Volume One: Tempests Over a Small Town Chapter Three: The Immortal Cultivation Continent

"Are you serious?" Zhang Heng was deeply skeptical upon hearing Xiao Hong say that he couldn't defeat a third-level Body Refining cultivator. The Body Refining Realm—just from its name, it was obviously the most basic stage of cultivation. Body Refining Level Three, that had to be the weakest of cultivators. If he couldn’t even win against a third-level Body Refiner, did that mean he had absolutely no talent for cultivation? Surely that couldn't be right.

Zhang Heng forced a smile and asked, "So, what level am I in Body Refining right now?"

Xiao Hong pondered for a moment, then, dragging her face into a look of utmost seriousness, replied, "Young master, you should be considered at Body Refining Level Zero."

"What on earth? I'm so handsome and charming—shouldn't I at least be at Level Two? At the very least, Level One. Is it really true that I can't cultivate at all?" Zhang Heng exclaimed anxiously.

"Yes, young master. Spiritual energy disappears as soon as it enters your body; you can't draw it in to refine your body, and thus you can't cultivate. Master Ouyang diagnosed you and said that you will never be able to cultivate in your lifetime."

If he couldn’t cultivate, how would he ever defeat the Holy Son and marry the Holy Maiden?

"Well, do I have any other talents? Like alchemy, medicine, formation arts, or talisman crafting?" Zhang Heng still clung to a shred of hope—perhaps he could excel in some other field.

"No, young master. Your only talent is getting sick more often than others," Xiao Hong replied, oblivious to the dark look on Zhang Heng’s face, her words as stunning as thunder.

"Come on, are you praising me or insulting me?"

"Sigh, you may leave for now. I'm feeling quite troubled and need a moment to calm down," Zhang Heng waved her off, speaking with resignation.

He turned his back to Xiao Hong, facing the wall and ignoring her.

This can't be right. After all, I am a transmigrator. Are there really no hidden advantages or glitches for me? Finally given a chance to soar, am I doomed to be just a spectator?

No, in novels, some hosts start as useless, but once their souls combine with the transmigrator’s, they become extraordinary. I must be one of those cases, Zhang Heng comforted himself.

Before long, Xiao Hong entered carrying a bowl. "Young master, this is our last piece of spirit beast meat. Please eat it—it will do you good." She handed him the bowl and urged him.

"Our last piece? I'm the son of a prominent family—how could we possibly run out of food?" Zhang Heng stubbornly questioned the delicate maid.

"Young master, in our Immortal Cultivation Continent, strength is everything. Only the strong have wealth and status. Since you can’t cultivate, the family doesn’t pay much attention to you. Plus, Master and Madam vanished three years ago. The fact that the family hasn’t expelled you is already a great kindness."

The girl's composure was remarkable, surely forged through years of hardship.

Now it was truly over. Zhang Heng had hoped that even if he couldn’t cultivate, he could at least enjoy an idle life as a second-generation heir. Yet, with no cultivation, no talent, no skills, no parents, and now not even money, could his situation be any more tragic?

He silently lamented that he must be the most pitiful transmigrator of all.

Thinking it over, though he couldn’t cultivate, at least he was alive. Compared to his previous life, he’d already won big.

Zhang Heng had always been an optimist. Since he had arrived in this world, the first thing he needed to do was understand its rules.

After eating the spirit beast meat, Zhang Heng asked Xiao Hong to take him to find some books.

He was joking—how could he learn about this world just by listening to this unreliable girl? He had to read.

Stepping out of the small wooden hut, Zhang Heng’s worldview was transformed.

In the distance, a man crouched slightly, fists clenched. With a single punch, he split a slab of stone a foot thick into two. Another person, seemingly strolling leisurely, appeared ten meters away in the blink of an eye.

Disciples wielded swords and spears; the array of weapons dazzled Zhang Heng.

These must be the weakest cultivators, yet they were so formidable. Could it be true that the strong really could fly and become omnipotent?

Perhaps novels weren’t all lies after all. Zhang Heng thought, feeling even more eager to learn about this world, and urged Xiao Hong to hurry toward the Martial Arts Pavilion.

The Martial Arts Pavilion was a three-story building, constructed from red and black wood, resembling ancient towers. It housed most of the Zhang family’s cultivation manuals and martial arts techniques—one of their most vital resources.

Outside, disciples came and went, and guards stood vigil at the entrance.

When they approached the pavilion, Xiao Hong stopped and cautioned, "Young master, I won’t go in with you. The Martial Arts Pavilion isn’t a place for servants like me. You can only enter the first floor. Don’t even think about going to the second floor—you’d violate the family rules."

"Wait here, then. I’ll go in," Zhang Heng replied. He understood the rule—useless as he was, he could only enter the first floor, likely because he was still considered part of the Zhang family.

Zhang Heng slowly walked toward the Martial Arts Pavilion.

Was it about to happen—the legendary moment of dramatic reversals?

According to the novel’s conventions, when he entered, he’d be met with ridicule from his clan, scolding from elders, and then the slap-in-the-face system would activate, propelling him to the pinnacle.

Yes, that must be the setup. Thinking this, Zhang Heng hurried forward—one step, two steps, ten, twenty.

Wait, why aren’t any of you paying attention to me? Aren’t you supposed to mock and humiliate me? Why is everyone ignoring me?

From entering until now, not even the steward of the Martial Arts Pavilion spared him a glance.

What? Why aren’t things going according to script?

After some thought, Zhang Heng let it go. He had neither status nor resources—others had no reason to seek a sense of superiority from him.

Forget it. The urgent task was to read.

Inside, he saw dozens of dark red shelves neatly arranged, all filled with books. The shelves were clearly labeled: Martial Arts, Cultivation Methods, Secret Techniques, Encyclopedias, and so on.

Some disciples cultivated right there; others took the manuals outside to study.

Zhang Heng picked up a book at random. "Golden Blade Technique"? What a ridiculous name. Fortunately, the contents were written in characters he could read—no need to learn a new language.

After three hours of reading, Zhang Heng finally gained a preliminary understanding of this world.

He was in a place called the Immortal Cultivation Continent.

Yes, Immortal Cultivation Continent. What a mediocre name, Zhang Heng thought, powerless to complain.

The people here were fierce in combat, but their naming skills were truly worrying.