In the Yan State, atop a mountain peak wreathed in clouds, lay the Jade Spring Sect.
Upon an ethereal square paved with white jade, hundreds of boys and girls sat cross-legged in silent meditation.
Their eyes were sealed shut, but their faces were a gallery of turmoil. Some twisted in fury, some slackened in fear; others beamed with ecstasy or collapsed into utter despair.
“Hiss…”
A sharp intake of breath broke the silence. In the midst of the crowd, Feng Muchen’s eyes flew open, his hand instinctively clamping to his forehead.
Deep within his mind, a lifetime of memories crashed against his consciousness like a tidal wave.
As the flood of information settled, Feng Muchen understood.
He had transmigrated.
He was in a Xianxia world.
Only now, during the fourth trial of the Jade Spring Sect’s entrance examination—the Mind Reflecting Terrace—had the memories of his past life fully awakened.
“Someone woke up so quickly. His Dao heart is excellent!”
Not far away, several immortal masters from the Jade Spring Sect murmured in surprise, their gazes fixed on Feng Muchen.
The Mind Reflecting Terrace was the fourth stage of the sect's assessment, a trial designed to test one’s Dao heart—the fortitude of their mind and willpower.
Feng Muchen, jolted from the illusion by the shock of his awakening memories, was the first to emerge.
“Feng Muchen, eighteen years old, ninth-grade spiritual root. A pity.”
“His performance in the second stage, the trial of perseverance, was only mediocre. It’s strange that he possesses such a strong Dao heart.”
“With a Dao heart like that, if he had a seventh-grade spiritual root, he’d be a promising immortal seed, even at eighteen.”
“But with a ninth-grade spiritual root, his potential is limited at this age. No matter how strong his Dao heart, it’s useless.”
After reviewing Feng Muchen’s information, many of the immortal masters wore expressions of regret.
Of course, Feng Muchen could not hear their deliberations.
He was lost in his own thoughts.
With the return of his past life’s memories, the transmigrator’s indispensable golden finger had also arrived: a system.
The Hundred Heirs Divine Fortune System.
Just as the name suggested, the more children he had, the more blessings he would receive.
These blessings were not some abstract form of happiness, but tangible, measurable benefits.
According to the information that had bloomed in his mind, the system currently offered two primary boons.
First, there were achievement rewards tied to his offspring. Triggering these achievements would grant him rewards from the system.
Second, the spiritual root talent and cultivation base of his direct descendants would be added to his own.
Furthermore, the talents and cultivation of his grandchildren and their descendants would also contribute to him, though the bonus from grandchildren would be less than that from his children, diminishing by fifty percent with each subsequent generation.
“Unlock achievements by having descendants? And their talents and cultivation get added to me?”
“It feels like I’m playing some kind of child-rearing simulation game, unlocking achievements and getting rewards for raising a family.”
“But doesn’t this mean that as long as my children and grandchildren have good talent and cultivate to high levels, my own spiritual root can be improved? I could ascend to immortality with ease!”
The implications of the system sent a jolt of exhilaration through Feng Muchen.
In this world, the first step to cultivating immortality was possessing a spiritual root.
Spiritual roots were divided into nine grades. Ninth through seventh were considered low-grade. Sixth through fourth were mid-grade. Third through first were high-grade.
Beyond the first grade, there existed the legendary Earth Spirit Root and Heaven Spirit Root, as well as other rare, mutated Spirit Roots.
During the aptitude test in the first assessment, Feng Muchen had learned he possessed only a ninth-grade Spirit Root.
It was considered the worst of the worst.
Cultivating immortality with such a poor foundation was an exercise in futility, his future achievements severely limited.
But now, with the “Hundred Heirs, Hundred Fortune” system, Feng Muchen felt the path to immortality might not be so difficult after all.
As long as he had enough children and nurtured them well, building a powerful family through his own efforts, he believed he could soar to the heavens without lifting a finger.
“Dad! Mom! No!”
“It was fake… it was all just an illusion!”
“Haha! I did it! I’ve become an immortal!”
“No, this is false! You can’t fool me!”
At that moment, the youths on the Mind Reflecting Terrace began to awaken one by one, their cries cutting through the air as they surfaced from their mental trials. The commotion shattered Feng Muchen’s reverie.
“Feng Muchen, when did you wake up?”
Several of the aspirants seated near him stared in surprise, realizing he was already lucid.
“Just a little while ago,” Feng Muchen replied, his gaze sweeping over the group of three young men and two young women before him.
There was Zhao Kuo, sixteen, with a ninth-grade Spirit Root, the legitimate son of a marquis. Qian Feng, fifteen, a seventh-grade Spirit Root who came from a family of blacksmiths. Sun Wujie, eighteen, a seventh-grade Spirit Root and junior leader of the Fierce Tiger Hall. Zhou Ling'er, fifteen, a fourth-grade Spirit Root and the daughter of a scholarly family. And Wu Yanran, sixteen, a sixth-grade Spirit Root from a family of physicians.
The five of them, like him, were immortal seedlings who had been brought from the secular world to the Jade Spring Sect.
They had gotten to know each other on the journey.
However, their familiarity was born of a shared need for comfort in a strange new environment. The chasm between their backgrounds was too wide for them to truly connect.
Only Qian Feng and Feng Muchen had gotten along reasonably well, as Feng Muchen’s peasant upbringing made him more approachable to the blacksmith’s son.
“I think I was the first to wake up. I wonder if that will be enough to enter the Immortal Sect.”
Feng Muchen watched the others slowly coming to their senses, a thread of hope tightening in his chest.
Even with the system, he wanted to join the Jade Spring Sect.
He was just an ordinary peasant who had stumbled upon a chance at immortality. If he couldn't join the sect, cultivating would be an immense challenge.
The path of cultivation depended on four pillars: wealth, companionship, technique, and location. Each was indispensable.
Wealth was self-explanatory. Whether in the mortal world or the realm of cultivators, money was paramount.
Companionship referred to fellow cultivators, allies on the path.
Technique encompassed cultivation methods, Daoist arts, and the guidance of masters.
Finally, location meant a proper place to cultivate. In ordinary lands, where spiritual veins were absent and spiritual energy was thin, progress was agonizingly slow.
Joining the Jade Spring Sect, especially in the beginning, would provide all four pillars.
This was why countless people dreamed of joining an immortal sect.
“Those whose names are called, step forward.”
Soon, once everyone on the Mind Reflecting Terrace had awoken, a disciple of the Jade Spring Sect descended from the sky. He hovered in mid-air, produced a jade scroll, and began to announce the list of accepted applicants.
“Wang Wu, Zheng Bao, Qian Feng, Zhou Ling'er, Wu Yanran.”
He called out the names one by one.
Those who heard their names were overcome with excitement and joy, their eyes shining with dreams of the immortal path ahead.
The hearts of those who remained uncalled grew heavier with each name, a sense of loss creeping over them.
“Is that all?” Sun Wujie demanded, his face a mask of resentment as he watched the disciple roll up the scroll.
“Why wasn’t my name called!?” Zhao Kuo hissed, his lips pressed into a thin line. His face was pale with disbelief. He might only have an eighth-grade spiritual root, but he came from a noble family and had spent a small fortune on connections beforehand.
“Hah,” Feng Muchen let out a quiet sigh, a weight settling in his stomach. His name had not been on the list.
With the system in place, however, he wasn't too distraught.
All around him, some of the failed aspirants had already broken down in tears.
“The rest of you, leave the mountain gate at once,” the Jade Spring Sect disciple said, his voice utterly indifferent.
Then, with a sweep of his sleeve, auspicious clouds materialized beneath the feet of the chosen few, lifting them into the air and carrying them away.
The remaining hundreds stood with bitter expressions, turning to leave with a profound sense of unwillingness.
“Once we step through this gate, our fates diverge. The paths of immortals and mortals are now separate!” someone shouted with a mournful sigh as they exited the Jade Spring Sect’s main gate.
Failing to join an immortal sect meant that even if you managed to set foot on the path of cultivation, you would forever be a mere casual cultivator.
Your destiny would be completely different from that of a true sect disciple.
Zhao Kuo, his heart filled with resentment, looked back at the faint, radiant energy that enveloped the Jade Spring Sect and sighed again and again.
On the journey here, he had been actively pursuing Zhou Ling'er.
But now, with her fourth-grade spiritual root, she had successfully joined the sect while he had been eliminated. In an instant, she had become an existence entirely beyond his reach.
His status as a marquis’s son meant nothing before a disciple of an immortal sect.
Even Qian Feng, the blacksmith’s son he had looked down on, and the unassuming Wu Yanran had now joined the Jade Spring Sect. In the future, they would be figures he could only look up to.
“So, what now?”
Feng Muchen glanced one last time at the gate of the Jade Spring Sect, took a deep breath, and began to contemplate his next move.
He had a system, yes.
But using it wouldn't be simple. There was an initial stage of accumulation.
He would have to constantly marry and have children, then raise and nurture them.
The time, money, and energy required for such an endeavor were no small matter.
For him, in his current state, it was a monumental task. Though he possessed a spiritual root, he was still just a penniless peasant. Without the backing of an immortal sect, that spiritual root wasn't worth much.
Just as the crowd of rejected aspirants was descending the mountain path, a refined man in his thirties or forties, dressed in a green robe, walked up to meet them. He scanned the dejected faces and spoke.
“Young friends, our Red Maple Mountain’s Shen Family is currently recruiting twenty sons-in-law. We offer blessed lands with spiritual veins and immortal cultivation manuals. Are any of you interested?”