Prologue

Shaoxing, Zhejiang.

Drizzling rain fell gently, and the icy night streets were empty of all passersby.

Inside a cheap rented room, Liu Pan sat hunched before his computer, his slender fingers dancing ceaselessly across the keyboard, the rapid clatter echoing in the quiet.

Liu Pan was an online novel writer, and writing was his greatest passion. It was also his necessity—he had no desire for any other occupation.

The world of web fiction was deep and treacherous; to make a name for oneself was exceedingly difficult. Liu Pan had struggled for years, penning five or six novels, each, in his own mind, earth-shattering and soul-stirring, yet without exception, they were lost amidst the endless sea of books.

His hallmark as a writer was the relentless torment he inflicted upon his protagonists—from beginning to end, sparing no mercy. In fact, he had ended two novels with the protagonist’s death, the agony reaching its peak.

Many readers, after enduring Liu Pan’s stories, advised him not to write such cruel tales. Readers liked to immerse themselves in the narrative; when the protagonist suffered, it was as if they themselves were enduring the pain, and naturally, it soured their enjoyment.

Yet, despite the advice, Liu Pan stubbornly persisted, each book more brutal than the last. To him, tormenting the protagonist was a reasonable narrative device. After all, how could one see a rainbow without weathering the storm?

No one achieves success casually. The protagonist must grow through adversity. The harsher the trials at the start, the greater the achievement in the end—that was true logic.

Fingers flying across the keyboard, Liu Pan feverishly typed away at his latest fantasy novel, "Super Super Super Super Supreme God of Madness." He was on the final chapter. The reason he was up, writing at this late hour, was simple—the story was about to end, and excitement kept him awake.

This last chapter was a deep pit: the protagonist did not ascend to godhood, but was struck down by divine lightning at the final moment.

After enduring countless tribulations, reaching the peak, only to die in the end—it was a tragic conclusion.

But Liu Pan felt no qualms about killing off his protagonist. Human life was full of sorrow and joy, reunion and separation, the moon waxed and waned; absolute perfection was a fantasy. To push the suffering to its limit was, to him, more realistic.

Clack, clack, clack!

Finishing his work, Liu Pan’s lips curled into a smile. He could already envision the stunned, cursing reactions from readers after the final chapter of "Super Super Super Super Supreme God of Madness" was published.

Though his devoted readers were not many, the comment section could still fill several pages.

Liu Pan never doubted his writing. As long as someone read his story to the end and left a comment—good or bad—he considered himself successful.

It was late. Liu Pan stretched, opened his browser, and, as was his habit, checked the comment section.

For a writer, readers were the greatest comfort.

Forer Kang: “Ah! Screaming, climbing up and down, wahaha, how is this book so good?! How is this book so good?! How is this book so good?! Important things must be said thrice—support, keep it up, waiting for updates, flowers, flowers, flowers!”

Ye Liangchen: “The protagonist’s journey is arduous, finally reaching the peak. Regarding the ending, I hope the author thinks carefully before writing, otherwise Liangchen won’t mind playing with you. Liangchen loves best to play with those who think themselves clever.”

Zhao Ritian: “The tone upstairs is wild and cool! But even though you are Ye Liangchen, I, Zhao Ritian, refuse to yield! If you dare, leave your address, and I’ll be at your door in minutes, smirking coldly.”

Long Aotian: “How can the protagonist be so miserable? Promised a strong entrance, promised protagonist’s halo—where are those? Every book is like this! Beware—if you keep tormenting your protagonists, their resentment might burst from the pages and leave you unable to recover.”

The reviews were mixed, but Liu Pan read them with relish.

As for Forer Kang, Liu Pan ignored him. Writing well? That’s obvious! He was confident in his own work.

Ye Liangchen and Zhao Ritian were veteran readers, loyal fans, offering no real advice, so they too could be disregarded.

Long Aotian? Now that was a new reader. Judging by the review, he’d read some of Liu Pan’s other novels, which made Liu Pan feel honored.

As for Long Aotian’s vaguely threatening words, Liu Pan merely smiled.

Protagonist resentment bursting from the book? It was the twenty-first century—who believed such things!

Having quickly read all the reviews, Liu Pan clicked over to the author’s backend, preparing to upload the final chapter of "Super Super Super Super Supreme God of Madness."

Manage work, add new chapter, choose grouping, enter chapter title, enter main text.

He glanced habitually at the time in the computer’s lower right corner: two thirty in the morning.

Confirm upload!

“Beep!”

The moment his finger clicked the mouse, a strange ripple spread outward, and Liu Pan instantly lost consciousness.

Southern border of the Tianfeng Continent, Nan County.

Today was the semiannual clan competition of the Liu family.

Within the Liu family, all clan members aged twelve to sixteen were eligible to participate. The talented could rise step by step, with a chance to enter martial sects and further their cultivation; the less fortunate would gradually be sidelined, assigned to manage family businesses, eventually reduced to servants.

Faced with such divergent futures, the younger generation of the Liu family fought fiercely, eager to display their uniqueness before their elders.

Yet, there was always a higher mountain. Only a handful could stand at the summit.

Moreover, many things could not be achieved merely by effort or tenacity. Fate—without sufficient power and status, one could hardly grasp it.

Just as Liu Kuang faced now.

Looking at his fallen opponent not far ahead, Liu Kuang was initially perplexed—how could an opponent who had been so fierce suddenly become so frail? It was only when the second elder’s voice rang out that he realized he had been set up.

Liu Kuang was an ordinary member of the Liu family. Fourteen years old, seventh level martial artist. In a great family this would be average, but in the remote Liu clan, it deserved the word “excellent.”

He was an orphan; at eleven, his parents were murdered. He knew who the culprit was, but as a child, he lacked the power to avenge them. So he endured for three years, and grew madly for three years.

Three years of endurance had matured him far beyond his peers, and three years of madness brought his cultivation to the seventh level.

Originally, if he could seize this clan competition to break free, he could plan his revenge without restraint. But reality played a cruel trick: at the critical moment, he was framed.

“Liu Kuang! The clan competition is meant to stop short of harm, yet you struck so hard. You clearly disregard the clan rules!” The second elder barked coldly, his narrow eyes gleaming with malice.

Beside him lay a lifeless youth. After the clan leader Liu Xuanfeng and several elders examined him, their faces hardened, and Liu Kuang’s heart sank.

“Have you anything to explain?” Liu Xuanfeng asked, his gaze shifting with a hint of reluctance.

As clan leader, Liu Xuanfeng least wished to see internal strife. As for Liu Kuang, though he hadn’t caused chaos, he was no longer fit to remain.

Liu Kuang had killed a fellow clansman; even if unintentional, the others would view him differently. Allowing him to stay would be a hidden risk.

As clan leader, Liu Xuanfeng’s duty was to eliminate any threat to the Liu family’s future at its root. So, for Liu Kuang, only one path remained: exile.

The second elder’s expression was cold, but Liu Kuang detected a subtle smile at his lips, chilling and infuriating him.

His enemy was right before him, yet he was powerless. The enemy was right before him, yet he dared not show any sign.

Liu Kuang understood that being exiled still offered hope.

Suppressing his resentment, Liu Kuang shook his head, offering no explanation. He knew nothing he said could change his fate—unless the fallen youth got up and cleared him, which was unlikely. Even if he did rise, he would probably insist Liu Kuang was to blame.

Liu Xuanfeng looked at Liu Kuang, sighing inwardly. He knew Liu Kuang had been framed, but he had to pretend ignorance—the Liu family was not his sole domain, and he did not want to see it divided.

Liu Kuang’s shake of the head was answer enough. Liu Xuanfeng swept his gaze across the martial field, then announced to the assembled clansmen, “Liu family member Liu Kuang, in violation of clan rules during the competition, from this day—”

“Ugh!”

Abruptly, a retching sound interrupted Liu Xuanfeng, drawing everyone’s attention.

Interrupted mid-sentence, Liu Xuanfeng’s face darkened, but when he turned, he was stunned. The chest of the youth who had seemed lifeless beside him was suddenly rising and falling!

Lost in a haze, Liu Pan’s consciousness returned, and he felt his stomach churn violently. By reflex, he opened his mouth and vomited, then felt his chest loosen and his breathing clear.

What was happening? Liu Pan was bewildered. Wasn’t he updating his novel at the computer? How had he suddenly fallen asleep?

Wait—computer? Damn! Did I vomit on the computer? The thought jolted him upright.

Huh? Where was this? Gazing at the unfamiliar surroundings, Liu Pan was utterly lost.

He stared blankly at the people around him, who stared back just as blankly. Time seemed to freeze, as if everyone had turned to stone.

Liu Pan’s mind was in chaos, for he suddenly found a wealth of strange memories in his head—memories that, though unfamiliar, felt utterly real, as if he had lived them himself.

That wasn’t the most important thing. What mattered was that, in these unfamiliar yet vivid memories, he found many familiar elements: the Tianfeng Continent, the Liu family, Liu Kuang!

What the hell!? Is this a joke!?

His eyelids twitched as he scanned the faces, until his gaze was drawn to a slightly frail figure.

A youth of fourteen or fifteen, with a resolute face, an air of maturity beyond his years, eyes calm and steady. As Liu Pan met his gaze, the youth’s brow furrowed imperceptibly, as if puzzled, or conveying some unknown message.

Liu Pan’s heart thundered, his body tensing uncontrollably. His heart beat so fast he could hardly bear it.

He could scarcely believe it—for that youth was Liu Kuang, the protagonist of his novel, "Super Super Super Super Supreme God of Madness!"

And he had transmigrated into his own story!