The high‑speed train bound for Sea City jolted with a heavy clang, the whole carriage shuddering for an instant.

With that tremor, Dustin Everhart slowly opened his eyes.

A trace of confusion flickered across them. He swept a look around, and his brows tightened at once.

This… wasn’t this the same train he had taken at twenty‑three, on his way to Sea City to get engaged to Selena Whitmore?

A moment ago, he had still been beneath the final heavenly bolt. Yet in the blink of an eye, he’d been thrown back to Earth.

In his past life, he’d arrived in Sea City prepared to seal that engagement with Selena Whitmore—only to find that the woman he’d loved couldn’t withstand the pursuit of some spoiled rich brat. She betrayed him.

And that wasn’t even what he hated most.

The worst part was the scum hanging off Selena. To take her for himself, the bastard schemed again and again: first luring Dustin into a gambling den, making him lose everything he owned, then framing him for cheating, getting his hands crippled by the casino thugs.

Even that wasn’t enough. The man had someone torch Dustin’s father’s small workshop, pushing the old man to hang himself. From that day on, Dustin’s home was nothing but ashes.

When Dustin had finally lost all will to live, fate opened another path—he stumbled into the cultivation world, rising step by bloody step until he became the Xuanchen Immortal Emperor, a name that shook all three realms.

But just as he was about to pierce through the tribulation clouds and ascend, the lightning turned on him—sending him back to this exact moment.

Remembering the cruelty of his past life, Dustin let out a cold, low laugh. “Selena Whitmore… and every last one of you who wronged me. What you owed me then, I’ll take back with interest.”

A chill glint passed through his eyes, gone in a heartbeat. Yet in their depths, it was as if a thousand stars were hiding, waiting.

He closed his eyes, letting his divine sense sink inward. Moments later, his lips pressed together slightly.

The boundless immortal energy he once commanded… now only a single thread remained.

He withdrew his divine sense and murmured inwardly, “So I must rebuild from the start. Fine. This time, I’ll walk freely under heaven, leaving not a shred of inner demon behind.”

Then, from beside the window, a young girl muttered under her breath, “Grandpa, why aren’t we in business class? Why insist on sitting in second class? It’s cramped, and noisy.”

In the seats next to Dustin sat an old man with a calm, steady bearing, and a gorgeous young woman barely past twenty. Their clothes were plain, modest even, yet every small movement carried a quiet confidence and nobility.

In this second‑class carriage, their presence felt oddly out of place.

Dustin rested with his eyes half‑closed beside the aisle, the old man sat in the middle, and the girl—Melody—occupied the seat by the window.

The old man gave a faint smile. “Melody, I’ve told you many times—your heart needs to step into the mortal world. Only then can you touch better realms and better fortune. But you keep locking yourself in that lofty tower of yours. How are you ever going to break through like that?”

The girl stuck out her tongue, muttering under her breath, “I’ve only trained in martial arts for ten years and I’m already at the Bright Strength stage. Everyone says I’m a genius…”

The old man’s face hardened. “After Bright Strength comes Dark Strength. After Dark Strength comes Released Inner Strength. Only when your inner strength can leave the body can you call yourself a Martial Master. At the speed you’re going, do you really think you’ll reach that level by the time you’re my age?”

Dustin Everhart, who had been quietly breathing and cultivating, raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected the pair beside him to be martial artists of the body-refinement path.

But to a cultivator, martial artists were barely worth noticing—dust underfoot.

In the cultivation world, martial artists served cultivators as slaves. Entire martial sects willingly bowed themselves into servitude, all for the faint hope that a cultivator might toss them a low-grade pill or share a mediocre technique when in a good mood.

For a martial artist, cultivating immortality was nearly impossible. Harsh as it sounded, a martial artist trying to cultivate was like a monkey trying to become human.

Yet even so, out of ten thousand martial artists, not even one might reach Released Inner Strength and become a Martial Master.

And even a Martial Master couldn’t withstand the flick of a finger from a Foundation Establishment cultivator.

When Dustin founded his sect in the cultivation world, he had eighty-one personal disciples, eighteen hundred grand-disciples, and over twenty thousand disciples of the next generation—while the martial artists who depended on his sect numbered in the millions, bowing to him like he was a living god.

So he didn’t spare this grandfather and granddaughter even half a glance. Just from their breathing, he could tell—the girl had only just reached Bright Strength, and the old man wasn’t much better, lingering barely in Dark Strength.

People like this weren’t even qualified to sweep the floors of his sect.

The old man lowered his voice now, inner strength coiling subtly within each word. “Melody, walking the martial path is like climbing to the heavens with bare hands. You must become a Martial Master in this lifetime. Only then can you catch a glimpse of higher realms. Our family hasn’t produced a Martial Master in decades. You’re the one with the best chance.”

By channeling inner strength into his voice, he ensured it traveled cleanly and precisely—so that theoretically, only Melody would hear him.

But he didn’t know he was sitting beside a reborn cultivator. Dustin’s spiritual power was faint for now, but to him, tricks like these were child’s play.

The girl spoke back the same way, her voice firm beneath the cover of inner strength. “Don’t worry, Grandpa. I’ll give it everything I have. No matter what, I’ll reach Released Inner Strength and become a Martial Master!”

Dustin let out a soft, amused snort.

Martial artists truly were ants—she was over twenty and only at Bright Strength, yet dared to dream of becoming a Martial Master? What a joke.

And even a Martial Master couldn’t withstand a single finger from a Foundation Establishment cultivator.

The moment Melody finished making her bold vow, Dustin Everhart’s low chuckle cut straight into her ears. She froze, flames rushing to her cheeks. Feeling humiliated, she snapped, “Hey! What are you laughing at?”

The old man beside her hurriedly sent a strand of internal force toward her, his tone stern. “Melody, mind your manners. He’s just an ordinary man. He can’t hear us at all!”

Only then did Melody realize her mistake. Still simmering, she shot Dustin a sharp glare. “Then don’t laugh for no reason. Someone might beat you up.”

Dustin opened his eyes slowly. His gaze landed on her like a cold blade, full of disdain. “Oh? Since when does my laughter fall under your control?”

“You’re too arrogant!” Melody’s fists clenched tight, bones cracking under the strain. “You’ve no idea how high the heavens are!”

Dustin snorted. “A frog staring up from the bottom of a well dares say that? What a joke.”

“You—!” Melody trembled with fury. “Keep talking, and I’ll teach you a lesson right now!”

Dustin’s lips curled in open contempt. His posture relaxed, yet his voice held an emperor’s chill. “Little girl, I’m in a decent mood today. I’ll give you ten words. Listen carefully.”

He paused, then said, “The ten words are: twenty and no more, a life barred forever.”

Melody frowned, clearly baffled. But the old man beside her…

His face went pale. The calm he’d maintained shattered in an instant, leaving only terror.

He stared at Dustin as if seeing a ghost, voice trembling. “Young master… might I dare ask your honored name? Which great family do you come from?”

Dustin replied lightly, almost lazily, “My name? You are not worthy to know.”

In his eyes, martial artists weren’t people—they were servants.

And not even worthy servants.

Only low-level cultivators in the Foundation Establishment Stage would bother taking martial artists as slaves. In Dustin’s past life, as the mighty Exalted Immortal Xuanchén, even his attendants were Nascent Soul cultivators at minimum.

A mere martial artist before him was no different from a monkey scrambling around Kunlun’s slopes—pitiful and laughable.

To Dustin, the old man was worlds beneath him, ten thousand miles of difference in every breath. Not qualified to ask his name, much less sit as an equal.

But his blunt dismissal struck like a slap. Melody, already enraged, exploded the moment she heard it. She shot to her feet, finger stabbing toward Dustin, her voice shaking with fury. “How dare you insult my grandpa! I’ll tear your mouth apart!”

The instant she rose, more than a dozen young men in nearby seats stood up as well. Each one thick-necked, heavy-set, faces full of menace—clearly their escorts, ready to fight at a moment’s notice.