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

To dig or not to dig?

His father's last words echoed in his mind like the tolling of bells and chimes.

"Once you enter the world of martial arts, it's like entering a deep sea! Sometimes you can't just back out whenever you want..."

"It's good to be an ordinary person..."

"I buried something under the big tree outside... let's see if you can still practice..."

"Don't blame your father for not teaching you sooner..."

Two voices clashed fiercely in his mind.

A voice, brimming with allure and longing, spoke: Time travel!

This is the world of "Under One Person"!

Qi Body Source Flow, Feng Hou Qi Men, Golden Light Mantra, Thunder Magic... those incredible supernatural abilities that allow one to fly and escape into the earth!

Which modern person hasn't dreamed of wandering the world with a sword or possessing superpowers?

The opportunity is right in front of us, perhaps within easy reach under that old locust tree!

If we miss this opportunity, live a mediocre life, and die in this remote mountain village, wouldn't it be a waste of our time in this wonderful world?

What is the meaning of time travel?

The other voice was heavy and realistic, carrying the father's painful lesson:

The martial arts world is not a storybook; it's a world of bloodshed and life-or-death struggles!

What kind of place is Quanxing? Even someone as powerful as his father (he assumed his father was a master) was forced to live in anonymity for decades, never daring to reveal a single detail of his past until his death.

Is what's buried in that iron box really the key to the temple of power, or the curse that opens the gate of calamity?

Having power means being drawn into conflict; can one truly remain unscathed?

Ordinary life is a blessing, and a stable life is hard to come by. Isn't this conclusion my father reached throughout his life something worth pondering?

He sat there quietly, as if he had become one with the deep night.

The moonlight stretched his shadow long and lonely.

After an unknown amount of time, a sharp cry from an owl broke the silence in the mountains.

Wang Xuan suddenly raised his head, his gaze seemingly piercing through the deepening darkness, landing on the blurry mountain ridge in the distance, before slowly withdrawing.

Looking up at the night sky above, which had become deep and studded with stars.

His eyes, initially filled with confusion and struggle, gradually became clear and resolute.

Deep within, there is an impulse to refuse mediocrity, and a strong curiosity and desire to explore the unknown world.

The fear of potential danger finally overwhelmed them.

A single word, deep yet powerful, burst forth from Wang Xuan's throat, as if announcing his decision to the silent night.

He made his choice.

The reason is clear:

First, the mystery of time travel remains unsolved, and a corner of the magical veil of this world has already been lifted. If one does not personally touch and witness the magnificent world of "extraterrestrials," one will be left with nothing.

He will live his life in endless regrets and "what ifs".

As a time traveler, the temptation was too great for him to resist.

Secondly, and more realistically, it's about knowing that extraordinary powers exist in this world, and that there are lawless individuals like the Quanxing sect.

Danger was no longer a figment of imagination, but a reality that could strike at any moment. The fact that my father managed to hide his whole life was a stroke of luck, or perhaps because his enemies thought he was already dead.

But can I always be this lucky? What if, just what if, one day, the troubles of the past come knocking on my door, following the clues?

Or perhaps you've unwittingly gotten caught up in some conflict between different people. How can someone as defenseless as you protect themselves?

Relying on that legendary "All-in-One" company? Too far a mountain to climb! It's better to rely on yourself than others!

He recalled the words of a great man from his past life:

"Having no sword in hand and having a sword but not using it are two different things."

He doesn't need to use this "sword" to provoke anyone, but he must possess this "sword"—the ability to fight back and fight for a chance of survival in times of crisis!

Having made up his mind, Wang Xuan no longer hesitated.

He suddenly stood up, feeling a stinging pain in his legs, which had become numb from sitting for so long.

But he didn't care at all, and strode into the storage room, taking out the shovel he used to dig graves.

The old locust tree in the courtyard was lush and leafy, swaying gently in the night breeze and casting dappled shadows.

Following his father's vague instructions, Wang Xuan carefully explored the area near the base of the tree trunk by the moonlight.

The soil was slightly damp and carried the fresh scent of grass and trees.

Finally, his fingers touched an inconspicuous, old scar on the shady side of the tree trunk, which seemed to have been deliberately cut with a knife.

It is shaped like an arrow, pointing slightly downwards towards the ground.

This is it!

Wang Xuan took a deep breath, gripped the shovel tightly with both hands, aimed at the marked position, and shoveled down forcefully!

In the stillness of the night, the shovel struck the hard object beneath the soil, producing a dull yet clear sound.

Wang Xuan's heart suddenly raced.

He threw down the shovel, knelt on the ground, and carefully dug away the surrounding soil with his hands.

Soon, the outline of a rusty iron box, about a foot square, came into view.

The box was heavy, covered in dirt, and hung with a small, equally rusty lock.

Wang Xuan gave it a strong pry, and the lock snapped in two. Clearly, time and dampness had eroded its sturdiness.

He held the heavy iron box as if it were his father's heavy past, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and indescribable nervousness.

He strode into the house, lit the dim oil lamp, and placed the box on the table.

Under the dim light, the rust and dirt on the surface of the iron box were even more clearly visible.

With trembling hands, he lifted the lid of the box.

There was no dazzling jewels as expected, nor the astonishing energy fluctuations emanating from any divine skill manual.

The contents of the box were so simple they were almost shabby—just a few pieces of silver that had oxidized and turned black, their original appearance unrecognizable.

A copper coin with severely worn edges, and a small booklet with yellowed pages and badly curled corners.

Wang Xuan took a deep breath and carefully picked up the booklet.

The booklet was very thin, and the cover had no words on it, only a blurry, ambiguous figure of a meditating person outlined in simple ink lines.

The paper is rough and feels sticky to the touch.

He held his breath and turned the pages gently, one by one.

The handwriting in the booklet is handwritten and slightly messy, but you can tell that the writer was serious.

The first few pages describe in detail a basic method for perceiving the "Qi" within the body and guiding it to circulate along a specific route, accompanied by rudimentary diagrams of meridians and acupoints.

The following pages record three moves and two techniques similar to those used in boxing and kicking.

The illustrations are simple, and the names of the moves are unremarkable, such as "punch," "block," and "step."

Wang Xuan quickly skimmed through it once, then incredulously looked through it a second time, and even a third time.

That's all.

The imagined divine skills and extraordinary techniques... were nowhere to be found.

Holding this extremely "simple" booklet, Wang Xuan's expression gradually changed from initial excitement and anticipation to astonishment and confusion.

Finally, it transformed into an extremely complex, bittersweet expression.

He looked up at the flickering oil lamp on the table, then looked down at the "secret manual" in his hand that looked like something from a street stall, and a huge sense of disappointment welled up in his heart.

After a long silence, he finally faced the air, the solitary lamp, and the old man who had already rested beneath the yellow earth, and sighed with seven parts helplessness and three parts amusement:

"Father, oh Father... back then... what exactly was your role in the Quanxing Sect?"

"So, you, sir, carried this 'peerless skill' all those years ago, risking your life... and all that fuss was for nothing."

Maybe he's just... a low-level... cannon fodder henchman, the kind who runs errands and keeps watch?

The flickering lights illuminated the young man's face, which held a complex expression, a mixture of laughter and tears.

The higher the expectations, the greater the disappointment. But for some reason, a bittersweet and amusing conjecture about my father's past made the disappointment of receiving the "basic introductory textbook" lessen.

The world of martial arts, it seemed, revealed its realistic and even somewhat comical side to him from the very first encounter.

Chapter 3: Triple Rebirth

The oil lamp flickered dimly in the cramped thatched hut, casting Wang Xuan's silhouette, holding the simple booklet, onto the mottled earthen wall.

The length of his voice fluctuated, mirroring the turbulent and complex emotions he felt at that moment.

Disappointed? A little. After all, being a transmigrator, and having just learned that I'm in the magnificent world of supernatural beings in "Under One Person," who hasn't fantasized about obtaining some amazing inheritance, the Eight Extraordinary Techniques, the Golden Light Mantra, or something like that?

As a result, reality gave him a simple, even somewhat shabby, "basic introductory guide".

Is it funny? It really is.

The mysterious and powerful Quanxing member, Old Man, may have relied on this "rushing punch" and "stomping step" to "dominate the world" back then.

The scene was so beautiful that he couldn't help but twitch his lips.

But more than anything, there was a complex mix of relief and heartache. Perhaps this was the true nature of the underworld that the old man had tried so hard to escape—not everyone was a genius.

More often, there are small people like the old man, struggling at the bottom of society, clinging to their meager skills, and barely surviving in the bloody and turbulent world.

This booklet is less a secret manual and more a humble footnote to my father's painful past.

It was the only thing he could leave behind, and perhaps it was also the only thing he had ever held onto with some faint hope.

Wang Xuan gently stroked the rough pages of the booklet, sighed, and prepared to carefully put it away, even though it was just a basic book.

It is also his father's heirloom, and currently the only way he can contact "superhumans".

However, in that very moment when his mind relaxed—

An extremely clear, cold, and emotionless electronic synthesized voice suddenly rang out from the depths of his mind without warning!

The sound was so abrupt, so out of place with the rustic thatched hut, the flickering oil lamp, and the yellowed book in his hand.

It was as if a signal from another dimension had forcibly entered his consciousness.

"Check-in system loaded successfully."

Wang Xuan was frozen in place as if he had been put under a spell!

His pupils constricted violently, and his breathing faltered!

The booklet almost slipped from my hand.

System?!

As a bookworm who had read countless books (various online novels) in his previous life, he was very familiar with this stuff!

This is practically the cheat code that every time traveler needs, the ultimate advantage they've always dreamed of!

But then, an even colder, deeper, and even slightly philosophically terrifying thought appeared like a ghost.

Without warning, it emerged from beneath the surprising bubbles, sending a chill down his spine and making him feel a rush of cold air from his tailbone to the top of his head!

Wait... system...

"The reason I know the concept of 'system' is because of the novels I read in my previous life! It's a setting created in fictional works!"

"So, what does this thing that's now appearing directly in my head mean?"

"Does it hint at a chilling possibility—the world I live in right now?"

Everything I've experienced, my time travel, my grief, my father whom I just buried...

Could even my current thoughts and surprise be a "story" or "setting" written by some higher-dimensional "existence"?