Yan Zu refused the whole business of transmigration.
Especially transmigrating into a three-year-old village kid on the Douluo Continent.
The original owner’s cause of death was even more ridiculous—chasing a butterfly, hitting a stone mill, and dying on the spot.
In his previous life, he had been a miserable corporate slave who died of exhaustion at his desk buried under piles of documents.
He bit down hard on the corner of his blanket, stifling his urge to curse.
It took him half an hour just to accept reality.
Then, he began to organize the memories of the body’s original owner—the brief and simple memories of a three-year-old child.
Five Spirits Village, belonging to the Fasnuo Province of the Heaven Dou Empire, was located about sixty miles from Nuoding City.
With over a hundred households, the village bordered the Spirit Hunting Forest and lived off the land.
The village’s name sounded impressive, but it was actually because of a legend from fifty years ago.
In one year, this small village of only a hundred households had actually seen five children awaken with soul power.
It caused quite a stir, so the village was renamed in hopes of continuing that good fortune.
Had it not been for the village’s small population and limited influence, Spirit Hall probably would have come to sue them for trademark infringement long ago.
His father, Yan Hu, was thirty-six years old, a Level 26 Battle Soul Master with an Iron Axe spirit.
He was recognized as the best hand in the village—though the value of this “best” was roughly equivalent to being “the tallest of the dwarves.”
His mother, Su Qing, was thirty-three years old, a Level 22 Support-Type Soul Master with a Green Grain spirit.
She was good at making crops grow a bit better and making wounds heal a bit faster.
As for combat power…
well, when a wild boar entered the house last year, the hand she held her hoe with shook like a sieve.
As for himself?
Yan Zu, three years and seven days old.
Before he hit his head and died, his life’s three greatest achievements were: one, being able to pee independently without wetting his pants; two, accurately identifying which of the village’s five local dogs was the meanest; and three, having a powerful name.
With a name like Yan Zu, if he didn’t turn out to be dashing and dignified later in life, he would at least be handsome and talented.
“A hell-mode start…” Yan Zu looked at his pale, short, and somewhat chubby fingers, letting out a silent sigh.
He spent another half-hour confirming the following facts with the rigorous attitude of a graduate student reviewing literature:
First, there was no system prompt echoing in his mind.
Second, there was no old man coughing inside a ring.
Third, the bruise on his forehead hurt a lot, reminding him of how fragile this body was.
“So, a standard transmigration, hell difficulty, no newbie gift pack,” Yan Zu summarized, the last flicker of hope in his heart completely extinguished.
He knew the plot of Douluo Continent—after all, he had pored over that set of books in his previous life.
He knew Tang San would become a god, he knew Spirit Hall would fall, and he knew that countless opportunities were hidden in the Star Dou Great Forest, the Slaughter City, and Sea God Island…
But what did that have to do with him?
A three-year-old child, a pair of parents with soul power in the twenties, and a small border village.
This setup in Douluo Continent was roughly equivalent to a background NPC who wouldn’t survive the opening credits of a game—the kind who would be stepped on by a spirit beast and die without even a name.
“Want to rely on Dad?” A memory of Yan Hu flashed through Yan Zu’s mind: last year, his father had valiantly led a team into the mountains, saying he would hunt a four-hundred-year-old spirit beast to show everyone.
Three days later, the group came running back in a panic, chased by a hundred-and-sixty-year-old Ironback Bear.
Yan Hu had run the fastest, even losing a shoe.
“Want to rely on Mom?” The memory switched: Su Qing was performing a soul skill on a few withered cabbages by the field.
The phantom of the Green Grain swayed, and the cabbage…
leaves turned slightly greener.
The neighbor, Wang Dashen, praised her: “Sister Qing’s skill means our village’s cabbage won’t have trouble selling from now on!” It seemed the strongest support’s role was to increase yield and income.
“Want to rely on myself?” Yan Zu moved his short little legs.
A three-year-old toddler living well and not causing trouble for his parents was the greatest contribution he could make to the family.
Was he despairing?
A little.
Did he want to cry?
Not quite.
Having grown up in an orphanage in his previous life and making his way through graduate school on scholarships and social aid, Yan Zu was best at finding a chance for survival even with a bad hand.
Now the hand was terrible, but at least…
he was still alive.
“As long as I’m alive, there’s a chance,” he told himself.
His voice was childish, but his tone was terrifyingly mature.
But…
that wasn’t right.
Yan Zu frowned.
He suddenly remembered a detail from the original work—after a soul master registers at Spirit Hall, they receive a monthly stipend.
A Grand Soul Master receives ten gold soul coins a month.
Yan Hu and Su Qing combined would have twenty gold soul coins a month.
In Douluo Continent, that was no small sum; a family of three could live quite comfortably on one or two gold soul coins a month.
Then why was his family so poor?
Where was the problem?
Yan Zu searched through the original owner’s fragmented memories but found nothing—a three-year-old had no concept of money.
Just as he was considering whether to hit his head on the stone again to see if he could trigger some hidden mechanism, there was a movement outside the courtyard gate.
Yan Zu sat on the threshold, watching the creaking wooden door being pushed open.
First to enter was a “mountain.”
To be precise, it was a man who looked like a mountain.
Yan Hu was nearly two meters tall, with broad shoulders and a thick back, wearing coarse clothes that were torn in many places and stained with dark red blood.
On his back, he carried half of a bloody spirit beast carcass.
From its shape, it looked like some kind of wild boar, but it was more than twice the size of a normal one.
One of its two tusks was broken, and the remaining one was cracked.
The man’s steps were heavy, making the ground vibrate slightly with each pace.
His face was full of exhaustion, with new scratches on his square face and parched lips, but his tiger-like eyes instantly lit up when he saw the small figure on the threshold.
“Zu! Why are you sitting there? It’s windy, get inside quickly!” Yan Hu’s voice was as raspy as sandpaper on wood, yet it carried an undeniable tone of concern.
Following him inside was Su Qing.
She was petite and thin.
The hem of her green cloth skirt was torn, stained with mud and a suspicious green liquid—likely the blood of some spirit beast or plant juice.
When she saw the prominent purple bruise on Yan Zu’s forehead, all her exhaustion turned into panic.
Su Qing practically lunged over, cupping Yan Zu’s small face with both hands, her eyes turning red at a visible rate.
“Does it still hurt? It’s Mother’s fault, I shouldn’t have left you home alone…”
Yan Zu could smell a scent on her that mixed sweat, herbs, and a faint metallic tang of blood.
He could feel the slight trembling and warmth of her palms.
In over twenty years of his previous life, no one had ever been so anxious about him.
The ladies at the orphanage were very busy; it was hard enough just ensuring they were fed and clothed.
The teachers at school cared more about grades than whether he had bumped into something.
His classmates…
each had their own lives.
A frozen corner of his heart, one he didn’t even think existed, suddenly cracked with a soft snap.
“Mom, I’m okay,” he heard himself say in a childish voice, even forcing a smile he thought was “innocent” enough.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”
This clearly wasn’t very convincing.
Tears were already welling up in Su Qing’s eyes.
“Stupid kid, you scared your mother to death!” By this time, Yan Hu had offloaded the half carcass of the spirit beast, throwing it heavily into the corner of the courtyard and kicking up a cloud of dust.
He strode over.
His large, fan-like hand originally seemed to want to pat Yan Zu’s head, but he stopped himself just in time, instead gently rubbing Yan Zu’s soft hair.
Then, as if remembering something, Yan Hu grinned, revealing a proud smile.
He reached into his shirt and fumbled around, pulling out a small package carefully wrapped in oil paper.
Yan Hu cautiously wiped the oil paper package on his lapel before presenting it to Yan Zu like a treasure.
“Look! See what good stuff your dad brought back for you!”
The oil paper was opened.
Inside were three fruits.
They were bright red, about the size of a toddler’s fist, with translucent skin.
In the dim twilight, they looked like three concentrated hearts of the sunset, emitting an enticing sweet fragrance.
“Fire Cloud Fruits!” Yan Hu lowered his voice, but couldn’t hide his excitement.
“Dad climbed three Fire Cloud Trees over a dozen zhang tall and dealt with two ten-year Crimson Flame Birds for a long time before I could pick them! I heard these are good for a child’s body. Quick, try one!”
Yan Zu looked at the three fruits.
Then he looked up at Yan Hu.
The man’s face was full of deep lines carved by wind, frost, and exhaustion.
His new wounds were still seeping blood, his clothes were tattered, and he smelled of sweat and blood.
But the look in his eyes as he gazed at those fruits was incredibly bright—a pure, unreserved sincerity that wanted to “give the best to his child.”
Then he looked at Su Qing.
She was still gently touching the bruise on his forehead.
A tear finally fell, sliding down her clear but weary face.
There were small wounds and calluses on her hands, her skirt was stained with mud, and the herbs in her basket were things she had risked danger to pick from the outskirts of the forest to supplement the household income and to nourish his body.
They were very weak.
In this world where Spirit Emperors, Spirit Sages, and Titled Douluo appeared at every turn, they were as weak as ants.
They were very poor.
The patches on his parents’ clothes were proof of that.
They might not be able to give him overwhelming power, endless wealth, or powerful protection.
But they gave him everything they could—the prey brought back from danger, the fruits picked at the risk of their lives, and all their worry and love.
Yan Zu reached out his small hand and picked up a Fire Cloud Fruit.
The fruit was slightly cool and felt heavy.
He put it in his mouth and took a bite.
Crunch.
A crisp sound.
Sweet, refreshing juice instantly exploded in his mouth, sliding down his throat.
Immediately after, a noticeable warm current rose from his stomach, quickly spreading to his four limbs and entire body.
“Is it good?” Yan Hu crouched down, his tiger eyes staring at him without blinking, full of expectation.
Yan Zu nodded vigorously, swallowed the fruit, and said in the clearest, most certain tone: “It’s delicious! Thank you, Dad!”
Yan Hu suddenly slapped his thigh and burst into laughter.
His voice was like a great bell, vibrating so much that dust seemed to fall from the eaves.
“Hahaha! As long as it’s good! When your dad gets a bit stronger and his soul power rises a few more levels, I’ll hunt a real hundred-year spirit beast for you! When that time comes, I’ll take the spirit ring, and the spirit bone… the spirit bone will be for you to grind your teeth on!”
“Nonsense again!” Su Qing’s sadness was mostly dispersed by these ridiculous words, and she reproachfully slapped Yan Hu’s solid back.
Yan Zu ate the fruit bite by bite, feeling the warm current continue to nourish his body, and also feeling the simple but warm interaction between this couple.
The courtyard grew quiet, save for the sound of Yan Hu cleaning the spirit beast carcass and splashing water, and Su Qing picking through the herbs and gently asking Yan Zu about his day.
Night fell completely.
A simple oil lamp was lit, its dim yellow glow passing through the window paper, coating the poor little courtyard in a warm layer of orange.
Late at night.
Yan Zu lay on his small bed, completely sleepless.
He began to calmly analyze his situation.
Spirit Hall existed and was a powerful force.
Every year, an attendant would come to the village to awaken spirits for eligible children.
The timeline was at least during the era of the first Douluo book.
His parents were very good people, providing the greatest emotional support, but their raw strength was barely worth mentioning.
As for himself, he was three, had a weak body, his spirit had not yet awakened, and his only special trait was his soul and memories from another world.
But that wasn’t enough.
Not nearly enough.
“I must obtain the power to protect myself as soon as possible,” a sharp light, unfitting for his age, flickered in his dark eyes.
“I can’t place all my hopes on the spirit awakening at age six.”
Countless web novel tropes he had read in his previous life flashed through his mind.
Recognizing a master with a drop of blood?
He smeared blood on the bedboard and the walls—no reaction.
Chanting incantations?
He tried everything he could remember, from “Prajnaparamita” to “The Heaven and Earth are Infinite,” and even tried English—he only heard rats running on the beams.
Visualization and cultivation?
He held his breath until he was dizzy, but nothing happened.
After tossing and turning for nearly half an hour, Yan Zu was panting with exhaustion, having gained nothing.
“Sure enough, novels are all lies.” He slumped on the bed, a deep sense of helplessness surging in his heart.
Was he really going to have to eat and sleep like a real three-year-old and wait until he was six to leave his fate to chance?
No, he wasn’t willing to accept that.
In his previous life, he had clawed his way up from the bottom of society, relying on a stubborn streak that refused to admit defeat.
Just before his consciousness drifted into darkness, a near-self-mocking thought flashed through his mind: “It would be great if there really was a system or something… it would save so much trouble…”
It was nothing but the delirious rambling of someone on the verge of sleep.
However—
[Detected that the host’s soul fusion is complete, self-awareness is clear, and the will to survive has reached the standard. Conditions met. Check-in System officially activated…]
There was no dazzling light, no deafening sound.
Just as Yan Zu was drifting off, a few lines of concise, almost cold, blue semi-transparent text abruptly and clearly appeared on the inside of his eyelids:
[Host: Yan Zu]
[Age: 3 years and 7 days]
[Plane: Douluo Continent]
[Daily Check-ins: 1/1 (Unused)]
[Consecutive Check-in Days: 0]
[Spirit: Not awakened.]
[System binding successful. You may check in once per day. No limit on time or location.]
Yan Zu’s sleepiness vanished instantly!
He snapped his eyes open, sat up in bed, and his heart pounded wildly in his chest!
It wasn’t a hallucination!
A system!
There really was a f*cking system!
Even though the name “Check-in System” sounded a bit generic, and the introduction interface had an indifferent “take it or leave it” feel, this was undoubtedly a lighthouse in the dark, a rope in a desperate situation!
Yan Zu pinched his thigh hard.
It hurt!
It wasn’t a dream!
Then, using all his strength, he suppressed the ecstatic scream that was about to burst from his throat, turning it into a resolute thought in his mind:
“Check in!”