I transmigrated.
No System, no old-timer mentor, no hints about any golden finger. I searched myself from head to toe and found only half a pack of tissues and a supermarket membership card, both from my previous life. Back then, I was an office administrator earning 4,200 yuan a month. Even my blind date took one look at my bank balance and left on the spot.
But that doesn’t matter.
I’ve read hundreds of cultivation novels. Han Li had the Heaven Palming Bottle, Wang Lin had Situ Nan, and Fang Yuan had the Spring Autumn Cicada. Everyone else transmigrates with a cheat. What about me?
“My golden finger just needs to be triggered.”
On the third day after the supernatural outbreak began, he walked into a shopping mall shrouded in gray light. More than two hundred people were trapped inside, all of them corpses. The thing crouched deep in the corridor had no shape or face. It had only one rule: everyone in its path would be hollowed out, starting with their stomachs. Every ghost-tamer retreated. Only Chen Xuan walked inside.
He called the evil spirit a “ghost.” He called the ghost domain a “trapped formation.” He called that layer of gray light a “barrier.”
Three months later, dressed in a designer suit, clutching his self-taught “Douyin sword style,” and carrying a set of I Ching theories he had rewritten himself, he officially joined headquarters. The people beside him all wondered, “Is this guy a lunatic, or does he actually know what he’s doing?” Chen Xuan, meanwhile, was thinking about one thing:
“I’m going to be the founding patriarch of the Xuantian Sect.”
Current sect members: one. Recruitment is underway.
