Chapter 10: Claiming the Reward

No one wishes to die.

At the very least, Cheng Guang did not want to die.

He wanted to survive, to use his identity as a transmigrant to shake this inhuman world to its core.

Yet his current predicament was as perilous as certain death.

The Lampbearer Division was notorious for its ironclad impartiality and ruthless methods. One could only imagine what kind of person the division’s chief, Cheng Zhihai, must be. Upon discovering his role as a stand-in, there was no way he would be spared. At best, he would be imprisoned and tortured; at worst, struck down on the spot.

"Enough. Stop overthinking it. For the next few days, I'll have someone bring you extra food. If there's anything you want to eat, just let me know," said Qingluan.

In the tranquil courtyard, a chill wind rose once more, swirling a few fallen leaves from the parasol tree. From the sky, a light rain began to fall.

Qingluan got to her feet, brushed off her robes, and prepared to leave.

Just as she was turning to go, Cheng Guang suddenly grabbed her.

"What are you doing?" Qingluan turned, and as she did, a strikingly handsome face drew swiftly near, a hand pressing firmly against the back of her head.

The next moment, she felt a sharp pain on her lips, as if bitten.

"Ah!" Qingluan cried out in shock, slapping out in panic. Her palm landed squarely on Cheng Guang's chest.

He was sent flying by the blow, stumbling back several paces before collapsing to the ground.

"Are you insane? Do you have a death wish?" Qingluan clutched her reddened lips, her eyes as cold as ice as she glared at Cheng Guang.

He spat out a mouthful of blood, crimson staining the corner of his lips, and let out a mocking laugh. "Yes, I have a death wish. Why don't you just kill me?"

He was furious.

Qingluan had deceived him, giving him a sliver of hope by saying the heir would soon return. Yet, after lingering so long at death's edge, she suddenly revealed that he was doomed regardless—sooner or later, his fate was sealed.

Even if his acting was flawless, even if he stabbed himself to match the heir's wounds and managed to fool Cheng Zhihai, what good would it do him in the end?

He would either continue to be a stand-in, or, once he lost his value, be cut down by the heir himself.

Perhaps Qingluan had no choice herself, and all of this was the decision of that exalted heir. Even so, she was still complicit.

Qingluan took a deep breath, fixing her frigid gaze on Cheng Guang for a long moment. She forced down the rage burning within her and roughly wiped her swollen lips.

"What does this accomplish for you? Is there some twisted sense of superiority?"

"Instead of overthinking, you might as well enjoy yourself while you still can."

In the end, Qingluan did not strike him again. Cheng Guang was indeed only a stand-in, but to the outside world, he was still the heir. He could die, but not by her hand.

Her chest rose and fell as she spoke, then she turned to leave. At the door, she paused, her back to Cheng Guang.

"What happened today—never again!"

"And you must never reveal to anyone that you are a stand-in. If you do, your fate will be far worse than if the family head found out."

With those words, Qingluan hurried away, her steps unsteady. Once out of Cheng Guang’s sight, she pressed her swollen lips, stamping her foot in frustration.

Qingluan had never even touched a man’s hand before; today, she’d lost all innocence, having been kissed outright. Though the manner was anything but tender.

"Never mind, he won't live much longer anyway..." she consoled herself.

She felt sympathy for Cheng Guang, but there was nothing she could do. The decisions of the powerful were beyond her intervention.

Though she was the heir’s attendant, her seemingly high status was, in truth, no different from Cheng Guang’s. Both were servants, hers just a touch more elevated.

The fate of the lower class was never theirs to command. Life and death hung on a single word from the nobility. In this world, that was nothing unusual.

So Qingluan could not understand why Cheng Guang was so enraged. Shouldn’t he have accepted his fate calmly?

She found him incomprehensible. Ever since that day he seemed to have lost his memory, he had become a different person altogether.

……

Qingluan left.

After a long while, Cheng Guang sat up, clutching his chest and baring his teeth in pain.

He sat beside the lake.

Cold raindrops began to fall sporadically upon him, yet he scarcely felt their chill.

His situation chilled him far more than the rain ever could.

He wasn’t beaten or cursed—on the contrary, everyone showed him respect. Yet his life was treated as a mere commodity, toyed with at the whim of the heir.

As for dignity?

A stable boy had no right to dignity.

That alone filled him with fury.

"Survive! I must survive!"

Cheng Guang picked up a stone, squeezing it tightly. "Though I am still only a false heir, as long as no one unmasks me, I remain the heir!"

"Even Qingluan dares not kill me!"

The kiss he’d given Qingluan was not a reckless act—he had his reasons. First, it was a small vengeance for her deception: letting him dance on the edge of death like a fool, his nerves stretched to breaking for so long. Second, he wanted to test his theory—would Qingluan, in her anger, dare to kill him?

From the result, it was clear: his identity as the heir still held some power.

As a stand-in, peril stalked his every step. Discovery meant death by his own people; setting foot outside risked assassination. Had he been merely a stable boy, he would have had no recourse at all.

But he was a transmigrant, and he had a cheat.

Even if that cheat was a bit ridiculous, it was still a cheat!

Cheng Guang took a deep breath, tossed the stone into the lake, and, pressing his chest, limped back to his room.

Inside.

Seated cross-legged on the bed, Cheng Guang spoke aloud: "System, claim reward!"

After a pause, as though the system had glitched, a cold voice echoed in his mind: "Ancient Imperial Bloodline of the Grand Xia, being issued."

Immediately, his body temperature soared, rising to forty or fifty degrees. His face flushed red, and wisps of steam curled from his skin.

His bones, blood, and meridians heated as if his flesh and bone were being forged into a great furnace.

A vast and mysterious power manifested within him, merging slowly into his body under this inner crucible.

Pain!

Indescribable agony!

Cheng Guang’s fingers dug into his thigh; only his will kept him from screaming as the torment raged.

His bones, flesh, and meridians felt crushed and reforged; in the next instant, crushed again—and so it repeated, over and over!

His consciousness flickered between clarity and blacked-out agony, caught in the cycle of ceaseless pain.

Time lost all meaning.

Then, abruptly, the torment ceased.

Cheng Guang now resembled a man bathed in blood. Yet in the whites of his eyes, a trace of nobility glimmered.

He let out a shaky breath, knowing the reward had been received.

The bloodline of the imperial family was the most exalted in all the world. Possessing it, one was revered wherever they went, regardless of cultivation—status alone was enough to place them above all others.

Such privilege, all due to blood.

Only those of imperial descent could cultivate the Spiritual Path, born inherently superior.

Cheng Guang did not know how the ancient Grand Xia royal blood he had received differed from that of the Great Zhou dynasty, nor what level of purity the system’s reward conferred.

But he knew one thing: he could now cultivate the Spiritual Path.

Even without considering other factors, his aptitude for this path far surpassed any talent for martial cultivation!

Advancement in the Spiritual Path depended not on age, but on the purity of one’s blood—a path of swift progress.

The Emperor of Great Zhou had attained the realm of Heaven and Man before the age of fifty, a feat countless martial artists could only dream of.

By contrast, martial cultivation required one to hone body and bones from childhood, enduring endless hardship and consuming vast resources to reach the pinnacle. Miss the best years, and greatness would forever be out of reach.

The superiority of one path over the other was as plain as day.

……