"Teacher, please, I beg you, take me as your student! I swear on my life I won't disappoint you. I'll pour every ounce of my effort into cultivation. Just please, accept me as your disciple, no matter how!" The desperate plea came from a 16-year-old boy, Aryan Chauhan, who clung tightly to the feet of a middle-aged man. His refusal to let go was starting to wear on the man's patience. The teacher, visibly annoyed, struggled to rein in his temper before responding. "Alright, alright, enough!" he snapped. "I'm willing to consider taking you on, but first, you need to tell me—what was your rank in the school's entrance examination? If it's impressive, I might accept you. But if it's not, you could beg until you're dead, and it wouldn't make a difference to me."
The words hit Aryan like a blow. His face drained of color, his heart sinking at the thought of revealing his rank. He had hoped to keep it a secret, but he knew every teacher he approached would demand the truth. Swallowing hard and clenching his teeth, he muttered, "Teacher, my rank in the entrance exam was… 10,000." The middle-aged teacher's eyes widened in disbelief, his face contorting with outrage. "You dare?!" he roared. "With a pathetic rank like that, you have the audacity to beg to be anyone's student? You're nothing but garbage—less than garbage! You don't deserve to be a disciple, and you certainly have no right to even step foot in this academy!" With a final glare, the teacher stormed off, leaving Aryan alone in the dust. He had wanted to lash out physically, but his reputation as a teacher held him back. In his mind, a student with such a deplorable rank had no business pursuing cultivation, let alone dreaming of becoming a disciple.
This marked Aryan's 71st failure. Before this, he had humbled himself before 70 other teachers, pleading to be accepted as their student, only to be met with cold indifference or outright rejection. Not one had given him a second glance. Aryan was at a complete loss, his mind spiraling as he tried to figure out his next move. The truth was, he didn't belong to this world. Aryan Chauhan was from 21st-century Earth, a regular teenager who had just finished his 10th-grade exams. During his summer vacation, he had gone hiking in the Himalayas with friends. While exploring, a mysterious vortex had appeared out of nowhere, swallowing him whole. When he awoke, he found himself in this strange, unfamiliar world, with no idea of its name or rules.
When Aryan first stumbled into a human settlement, everything felt ancient, like a scene from a historical drama. He assumed he had time-traveled. Desperate to survive, he took a job as a waiter in a local restaurant. To his surprise, he faced no language barrier—he had somehow instinctively learned the language of this world. During his time at the restaurant, Aryan overheard conversations that revealed the truth: he had landed in a cultivation world, a place where martial arts and mystical powers governed strength and status. In the light novels he had read back on Earth, transmigrators like him always received a "cheat" ability—a system, a magical artifact, or some divine gift to ease their path. But Aryan? He got nothing. He was just an ordinary boy, a fact that filled him with bitter disappointment. He had expected to be special, like the protagonists in his favorite stories, but reality was far less forgiving.
After 15 days of working as a waiter, Aryan learned of an upcoming entrance exam for the only cultivation school in the capital of this land, Rudrapur. The exam was just five days away. Determined to seize the opportunity, he approached his manager, a kind-hearted man who not only gave him permission to participate but also arranged an identity token for him. The manager added, "If you don't pass, you can always come back and work here again." Grateful, Aryan thanked him and set out to learn everything he could about the school.
Rudrapur was an unranked nation, its strongest warrior only at the Martial Spirit Gathering Level 8, Half Stage. The cultivation system here was intricate, starting with the Martial Spirit Gathering realm, which consisted of nine levels, each divided into four stages. The school Aryan aimed to join was Rudrapur's sole cultivation academy, renowned for its skilled teachers, whose levels ranged from Martial Spirit Gathering Level 3 to the peak of Level 7. Students from both powerful noble families and humble backgrounds attended, competing fiercely for a chance to study under the best instructors. Admission required passing a rigorous entrance exam: a written test covering cultivation theory, combat techniques, and even the nation's history, followed by a combat test. A student's rank determined their teacher—those below the top 1,000 were assigned to teachers below Level 5, while only the top 100 could study under Level 6 or 7 masters. This system fueled intense competition, as a higher rank promised a brighter future.
Aryan threw himself into preparation, but he was woefully unprepared. He knew nothing of cultivation, combat, or Rudrapur's history. When he faced the written exam, the questions about fighting techniques and national lore left him dumbfounded. He scribbled answers based on fragments he'd overheard from his manager, but they were far from adequate. The combat test was even worse—he was thoroughly defeated, earning the lowest possible rank of 10,000. No teacher wanted a student with such a dismal performance.
Crushed, Aryan felt the weight of his failure. He had believed that as a transmigrator, success in this world would come easily, as it did in the novels he'd read. But reality was cruel, far harsher than fiction. It could break even the most determined spirit. Convinced no teacher would ever accept him, Aryan decided to return to the restaurant. At least there, he could live a simple, stable life. Though handsome, his long hours as a waiter left his face caked in dust, hiding his charm. No wealthy girl would spare a glance at a lowly waiter, no matter how good-looking he was.
As Aryan prepared to leave the school grounds, he noticed a man, aged 30 to 35, stumbling toward him. The man held a jug in one hand and a cup in the other, drinking what Aryan assumed was alcohol, given his unsteady gait. Concerned by the man's severe staggering, Aryan considered helping him home. Approaching cautiously, he said, "Sir, if you don't mind, I can help you get home safely." The man, startled, slurred, "What's that, kid? You want to help me? That's kind of you, but I don't need it. I'll make it home just fine." He stumbled forward, only to collapse moments later.
Aryan shook his head but couldn't ignore the man's plight. After a moment's hesitation, he decided to act. Hoisting the man onto his back, he followed the man's slurred directions to a modest dwelling—a cramped, simple house barely large enough for one person to live and carry out daily tasks. After settling the man inside, Aryan turned to leave, but the man called out, stopping him. "Kid, since you went through the trouble of bringing me here, tell me—what were you doing at the school?"
Aryan hesitated, his heart racing, but he mustered the courage to reply. "Sir, I took the entrance exam this year, but I ranked dead last. I've begged 71 teachers to take me as their student, but none will. I think it's time for me to leave." The man studied him for a moment, then said, "Would you consider being my student? I'm not a great teacher, and if I don't find a student by tomorrow morning, I'll lose my teaching license. We could help each other out. So, what do you say?"
Aryan froze, stunned by the unexpected offer. After a long pause, he clenched his teeth and nodded. "Yes, I'll be your student." It was a deal that benefited them both—Aryan needed a teacher, and the man needed a student to keep his license. For the first time since arriving in this world, Aryan felt a flicker of hope.