The First Transmigrat

Well, it began with me mocking MTL novels again.

You know the ones—those barely-translated messes, riddled with grammar so broken it made me doubt the laws of language itself. The protagonists always start strong, with a mysterious system or divine teacher, and by chapter fifty they're racist, overpowered, and somehow still whining about being "looked down upon" in every damn scene.

God, and those ridiculous cultivation stages: "Hair Refining Realm," "Finger Condensation Stage," "Heaven-Destroying Toenail Foundation"—what the hell were they smoking?

But.

Some of them… some of them had good beginnings. Solid ideas buried beneath the trash. Sometimes, even brilliance hidden behind terrible writing.

That's when I glanced back at my manual. The crude leather-bound thing I'd poured my soul into—literally. The first draft of what might one day be a full-blown cultivation path.

A system… where I give power.

Those who cultivate through me—visualize me, write my name, bind their souls to mine—they'd begin their journey from my path. I am the origin. The first step.

And as they progress… they'll pull others into the path.

And at the end?All things will return to me.

The broader their path becomes, the stronger my own foundation. It's not just about teaching—it's harvesting. Fast-track cultivation. Not just for them. For me.

I won't be a lone freak carving out immortality with grit and blood.No.I'll use the world.

I'll walk the path of gods… in a few years, not thousands.

But, of course, just handing out a straightforward manual isn't fun. I mean, have you read those old scriptures? They talk in riddles like, "The jade moon bends where the plum blossom falls"—and you're supposed to understand that's a metaphor for liver circulation or something.

So I started adding those little cryptic lines too. I mean, who knows? Maybe someone will misunderstand something so profoundly that they create a divine ability—and I'll get the feedback from it!

Honestly, the thought alone got me excited. My blood started to hum. Just imagining it—some idiot comprehends a "Heaven-Splitting Palm" from a sentence about tea leaves and shadows, and boom, I get that power too.

This was the prototype, of course. I added stages:

Body Refining Realm – Skin, bones, muscles, tendons, marrow, blood, orifices, organs. The full rebuild.

Internal Body Realm – Cultivation of the structure within.

Innate Realm – A foot into transcendence. An innate technique forms here, unique to each.

Spiritual Origin Realm – True connection with me. Their soul opens fully, and they can borrow power directly from the cosmos through my image.

Spiritual Accumulation – They begin to condense energy fragments into a sea.

Spiritual Sea Realm – Mass storage of energy.

Spiritual Embryo – The birth of a personal divine ability.

Transcendence Realm – Divided into Body, Mind, and Energy. The true crossing.

I wrote all this in leather-bound pages. My soul energy burned just to imprint the words, and regular paper disintegrated like ash. It cost me all my savings. But it felt right.

The image of me they'd cultivate under was carefully sketched: white clothes, golden eyes. A young man staring into the void.

When I finally looked in the mirror… I realized I still had that scraggly beard. Felt old. Tired.

I shaved it.

To my surprise, I looked… average. Young. Almost like a man in his twenties again. When I walked into the courtyard, Old Dao didn't even recognize me. Said I looked like I'd gained eternal youth.

I laughed. "Maybe I did."

He laughed too, but his eyes lingered on me a little longer than usual. As if trying to remember something.

Life was calm for once. The courtyard peaceful. I sat with Old Dao, talking about random things. Martial arts. Gossip. Nonsense. Even my self-proclaimed disciple, who'd been dragged home by the guards, hadn't shown up again. No food thief. No chaos.

Then a strange thing happened.

A novel—some "divine martial arts adventure"—went viral. In this world.

Martial arts became a trend. The academy began filling with young people, all under twenty-five, desperate to learn how to fight. Martial honors, ethics, discipline—it became a wave.

Even that brat from the duke's house—Jin? Zhen?—he returned, strutting with his friends, acting like some young master from a webnovel. The academy was flooded with noise. Even the old founder came out of his hermitage just to enjoy the liveliness.

There were rumors, too.

The Crown Prince wanted to train in the academy. And he'd specifically asked the old founder to guide him.

Old Dao and I joked that the geezer had dug his own pit.

Time passed.

And as the sun dipped lower behind the peaks, I sat alone, staring at the sky, leather-bound manual in hand.

I wasn't just a teacher.I wasn't just a cultivator.

I was a path.

And I'd use this world to build a ladder to heaven—one misunderstanding at a time.