In a quiet, candle-lit chamber, a young man sat cross-legged on a plush bed, his posture poised in the meditative lotus position. The room was utterly silent, broken only by the soft crackle of the ancient lanterns floating mid-air, casting a warm golden hue over the luxurious surroundings.
Beads of sweat began forming on his forehead, glistening faintly under the dancing light. His closed eyes trembled slightly, his brow furrowed as though he were struggling against some unseen force. Then, all at once, his eyes flew open. He gasped heavily, his chest heaving as if he had just surfaced from the depths of a deep ocean. Confusion immediately filled his gaze.
"What the...?" he murmured, scanning the surroundings with wide eyes. "Where am I?"
The air was thick with a faint, lingering fragrance of sandalwood. The room around him looked like something out of an old fantasy film—grand and ornate, easily spanning twenty to thirty meters in all directions. It was shaped like a perfect cube, its walls carved with intricate runes and lined with high-quality spiritual jade. Suspended above, ancient-style lanterns floated in mid-air, glowing without any visible flame or fuel, adding to the mystical atmosphere.
The man was seated on an oversized bed draped in luxurious silks, their embroidery clearly hand-stitched and extravagant beyond belief. He looked down at himself and blinked in astonishment. Gone were his usual office clothes—replaced now by pristine white Taoist robes, finely tailored and edged with silver thread. His hands instinctively reached up to touch his hair, now long and flowing down past his shoulders, silky and untied.
A puzzled frown appeared on his face. "Why does this room look like something out of an old-fashioned TV show?" he muttered. "No... more than that. This place... it looks like it belongs to an emperor. A royal bedchamber...?"
He looked around once more, hoping this was just an elaborate dream—one of those lucid ones that vanish with a shake of the head. But no matter how hard he tried to wake himself, the sensations—the scent, the light, the weight of the robes on his body—everything felt real.
"Am I still dreaming...?" he whispered.
Before he could form another thought, a sharp pain suddenly struck his temples. His expression twisted in agony as thousands of unfamiliar memories surged through his mind like a raging tide. He clutched his head, gritting his teeth as strange names, faces, and scenes played before his eyes in flashes.
"I am... Fang Ming," a deep voice echoed in his mind—his own, yet not his. "An elder of the Divine Palace... one of the three strongest sects in the entire Upper Realm..."
More images came—towering palaces reaching the clouds, countless cultivators kneeling in reverence, celestial battles spanning continents. He saw his own face—mature, powerful, and cold as ice—standing above armies of disciples.
"I am... the youngest genius to ever reach the Saint Realm in just five thousand years... Today is the disciple acceptance ceremony..."
The flood of memories continued for a few more seconds before finally settling, leaving him breathless and drenched in cold sweat. His breath came in ragged puffs as he slowly regained composure.
He sat still for a moment, trying to make sense of it all.
"What... What is this?" he whispered, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Did I... transmigrate into a cultivation world?"
The very idea sent shivers down his spine. Though he had read hundreds—if not thousands—of cultivation novels in his free time, imagining countless scenarios of transmigration, experiencing it firsthand was an entirely different matter.
This was not fiction. This was real. The scent of incense in the room, the sensation of spiritual energy in the air, the foreign memories now embedded in his consciousness—none of it could be explained away.
He waited in silence for several minutes, as though hoping the dream might fade, or that reality might reassert itself. But nothing changed.
Eventually, he let out a long breath and leaned back slightly, his expression complex.
"Sigh... it really doesn't seem to be a dream. I've been transmigrated into a cultivation world..." he muttered. "But I suppose things could be worse. From what I've seen in these memories, this identity I've taken over isn't some errand boy or outer sect disciple."
His lips curled into a faint, bitter smile.
"In fact, it's quite the opposite. I'm an elder in the Divine Palace—one of the five great organizations in the entire Upper Realm... That alone puts me in a pretty comfortable position," he murmured. "At the very least, I should be able to live peacefully, without being thrown into the meat grinder like those cannon-fodder characters."
Just as he was beginning to relax slightly, a sharp electronic sound rang in his ears—completely out of place in this ancient setting.
[DING!]
He sat upright, startled by the sudden mechanical voice in his mind.
[System has detected successful transmigration. Activating initialization protocol...]
[1%... 4%... 40%... 99%... 99.999%... 100%]
The cold, robotic voice continued:
[DING! The Milf Disciple Acceptance System has been fully awakened. The system is now bound to the host and is ready to serve you on your journey... of taking Milf Disciples.]
For a moment, silence returned to the room. The flickering lanterns continued their gentle rotations, the air still warm and fragrant.
Then, Fang Ming blinked.
"…What?"