I Mean, I Was a Bowler at the Beginning

The social beast who stayed up late reading novels once traveled through time and turned into a broken pottery bowl. There is no system, no golden fingers, not even hands and feet. There was only a pitted bowl mouth and an old beggar snoring. But things don't seem to be that simple—— Why can I "install" anything? Why does the moldy steamed bun disappear when it enters my "belly"? Why do those cultivators look at me more and more wrong? See how I went from a begging bowl in a ruined temple to a heaven-defying existence that makes the three worlds tremble.