At the Peak, False Supporters Gather; at Dusk, True Believers Are Revealed

"Dou Zhi Qi, Third Stage."

The youth looked at the five large characters gleaming—almost painfully brightly—on the testing magic stone tablet. His face remained expressionless, and his heart was utterly calm.

Morning sunlight slanted down from the eaves on the eastern side of the square, stretching the youth's slender shadow long across the ground.

The clamor of several hundred Xiao Clan disciples surged around him like a tide, yet it seemed separated from the youth by an invisible barrier.

He wore a simple black training outfit. Like a stalk of green bamboo standing tall in late autumn, he was thin, yet possessed an indescribable bearing.

"Xiao Yan, Dou Zhi Qi, Third Stage! Rank: Low!"

Beside the testing magic stone tablet stood a middle-aged man in the distinctive azure robes of a Xiao Clan steward, a silver belt around his waist marking his status. He glanced at the information displayed on the tablet and announced it in an indifferent tone.

His voice was not loud, yet it was like a stone cast into a still lake, stirring ripples across the square.

"Third Stage? What has the young clan leader been doing? Has his strength really been stuck at the Third Stage of Dou Zhi Qi all this time?"

A shrill voice sounded first from the left side of the crowd. The speaker was a short, pudgy youth named Xiao Ke. He deliberately stressed the words "young clan leader," his drawn-out tone brimming with mockery.

"Young clan leader? He isn't the young clan leader anymore. If he didn't have a clan leader for a father, he would have been driven out of the Lineage long ago!"

Another voice immediately followed. This time, it came from a tall, skinny youth beside Xiao Ning. Several conspicuous pimples dotted his face, and he was making faces at his companions, drawing a burst of laughter.

"I know you, Xiao Min. Back when the young clan leader became a Dou Practitioner at nine, you were the most obsequious one of all. You practically wanted to be his dog. Now that the young clan leader has fallen from grace, this is how you act? You really know how to change your tune."

A steady voice suddenly rang out from the crowd. The speaker was a square-faced young man with his arms folded across his chest, coldly glancing at the tall, skinny youth from earlier.

Xiao Min's face instantly flushed red. His mouth opened, but in the end, he did not retort. He merely turned his head away resentfully.

Xiao Yan paid no heed to the disdainful ridicule and regretful sighs around him as he walked down from the platform.

His steps were steady, neither hurried nor slow.

The stone steps were damp with morning dew, carrying a faint chill that seeped through his thin cloth shoes to the soles of his feet, yet he did not notice it at all.

As he passed through the crowd, his calm gaze swept over those familiar faces—some whispered among themselves, some pointed at him, while several girls who had once surrounded him and called him "Brother Xiao Yan" now stood off to the side, watching him with pitying yet distant eyes.

Xiao Mei was among them. She wore a light pink dress today, tied at the waist with a white silk ribbon that perfectly outlined the budding curves of her figure.

Three years ago, she had always followed behind Xiao Yan, sweetly calling him "Cousin Xiao Yan." Whenever he finished training, she would always hand him a clean towel at just the right moment.

But now, when Xiao Yan's gaze fell upon her, she seemed as though she had been scalded. She quickly lowered her head, her slender fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes as she quietly took half a step back.

The corner of Xiao Yan's lips lifted into a faint curve. It was neither mockery nor bitterness, but understanding.

At the peak, false supporters gathered; at dusk, true believers were revealed!

He withdrew his gaze and quietly returned to the last row of the line.

The last row stood beside an old locust tree at the edge of the square. Its trunk was thick and its canopy spread wide, its mottled shadows falling across the youth's shoulders like a flowing ink painting.

The light here was somewhat dim, far from the center of the crowd, but Xiao Yan liked this spot—it allowed him to see everyone's expressions in the square, while making it difficult for them to notice him.

"Two days left. Nalan Yanran should be coming to break off the engagement soon. Medicine Venerable, it should be time for you to wake up as well."

Xiao Yan lowered his eyes, his gaze settling on the ancient black ring on his right index finger.

The ring was entirely black, its surface engraved with extremely fine patterns that reflected a cold, shadowy gleam under the light.

No one knew that this Xiao Yan was not the Xiao Yan from the original novel.

He came from Blue Star.

It was a world entirely different from the Dou Qi Continent—there was no Dou Qi, no Magic Beasts, no Heavenly Flames, only skyscrapers and neon lights.

His name in his previous life had also been Xiao Yan. His father on Blue Star had given him that name.

His father often said, "Yan is the essence of fire—scorching and bright. May your life burn just as passionately as a flame."

Because his name was exactly the same as that of the protagonist of a certain classic novel, he had been teased by his friends ever since middle school.

"Isn't this Flame Emperor Xiao Yan?"

"How many stages did Flame Emperor train to today?"

"Xiao Yan, where's your Heavenly Flame? Take it out and let your brothers have a look!"

Whenever he heard such words, he would grin and curse back, "Get lost. If I were the Flame Emperor, the first thing I'd do is refine you into pills!"

Yet deep down, he had always felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity with that name.

He usually enjoyed reading novels, especially fantasy novels. Those magnificent worlds of flying through the skies, burrowing through the earth, moving mountains, and filling seas always allowed him to temporarily escape the tedium and mediocrity of real life.

He had read every fantasy novel he could find, but the one he treasured most was the story of Flame Emperor Xiao Yan rising from a good-for-nothing to become a Dou Emperor.

He also liked playing games, indulging in triumphs and grudges in virtual worlds while experiencing adventures he could never encounter in reality.

The reason for his transmigration was ordinary to the point of absurdity.

That night, he had stayed up late playing a mobile game called Battle Through the Heavens.

On the screen, the character he controlled was locked in a fierce battle with a rare world boss. The boss's health bar was nearly empty, and victory was within reach.

His fingers tapped rapidly across the screen, his movements smooth and effortless, while the corners of his lips rose unconsciously—he had waited a full three days for this boss to appear.

Just as the boss had only a final sliver of health remaining and he was about to land the killing blow, a pop-up window appeared without warning.

His finger moved toward the red X in the upper-right corner from pure muscle memory. The pop-up shifted like a cunning chameleon, precisely relocating itself right before his eyes.

The finger that should have landed on the X tapped directly onto the green "YES" in the center of the pop-up.

"No!"

He suddenly realized something was wrong, but his fingertip had already fallen.

A burst of white light exploded from his phone screen. Before he could even make a sound, his entire body was swallowed by that radiance.

When he opened his eyes again, he did not see the familiar ceiling. Instead, there was a blur of light and shadow, accompanied by a loud cry—that was his own crying.

He had become a newborn infant.

A soft swaddle wrapped around him, while the mingled scent of herbs and milk lingered at the tip of his nose.

A woman's warm embrace held him tightly, while a pair of rough yet gentle hands softly stroked his cheek. He tried desperately to make out that person's face, but a newborn's vision was so blurry that he could only discern a vague outline—a valiant-looking middle-aged man with reddened eyes and trembling lips, saying in an almost reverent voice, "My child... my child..."