Chapter One: I Was Only Joking

"You wretched brat, you turtle spawn, hand over the Three Treasures at once! This seat may show great mercy and let you die intact!" A white-robed elder spoke in a deep voice, his presence soaring to the heavens, his words resounding like thunder.

He waved a goose-feather fan, three silver whiskers hanging from his chin, his face youthful and his hair white as a crane’s. Though he uttered coarse curses in rage, it did not diminish his celestial bearing—he seemed every inch the immortal sage of the fairy realms, a master from the Isle of Penglai. At first glance, he inspired awe and reverence, as if a deity had descended among mortals. Amid the snow-blanketed earth, the man and the scene blended perfectly, evoking an ethereal atmosphere. Yet, at this very moment, a chorus of shouting shattered the tranquility without mercy—

"Master Xing Su, boundless power, wretched turtle, meet your end swiftly!"

"Master Xing Su, supreme skill, petty thief, prepare to die!"

"Master Xing Su, benevolent heart, surrender the Three Treasures, and you may keep your corpse whole!"

Looking out, there were perhaps more than thirty men, all shouting and clamoring, their momentum overwhelming. The thirty formed a semicircle, brandishing broad blades with a madness in their demeanor, yet not one dared to charge forward and strike, as if wary of something.

The wind atop the Heavenly Mountains was cold, biting as ice. This was Tomur Peak, the highest summit, steep and snowbound, where even northern geese could not pass. Even at mid-height, the temperature was terrifying; an ordinary person would have long since frozen to shards, ground into icy powder.

A slender young man stood at the edge of the cliff, upright and unmoved in the biting wind.

He wore rough linen, his hair disheveled and face grimy, looking every bit a beggar. In his left hand he held a small green cauldron; in his right, a pale blue wine jug. Both emanated a faint, mysterious glow—one green, one blue—which intertwined to envelop his body, draping him like a thin robe. Between the green and blue radiance, a band of white light cunningly bound them together, resembling a pure silver belt, exuding a chilling aura and the scent of metal and stone.

The Three Treasures of the Xing Su Sect: the Divine Wood King Cauldron, the Sacred Water King Jug, and the Silken Lock. Together, they harness the power of the three elements, gather the force of the five phases, impervious to metal, stone, water, fire, and poison.

Yet, judging from the young man’s current state, he was clearly gravely wounded. His face was pale as paper, a trace of blood at his lips, his breath erratic.

The Three Treasures were mighty, but only if one knew how to wield them. It was said that Ding Chunqiu had found them by chance in the depths of the Xing Su Sea; with the Divine Wood King Cauldron alone, he cultivated the Dissolving Skill and numerous sinister arts. Yet even Ding Chunqiu could not use the other two treasures, which was the sect’s greatest secret.

Ding Chunqiu looked at the young man, his heart filled with a complicated mix of emotions—contempt and astonishment.

He scorned the fact that, even he could not control the Three Treasures, yet this brash youngster, a mere servant, dared to covet them—how foolish.

But he was astonished that the Treasures were now radiating a protective force, shielding the boy as much as they could. Without it, the boy would have been blasted to bits and become a wandering soul. Such an oddity must conceal deeper mysteries—this situation was decidedly abnormal!

At that moment, the young man's expression was bizarre, as if his dignity had been utterly shattered, pain written across his face.

"Damn it, hand over the Three Treasures and you’ll let me die whole? Damn you! Do you take me for an idiot? Even if I die, I won’t let you have them!" the young man roared. Since death was inevitable, he would not die so disgracefully.

His heart burned with fury, though the wind was icy as knives, his chest was ablaze with rage.

"Eight years—what have I gained? What meaning has eight years of endurance? Ha! Is this really the end for me, Hu Mo, in this world of Dragon Oath?"

"Why is it that others play a game and transmigrate as Sword Saints, while I play Dragon Oath and become a lowly servant?"

"Why is it that others transmigrate as dazzling, invincible heroes, able to wipe out armies with a fart and destroy the heavens with a wave? Yet I am mediocre, bullied, doomed to servitude, not even able to become an eighth-generation disciple?"

"Why are they always handsome, surrounded by thousands of beauties, arms filled with lovers, while I look so ordinary even a mother fly wouldn’t bother with me..."

"Damn it, I refuse to accept this! I refuse—" Hu Mo screamed inwardly. If only he had enough power, he would punch through the heavens, drag down whoever tormented him, and rain a thousand blows upon them to vent his rage.

He had always been a notorious rascal, idle and reckless, commonly called a “scourge.”

For a time, he was obsessed with a newly released online game, "Dragon Oath," spending endless nights glued to his computer, playing fiercely. Until one day, after completing a quest in excitement, his strength failed him and he died suddenly at his desk, waking in the legendary world of Dragon Oath.

When he woke in this world, he discovered he was merely a humble servant of the Xing Su Sect, so insignificant as to be negligible.

He had read some fantasy novels, and their transmigrated protagonists were always chosen by heaven to save the world—at least they wore their underwear outside. All were outrageously strong and devastatingly handsome.

But he saw no virtues in himself—a frail frame, plain features, poor talent, lost in the crowd. He could not accept it! That wretched life drove him nearly mad, the urge to die came countless times.

After wallowing in despair for a long while, Hu Mo finally decided: he refused to believe he would remain so downtrodden forever. He would seize his chance, whether as servant or slave, endure and wait for his day to rise. He endured for eight years.

At last, he stole the Three Treasures of the Xing Su Sect, hoping to gain great power from them. Yet, things went awry—not only could he not control the Treasures, he was controlled by them. After killing dozens of sect disciples under their influence, Ding Chunqiu led others in pursuit, chasing him all the way to Tomur Peak, where he was now surrounded.

The wind and snow howled, but within the shield of green-blue light, the biting cold could not touch him. Yet his spirit was frozen, for in this situation, what hope of survival remained?

Ding Chunqiu’s face was dark as death, but he dared not provoke Hu Mo too much. Seeing Hu Mo’s resolute manner, he truly feared the boy might leap from the cliff—if so, everything would be lost.

Thinking this, his expression grew grave, and he realized his earlier angry words had been utterly foolish.

“Haha, you’re right, little one. My words were indeed somewhat unfair.” Ding Chunqiu’s tone suddenly softened, as if a fierce tiger had become a gentle lamb. His oily smile sent a chill through Hu Mo.

“Little one, your name is Hu Mo, isn’t it? Excellent, truly outstanding, limitless potential. How could I have overlooked such talent before?” Ding Chunqiu spoke as he walked toward Hu Mo, everything seeming perfectly natural.

Hu Mo sneered, watching Ding Chunqiu approach, and said calmly, “Master, you can stop right there. As for your nonsense, save it for after you’re dead—it’s a bit early for that now.”

As he spoke, Hu Mo retreated, his heels scraping the edge of the precipice.

Ding Chunqiu’s face changed; he called out quickly, “Stop, stop! Let’s talk calmly, no need to rush to your death! You’re still so young, dying would be such a waste. Come over here, I swear by heaven, I won’t harm a hair on your head!”

Ding Chunqiu was truly flustered—the Three Treasures meant everything to him. The entire Xing Su Sect could be destroyed, but the Treasures must remain unharmed; they were his lifeblood!

Hu Mo saw Ding Chunqiu’s fear and felt a surge of delight. He thought, “Even if I die here, to witness such a performance makes this life worthwhile.”

As he mused, he suddenly sensed the Treasures’ power shifting oddly. They seemed to possess a will of their own, exulting, as if conveying some message to him.

Before Hu Mo could react, his right leg stepped back involuntarily. At that instant, he understood what the Treasures were saying: “Want to die? We support you!”

He heard Ding Chunqiu’s anguished scream as his body plunged from the cliff like a thousand-pound weight, his cry echoing in the sky, lingering long after.

“Damn it, I was just joking—this isn’t how it’s supposed to be—”