In a damp, dimly lit rental room, a skinny young man lay on a stained mattress. His eyes were tightly shut. In his half-conscious state, he felt a small hand gently scratching at his face. His nose twitched, itchy, while a soft childlike voice mumbled beside his ear.
Ethan Carter's head shifted slightly, then snapped up as his eyes shot open. He gasped for breath, chest heaving. Bloodshot eyes widened, full of confusion.
"Where... where am I?"
His head felt like it had been stabbed a hundred times over—splitting pain that made him wince. He lifted a shaky hand to his forehead, taking a few seconds to gather himself. Only then did he actually see the rundown dump he was in.
A cramped room, barely twenty square meters. Heavy curtains sealed the light out, making it darker than night. The walls were plain white, no tiles, just sloppy paint. Old posters of faded celebrities peeled off in tatters. The whole place was a mess—just a bed, a bedside table, and a filthy fabric wardrobe. That’s it.
The floor was chaos: clothes, socks, and shoes were flung everywhere, cigarette butts scattered like fallen leaves, liquor bottles and cans rolled underfoot. Takeout boxes and empty instant noodle cups cluttered the entrance. There was nowhere clean to step. The air was thick with a foul stench—smoke, foot odor, booze, and leftover food all mixing into a choking cloud.
Ethan stared in disbelief at the mess. It was worse than a pigsty. Who could live in a place like this?
He scanned the room again and suddenly froze, his eyes snapping wide with shock.
"This... this is Earth?"
"Earth? Why am I here… on a planet I don't even recognize?"
"I clearly remember failing my lightning tribulation. My protective treasure shattered, and I couldn’t stop that final Heavenly Thunder…”
"Don’t tell me… I’ve transmigrated?"
Even with a thousand years of experience in the cultivation world, Ethan found himself stunned. He really couldn't wrap his head around what had happened to him.Even Ethan Carter couldn't quite accept it, but facts didn’t care. Once a monster-level genius in the cultivation world, who reached the Tribulation Realm in just three thousand years and triggered the terrifying Ninefold Heavenly Tribulation, got blasted into nothingness by the final Divine Thunder because his foundation wasn't stable enough. In front of countless cultivators watching, his body was torn to ash. But his soul didn’t perish—it crossed into another world.
At that exact moment, a man named Ethan Carter on Earth — same name, same age — drank himself to death. And that’s how the original Ethan's soul ended up in this guy’s body.
“Daddy, you’re finally awake! Bella’s hungry, Bella wants noodles…”
Just as Ethan was trying to piece things together, a soft, childish voice broke through his thoughts. That’s when he noticed a little girl sprawled across his chest, her chubby hands tugging lightly at the scruffy beard on his chin.
“You... you just called me what?” Ethan frowned, asking by instinct.
The little girl blinked up at him with those big watery eyes, puzzled. With a baby-like tone, she repeated, “Daddy, you’re my daddy.”
Ethan stared at her, half amused, half annoyed. “Kid, I’m not your dad. Don’t go throwing words around like that.”
The second he said that, her small lips trembled, and she looked at him like he’d just kicked her puppy. Clearly, she couldn’t understand why her beloved daddy wouldn’t admit he was really hers. Maybe she did something wrong? Maybe Daddy didn’t want her anymore?
Her eyes welled up, lashes quivering, her whole little face crumpling like she’d burst into tears at any moment. She looked heartbreakingly pitiful.
Ethan felt a sharp pang in his chest. Something twisted inside him. Making her cry felt like committing a grave sin.
He looked closely at her. The girl was about four or five, wearing a pink princess dress, her hair tied into two little buns like lamb’s horns. Her face was porcelain perfect, nose delicate, lips pale and pretty, long lashes fluttering over big jewel-like eyes. She looked like a doll, too cute for words.
And then there was Ethan himself. A total mess. His hair looked like a bird’s nest, beard overgrown and unkempt, a sickly look to his skin, dark circles under his eyes. He wore oversized shorts and a black tank top, giving off a sour stink. He was only twenty-five or twenty-six, but looked like he’d already given up on life.
“Wait, is this Ethan’s kid?” he wondered.
Just as the thought hit him, a piercing pain exploded in his head. His brain felt like it was being torn apart as memories from this body rushed at him all at once.
His body jerked, hands flew to his head, groaning through clenched teeth as veins popped on his forehead. His face twisted in agony.
“Aaagh—!”The little girl stared at Ethan Carter, panic rising in her eyes as she shook him hard. Her big, misted eyes welled with tears, and a tremble cracked through her voice. "Daddy... Daddy, what's wrong?"
That one word — “Daddy” — cut through the haze in Ethan’s head like a blade through silk. It steadied his mind, dulled the splitting pain in his skull. In that moment, the rush of memories from this body’s past twenty-odd years fused into him. Now he knew everything.
Though he looked pathetic now, Ethan’s origins were nothing short of staggering. He was once heir to the Carter family — one of the four great clans in Xia Nation. His father, Henry Carter, hadn’t just held power; with one stomp, the whole nation shook. But three years ago, Henry died suddenly. Chaos erupted. In desperation, the family dragged the reclusive old Mr. Carter out of retirement to stabilize things.
But then came the investigation — and the shock that shook the entire clan. The killer? Allegedly Henry’s own wife, Ethan’s mother, Lydia Whitmore. Supposed motive? To secure her son’s inheritance early.
No one saw it coming. Even the old man nearly dropped dead from the blow. Lydia was locked away in the family’s secret prison, and Ethan — once the high-and-mighty heir — was cast out overnight.
The old Ethan was a spoiled brat. Useless in everything except squandering money and time. After exile, he didn’t even have the skills to survive. Good thing someone kept wiring him five thousand a month — just enough to scrape by.
Ethan’s eyes turned cold now, sharp with clarity. The guy who once lived in this body was clueless, but he wasn’t. And from what he knew… Lydia wasn't capable of murder. She was gentle to the bone, the kind who’d apologize for stepping on a flower.
Murder her husband? Not a chance.
None of it added up. Ethan could see it clearly now — this was no accident. It was a setup. A brutal scheme playing out. Kill off the reigning head, frame his wife, boot the heir — all to clear a path for someone else to take control.
He’d seen worse in the cultivation realm — backstabbing brothers, patricide for power. The Carters? They were hiding something deep. Secrets worth killing for.