Ou Tao wanted to ask about her mother but stopped himself. He’d died once and clawed his way back—she wasn’t here. Dead or gone. Only this starving father and daughter remained, clinging to each other.
“What a pair so tragic it could shake heaven and earth!” Ou Tao chuckled. The corners of his weathered, unshaven face lifted slightly. “But now? Things are different.”
He glanced at the little girl—longingly staring at the bread, too timid to speak.
*Eight years old?* As a pro gamer, his coaches, teachers, and seniors drilled one creed into him: *“Win at all costs. Discard the unnecessary.”*
Yet seeing her quiet resilience, memories surged.
He remembered being eight—newly orphaned, helpless. The welfare agency would take him, but not his sick sister.
Someone had said plainly: “She’s brain-damaged. No hope. Come with me. Start fresh. I’ll care for you.”
Like Ke Er now, he’d broken free and ran back to her side.
After school, a gambling den in a narrow alley caught his eye. Forty cups. One hid a red ball. A magician whirled them wildly—whoever found it won.
Young Ou Tao always pinpointed it. But school rules barred kids.
Until desperation struck. For his sister’s medicine, he gambled. Dozens became thousands. Then came the accusation: *cheater’s plant*.
The owner didn’t beat him. Made him demonstrate. Saw the truth—pure visual precision.
“Your parents?”
“Gone.”
“Why not the orphanage?”
“They wanted me to abandon her. I refused.”
The man shook his head, wry smile. First kindness since losing his family.
“Kid, it’s not magic. It’s reflexes, processing speed, spatial sense. Small dens? You’d be dead at 100k yuan. Want real money? *Go play video games.*”
That decision changed everything.
“Gaming” meant grinding sword-wielder accounts in a sweatshop studio: level 1 to max = 100 yuan. Monotonous. Grueling. Most quit.
Ou Tao gritted his teeth.
Age 8: maxed a character in three days.
9: one day.
10: multitasked five-six characters.
11: handled a dozen sword-based orders across games.
At twelve, the studio entered the Gaming Olympics’ Sword Division. Prelims: faced a washed-up pro.
The man laughed, jeering: “A studio grunt? You think you can win?”
Furious, the boss sent the pale, frail boy forward.
A miracle happened.
Four years. 7,000+ orders. 700,000+ yuan for his sister.
He defeated the pro.
The man stared, stunned. *Like a sword god reborn.*
Reported him. Investigation confirmed: a twelve-year-old stand-in.
The Noble Club fired the pro, recruited Ou Tao. Enrolled him in their elite gaming academy—*with a 5,000-yuan monthly stipend*.
Ou Tao wired 5,000 back, thinking, *Tuition’s steep…*
The manager laughed. “Kid, *we* pay *you*. You study gaming.”
Seventh grade: dominated seniors.
Eighth: outplayed coaches.
Ninth: undefeated across universities.
At sixteen—he stood atop the world stage, lifting the Blade of Supreme Might trophy.
“Father… are you alright?”
Ke Er’s voice pulled him from the haze. “Nothing. Just memories.”
“Ke Er, eat the other bread.”
“But… if I do, we’ll have nothing tonight. Maybe borrow from Lord Roland? Next year I’ll farm wheat—repay triple!”
*Landlord? Feudal class still here? Borrow one, repay three? What insane interest rate—like gambling virtual coins on Douyin?* he mused.
“Sir,” a voice cut in, “this is unwise. One bread = 20 stamina points. Strategic advantage. And this loli? She’s the original body’s daughter, not yours. Letting her fend for herself is optimal.”
Ou Tao studied Ke Er. Disheveled silver hair. Mud-streaked face. Hands clasped tight over patched hemp dress. Tear-filled eyes, glistening like wet amber.
Her fragile image fused with his eight-year-old self. A pang of shared sorrow.
“Your name’s Ke Er, right?” He ruffled her silver head gently. “I know exactly how you feel. Why stares changed overnight. Why adults pulled you like an object—never asking your thoughts. Could life ever be normal again?”
He cupped her chubby cheeks, pressed his forehead to hers. “Two tips: When despair hits, hold tight to the one you love most. And don’t cry. Tears only make them think you’re easy to bully.”
He wiped her tears. Slipped on coarse hemp clothes. Stepped down.
“Here he comes!”
“Hurry, watch!”
At Hamiyou HQ, dozens crowded Ou Tao’s first-person feed. A level-3 farmer? Normally boring.
But a *world champion* piloting one? Ticket-worthy. Freeloaders wouldn’t miss it.
“How long to sync body coordination?”
“An hour?”
“Don’t diss the god! Thirty minutes!”
“Ten?”
“I’ll brew coffee first!”
Body coordination—basic hurdle in full-dive VR. Same when transmigrating into a new body.
Brain of a 1.7m slender man now controlling a 1.8m muscular frame? Weight, limbs, density, organs—all mismatched. Most need hours.
Ou Tao stepped forward. Flexed fingers. Jumped. Did a push-up. Walked on—calm, steady—under Ke Er’s puzzled gaze.
“BODY COORDINATION: 100%” flashed on screen. Hamiyou staff froze.
“How long?!”
“Four seconds!”
“His brain’s hacked!” The coffee-runner hadn’t even opened the cabinet.
Stamina: 47. Every move counted.
Like looting in PUBG, he swept cabinets, doors, windows. Found an axe.
*With this stamina? Hunting’s the only way.*
**ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: HUNTING BEGINS. First intent to kill a living being—acted upon. STRENGTH +1.**
“Stop!” Ou Tao froze. “Bika—what? This is another world! Why system prompts?!”
“Sir, this is the Heavenly Principle. Every sentient being hears it. Quests. Achievements. Rewards. Feels like a game, right? Science has no explanation.”
“Getting more annoying by the second.” He shoved the door open.
“Father, come back! It’s freezing! Your health—!” Ke Er’s silver hair whipped in the wind as she braved the cold to follow.
“Wait at home. We’ll eat well tonight.”
Outside, snow blanketed the village in silver. Didn’t blur Ou Tao’s vision or focus.
*Seven hundred meters—slightly west of east. Butcher shop. Grayish-brown pelts. Not domesticated. Hunter’s cabin?*
