One person: Lu Jin, do I look like your master?

One person: Lu Jin, do I look like your master?

Author: The art style is a bit off

Synopsis: The protagonist, Wang Xuan, has a stroke of good luck when he goes out and is adopted by an old man living deep in the mountains.

Wang Xuan initially thought he had simply transmigrated to an ordinary world, until the old man told him on his deathbed that he was from the Quanxing Sect...

Chapter 1 Wang Xuan, Quanxing?

"Wang Xuan! I...I'm about to die..."

The setting sun, like blood, sparingly cast its light into the dim thatched hut through the cracks in the dilapidated window frames, dyeing everything inside a tragic orange-red hue.

The air was filled with the heavy, lingering bitterness of herbs, and a faint, almost imperceptible scent of life's end.

On the bed, Old Man Wang's voice was dry and hoarse, like an old bellows struggling to pump.

His once tall, now emaciated body sank deep into the thin bedding, and the weariness on his weathered face, etched with the lines of time, was impossible to conceal.

A hand, as dry as old tree bark, used its last bit of strength to tightly grip the hand of the boy beside the bed, its knuckles turning pale from the force.

The grip was sometimes tight, as if trying to grasp at the life force that was about to slip away completely.

At times, it would relax weakly, revealing the owner's extreme weakness.

He strained to open his cloudy old eyes, staring at the roof beams above him, which had been blackened and charred by smoke and fire.

Deep within his pupils surged endless resentment and a profound longing for the past, perhaps even a hint of indescribable relief.

"Dad, stop talking, stop talking... Hurry up and take your medicine, get some rest, you'll be alright! You'll definitely be alright!"

The young man beside him choked with sobs, almost pleading. His name was Wang Xuan, and he was tightly gripping the old man's cold hand, as if he could transfer his life force to him in the process.

Tears, like beads from a broken string, streamed uncontrollably and silently down his reddened eyes, drop by drop.

It hit their tightly clasped hands, hit the rough edge of the bed, and left small, dark marks.

Wang Xuan has been in this world for a full eighteen years.

Eighteen years ago, he was a soul from another world. After an accident, his consciousness awoke in a daze, only to find himself an abandoned baby wrapped in swaddling clothes in the deep mountains and forests.

When he was crying his heart out, it was Old Man Wang, who was chopping wood on the mountain, who found him.

The old man was kind-hearted. Despite his poverty, he took the boy home and raised him with gruel and rice porridge.

The two depended on each other for survival, living a simple but peaceful life in this remote mountain village.

Wang Xuan had long regarded this kind old man as his only family member, the strongest bond between him and this unfamiliar world.

With some vague memories of his past life and an unusually mature nature, he tried his best to give his father, who had worked hard all his life, a better life.

Just as things were starting to look up a little, the fire in the stove seemed to be burning brighter, and the food in the bowls seemed to have just begun to taste oil, the bad news came so suddenly and so cruelly.

"Useless...you fool..."

Old Man Wang shook his head with difficulty, his breath weak, but his eyes seemed to clear a little, a strange state of lucidity before death.

"I'm so old now, having lived to this day... cough cough... I've seen the ups and downs, tasted the bitterness and the sweetness, and I've also found you. It's enough, really enough..."

The old man showed an almost detached calm in the face of his own death.

He struggled and suffered his whole life. Perhaps death was not entirely terrifying for him, but rather a kind of eternal peace.

However, deep within his cloudy eyes lay too many unfinished matters and too many words that needed to be said, like heavy stones pressing down on his last breath.

"Young Master Xuan, you...you listen to me..."

Old Man Wang's gaze refocused, landing on Wang Xuan's young and sorrowful face, with an unprecedented solemnity.

Wang Xuan bit his lower lip hard, nodded forcefully, and tried his best to suppress any sobs from his throat, afraid of interrupting the old man's last bit of strength.

He could only grip that withered hand tighter, using his trembling body heat to warm the increasingly cold fingertips.

“Your old man… for most of his life… was a complete scoundrel…”

Old Wang's words were broken and intermittent, yet exceptionally clear, each word as if plucked from the depths of his heart.

"When I was young... I was fierce and caused a lot of trouble... To avoid my enemies and my own mess... I lived like a stray dog."

I slunk away to this godforsaken little village...and hid...I thought I'd just drift along here and waste my life like this...

I never expected... I never expected that God hadn't completely given up on me after all... When I went up the mountain to chop wood... I heard your cries..."

At this point, Old Man Wang managed to force a faint but genuine smile onto his ashen face, a smile filled with the wonder of fate and a belated warmth.

"Bringing you back... is probably the only thing I've ever done in my life that... is like a human being..."

Wang Xuan's tears flowed even more fiercely; in his memory, his father was always taciturn.

Occasionally, after drinking some cheap liquor, I would ramble on about vague memories of the past, but I had never analyzed myself so clearly and frankly.

He had a premonition that what his father was about to say was a secret he had kept buried deep in his heart all his life and had never told anyone before.

“I was originally… a member of the ‘All-Sex Society’…”

When Old Man Wang uttered those words, his voice was extremely low, carrying an instinctive wariness and an indelible complex emotion.

There was disgust, fear, and perhaps a lingering fanaticism that even he himself was unwilling to admit.

Wang Xuan, who was originally immersed in great grief, was struck as if by an invisible lightning bolt when he heard the words "Quanxing".

Her whole body stiffened abruptly, and even her silent crying stopped instantly!

He was so shocked that he uncontrollably let out a loud burp, which seemed particularly out of place in the somber atmosphere.

His brain went blank for a moment, as if a raging storm was surging inside his head!

This word was like a key, instantly unlocking the floodgates of his memories from his past life that had been sealed for eighteen years! Details from the work called "Under One Person" came rushing back!

Isn't that a lawless organization of extraordinary individuals who believe in "preserving one's true nature and not being bound by material possessions," but in reality act eccentrically and without any scruples?!

He originally thought he had just transmigrated to an ordinary world similar to his previous life, although his physical condition seemed to be better than in his previous life.

But I have never seen any supernatural forces, and I just assume it is due to the rural environment.

He thought he would live his life like countless ordinary people, staying in this small mountain village with his father, farming, chopping firewood, and perhaps eventually marrying a wife and living an ordinary life.

I never expected... I never expected that this world would actually be the bizarre and fantastical world of "Under One Person," filled with Qi and supernatural abilities, and featuring Longhu Mountain, Na Du Tong, and the Eight Extraordinary Skills!

The overwhelming information overload made him momentarily forget his grief; he simply stared wide-eyed at the dying old man on the bed, utterly incredulous.

Her adoptive father, this seemingly ordinary old farmer from a mountain village, was actually a member of the lawless Quanxing organization?!

Old Man Wang didn't notice Wang Xuan's sudden tremor, or rather, all his energy at that moment was focused on maintaining his last bit of consciousness.

He continued speaking with great difficulty, as if he were to entrust the weight of his entire life to this moment:

"As for what Quanxing is... ha... it's a group... a place that gathers the most scoundrels in the world..."

Madmen, villains, fanatics... all kinds of people are there... there are no rules...

Or rather, the only rule is that there are no rules... to achieve the goal, any means necessary..."

The old man's words were filled with self-deprecation and deep weariness.

"Back then... I was young and arrogant, unaware of my own limitations... I thought that with my passion and some skills, I could join them."

"Can something be changed from the inside... at least... to make some things less awful... ha... how naive... so naive..."

Old Wang's gaze drifted into the distance, as if piercing through the walls of the thatched hut and seeing himself long, long ago, a young and impetuous man who was ultimately swallowed up by the turbulent waves of the martial world.

"The martial world... it's a huge melting pot... especially the Quanxing sect, the biggest melting pot... do you want to change it?"

It will first stain you black... make you unrecognizable... and finally... you won't even recognize yourself anymore... on my hands...

It also got stained with things that couldn't be washed off... I saw too many things I shouldn't have seen... My heart... slowly grew cold and hard... I became afraid..."

"In the end... I could only flee... like a true stray dog... hiding my identity... in this small mountain village where nobody knows me... and hiding..."

It's been decades... I thought I had buried the past completely..."

His voice trailed off, then he suddenly took a deep breath, his gaze fixed intently on Wang Xuan:

"Wang Xuan, you'd better remember this! Listen carefully!"

The old man's withered hands suddenly burst forth with astonishing strength, gripping Wang Xuan tightly.

"Outside the house... under that old locust tree... dig down... three feet! I buried an iron box... inside... there were some things..."

That's what I was good at back then...maybe...maybe it'll be of some use to you..."

"Let's see... let's see if you can still practice... the stuff on there... I haven't touched it for years... I've gotten rusty... I don't know if you still remember it correctly..."

A complex emotion flashed in the old man's eyes: hope, worry, and deep regret.

"Don't blame your father... for not teaching you sooner... it's not that I was holding back... it's just... I didn't dare..."

He coughed violently, his chest heaving like a broken gong, each breath like the last flicker of his life.

"Once you enter the world of martial arts, it's like falling into a deep sea... From then on, you're strangers to each other... Sometimes... it's not that you want to back out..."

You can't just retreat... You're not in control of your own body... Your fate is even more beyond your control! It's a path of blood and fire... One wrong step... and you're plunged into an abyss..."

"Being safe and sound... being an ordinary person... is good... is good..."

The last few words were almost inaudible, turning into a long, weary sigh. The last glimmer of light in Old Man Wang's eyes, like a candle flickering in the wind, flickered a few times before finally going out completely.

His hand, which had been tightly gripping Wang Xuan's, lost all its strength and slowly, inevitably, loosened, falling limply to the side of the bed.

His cloudy eyes, which had been staring at the roof beams, slowly and forever closed.

The wrinkles of pain and resentment on his face seemed to be quietly smoothed out by an invisible hand at this moment, leaving only a deathly stillness.

Outside, the setting sun finally sank completely beneath the distant mountains, its last rays fading away, and night fell like a vast, inky curtain.

It silently enveloped the entire mountain village, and the thatched hut that had suddenly lost its last bit of warmth.

Wang Xuan stood frozen in place, motionless, as if he had turned into a stone statue.

The rapidly cooling sensation on his palm served as a stark reminder of a cruel truth—his only remaining family member in the world was gone.

Chapter 2 Funny

As the last rays of the setting sun sank completely into the western mountains, a few dim stars quietly appeared on the dark blue sky, silently watching over this silent mountain forest.

Wang Xuan chose a sunny slope in that familiar grove of trees.

It's quiet here, overlooking the small village where they've lived for eighteen years at the foot of the mountain, and also offering views of the distant, layered mountains.

The old man often came to this forest to chop firewood before his death. It was here that the gears of fate began to turn, and he found Wang Xuan, who was still an infant.

One handful of yellow earth, then another handful of yellow earth.

Wang Xuan silently wielded the shovel, the scent of soil mixed with grass roots wafting towards him.

He didn't cry, he just mechanically dug, as if he wanted to bury all his grief, confusion and reluctance deep into the cold soil.

The coffin was made with the help of a carpenter in the village; it was simple, but sturdy enough.

Wang Xuan dressed his father in the only decent-looking clothes he had ever worn, and carefully placed him inside.

When the last shovelful of soil was applied, forming a slightly raised mound, Wang Xuancai seemed to have all his strength drained away. Leaning on the shovel, he stood in front of the grave for a long time.

The evening breeze rustled through the woods, the leaves whispering like sobs or murmurs.

"Father, rest in peace here. Look at these mountains, look at these trees, and... look at me."

He said in a low, hoarse voice, "I'll be fine."

After saying this, he kowtowed three times forcefully, then turned around and walked step by step toward the thatched hut at the foot of the mountain, where a faint light was lit.

His figure appeared particularly lonely in the deepening night.

Returning to the familiar courtyard, the familiar smell of medicine seemed to linger, but the figure who was always coughing and always nagging was nowhere to be seen.

The room was empty, the stove and pots were cold, and a chilling sense of desolation enveloped him.

Wang Xuan did not start a fire to cook as usual. He did not even light a lamp. He simply sat silently on the small wooden stool in the yard, relying on the faint moonlight that shone through the window.

This is where my father used to sit while whittling wood and weaving baskets; it seems as if his body heat still lingers there.

The night was cool and still, and the chill seeped into his skin through his thin clothes, but he seemed oblivious.

Inside his heart, a storm far more intense than the cold of the night was brewing.