The closest Lin Feng had ever come to being a “winner in life” was the day the demolition compensation for his old home arrived.
There was a full eight million sitting in his bank card, two million more than the originally negotiated amount.
He sat on the stone steps outside the demolition office, clutching his phone, watching bulldozers roll over the blue bricks and black tiles of his old house in the distance.
He felt no attachment to his former home; his mind was entirely filled with thoughts of “Finally, I can buy an apartment in the city with floor-to-ceiling windows,” “Finally, I don’t have to squeeze into a ten-square-meter rental,” and “Finally, I can take Mom and Dad out for a decent meal.”
Overcome with excitement, Lin Feng didn’t even look at the traffic lights as he crossed the street.
Clutching the freshly printed demolition agreement, he walked with a light step toward his usual restaurant, thinking of rewarding himself for the hard work of handling the demolition paperwork these past few years.
But as soon as he turned the street corner, a construction truck hauling demolition waste suddenly rushed at him from the side.
The driver was too busy looking at the rearview mirror to reverse and didn’t notice Lin Feng crossing against the red light at all.
“Bang—”
A violent impact surged through his entire body.
Lin Feng felt as if he were a kite with a broken string, flying through the air.
In the last moment before his consciousness blurred, he only saw the bank card slipping from his pocket, being crushed by the truck’s wheels, the numbers on it becoming shattered and fragmented.
“Damn it…
just got money and now it’s gone…”
This was the last thought full of unwillingness before Lin Feng lost consciousness.
He did not know how much time had passed when Lin Feng regained consciousness amidst a gentle rocking sensation.
He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were as heavy as if they had been glued shut.
A woman’s gentle coaxing voice reached his ears: “My precious baby, are you awake?
Are you hungry?
Shall Mommy make you some rice paste?”
When he finally managed to see his surroundings, he was completely dumbfounded.
He was lying in an old cradle lined with a coarse cloth mattress, wrapped in faded swaddling clothes, his little hand clutching a wooden spoon chewed full of dents.
Even more absurdly, he wanted to curse, but his throat only emitted the “goo-goo gaa-gaa” cries of an infant.
He had actually been reborn, and had become a newborn baby!
Before he could digest this absurd fact, suppressed sobbing suddenly came from the room.
A woman dressed in coarse cloth clothes sat by the bed wiping away tears.
The midwife beside her sighed and said: “Sister Li, don’t be too sad.
It’s good enough that you gave birth to the baby safely, it’s just…
your body has been depleted too severely, I’m afraid it will be difficult to conceive again.”
Only then did Lin Feng learn that the woman who gave birth to him was named Li Xiulian, an ordinary villager of this “Willow Creek Village,” and his “father,” named Lin Gensheng, was an honest and simple farmer.
But before he could experience the warmth of “having a father and mother,” half a year later, Li Xiulian passed away because of postpartum weakness and an inability to overcome a cold.
Having barely had a few sips of breast milk after birth, he was already saddled with the reputation of “cursing his mother.” Lin Feng felt nothing but helplessness.
Fortunately, Lin Gensheng was extremely good to him.
No matter how bitter or tiring it was, he never let him go hungry and even scrimped and saved to send him to the village private school to learn to read, hoping he could one day escape the life of “facing the dirt and backing the sky.”
Life passed in this bland, unremarkable way until he was six.
One day, when Lin Feng returned home from school and pushed open the creaking wooden door, he saw Lin Gensheng lying on the mud ground in the courtyard, still clutching rice seedlings he hadn’t finished planting, his face deathly pale.
He had suffered a sudden illness while working in the fields, and by the time the neighbors discovered him, he had already breathed his last.
When the neighbors helped handle the funeral arrangements, Lin Feng squatted in the corner, listening to them whisper, “Gensheng left with peace of mind once he raised the child to be able to take care of himself.” His heart ached as if pricked by needles.
His parents seemed to have completed some kind of predetermined “mission.” One brought him into this World, the other raised him to six years old, and then they hurriedly exited the stage without leaving a single word of instruction.
“Sacrificing family to the heavens, boundless magic power.”
This joke inexplicably popped into Lin Feng’s mind, but when he heard the four words “Douluo Continent” from his private school teacher, all his fantasies about being the “destined protagonist” were instantly shattered.
”What the hell kind of destined protagonist’
The Son of Luck of this World had long been reserved by that guy named Tang San!
Moreover, he had figured out the time period of his transmigration: the year he was six, Tang San had just been born in Saint Spirit Village, and it would be at least six years until the plot of “Notting Academy” and “Shrek Seven Devils” he was familiar with.
(TL: that makes him 18 when tang san is 12)
However, thinking about it carefully, this point in time wasn’t too bad: Spirit Hall had not yet been overthrown, the continent had not yet been monopolized by the Tang Sect, civilians could still awaken their Spirit for free, the Soul Master subsidy hadn’t been canceled, and evil Soul Masters hadn’t yet stirred up trouble on the continent…
It was just that as a six-year-old child with no background and no golden finger, even if he knew the future plot, he couldn’t intervene at all.
Lin Gensheng’s funeral was handled by the old village chief, Uncle Zhao.
Uncle Zhao’s name was Zhao Shouyi, the old village chief of Willow Creek Village.
He was honest and warm-hearted, and had helped their family quite a bit over the years.
That day, Lin Feng was huddled in the empty house, staring blankly at his father’s portrait on the wall, pondering how to survive in the future.
He had no special skills; in his past life, he was just an ordinary office worker.
After transmigrating, he hadn’t unlocked any system or old master.
Could it be he really had to spend his whole life farming and herding cattle?
“Xiao Feng, are you home?”
Outside the door came Zhao Shouyi’s slightly weathered voice, carrying a hint of caution, as if afraid of touching a sore spot.
Lin Feng quickly wiped the red marks from the corners of his eyes and got up to open the door.
Zhao Shouyi was leaning on a jujube wood cane, his face full of heartache:
“Xiao Feng, your father is gone, what will you do in the future?
Why don’t you come live with me?
I have an empty room at my place.”
Lin Feng shook his head—he didn’t want to cause trouble for others, and he also wanted to guard this only “home.” Zhao Shouyi didn’t force him, sighed, and changed the subject:
“In a few days, it’s the annual Spirit Awakening Day.
All the children of the appropriate age in the village have to go.
Although your parents weren’t Soul Masters, maybe you have talent?
Go and try.
If you happen to awaken a powerful Spirit and can become a Soul Master in the future, you won’t have to suffer through farming anymore.”
Spirit Awakening!
Lin Feng suddenly snapped back to reality—how could he have forgotten about this!
Wasn’t the core of the Douluo Continent the Spirit and the Soul Master?
If he could awaken an attack system or control system Spirit, and pair it with innate Soul Power, even if he couldn’t become a “cheater” like Tang San, surely it wouldn’t be a problem to become a Soul Emperor or Soul Saint and live a decent life, right?
Moreover, he vaguely remembered that when he transmigrated, there seemed to be a vague voice saying “The system will awaken in ten years,” but in these six years, that so-called “system” had no movement, as if it were completely dormant.
“Right, Spirit Awakening!
I must awaken a powerful Spirit!”
Lin Feng clenched his small fists, and finally, there was light in his eyes again—this was his only chance to gain a foothold in the Douluo Continent.
Soon, the day of the Spirit Awakening arrived.
Willow Creek Village was not big, and there were only a dozen or so children of the appropriate age.
Under the guidance of Zhao Shouyi, they gathered outside the ancestral hall at the head of the village, waiting for the arrival of Spirit Hall deacon.
After waiting for about an hour, a man wearing a white robe finally arrived from the distance.
The man was expressionless and announced that he was a deacon of Spirit Hall.
His voice was as cold as ice.
He then led the group of children into the ancestral hall.
The awakening formation had long been set up in the ancestral hall.
The deacon took out six pitch-black stones, placed them in specific positions, and then took out a blue crystal ball from his bosom.
That was the tool for testing Soul Power, emitting a faint halo in the dim ancestral hall.
“Come one by one, stand in the middle of the formation, relax your mind, and don’t be nervous.” The deacon’s tone remained cold, without any unnecessary chatter.
The first child walked into the formation timidly.
Pale golden light instantly enveloped him.
The next second, a rusty sickle appeared in his hand.
“Sickle Spirit, no Soul Power, next.”
The deacon recorded it expressionlessly, not even giving an extra glance.
The second child went in, and a withered wheat ear appeared in his hand, also with no Soul Power.
The third, the fourth…
either hoes, iron pots, or cloth and needles; they were all trash Spirits with no Soul Power.
The deacon’s expression became uglier and uglier, and he muttered under his breath, “Again, what a wasted trip.” Clearly, he had long since given up hope on the “talent” of this village.
Lin Feng stood at the end of the line, feeling increasingly nervous—his parents were ordinary people.
If he also awakened a trash Spirit, he was afraid he would really be trapped in this small mountain village for the rest of his life, relying on farming to get by.
Finally, it was Lin Feng’s turn.
He took a deep breath, clenched his palms, and stepped into the center of the formation.
The pale golden light instantly enveloped him, and a warm sensation suddenly came from his palm.
He looked down and saw a lotus seed slowly floating above his palm.
The lotus seed was entirely translucent white, as if carved from mutton-fat jade.
Seven subtle, colorful patterns faintly appeared on it, like seven tiny gems embedded on the surface of the lotus seed, looking exquisite and strange, exuding an indescribable spiritual aura.
“Hmm?”
The deacon, who had been expressionless all along, finally flashed a hint of surprise in his eyes when he saw this lotus seed.
But after he saw clearly that the form of the Spirit was a “lotus seed,” he habitually shook his head again, his face full of the expression of “as expected, it’s still a trash Spirit”: “What kind of Spirit is this?
I’ve been awakening Spirits for so many years, and I’ve never seen this kind of lotus seed.”
Lin Feng was also dumbfounded—Seven-Orifice Lotus Seed?
In his past life, he had pored over all materials related to “Douluo Continent,” but he had never heard a single bit of information about this Spirit!
Moreover, this lotus seed looked weak and harmless; no matter how he looked at it, it didn’t seem like a combat-capable Spirit.
Could it really be a trash Spirit?
“Little kid, what is the name of your Spirit?” The deacon frowned and asked.
He considered himself knowledgeable, but he was stumped by a lotus seed, and he felt a bit annoyed.
Lin Feng was panicking, but suddenly he felt a faint warmth from the lotus seed in his palm, and a clear name emerged in his mind.
He hurriedly raised his head, his voice still trembling a little, but with a hint of certainty: “Lord Soul Master, my Spirit is called ‘Seven-Orifice Lotus Seed’.”