Chapter Seventy-Six: Crossing Worlds—The Only One Under Heaven

Night, the Hour of the Ox

“For extending another’s life without authorization, the host will bear all consequences!” The system pronounced Zifan’s sentence with chilling indifference.

“And one more thing, host: do not alter fate on your own.”
“Otherwise, bear the consequences yourself!”

Zifan’s expression changed. He had never expected that after all this waiting, such a verdict would be his reward.

Yet, having endured trials of life and death, Zifan had grown. His eyes reflected only calm—serene, undisturbed, as if gazing into an abyss.

“Ding!”

“In order to determine an appropriate punishment for the host, and to hasten the host’s growth, the system will transmit the host to another plane.”

“Rest assured, host: one day in that world equals one minute in the Three Kingdoms.”

“The host will interact with the protagonist of this plane. Complete the system’s assigned tasks to return to the Three Kingdoms. However, this time, only memories, rewards, and treasures from the other world will be kept; all else reverts to the system.”

“What the—?”

Zifan suddenly snapped to his senses, excitement flooding his face.

“Amazing! This is a whole new world!”

“In one minute, the system will send you to the world of ‘The Outcast’! Please prepare yourself, host.”

“‘The Outcast!’”

Back in his previous life, Zifan had been especially fond of this anime—he’d watched it dozens of times, even staying up all night. Never had he imagined he’d cross into its world.

“Host, please prepare.”

“Transmigration begins.”

Suddenly, a beam of black sunlight enveloped Zifan.

Whoosh!

Zifan vanished from the era of the Three Kingdoms...

He now stood in the world of “The Outcast.” The story began, it seemed, with the theft of Zhang Huaiyi’s corpse—Zhang Chulan’s grandfather. Yet this was no ordinary urban world. The Balance Faction, the tangled roots of the Extranormals—here, nothing was simple.

The Rebellion of Jia Shen, the Thirty-Six Thieves of the Balance Faction, and their mastery of the Eight Miraculous Arts...

Those eight survivors of the rebellion bore extraordinary restrictions—curses so potent that to speak of them meant death, and any who listened would be doomed as well. That was why, despite the rumors, no one could divulge the truth of the Jia Shen Rebellion, and its secrets remained forever shrouded.

Extranormals in this world wielded innate might; with a wave, they could defeat hundreds, even thousands.

Pale moonlight filtered through layers of branches, sprinkling the ink-dark earth with faint silver spots. The forest was bleak, each tree standing tall, dew clinging to its bark, reflecting the moon’s cold, silver glow.

Where was this?

“A graveyard!”

“This must be that graveyard!”

“Then it’s after Zhang Xilin’s corpse was stolen!”

Zifan surveyed his surroundings and abruptly remembered. This was the very graveyard where Feng Baobao and Zhang Chulan first met.

“This is getting out of hand!”

He was troubled, his expression ever-changing. Knowing the plot so well, Zifan understood: Zhang Xilin’s corpse had already been taken. The thief was a corpse handler from Xiangxi, lured and manipulated by Lü Liang of the Balance Faction. Zifan’s sudden, inexplicable presence here would be hard to explain.

Worse, the Jiangxi corpse handler had left traps in this graveyard.

“Ding!”

“Main Quest: Establish yourself as a master in front of Zhang Chulan.”

“Side Quest: Slay the zombies.”

The system’s voice arrived, as expected.

To ensure the host’s survival during this mission, the system will issue a novice gift pack! Would you like to open it?

“Open it, of course!” Zifan replied without hesitation.

With a crisp crack—ding!—congratulations, host, you have obtained the Golden Light Incantation martial arts manual.

“The Golden Light Incantation!”

Although not as unfathomable as the Eight Miraculous Arts, the Golden Light Incantation excelled in both offense and defense—a technique perfect for Zifan to stand on his own.

…

In the sandy earth, a girl dressed in white and black skirt wielded a shovel, seemingly burying something. Before her, a great pit yawned.

“Help! Someone! Please save me! This crazy woman’s trying to bury me alive!” A young man in plaid shirt and blue trousers shouted desperately from the pit, but his cries went unanswered.

On closer look, the youth being buried was none other than our protagonist, Zhang Chulan.

“Tsk tsk, the star of the show really is something. That acting! The Oscars owe you a statuette!” muttered a shadow perched in a nearby tree. It was Zifan, calmly observing the scene.

He was the very image of a graceful young noble, raising a cup to the heavens—elegant as a jade tree in the wind. He looked no more than twenty-one or twenty-two, clothed in Han attire. The crossing had left his outfit unchanged—blue robe, golden belt, white folding fan in hand, black boots, and a jade pendant at his waist. His ice-blue eyes were both passionate and cold, his features refined and regal. After his time in the Three Kingdoms, he carried an unmistakable aura of royalty.

Suddenly—swish!—as the girl filled the pit, hands burst from the surrounding graves. Dead hands.

One after another, the corpses clawed their way free—faces smeared with blood, skin rotting, features twisted, plump white maggots wriggling across their flesh. Every step made their decaying skin and the maggots slough off together. Their nails had hardened into black, sharp talons. Even from a meter away, the stench of rot and blood was overwhelming.

A ghastly rasp escaped their shriveled throats.

The girl remained expressionless, putting down her shovel and drawing a kitchen knife from who-knows-where, charging at the undead. For all her delicate look, she was a terror in battle—these corpses, slow and lumbering, never even touched her before she split them in two.

As the last zombie fell silent, the young man in the pit cracked open one eye, cold sweat beading as he saw the corpses staring blankly back.

The girl said coldly, “Idiot.”

She finished off the last corpse, then in a Sichuan accent declared, “Hey kid, you stay here and face reality. I’m done playing.” Without a backward glance, she strode into the woods, leaving the youth dumbfounded in the pit.

“She just left? Hey! Can’t you pull me out?” he shouted incredulously.

More corpses began to shuffle toward him.

“Don’t come any closer! It wasn’t me who cut you up—it was that crazy woman! Go after her!” he yelled, but his actions belied his words as he scrambled out of the pit in a panic.

“Come now, no one else is here—who are you trying to fool?” Zifan appeared behind him without warning.

“Who—who are you? Are you human or ghost?” the youth stammered, startled.

“Wait! What did you just mean by that?” he demanded.

“Haha! Isn’t it obvious?” Zifan grinned. After all, this young man was the infamous “Unshakable Zhang Chulan.”

Glancing at the encroaching zombies, Zhang Chulan shouted, “This isn’t the place for talking—how about you clear the field first?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Zifan formed a seal with his hands.

“Heaven and earth are mysterious, the myriad energies their root. Through countless tribulations, I attain divine power. Within and beyond the Three Realms, the Dao reigns supreme. My body is cloaked in golden light, which shields and envelops me.”

As he finished, a faint golden glow radiated from Zifan’s body—the Golden Light Incantation. The energy suffused him with warmth from within, like sunlight streaming into his core, filling his dantian, kidneys, waist, and legs.

With his right hand, Zifan grasped a zombie’s neck—protected by golden light—and snapped it with ease.

“This feeling... this sense of control... it’s exhilarating!”

Bathed in golden light, Zifan seemed a deity clad in armor.

“Die!”

With a single punch, he unleashed a force of at least five hundred jin—enough to shatter an ancient tree. But the Golden Light Incantation’s power was more profound still; as a secret Daoist spell, its uses were myriad. The punch’s might soared to two thousand jin, distorting the very air.

With a thunderous crack, ten zombies were sent flying, their bodies crushed, utterly destroyed.

Yet more zombies pressed in, relentless, only to be met with annihilation.

Seeing this, Zhang Chulan was dumbstruck. “How is this possible? How do you know the Golden Light Incantation?”

His astonishment was not at Zifan’s martial prowess, but at the fact that the Golden Light Incantation was a closely guarded secret of the Daoist Masters’ Mansion. Could this strangely dressed man be one of those legendary priests?

Once the last zombie fell, Zifan dusted off his hands and fixed Zhang Chulan with a solemn gaze.

“Zhang Chulan, what are you enduring?” Zifan suddenly asked.

“Wh—what are you talking about?” Zhang Chulan replied, dazed.

“You’re an Extranormal, with limitless potential—so why do you keep locking away your power?”
“You muddle through life, blending in with ordinary people. Is that truly what you want? Only in the face of life and death do you reveal your strength.”

A mocking smile played on Zifan’s lips.

“Perhaps you hardly recognize yourself anymore, or what burdens you carry.”
“Or what power you truly hold.”

Every word struck home.

“How do you know these things? Who are you?” Zhang Chulan’s shock and panic were palpable. This was a secret he’d buried for years—known only to his late grandfather and his long-lost father. No one else could possibly know!

Yet here was Zifan—how could he know? Was there some hidden organization at work?

“Zhang Chulan, it doesn’t matter how I know.”
“No need to overthink it. Just remember:”
“Life offers two choices: start anew and be the hero of your own story—or remain where you are, a supporting role in someone else’s.”
“No matter how ordinary a dragon may seem, its blood is still that of a dragon.”
“How could it accept being an ant?”

Zifan’s gaze swept over Zhang Chulan, unwavering as still water. Let others rage—he stood as the mountains, unshakable.

All his life, Zhang Chulan had obeyed his grandfather, striving to live as an ordinary person, hiding his Extranormal identity, working hard for a normal life. Yet he had never truly questioned if this was right or wrong.

Now, Zifan’s words flashed through his mind like lightning.

It was time to change.

“To grasp the sun and moon, to pluck the stars—there is none like me in this world.”

Zhang Chulan clenched his fists, his eyes blazing with resolve.

“Brother, I can’t thank you enough! I don’t know how you know so much about me, or my secrets, but without you, I could never have crossed this threshold. I’ve decided—I will live for myself. I will not be mediocre any longer.”

His gaze toward Zifan brimmed with respect and gratitude. In his eyes, Zifan too bore heavy burdens.

This man before him had given him a new lease on life.

By nature, Zhang Chulan was cheerful and kind—a favored child of destiny. But life’s hardships had forced him to become complicated, even shameless, just to survive. It was an act, never true to himself, leaving him always repressed.

Today, Zifan’s words had opened his eyes.

“Brother, what is your name? I, Zhang Chulan, would be honored to have you as a friend. Would you stay nearby?”

“My name is Zifan,” he replied with a faint smile.

“Well, it’s time for me to go. Until we meet again.”

“I’m sure we will cross paths once more.”

With that, Zifan turned away—the system’s voice sounding in his mind. It was time to proceed to the next stage of “The Outcast.”

“Ding... Main quest complete... Side quest complete. Host, proceed directly north...”

With a tearing sound, a two-meter-high black portal formed!

Under Zhang Chulan’s stunned gaze, Zifan stepped through and vanished.

“Zifan—who are you, really?” Zhang Chulan swallowed hard.

Not long after Zifan’s departure, Baobao arrived at the graveyard with a man in glasses and a suit. All around, the shattered remains of zombies lay scattered—the scene bore silent witness: not only had someone intervened, they had utterly crushed the undead horde.

“Baobao, it seems we’re not the only ones watching Zhang Chulan,” the bespectacled man said, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

“Don’t worry. As long as I’m here, anyone who tries to snatch him—I’ll bury them myself,” the girl replied in her soft Sichuan drawl.