Chapter One: The Warrior's Diary

“Cultivators are nothing!”
“No matter how powerful your abilities, no matter how invincible your magic, I’ll smash my fist into your face, make it blossom like peach flowers, and then ask you—does it hurt?”
Of course, for now, this is only my vision—
Vision, no, call it my ideal.
“I’m not ready yet to take on those great cultivators. I’m still a bit short.”
“But I’m someone with dreams!”
“What’s wrong with being a martial artist? Is ‘martial artist’ a title just anyone can claim? Gentlemen, scholars, sages, husbands—aren’t they all impressive?”
Strike out ‘husband’, that one’s not really impressive after all.
A scholar might be formidable at the academy, revered by all, but back home as a husband, he still gets scolded by his wife. She’s beautiful, but fierce!
“I just want to ask, why does everyone look down on martial artists?”
“Those weaklings at the neighboring Cultivation Academy, I deal with them daily. They need to chant spells and make hand seals just to release a bit of magic—takes them ages, can’t even manage a fart, simply no match for me!”
“Except for Qian Qianxue.”
“She’s not only beautiful, she’s formidable! Someday I’ll marry a woman like her—ideally her, since we know each other.”
“The scholar at the academy is great; he never looked down on me. When I used to squat beneath their windows listening to lectures, he kindly invited me inside. I said I couldn’t pay, he said it was free!”
“Though I disagree with something he once said: that martial artists can become heroes, and that the greatest heroes serve their country and the people!”
“It sounds stirring, makes your blood boil, but the so-called heroes I've met with status and fame hardly show any heroic spirit. Instead, they're full of vice, always looking for places to indulge for free.”
“Utter degenerates!”
“So I wonder, does true heroism actually exist in this world?”
“Maybe those I met weren’t real heroes, but they’re all famous!”
“But I still have to thank the scholar. He taught me to read and write. Otherwise, I wouldn’t understand those martial arts manuals, let alone learn body refinement.”
“He also turned me from a wild child into a civilized, polite young man!”
“Although he said martial artists have a bleak future, he comforted me that those who succeed can sanctify their bodies—seems distant, but I think I can do it!”
“So the scholar is a good man. If I ever become powerful, I’ll talk sense to his wife, my teacher’s lady. Why does she scold him for not knowing the basics of daily life when he’s such a good person?”
Song Yue put down his pen, his handsome face tinged with melancholy as he gazed out the window.
Though his vision was grand and his ideals full, reality remained cold and cruel, always disappointing.
He actually wanted to cultivate, too.
Though he often made the weaklings at the Cultivation Academy cry, it was only because they acted so arrogant, as if being able to cultivate made them special, destined to become immortals.
Damn, it really is impressive!
He had no spiritual root.
The Cultivation Academy rejected him.
He wanted to curse—what the hell is a spiritual root?
Is there a root in your belly?
Can a giant tree grow out of your head?
The scholar once said: The Way is indescribable; cultivating isn’t the only path. Even the Kitchen God became a deity, didn’t he?
The Lord of the Eastern Heavens, Kitchen God!
Listen to that—so cool!
The longer the name, the more impressive. Someday, I want to be the Martial Saint Lord of the Three Realms, Four Seas, Eight Wilds, and the Universe!
The scholar said that those who are too obsessed rarely achieve the Way.
But Song Yue’s obsession was deep: he wanted to enter the Way through martial arts, to become the legendary body-sanctifying powerhouse.
That way, he’d always have the upper hand over those little brats next door.
And if he could outdo Qian Qianxue, all the better!
How would he outdo her?
Song Yue thought of Qian Qianxue’s long, straight legs, and her flawless face—so beautiful!
It made his heart race.

Sadly, she was too proud, like a white swan, always admiring herself.
Sigh!
Forget it, I’m tired.
There are so many beautiful flowers in the world.
I’m destined to become a saint!
The Martial Saint Lord of the Three Realms, Four Seas, Eight Wilds, and the Universe—that’s my title!
Song Yue closed his diary and carefully locked it in his drawer. Though he lived alone, he didn’t want anyone to discover it.
Someone once said, proper people don’t write diaries.
Am I not proper?
Maybe a bit… after all, I always want to outdo Qian Qianxue.
Shaking off those messy thoughts, Song Yue stepped outside into the yard, grabbed two hundred-kilogram stone locks, and began his daily training.
Not cultivation—martial artists don’t deserve that.
That’s what those brats next door say.
He used to claim he was cultivating, but after getting mocked, he stopped saying it, calling it ‘training’ instead. Since then, he’s been rougher when picking fights next door.
It makes the goddess frown, the weaklings despair, and gives his muscles a good workout—perfect!
Every time he made a few cry, he felt refreshed, all the fatigue from training swept away.
Song Yue settled into a horse stance, arms extended, each hand holding a hundred-kilogram stone lock. His refined face was a little flushed, but he could now hold this pose motionless for ten minutes!
Anyone who saw would be amazed—a sixteen or seventeen-year-old with such strength?
The courtyard was tranquil, about an acre in size, with tall trees whose immense canopies shaded the ground.
He wasn’t sure of their species, but supposedly each was worth a fortune, all over three hundred years old!
There was a rock garden and a pond, home to a school of multicolored koi he often fed for fun.
The koi were great: pretty and friendly, always circling him!
Such a villa, though not in the city center, wasn’t really on the outskirts either—extremely expensive, the dream of countless people seeking financial freedom.
Song Yue certainly didn’t have that kind of money; he was poor.
His parents bought it at great expense.
Rumor had it, they spent several thousand.
The previous owner was a great cultivator from the Cultivation Academy next door, recruited to the capital and never returned, so he reluctantly sold the place.
His parents bought it with the intention of sending him to the Cultivation Academy; otherwise, they wouldn’t have traveled to Hangzhou just to buy a house.
After several tests, he always ranked at the bottom. Even the teacher who swore he could become a strength cultivator tried everything but couldn’t keep him.
Song Yue didn’t hate that teacher, but his feud with the Cultivation Academy began then.
He felt he was born at odds with cultivators!
Not fit for the path of cultivation.
His parents initially planned to sell the house and take him home, but he refused to give up—even though he was only seven or eight then.
In the end, his parents respected his wishes, left a nanny to care for him, and let him be.
It sounded odd—were there really such parents in the world?
But as they say, reality is always stranger than fiction.
His family was simple: a loving family of five—father, mother, brother, sister, and himself.
His sister, Song Yu, worked at his mother’s company; his brother, Song Chao, developed his career with their father on another planet.
Song Yu was a super scholar, never placed second in her life, and apparently a decent cultivator, though she never showed off in front of Song Yue and always cared for his pride.
She was wonderful!
Unlike his brother, who was a jerk.
A formidable cultivator, he used to bully Song Yue as a kid, so they were never close.
Song Yue always fantasized about rubbing his brother’s face into the ground one day!
Probably the age gap made it hard to connect, too.

Song Yue’s conflict with cultivators probably started with his brother’s childhood teasing!
He was never a studious child—‘wild and unruly’ barely described him. At home, he raised havoc, turning everything upside down.
In desperation, his parents sent him to learn martial arts to burn off his excess energy.
Later, his innate strength was discovered by a Cultivation Academy teacher, who brought him here.
Ten years had passed. The wild child had grown into a graceful, handsome youth, studying with the renowned scholar, unofficially his disciple, keeping up with cultural studies.
His martial skills improved steadily through relentless training.
He never took the tests—he felt the martial artist exams were a joke and worried he’d break their instruments and have to pay for it.
Living independently since childhood taught him thrift; he never paid for the scholar’s lectures!
After ten minutes, Song Yue’s fair face was flushed, nearing his limit.
But he wanted to hold out longer; martial arts was the one thing he took seriously!
From twenty kilograms at the start to a hundred now, he’d pushed his limits like this, always breaking through.
Sadly, top-grade ingredients were too expensive, even his family struggled to afford them, and his thriftiness was partly why.
Martial artists need wealth—being poor just doesn’t work.
Song Yue’s greatest wish was to join adventurers seeking rare ingredients in dangerous lands.
That way, his strength would improve much faster!
The scholar didn’t practice martial arts, but was very knowledgeable and said that if Song Yue could get true top-grade ingredients, his strength would at least double!
His sister sometimes sent some, but it was too little, barely a drop in the bucket.
His brother was too far away, only coming home for New Year, bringing good things but always mocking him for having no future as a martial artist, urging him to learn management and take over the family business.
Bah!
I refuse!
At twelve minutes, sweat poured down Song Yue’s thick hair.
His arms trembled slightly.
He was close to his limit.
He gritted his teeth, wanting to last another three minutes.
A real man endures!
Ding-dong!
Suddenly, the doorbell rang.
Song Yue finally couldn’t hold on; his grip loosened, and the two hundred-kilogram stone locks crashed heavily to the ground.
He flexed his arms, walked through the shade, and frowned as he reached the door. Opening it, he was stunned.
A face of exquisite beauty appeared before him.
“Well, this is a rare guest! Qianxue, what brings you here? Please, come in!”
Song Yue instantly felt no fatigue!
Qian Qianxue visiting—it was unprecedented!
Was his current appearance… less than perfect?
Song Yue felt a little anxious.
He knew he was handsome, but sweaty and smelly before the goddess… was a bit embarrassing.
Qian Qianxue, over one meter seventy, stood gracefully before him—jeans, sneakers, those seductive long legs, curves in all the right places, her flawless face bare of makeup, radiating vibrant life.
Just one word: stunning!
She looked at Song Yue expressionlessly: “Come with me.”
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