On a sunny day, a boy sprinted toward the bookstore, the wind brushing through his dark hair. He stood around 185 cm (6'1"), averagely handsome, but what made him truly stand out were the numerous scars etched across his well-trained body—each a story, a battle, a survival.
"Hi, my name's Lucifer, and that's me," he said casually, as if introducing himself to the audience of his own life.
The reason for his dash was apparent—today was the day of the release of the final chapter of his favorite cultivation novel. More importantly, the bookstore had announced an exclusive prize: the earliest person to arrive would receive the cultivating art of the protagonist. To others, it might look like a gimmick. But to a person like Lucifer, it was the world.
To the uninitiated, cultivation is the act of cleansing heaven and earth's energy, swallowing it into the body to open the dantian—the soul core—and the twelve main meridians, and over 600 smaller ones. At least, according to the books.
You can be wondering, how do I know everything. Speaking frankly, I am addicted to cultivating novels. There is something magical and invigorating in them. I read them all, from early immortal legends of emperors to contemporary blended modern martial arts and technology novels. But reading addiction was not the end.
I trained.
Not the kind of recreational fitness everyone plays around with. No. I pushed my body to breaking. I sparred with seasoned martial artists, backcountry hiked, and even fought hand-to-hand with wild animals. I tempered my body like a sword. My bones were toughened by impact, my muscles toughened by resistance at levels that were unsafe.
Why? Because I was trying to cultivate in real life. Yeah, laugh away. But I was serious.
And after five years passed and nothing happened, I began to think that all the cultivation arts I learned on the internet or wrote myself were nothing. So, I dug deeper. I studied all the known fictional techniques, watched all cultivation series, and deconstructed the pattern of qi pathways, meridian diagrams, and spiritual systems.
And then I created my own.
I've referred to it as the Devouring Dragon Art—a method that cultivates soul, body, mind, and qi at the same time. It is designed to hasten progress without hurting the foundation, for most practices sacrifice short-term progress in favor of long-term destruction. It purifies qi, fortifies internal organs, and even has a taboo technique: devouring the blood of humans or beasts to inherit their bloodline and abilities.
And though I couldn't lift it, I was bloody proud of it.
Finally, I arrived at the bookstore, chest heaving, sweat dripping, heart beating with excitement. Within, the friendly tinkle of the door greeted me.
"Hi, boss!" I greeted, grinning.
"Hahaha! Hi, boy. Full of energy as ever
"So, you were here for the prize? So special?" the boss asked, his voice that gravelly sort that came from a man who'd smoked too many cigarettes and seen too many bizarre things behind that second-hand bookstore counter.
Lucifer grinned widely, literally jumping up and down on his heels with excitement. "Yeah! I woke up really early just so I could be first in line. Did I win?"
The old man smiled and nodded. "Yeah, boy, you did. You're the first and only, in fact. Not many people hunt for cultivation scrolls anymore."
He slipped around the creaky wooden counter, opening the top drawer with a creak older than himself. From within it, he produced with reverent caution a rumpled scroll executed in crimson silk and tied with a thin black string. It seemed to have an odd, quiet authority, barely noticeable but unmistakable.
"Here you are, boy," he said, passing it into Lucifer's hands with deliberate reserve. "Hope to see you again soon."
Lucifer's face shone like the sun. "Thanks! I'll be back when there's a new novel—or scroll—out. 'Bye, chief!" He waved enthusiastically and headed for the door.
The boss just stood there, shaking his head with a wistful grin. "Kids these days… always looking for dragons."
The moment Lucifer stepped out of the shadows and into daylight, he wielded the scroll as treasure. His eyes glinted. "Finally. Another cultivation art in my arsenal."
You might wonder why I would get so enthusiastic when I already possessed the world's best cultivation art. The answer is simple: I am a hobbyist, an addict, a fanatic collector of cultivation manuals. Some people enjoy stamp collecting, other people collect video games—I collect power. Or, at least, blueprints to power.
Lucifer unrolled the scroll and spread it out with care. The parchment groaned slightly, worn but cared for. Reading the beginning lines with his eyes, he tilted his head in astonishment.
"Huh. This is actually quite good. Not quite on my Devouring Dragon Art level, of course, but better than most of the normal stuff I've read on the internet or in books."
He grinned, rolling it up and storing it in his backpack.
As he strolled down the sidewalk, humming quietly to himself and in a trance-like state, he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. His mind was running wild with visions of future breakthroughs, kingdoms of might, and maybe—maybe—breaking free from this mortal coil. The idea of really being able to put his knowledge into practice, as opposed to simply studying it, was intoxicating.
And then, a scream.
Lucifer's head snapped to the side. A small girl, around five years old, had rolled her red ball into the street. Her mother shrieked after her, fear and urgency in her voice. A black vehicle, driving too fast, with a driver more interested in his phone than the highway, bore down on the little girl.
Time ground to a halt.
I knew I had a choice. One: keep moving, pretend like I hadn't seen anything, and see what happened. Two: be dumb and heroic. Be dumb and heroic enough to do something that'd get me killed. I'm not that kinda dumb hero who charges blind into harm without looking back.
But her eyes. those eyes. So innocent, so bright, so oblivious to the damage coming her way. And then she smiled. A little smile of happiness as she retrieved her ball. That was it. That was all it took.
Before I knew it, I was sprinting.
I ran like my own life—and hers—depended upon it. They did. My feet pounded the sidewalk. My heart was racing. In one last desperate move, I lunged forward, grabbed the girl in a frantic embrace, and with all the strength I possessed, hurled her off the pavement into the bushes.
The car struck me a fraction of a second afterward.
Darkness.
Ache.
A blaze of agony that burned every inch of my body. I did not scream—could not scream. I was not sure I had a body left. My mind floated in a sea of pain. It was too much. I floated away into the nothingness once again.
When I finally came to, the pain was gone. That was the first thing I realized. The second was that I was breathing—but not like it used to be. My lungs were lighter, fuller. Each breath contained energy, not merely air.
Wait. Didn't I die?
I gradually opened my eyes. The ceiling above was odd—aged wooden planks, cracked and weathered, like a scene from a period drama. I sat up suddenly, hoping to feel broken bones or the pounding pain of injury—but I didn't. I felt. fine. Better than fine. Stronger, actually.
And then it arrived—an onslaught of other people's memories.
I gasped and covered my head as visions of another life danced before my eyes. A boy, my age, dirty and thin, wandering the streets, scrounging for rubbish from other beggars. His name was Lucifer, also. What was the probability?
He poisoned himself. Rat meat, spoiled soup—who knows. The point is: I had inherited his body. A world of cultivation. A real one.
"HAHAHAHA!" I laughed, half in disbelief, half in joy. "Finally! My dream has come true! I'm really here. A real cultivation world!"
Adrenaline coursed through my veins. I got up and looked around. The shack I was in nearly wasn't standing. It reeked of damp wood and rot, but I didn't mind. I had a new life. Second chance. And I had knowledge that no one here had.
After calming myself down and re-run through the memories, I discovered that this guy had nothing—no family, no friends, no foes. That suited me just fine. No responsibilities, no baggage.
"First things first," I growled. "I need strength."
I took out the Devouring Dragon Art—a cultivation method I'd developed myself, refined through years of constant theorycrafting. In my previous life, it was all fantasy, naturally. But now?
Now I could try it.
I knelt cross-legged on the creaking floor, eyes closed, and began to drive the first part of the technique. I pictured the ravening dragon—a creature of unquenchable hunger, a maelstrom of desire and energy. I directed that hunger inward, focusing on the thin threads of spiritual energy I could sense in the air.
Nothing was occurring initially.
Minutes passed. I began to question. Was this art real? Was it even in resonance with this world's energies?
Then something shifted.
A flash. A pull.
A faint thread of energy wrapped around me like mist caught in a pocket of air. It infused my body, tentatively at first, then with increasing velocity, as if a dam had opened.
My heart pounded. My veins thrummed as if vibrating. A tide of warmth exploded in my center.
My eyes flew open.
"I did it," I whispered.
The corners of my lips curled into a smile.