Emperor of All Races

If given the choice, Zhou Qi would never have agreed to go bungee jumping.

But life offers no ifs. He had originally refused, but the order was too large, and the client’s demands too peculiar. The client insisted on seeking thrills with him—his own thrill-seeking wasn’t enough; Zhou Qi had to jump too, or the deal wouldn’t be signed.

Zhou Qi couldn’t understand why anyone would be interested in such a sport—your body plummets forward while your soul chases from behind. Even with a knife at his throat, he would have refused to jump.

The client didn’t pull a knife, only flashed the contract. Zhou Qi compromised. In the end, his soul failed to catch up.

He closed his eyes, and just like that, met his glorious end on duty.

It felt as if his spirit soared through countless realms of time and space, until it collided with another drifting soul, and he lost consciousness.

When his eyes opened, Zhou Qi was dazed, his soul still not quite settled. A cold, clammy sensation crept over his hand—what was this?

He jolted upright, realizing his hand was resting on a corpse.

The body was already decaying, white bone exposed in places. All around him lay countless corpses, large and small—a mass grave. Had he died?

A surge of information flooded his mind. The original owner of this body was also named Zhou Qi, twelve years old, an outer disciple of the Zhengyi Sect, with cultivation at the third level of Qi Refining. He’d been poisoned by his senior brother Li Gang over a wild mountain ganoderma.

So, he’d crossed over. Zhou Qi