C6 The Bombardment of History Class(1)

The sight before him shattered his worldview yet again as he scrutinized the technological marvels scattered around the room. These items were unheard of, not just in ancient times, but even by modern standards.

"Is this steampunk, or some kind of futuristic sci-fi? Could such things really exist in the ancient era of cultivation?"

"You might consider it akin to a 'golden finger,'" Wu Ziming mused, having just narrowly escaped a brush with death himself.

For a transmigrator, surviving in a world of cultivation without a 'golden finger' was a formidable challenge. A single misstep could land one in a perilous situation, much like Wu Ziming's recent encounter.

Now, with his emotions steadied, Wu Ziming turned to Xiaoming, who was casually leaning against the window. "Is this still the world of cultivation?"

Xiaoming offered a carefree smile. "Why don't you see for yourself?" he suggested, opening the window behind him. Driven by curiosity, Wu Ziming approached the window.

"Wow!" The night view took his breath away. Wu Ziming eagerly leaned on the windowsill, poking his head out to take in the lively and luminous scene.

Auspicious Lane was bustling with activity. Shy couples whispered sweet nothings along the sidewalk, while groups of children darted through the throngs of cheerful pedestrians. Street vendors on either side hawked their snacks and late-night treats, the tantalizing aromas reigniting Wu Ziming's hunger despite his full stomach.

But what truly astounded him were the wooden flying ships soaring through the skies—such a sight was inconceivable in ancient times.

Shaking off his amazement, Wu Ziming returned to his seat at the table, his heart still racing. It wasn't until Xiaoming, seated across from him, offered him a cup of tea that he began to relax.

Accepting the tea reflexively, Wu Ziming looked up at Xiaoming. "By the way, what was that System you mentioned earlier?"

He was certain Xiaoming was responsible, even though he hadn't been present at the time. He was sure he hadn't misheard, and the mystery had been nagging at him ever since.

Wu Ziming, still disoriented from his recent shift in thought, had entirely forgotten that he was in a world of immortal cultivation.

"Oh, that? I was just pulling your leg. That technique is called 'Spirit Communication' or 'Sound Transmission.' Anyone with a bit of cultivation can do it. It's a common pitfall for many newcomers who've just arrived through transmigration."

"…"

Xiaoming might have appeared to be joking, but in reality, this 'joke' had cost many transmigrators their lives.

In this world, numerous transmigrators had their memories devoured by the natives. Subsequently, they resorted to a deceitful tactic, similar to the one Xiaoming had employed, to swindle others.

Transmigrators, upon discovering they had a system, would be ecstatic, even to the point of hubris. They were given hope, only to have it dashed, ending in despair.

"By the way, Ziming, what did you think of the cold dish?" Xiaoming asked, his face betraying a hint of schadenfreude, as if he was anticipating a particular reaction.

But Wu Ziming just looked at him, puzzled. "It's quite good. Aren't you all overreacting? How could you be so terrified of such a tasty dish?"

"You had no reaction to eating it?" Xiaoming, perched on the windowsill, scrutinized him as if he were a curiosity.

To Wu Ziming, the dish was incredibly succulent, perhaps the most delicious thing he had ever eaten. Meanwhile, Xiaoming and the others reacted as if it were a life-threatening ordeal, which baffled him completely.

Xiaoming then explained the mystery. Ding Fu's cooking was a culinary delight for the locals, a supreme delicacy.

But for transmigrators, it was like an unpalatable concoction, a soul-deep aversion making it nearly inedible. Even Mark, despite his transmigration, couldn't escape this aversion.

For Xiaoming, with his mechanical body and dulled sense of taste, the dish was inconsequential. Nevertheless, this method had proven effective in identifying many transmigrators.

"You're quite the anomaly; not only is your integration unusual, but your physical traits are also remarkably similar to those of the indigenous people."

"My body?" Wu Ziming's interest was piqued. He began to wonder if his transmigration had awakened some extraordinary ability within him.

"Although you don't have the physiology of an indigenous person, you're now distinct from humans. You'd even experience reproductive isolation if you tried to mate with an ordinary girl."

"What... What does that mean?" Wu Ziming looked at Xiaoming with a mix of anticipation and fear. Everyone has their fantasies, after all.

Yet, he was also worried about the possibility of unknown dangers lurking within his body.

"To put it bluntly, you're no longer human; you're more akin to a monster."

"Monster! How can that be?" Wu Ziming's eyes went wide as he stood there, stunned. "That can't be right. Doesn't my body look human?"

"The database is gone, so I can't pinpoint your species. You're certainly not a lower life form. There's a dormant energy inside you that we can't activate. The equipment here is subpar and can't determine whether it's harmful or beneficial to you."

"That can't be. I didn't soul travel, so how could something like this happen?"

Wu Ziming knew his body better than anyone. He remembered how he had come to be here. How could he suddenly turn into a different species?

Xiaoming, standing nearby, stroked his chin with a look of confusion. "That's what's puzzling me. It's as if you were deliberately modified."

"Ah! Modified by someone!" Wu Ziming couldn't stay calm upon hearing this. His eyes bulged, and his tone of voice changed.

"Could there be a mistake?"

"The basement's equipment isn't top-of-the-line, but it's definitely capable of sequencing your genes. The results show you're not human."

"This... I need to process this. It's just too... overwhelming." Wu Ziming, sitting at the table, seemed bewildered, his complex expression deflating like a balloon without air.

Unlike the nonchalant Xiaoming, Wu Ziming's mind was a whirlwind of emotions.

He had managed to come to terms with the transmigration, but being altered into a non-biological entity was another story. Just as Ye Gong had a certain expectation of dragons, one could imagine his reaction upon encountering one.

Wu Ziming felt similarly. Even though he was in the throes of adolescence and had entertained the idea of becoming another species, like a vampire with a strong build, the reality of such a transformation was another matter entirely. Who could say if there would be any unforeseen consequences after his modification?

For example, the idea of blood-sucking, cannibalism, a short lifespan, or perishing in the light—none of these appealed to him.

Memories of related anime flooded his mind, causing him to hang his head and let out a heavy sigh.

After all, he was just a student who hadn't yet entered the workforce.

Seeing Wu Ziming looking so forlorn, Xiaoming sighed. It was inevitable that he would find out eventually; better a short pain than a long one.

Yet, Xiaoming couldn't help but think that Ziming's character was the poorest he had ever encountered.

Those who had transmigrated into dogs or grass weren't even human, and they never seemed downhearted. Of course, by the time Xiaoming met them, he might have already grown accustomed to his non-human existence.

"This isn't some fantasy novel world. Clashing with cultivators means getting hurt is inevitable. To survive, I even had to transform myself into a mechanical body."

While speaking, Xiaoming peeled back the synthetic skin on his arm, exposing the intricate mechanical structure beneath. The sight of the precision instruments and flowing circuits left a disheartened Wu Ziming momentarily at a loss for words.

"Ah, why am I even telling you this? You're just a kid. By the way, the bathroom is on the left as you go out."

After freshening up, Wu Ziming felt a bit more alert, repeatedly reassuring himself to make the best of the situation.

Since there was no going back after transmigrating, he had to focus on adapting to his new life.

Approaching the bed, he prodded the gel-like mattress—it was soft and slick, reminiscent of lying on a waterbed, and the whole bed resembled a space capsule.

"Sorry about the tight quarters, you'll have to bunk with me. I'm not sure if you're accustomed to dormitory living yet."