Chapter 48: Tragedy

As a psionic cultivator deployed into the Artificial Divine Realm by the Conquest Space, what was the first experience of the Artificial Divine Realm like? The standard answer: utter misery.

Setting aside someone like Lan Yi, who not only reincarnated but also brought along a psionic reactor, even other reincarnators, if they lacked effective means of utilizing psionic power during their first foray into the Artificial Divine Realm, would have to tread very carefully. None could afford to play at spiritual revival as boldly and grandly as Lan Yi. If even the reincarnators struggled, the fate of ordinary people was all the more dire.

Thirteen billion people across the world—anyone with independent thought—could embark on a journey into the Artificial Divine Realm at any time, free of charge. Such spontaneity, such freedom, was beyond the control of human design. As a direct result, vast numbers of people, for myriad reasons, rushed headlong into the Artificial Divine Realm the moment the Conquest Space descended.

Modern society is a technological one, with clear divisions of labor and ample resources. Many urban dwellers lack even the most basic survival skills for the wild; some barely manage city life as it is. Once stripped of resources and a stable environment, hunger is merely the beginning; a body in chronic poor health, if stricken with illness, is as good as doomed to a slow death.

During the first Artificial Divine Realm trial, even with identities assigned by the Conquest Space, unless one was exceptionally lucky, had made thorough preparations, behaved with utmost caution befitting the surroundings, and had the right fate-threads at hand, the outcome for psionic cultivators was often one of disaster—each in their own unique way.

Some were burned as possessed by evil spirits, some forcibly committed as lunatics, some simply vanished without a trace, others fell victim to those envious of their treasures, poisoned for their possessions, or killed outright for daring to challenge the status quo. More still, unable to blend into the environment or change the Artificial Divine Realm, became aimless wanderers.

This was the brutal truth of the first Artificial Divine Realm trial.

For women, the fate was even grimmer. In any Artificial Divine Realm, unless the level of civilization was high or one possessed enough strength to protect oneself, talk of being a business empress, a phoenix ruling the harem, or a dominant heroine was but a fantasy. Under the predatory systems of those worlds, a single misplaced word could see one’s status plummet, reduced to a plaything.

Women from modern cities are often exquisitely refined; even if not unparalleled beauties, in the Artificial Divine Realm they were more than enough to attract the covetous gaze of men of the middle ranks. Had Lan Yi not possessed overwhelming power, for all he had done, the foreigners would have wanted him dead first, and the Qing court would have had him executed by a thousand cuts. Whether the enemy was primary or secondary, as long as they were enemy, wounded or wronged by him, they would hate him to the bone! Such hatred is not so easily changed by a few words about civilization or the times.

After living long in civilized cities, accustomed to their rules, it was all too easy to be ruthlessly educated in the Artificial Divine Realm.

It is not hard to imagine how many psionic cultivators among the first wave into the Artificial Divine Realm paid a terrible price, how many remained there forever, joining the ranks of the missing.

Especially those from relatively peaceful regions. In the beginning, it was nothing but blood and tears, forced to undergo a rapid transformation under the cruel oppression of reality. Only after the chaos and growing pains passed, with psionic cultivators rising as an unstoppable new class, seizing social resources, and formalizing training and armament, did things gradually improve.

Until then, most psionic cultivators lived in misery.

Take Xiao Hongzhuan, for example. Sent into Artificial Divine Realm 1909, he was assigned the identity of an impoverished scholar, traveling to Jinling to seek a livelihood. Possessing nothing but his advanced knowledge, he planned first to secure a position as a bookkeeper or similar, then consider the tasks set by the Conquest Space.

At first, Xiao Hongzhuan believed that with his knowledge ahead of the times, he could not possibly starve. Yet even submitting a résumé proved insurmountable: in this era, becoming a bookkeeper required introduction and trust; without capital, petty business was out of reach; his university major, electronic information, was utterly useless here. That left only labor.

But to labor—did he understand the rules of the various guilds? Did he know how the unseen boundaries of territory were drawn, which powerful figures were not to be offended, which greases needed to be paid for long-term work? Without grasping these, how could he hope to survive? Even beggars had to follow the rules.

If you didn’t, well—fertilizer was never in short supply in these lands.

Xiao Hongzhuan drew a sharp breath. Wasn’t this just a criminal underworld? Where were the authorities? Would no one save him? Oh—turns out the officials expected their cut as well. Never mind, then.

After repeated setbacks, Xiao Hongzhuan’s frustration boiled over; his careless words and his hair—an obvious anomaly—earned him a savage beating from vicious officers, leaving him half dead.

Battered and bloody, after three days of hunger, Xiao Hongzhuan abandoned his pride, set aside the posture of a transmigrator, and turned to begging. Thanks to his remembered English, he survived by begging from foreigners, but still faced constant competition and malice from fellow beggars, as well as the rules for paying tribute even in that pitiful trade.

In such an environment, greatness was an empty dream; mere survival was a luxury. More than once, having learned street fighting, to read expressions, and to flee desperately, Xiao Hongzhuan nearly died in the gutter, another fresh corpse left to rot. He felt he could not hold out, might not even make it a week before dying in this Artificial Divine Realm.

He heard of it, too: in the south, a demon named Lan Yi was causing havoc, creating invulnerable monsters, sending foreigners fleeing in terror, but the imperial heavenly army would soon march in and surely execute the demon and his rebel band on the spot.

Xiao Hongzhuan thought Lan Yi must be a fellow countryman—if not, at least his opportunity. Yet from Jinling to Puhai, how could a weak beggar hope to make that journey alive?

Hope gave way to despair. Xiao Hongzhuan, already reeking, drifted through the days in a daze, begging for scraps, clinging to the edge of survival.

Until one day, waking from a fevered sleep, he stared wide-eyed at the sky as a blue-white pillar of light shot upward. Chaos erupted in the city; figures like supermen darted through streets and alleys, easily routing the fierce soldiers, distributing printed martial arts manuals for free.

Psionic energy, primal breath, martial arts.

As his body miraculously healed, Xiao Hongzhuan realized his chance had come. According to the Conquest Space’s data, not only did he possess primal breath, but also fate-threads.

At last, Xiao Hongzhuan was qualified to feel shame. He no longer wished to live this way—he would gamble everything on one last chance!