1: Chapter 1 Soul Transmigration into Zhang Sanfeng

Wudang Mountain, Ancestral Master Hall.

Incense smoke curled around the Hall of the Three Pure Ones as Zhang Sanfeng knelt heavily onto the prayer mat, his forehead striking the bluestone kneeling pad with a solid, dull thud.

He was an orphan who had grown up in an orphanage since he could remember; he had spent half a life in loneliness and hardship, unburdened by ties, and had admired Wudang Sect martial arts and Daoist philosophy since he was young.

The Taiji Fist he had learned from videos for over a decade, and the saying "The greatest of heroes serves the country and the people," had sustained him through countless difficult days and nights.

This trip to Wudang Mountain was a wish he had finally fulfilled after saving up half a year's salary.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't been careful, and his forehead had split open. Warm blood trickled down his brow bone, dripping onto the base of the statue before the kneeling mat, blooming into a small patch of dark red.

The moment his blood stained the statue, a searing sensation of Pure Yang Dao Rhyme suddenly tugged at Zhang Sanfeng's fingertips, as if an invisible hand were tracing his Bloodline to touch his Divine Soul.

His whole body shuddered, his vision went black, and the chanting of the Daoist Heart-Cleansing Mantra faintly echoed in his ears—ancient, vast, and spanning thousands of years of time.

A moment later, his consciousness cleared, and he realized he was still in the same place.

"Am I hallucinating?" he muttered to himself.

That night, in a guesthouse at the foot of Wudang Mountain.

Zhang Sanfeng clutched a bottle of white liquor, pouring it into his mouth cup after cup.

The loneliness of half a life, his reverence for the Ancestral Master, and that inexplicable palpitation from the day, all went down his throat mixed with the strong liquor.

In his drunken stupor, that majestic Pure Yang Dao Rhyme swept over him again. His consciousness felt as if it had been thrown into a washing machine, spinning dizzily through endless turbulent space-time. The Heart-Cleansing Mantra in his ears grew clearer and clearer, until it finally swallowed his consciousness completely.

When he opened his eyes again, what met his gaze were ancient, carved wooden beams, and the air was filled with a rich medicinal scent and a faint, clean Daoist fragrance.

His whole body felt as if it had fallen apart; every limb and bone throbbed with needle-like pain, his internal organs felt hollowed out, and every breath was heavy with the stagnation of a life nearing its end.

Zhang Sanfeng tried to lift his hand, only to find his arm withered like old tree bark, the skin loose and covered in age spots.

He froze abruptly—this was definitely not his own body from his twenties!

"Master... if anything happens to you, what will become of the Wudang Sect..."

An repressed sob came from outside the door. The voice was steady but carried an unmistakable tremor; it was the leader of the Seven Heroes of Wudang, Song Yuanqiao.

"Senior Brother, the Senior divine doctor said that Master has been in secluded meditation for seven days, taking neither food nor water, and his Lifespan is likely... Sigh!"

This was Yu Lianzhou's voice, filled with grinding resentment, "Word has already spread down the mountain. The Shaolin Sect, the Emei Sect, and those other Schools, along with the people from the Imperial Court, are all watching our Wudang Sect, just waiting for Master to..."

Yu Lianzhou didn't finish the sentence, but the despair in his voice could be heard clearly through the stone door.

Master? Wudang Sect? Song Yuanqiao? Yu Lianzhou?

Zhang Sanfeng's mind roared, each name exploding in his head like a thunderclap.

He looked down at his own withered palms, feeling the faint Internal Energy inside his body that was on the verge of dissipating, as well as that Pure Yang Dao Rhyme etched into his very marrow—

He had undergone Transmigration. He had transmigrated into the late Yuan Dynasty on Wudang Mountain, becoming that hundred-year-old Founding Ancestral Master, Zhang Sanfeng!

And now, his time was running out!

He forced himself to look inward; his Dantian and Qi Sea were on the verge of shattering, less than one-tenth of his century-accumulated Pure Yang Internal Energy remained, and many of his Meridians had withered into thin threads due to his exhausted Lifespan. He was truly a flickering lamp about to go out.

Combining this with the dialogue of the Seven Heroes of Wudang outside, he instantly pinpointed the timeline—three months before Zhang Sanfeng's hundredth birthday banquet in the original story.

At this point in time, Third Master Yu Daiyan had just had his bones crushed by the Diamond Sect, leaving him permanently paralyzed;

Fifth Brother Zhang Cuishan was still drifting on Ice and Fire Island with Yin Susu, completely unaware of the changes in the Central Plains;

Cheng Kun was hiding in the shadows, instigating the slaughter between the Six Major Sects and the Ming Cult;

The Yuan Dynasty Imperial Court was watching like a tiger eyeing its prey, just waiting for him to die so they could strike at the Wudang Sect and the Central Plains Martial Arts World.

Wudang Mountain was at the very beginning of a series of catastrophic tragedies.

And he, this fake Zhang Sanfeng, had only three days of Lifespan left.

Zhang Sanfeng lay on the cold stone bed, feeling the constant sense of decay coming from his internal organs. The ecstasy of his recent Transmigration vanished, leaving only despair.

He had become the legend he had admired his entire life, only to face death and oblivion in three days.

The butterfly effect caused by his Transmigration meant that Zhang Sanfeng would reach the end of his time before even celebrating his hundredth birthday. How incredibly unlucky!