Chapter Three: The Profligate Young Master

Hu Yihu’s hand remained raised, the flames on his palm gradually extinguishing until only a faint wisp of smoke lingered, carrying with it the acrid scent of scorched flesh before fading away. It must be said, Hu Yihu’s expression at that moment was a tapestry of disbelief and astonishment, as if he were seeing a ghost while staring at Hu Mo. He could hardly believe the words he’d just heard had come from his own grandson—the same boy who usually cowered at the mere sight of him and fled without a trace.

“What did you say? Say it again!” Hu Yihu’s voice boomed like a great bell. His eyes, fierce and round, bored into Hu Mo, as if they could see through all pretense. Under that withering gaze, Hu Mo’s heart quailed.

A chill ran through Hu Mo, and a flash of memory seared through his mind.

“Gray hair, square face, tiger eyes, heavy brows—damn, isn’t this my grandfather? I just cursed at him, and even called myself ‘old man’ in front of him? Good heavens, what’s happening? In this kid’s memories, this grandfather is absurdly powerful—marked as the number one villain! It’s over, I’m doomed. Even if I survive this, I’ll be skinned alive. Oh, heavens, couldn’t you have warned me?”

Hu Mo inwardly wept, wishing he could slap himself into oblivion. He was utterly at a loss in this situation.

From this brief recollection, he now grasped most of the original owner’s family background.

Hu Mo, seventeen years of age, was the sole grandson of Hu Yihu, Duke Protector of the Heavenly Fire Empire and Grand Marshal of all troops. He was the only son of General Wei Long—Hu Meng. His mother, Lady Li, had died of illness, and his father, upright and valiant in battle, had vanished without a trace sixteen years ago in the Western Frontier. Hu Meng was Hu Yihu’s only son, and Hu Mo was Hu Meng’s only child. Thus, Hu Mo was the solitary scion of the Hu family—the lone hope of Hu Yihu’s generation.

Yet despite this environment, Hu Mo had grown into a spoiled and idle young master: devoid of talent for martial arts, utterly ignorant of literature, and, after driving away dozens of tutors, had been left to his own devices by a desperate Hu Yihu. From then on, Hu Mo became even more reckless and unruly, infamous as one of the Three Scourges of Flame City—hated by all, his name spoken in the same breath as street rats and undying cockroaches.

“I’m asking you! Have you been possessed?” Hu Yihu’s expression suddenly grew grave, his tone tense. Such a thing would be no small matter.

He approached swiftly, but Hu Mo, startled, retreated several steps, as though confronted by a demon.

“No, no, Grandfather, I’m not possessed, not at all! I just had a nightmare, that’s all—I dreamt an enemy poured oil over me and set me ablaze. That’s why I screamed. I was about to call for your help, and when I opened my eyes, there you were! You truly are wise and mighty, Grandfather. If you hadn’t been here, I might have perished in my dreams!” Hu Mo replied with a sycophantic grin, his tone laden with flattery. Having lived two lives, he wasn’t exactly glib, but lying came naturally to him now—his face was calm, his breath steady.

Hu Yihu’s brow furrowed. “Why is this boy suddenly so eloquent? He never flattered me before. Strange, very strange. Did his mind just open up? And that smile is rather unsettling…”

Feigning nonchalance, Hu Mo watched Hu Yihu anxiously, fearful his act would be seen through. At length, Hu Yihu relaxed his brow and coughed lightly. “Go back to bed. Your injuries don’t permit you to be up and about. Just now, I was only tempering your bones; there’s no need to shout like that. Enough for today—once you’re well, we’ll discuss the rest.”

Hearing this, Hu Mo nearly collapsed with relief, nodding as if granted an imperial pardon. Now that Hu Yihu mentioned it, he realized his entire body ached fiercely; it was a marvel he’d remained standing so long.

Once Hu Mo lay down again, Hu Yihu strode toward the door. Hu Mo watched his grandfather’s back, silently urging him to leave quickly.

But at the threshold, Hu Yihu halted. He did not turn, but stood there like an iron tower, impossible to ignore.

“Mo’er, don’t be so reckless from now on. You’re the only branch left of the Hu family. If you’re gone, the family is finished.” His voice was heavy with sorrow; it was clear how deeply this matter had wounded him.

Hu Mo had no words. After a long pause, he managed a soft assent. Hu Yihu nodded silently, then slowly disappeared through the doorway.

Staring after his grandfather’s desolate figure, Hu Mo felt the loathing in his heart ebb away, replaced by a sudden pang of guilt. He wished he could seize the former Hu Mo and thrash him soundly—how much mischief must he have made to bring such grief and disappointment to his own grandfather?

Closing his eyes, Hu Mo began to review his memories in an orderly fashion. This world was strange and mysterious to him, and, being naturally inquisitive, he was eager to get to the bottom of things.

Take, for instance, the power Hu Yihu had infused into him moments ago—it was unlike the inner energy or true qi from the world of Heavenly Dragon. It had a searing intensity, as if his body were being consumed by flames. Such martial arts exceeded anything he’d imagined.

After half an hour’s recollection, Hu Mo had pieced together everything the original possessed. However, most of the “Hu Mo”’s memories concerned brothels and gambling dens: the scent of Little Hongxiang at Fragrant Courtyard, the texture of her skin, details about her bosom—such things abounded in those memories. Now, Hu Mo could only groan; this body’s virginity had been squandered on street girls, leaving him feeling as though he’d been thoroughly violated.

He forced himself not to dwell on those matters and sorted out a few key facts.

This world was known as the Xuanwar Realm, comprising two continents—Xuan and War—separated by a vast ocean. The people of Xuan cultivated Xuan power, those of War cultivated War power. He now resided in the Celestial Flame Empire, one of the five great empires of the War Continent, in its capital, Flame City.

That was all. In the original Hu Mo’s memories, there was a strong aversion to such information; had Hu Yihu not forced him to learn a little, he wouldn’t even know where he was. The former Hu Mo had lived in a daze for years, indulging in debauchery and leaving his body in shambles—no wonder the present Hu Mo was on the verge of despair.

“What the hell is this? Am I really doomed to waste my life as a good-for-nothing young master? This wretched body is pathetic!” He flopped onto the bed, acutely aware of the weakness in both mind and flesh.

Such is human nature—never satisfied, and Hu Mo was no exception. He too wanted, like other transmigrators, to carve out his own dominion in this new world. To wield power by day and enjoy beauty by night—was that not every man’s dream?

“I refuse to drift aimlessly through this life. I’ll grow stronger, become the strongest, stand above all others!”

“I’ve had enough of living in humiliation. Fate has played a trick on me once already—no way will I let it toy with me a second time!”

“I will make my mark in this world—power, women, everything I desire, I will seize for myself!” Hu Mo declared silently, clenching his fists with all his might. He repeated to himself: I must become stronger, the strongest!

Memories from his past life flooded his mind as he searched for a path to strength. Suddenly, inspiration dawned: the martial art he had practiced for eight years resurfaced in his memory.

In his days with the Starfall Sect, he had only learned one foundation art—the Tranquil Heart Wandering Technique. Though the name sounded lofty and elegant, it was merely the basic entry method, borrowed from the Free Wanderer Sect, known for purifying the body and smoothing the meridians.

In his previous life, Hu Mo had mastered this technique, but every attempt to learn other arts had ended in disaster—the Tranquil Heart Wandering Technique seemed to repel all other skills. How strange, he mused. Why did others have no problem, but he alone struggled?

“Ah, let’s just try the Tranquil Heart Wandering Technique. I don’t know any others anyway… This body is so feeble, it’s worth a last-ditch attempt.” He sighed, closed his eyes, and recited the technique’s mental incantation:

“Heaven and earth are divided by yin and yang; yin and yang unite in the heart. All methods spring from the Way, the Way arises from the heart; the heart gives birth to myriad laws, and all laws are free and unrestrained. Free to wander the heavens and gallop across the sky.”

It must be said, the Free Wanderer Sect’s martial formulas were nobler than the Starfall Sect’s Corpse Rot Skill or Energy-Dissolving Method, but it was only a basic technique with no true offensive power.

Hu Mo’s mind sank into clarity and emptiness. Soon, he sensed a stream of blue and red energy rising in his dantian, coursing slowly through his meridians—the free-flowing true qi generated by the Wandering Technique.

He was puzzled. In his past life, blue true qi was normal, but why was there red qi as well? Stranger yet, the blue seemed to nourish the red: the former grew weaker as the latter strengthened. Still, the blue never vanished, but persisted alongside the red.

Perplexed, he focused his mind into his dantian. Since true qi originates there, perhaps the answer lay within.

When he fully immersed his consciousness, he suddenly glimpsed an object so familiar he could never forget it—even in death.

“No way—this can’t be! The Divine Wood King Cauldron—you’ve come with me too?!”