progress; instead, the ceaseless labor left him ten pounds lighter.

Just as Wan Yi neared his breaking point, fate seemed to take pity on him. While dredging fertilizer from the cesspit today, he fished up an ancient transmission jade slip.

The Vastness Sect had stood for tens of thousands of years, and this cesspit had existed since its founding. The jade slip’s archaic design made it clear it was no recent artifact—who knew how many years it had lain buried in filth.

Now, having rinsed it clean, Wan Yi nervously glanced around. Seeing no one nearby, he hastily returned to his thatched hut.

“Heh, ‘Emperor-Slaying Art’! Just the name sounds formidable!”

His heart pounded so violently in his chest that he could hear it. Raising his right hand, he forced a drop of blood from his fingertip, letting it drip onto the jade slip.

The drop was instantly absorbed. The next moment, a beam of brilliant light shot from the jade slip, streaking straight toward Wan Yi’s forehead.

Wan Yi’s heart leapt. “This isn’t right!”

He’d seen other disciples use transmission jade slips before, and the process of recognizing a master with blood was never like this.

All of this happened in the blink of an eye. Realizing danger too late, Wan Yi tried to dodge, but it was futile. The beam of light darted into his skull with a sharp whistle.

He felt a wave of darkness flood his vision, stumbled, and collapsed to the floor.

He did not know how much time had passed before his consciousness slowly returned. Yet the scene before him left him bewildered.

He was no longer in his own room.

...

Gazing about, he found himself surrounded by a misty, indistinct chaos, with no way to tell direction from direction.

As he opened his mouth to call for help, an ancient voice sounded behind him.

“Little one, your aptitude is truly abysmal. Your sea of consciousness is so weak, it can’t even withstand a wisp of my remnant soul!”

The sudden voice made Wan Yi jump, spinning around in alarm. Ten paces behind him hovered a semi-transparent spirit form—an old man with a head and beard of white, regarding him with a kindly twinkle.

But Wan Yi’s heart skipped a beat. He thought, “This old man may look benevolent, but that expression—he’s clearly up to no good!”

Strangely, the words he’d just thought echoed loudly all around him, booming as if shouted into the void.

Startled, Wan Yi blurted, “What the—?!”

The old man’s face twisted in surprise, then he burst out laughing.

“Haha! You’re an amusing child, if rather ignorant.”

Seeing the old man laughing at his expense, Wan Yi fumed, his anger rising until he ground out from between clenched teeth, “Old man, you and I have no quarrel—why are you doing this to me? Speak! Where is this place?!”

The old man shook his head helplessly. “Child, don’t panic. Listen to me. This is your sea of consciousness. Here, every thought in your heart will find an answer.”

Hearing that the figure bore no obvious hostility, Wan Yi let down his guard a little, though suspicion lingered. “What are you doing in my sea of consciousness? And what’s happening to me—how did I end up here?”

The old man stroked his beard and chuckled. “Child, I am here because you activated my transmission jade slip. As you are yet too weak to perceive your own sea of consciousness, I had to draw your spirit in myself so you could receive my teachings.”

At this, the old man’s expression turned grave. “Child, are you ready to receive my knowledge?”

To be continued...