This Life, I'll Carve a Path to the Heavens!

Early morning, at the entrance of East Mountain Village.

Fang Hong, a long blade slung across his waist and a bow slung over his back, strode toward the great mountains to the east.

Both the blade and the bow had been left behind by Father Fang.

Though worn from years of use and showing their age, the cold gleam flashing along the blade's edge and the old bloodstains soaked deep into the bow's frame made it clear no one should underestimate their power.

Not far off, two old men were heading out to work the fields.

When they saw Fang Hong armed with blade and bow, they both paused in surprise.

"What a resemblance. Ever since Fang Datou and his wife passed, that kid's changed—more and more like the man he was when he first came back from the army."

A stoop-shouldered old man watched Fang Hong's upright figure approaching and spoke with a hint of emotion.

"The boy's grown up. Who would've thought their family would suffer something like this? Suddenly he's all alone. What a tragedy."

Another, slightly younger old man sighed as he added.

"Little Hong, you heading into the mountains?"

The first old man called out to Fang Hong.

"That's right, Grandpa Liu Er, Uncle Chen Da. You two off to the fields?"

Fang Hong replied with a smile to the two elders.

"Little Hong, the mountains are dangerous. You're still young—why rush in there?"

The stoop-shouldered old man said, worry in his voice.

Hearing this, Fang Hong put on a "bitter smile."

"You both know what happened to my family. I sold the fields, but that won't last forever. I can't just sit around and eat through what's left."

"Life has to move forward. A man's got to keep living..."

At these words, both old men fell silent.

"Little Hong, take care..."

Fang Hong gave a relieved smile. "It's fine, Grandpa Liu Er, Uncle Chen Da. I'll be off now."

"I need to get into the mountains quickly—any later and it'll be more dangerous."

"Alright, go on then. Don't waste time, and remember to be careful."

"Got it."

Watching Fang Hong's brisk retreating figure, the stoop-shouldered Grandpa Liu Er let out a sigh.

"Little Hong's really grown up. It hasn't been easy for him..."

Uncle Chen Da looked up at the sky. "In times like these, whose life is easy?"

Elsewhere.

As Fang Hong drew closer to the mountains, he walked while pondering his path forward.

Combining his golden finger with the knowledge of this world from the original owner's memories, Fang Hong quickly made up his mind.

He had to join a Martial Dao Sect.

Father Fang had once been a soldier, giving him experience and insight

far beyond that of the other villagers who had lived their whole lives in the village or town.

Father Fang had once tried to save up money to send the original owner to become a disciple.

Unfortunately, the original owner had little interest in martial arts.

On top of that, Father Fang had felt his bones and knew his aptitude was merely average.

In the end, he had no choice but to give up on the idea of apprenticeship.

But now, Fang Hong had revived that plan.

His golden finger, though incredibly powerful, could only train a secret manual or technique to its highest realm.

Once it reached perfection, there was no way to break through further.

It wasn't like in those other novels, where you could add points with "Deep Blue" or say "Deep Blue, show me your limits."

He couldn't rely on his golden finger to keep pushing past a technique's ceiling.

So if he wanted to cultivate higher-level manuals or secret arts, joining a sect was basically his only option.

Of course, even though he had made up his mind to join a sect, all of that would have to wait until he had avenged the original owner's family.

A blood debt must be paid in blood—a foe of one's parents leaves no room for coexistence under the same sky.

Yet, though he burned with impatience for revenge, he knew this was no matter to rush.

Relying on his golden finger, he now possessed a measure of power.

But to exact vengeance, he still fell far short.

First, his current strength wasn't yet secure enough.

Second, and most crucially, was his mindset.

His mentality had yet to fully transform.

Blood debts demanded blood repayment.

But killing was never a simple thing.

In his past life, he'd been just an ordinary man—a mundane, overworked programmer.

Suddenly thrust into the role of a killer, even with some power at his disposal.

No one could predict what accidents might arise.

And in a life-or-death struggle, any hesitation or wavering could cost him his life.

So he had to reshape his mindset.

He had to ensure that when the time came to kill, there would be no softness or doubt.

In his past life, he'd loved a line from the Idiot Bar.

Eat what you lack to supplement it; to rise above others, hardship won't do—you must eat men.

He'd understood that truth back then.

But due to various personal reasons and a relatively peaceful environment, he'd never steeled himself to act on it.

Now, things were different.

This was a world that devoured men—the strong could shatter mountains and split peaks, looking down on all, while the common folk lived and died like ants or weeds.

On the day the land was sold, it wasn't the scholar-gentry master himself who came.

Only his steward showed up.

Yet even a mere steward wore that look of condescension, that contemptuous attitude.

As if to say, The master deigns to buy your land—count yourself lucky.

If you don't know your place, your father's fate will be yours.

Especially when he pressed his fingerprint.

The steward's impatient expression, his stream of curses—you dog this and why couldn't you have done this sooner, wasting my time—

All of it hammered home what kind of world this truly was.

The examples of Mother Fang and Father Fang stood right before his eyes.

If he still couldn't harden his heart.

Even with his golden finger and greater power, he'd achieve nothing of note.

He might not even survive, or live long enough to matter.

He had no desire to wait until death to feel regret.

Moreover, when he'd crossed over, he'd truly experienced the original owner's despair.

Grief that tore him apart, helplessness, utter powerlessness, suffocating frustration, boundless terror, endless hatred—

All these emotions.

As if plunging him into an abyss of despair, with no room to struggle.

Though they were merely the lingering emotions and memories of the original owner.

He swore he would never allow himself to fall into such a state again.

Nor would he ever let himself relive that maddening despair.

So he had to become ruthless, become strong!

Ruthless not only toward himself, but even more so toward his enemies!

Gazing at the lush, towering, and vast forest not far ahead, Fang Hong's eyes flashed with a resolute cruelty.

Kill!

Slaughter everything that dared to stand in his way!

In my past life, I was just a mediocre nobody.

But in this life, in this world that devours men.

I will carve out a clear path to the heavens!

With a blade at his waist and a bow slung over his back, a grim resolve etched on his face.

Fang Hong stepped without hesitation into that deep mountain forest, which had buried countless lives.