Xuantiang Realm. Changsheng Temple.

There hadn’t been incense here for ages. The place looked more like a slum than a temple—broken walls, cracked stone tiles with weeds growing through every gap.

Inside a rundown courtyard, Patsy Reed sat staring blankly in a shabby room.

He never thought things would end up like this.

This wasn’t his world. He came from Earth.

Orphaned as a child, he’d been picked up and raised by an old Taoist in a small, poor temple. The old man taught him feng shui, face reading, charms, and Daoist techniques. But to Patsy, it always felt like a scam—a way to earn just enough for a mouthful of food. Who’d believe demons and spirits were real?

The so-called Daoist mind technique the old guy passed on? He trained his whole life and couldn’t muster even a wisp of spiritual energy.

After the old man died and the temple got demolished, Patsy ended up relying on the same tricks to survive—reading fortunes online at night and fixing appliances during the day.

Life was poor, but steady.

Then three days ago, luck finally hit. He won the lottery—thirty million.

The money had just landed in his account when, to his shock, the Daoist technique finally stirred something in his body. He actually produced a bit of spiritual energy.

That same night, he blacked out.

When he came to, he was here.

He had transmigrated.

And he wanted to curse the heavens.

He had thirty million! His life was just about to take off! But fate dropped him in this gods-forsaken dump?

“Shishu! Shishu! Are you done yet? The Taixuan Holy Land assessment's tomorrow! Is the spirit treasure ready or not?” A voice outside the door called out, urgent.

Patsy peered through the door crack. Three figures stood in the yard—two young men and a little girl.

“Almost. Just give me a bit more time,” he said, brushing them off.

Turning back, Patsy frowned. He had a headache just thinking about the situation.

Changsheng Temple was supposed to be a sect, but it was barely holding together. The sect leader vanished a year ago, no one knew where he went, and as his junior, Patsy—now Vice Leader—was left to pick up the pieces.

Problem was, the old body he now occupied? Useless. No talent for cultivation, weak as hell, and addicted to gambling. The only reason he got to be Vice Leader was because he was the sect master’s junior brother.

Since the leader disappeared, this guy had gambled away everything valuable in the temple. From hundreds of disciples, only four were left.

They could barely afford food.

And they still owed 800 silver.

The deadline to repay? Less than seven days. If they couldn't pay up, the debt collectors would come and break Patsy's hands—literally.

A few days ago, the Taixuan Holy Land announced its sect competition. Anyone under their umbrella and at Fifth Rank or higher could join. Placing in the top thousand meant a reward of 1,000 silver.

The eldest disciple wasn’t around. Elias Clark, the second disciple, had just reached Fifth Rank. Just enough to qualify.

The man Patsy now was had tricked Elias into joining… but the kid wasn’t dumb. With his current strength, he’d only be cannon fodder. He might not even come back alive.Those other sects’ disciples all had proper gear—elixirs, weapons, spirit tools. Elias? Nothing but his head to rely on. What was the point of going to compete?

In the end, the previous guy promised to craft a spirit tool for Elias, and only then did Elias reluctantly agree.

Too bad that guy died while trying to forge the thing.

And left Patsy Reed behind, dazed and confused in a world he didn’t belong.

Still, Patsy had to admit, the man had guts. In this world, crafting spirit tools—being a Spirit Tool Master—was no joke. It meant having a powerful soul. Otherwise, forcing the process would drain your spirit dry and kill you on the spot.

That guy had zero experience, somehow got his hands on a common spirit tool manual, and just went for it.

Patsy, relying on years of fixing washing machines and fan motors in his past life, spent two days studying that manual. Turned out, the process wasn’t that different: build the shell first, then carve spiritual runes onto it using soul power. Finish the inscriptions, channel some qi, and voilà—a spirit tool.

Before him now sat a red gourd. The Seven Treasures Gourd.

Its purpose? Steal enemy weapons by sucking them right in.

But the power of a spirit tool was tied to the soul strength of whoever built it.

Patsy had spent the last few days trying all kinds of ways to return to Earth. Nothing worked. Right now, he had only two choices: wait around for loan sharks to come cut off his hands, or send Elias to the Grand Sect Tournament hosted by Tai Xuan Holy Land, win the prize of 1,000 silvers, and pay off the debts.

“Die either way. Might as well risk it.” Patsy picked up the red gourd, took a breath to steady himself, dipped his finger in cinnabar, and continued inscribing runes as guided by the manual.

That took two whole hours.

When he finally etched the last rune, Patsy came out of the trance-like focus.

"Strange..." Something bothered him. According to the book, crafting a spirit tool drained the soul to the point of dizziness or aching—from sheer exertion. He felt… fine. And it only took two hours?

“Let’s try it.” He tapped the gourd gently and sent a thread of spiritual energy into it.

The Seven Treasures Gourd in his hand started to vibrate softly.

A pale green glow spread out from it.

“That’s it? It activated?” Patsy’s eyes lit up. Did he just... make a real spirit tool?

That’d make him a Spirit Tool Master.

"Wait... something’s off."

He squinted at the manual again. The section on the gourd clearly said: after activation, it should emit red light.

But the glow from his gourd had been green.

Did he mess up?

He double-checked the runes. Maybe he botched a line?

Triple-checked. Nothing wrong.

"Uncle Patsy, is it done yet?" a voice called out from outside.

Patsy sighed and pushed open the door.

Waiting outside were three anxious faces. The one with the highest cultivation level was Elias Clark, the second senior disciple of the sect now. Next to him, the younger boy was Max Mileham, and the girl was Lillian Yerburgh.“Here.” Patsy Reed tossed the Seven Treasures Gourd to Elias Clark.

Elias caught it, eyes lighting up. “Seven Treasures Gourd!”

“It really is!” Max Mileham and Lillian Yerburgh rushed over, faces full of surprise.

In big sects or rich clans, things like this postnatal artifact weren't rare. But for them, it was a luxury — something they'd never afford.

Patsy had thought about selling it, but nobody bought gear from unknown artifact smiths. Without a name, it was just scrap.

“Second Senior Brother, try it out!” Max urged eagerly.

“No.” Elias shook his head. “Postnatal spirit artifacts have a nine-time use limit. Too precious to waste.”

“But I want to see it,” Lillian chimed in, blinking her big eyes at Elias. Normally, that would’ve worked.

But Elias stayed firm. This treasure didn’t come easy — he wasn’t going to waste it just to show off.

Patsy actually wanted him to try, too. That strange green glow from earlier still bothered him, like something wasn’t right. But he couldn’t say exactly what.

Seeing Elias unwilling to test it, the two younger disciples lost interest and went to prep dinner.

Elias thanked Patsy, hugging the gourd like it was a treasure, and headed back, grinning.

Watching them walk off in mended robes, Patsy sighed. The previous him had gambled their fortune away. Now they barely had enough to buy rice.

Before finding a way back to Earth, he needed to figure out how not to starve.

Maybe fortune-telling on the street wasn’t such a bad idea for tomorrow.

—

Early morning, Elias came to say goodbye.

“Uncle Master, once I leave, please take care of the others,” he said, hesitating. “And maybe, uh… gamble a little less if you can.”

He knew he was overstepping, but couldn’t help it. He didn’t want Max and Lillian suffering.

“Don’t worry,” Patsy nodded. He wasn’t the same man anymore. Gambling days were over.

“Then I’ll take my leave.”

“Wait. Take this.” Patsy handed him a talisman.

Elias frowned. “A Vajra Talisman?”

“You're leaving with nothing. I can’t give you money, so take this. It's not much, more like a good luck charm.”

He’d had some cinnabar left after crafting the gourd. Scribbled down a basic talisman before bed — not powerful or fancy, just a safety token.

As a sixth-grade cultivator, Patsy’s talisman was barely entry level. It shouldn’t mean much.

But Elias paused.

Something about this one was different. The strokes—wild and strange—carried a deeper meaning. Even more bizarre, he felt a quiet, massive strength within it. Like a mountain anchored in place, unmoving.

Was it just his imagination?