Twenty-four years ago, on a freezing winter night, under heavy snow, at the stroke of midnight – a baby cried. His name was Ye Yifan.
Later, when he was old enough to ask, Yifan wanted to know why his parents gave him such a… well, plain name. Not even a little poetic? Not even a hint of badass?
Old Ye glanced at his son and said flatly, "You've been sick with something – big or small – for twenty-four straight years. Your mother and I just wanted you to live a boring, healthy life. We almost named you Ye Jiankang ('Healthy Ye'). Your call. Which do you prefer?"
"…Yifan is fine."
And just as his parents hoped, Ye Yifan was ordinary. The kind of ordinary you'd walk past on the street and forget in three seconds. The kind of ordinary that makes you wonder if the universe even bothered to render him in high definition.
He went to school when he was supposed to. Middle school, high school, a no-name college degree. His life was as exciting as a glass of boiled water that's been sitting out for an hour.
He played a little basketball. Ran a little. But his real love? Web novels. Because of course.
If there were three things that made Yifan slightly not a background character, they were:
His body was garbage. The basketball and running were just desperate attempts to keep his organs from unionizing and going on strike.
He overthought everything. With no friends to speak of, his brain became his only entertainment. He'd cook up weird theories, analyze pointless things, and argue with himself – win or lose, it passed the time.
He had a love story. In his own head, it was epic. Tragic. The kind that makes you stare at the rain.
Then it got "ended" by the other party.
But some people, some things… you love them once, and that's it for life. Or at least until the next dopamine hit from a good novel.
These days, college grads are cheaper than street dogs. A nobody from a nobody university? Congratulations, you're now a professional unemployment-haver.
Since Yifan's health had always been trash, his parents wanted him to find work near their rural hometown. Not for the money – just so they could drag him to a hospital faster. So he packed his bags and moved back to the countryside.
One sunny afternoon, Yifan was lounging under the grapevine in his parents' yard. Rocking chair. Eyes half-closed. Sun on his face. Life was almost good – or at least not actively bad.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Three thunderclaps. The sky split like someone took a giant cosmic chainsaw to it. The ground shook. Yifan shot up from his chair so fast he nearly became a vertical meme.
The thunder kept rolling – each one louder, faster, more aggressive than the last. But here's the weird part: no wind. No rain. The sun was still shining like nothing happened.
Then he saw it. Faint purple light, drifting down like radioactive snowflakes.
And voices. Two people arguing.
Curiosity kills the cat, Yifan thought. But I'm not a cat. I'm a dumbass with a weak immune system.
He ran toward the sound. (Thanks, jogging.)
The voices came from the hill behind his house. He reached the top in a few minutes – and what he saw would be burned into his brain until the day he died, which, statistically, wasn't that far off.
A hundred-meter-long purple-gold dragon coiled in the sky. Antlers like a deer. Snout like a croc. Serpent body. Shiny purple-gold scales. Whiskers flowing in the wind. Five claws gripping empty air like it owed him money. The dragon roared – and that roar was pissed. But also… weirdly… a little bit… rejected? Like a guy who got ghosted after a first date.
Yifan didn't know how he could hear all that in a roar. Maybe he'd read too many novels.
Then his eyes moved up.
Above the dragon stood a man. A man so still he seemed like he'd been there since the Big Bang. He wore a blue Taoist robe. Yifan couldn't see his face – only his back – but somehow, somehow, he knew the guy had a clean, authoritative face. The kind that makes you want to trust him, even though he's clearly about to do something terrible.
The dragon spoke. Its voice was like grinding mountains: "Tianji Zi. What do you want?"
The blue-robed man replied calmly, "I need a mount. A divine beast to carry me. I was going to find one after ascending to the Immortal Realm, but today, I was supposed to settle a karmic debt. Unfortunately, a little… complication appeared. And that complication is you."
"Complication?!" The dragon's anger now had a hint of confusion. "What complication? And what's this about a mount?!"
The man smiled. "Let me explain. Years ago, when my Dao reached perfection, I couldn't ascend immediately due to sect rules. I suppressed my cultivation and waited. But right as I performed the necessary ritual, a baby boy was born – midnight, on the dot. His first cry disturbed my Dao heart. And that disturbance clung to him.
"That boy grew up sickly, unlucky, and destined to live only twenty-four years. He caused my problem, but he was innocent. So I planned to fix it today. The underworld judge would be away for one incense stick's time, reporting to the King of Hell. I'd take the boy's soul to the Book of Life and Death, rewrite his fate – add sixty years, good health, wealth, the works. Clean karma."
He paused. "But just as I was about to take his soul, you let out three thunderclaps. You woke him up. I stopped you. Then you fought me with heavenly lightning. Now the window is closed. So tell me – isn't this complication your fault?"
The dragon went silent.
Then: "And the first question? The mount?"
"You're a purple-gold dragon," Tianji Zi said cheerfully. "You are the mount."
The dragon's roar shook the heavens. Lightning exploded. The sky turned into a rave party from hell. This dragon was not about to become some Taoist's Uber.
But the man just raised his hand. Slowly. So slowly that even Yifan thought, Just dodge, dude.
But the dragon couldn't move. It was frozen. Its dragon eyes were wide – filled with terror, frustration, desperation… and something else.
Wait, Yifan thought. Excitement? Why excitement?
Then the dragon looked at him.
Directly at him.
And a lightning bolt – bigger than anything Yifan had ever seen – came crashing down right next to him.
Oh, you've got to be kidding me.
He felt like he was being pushed through a wall made of water. The world blurred. And the last thing he heard was the blue-robed man's voice, carried on a gentle wind:
"Fate, it seems. Struck by the dragon's lightning – you now carry a trace of thunder. I'll give you a gift: a breath of Primordial Chaos energy. And little one… don't lose that ring. Perhaps we'll meet again. Haha."
Yifan wanted to scream: What ring?! What energy?! What does any of that mean?!
But the world went dark. Only a few distant specks of light remained. Then even those faded.
And Ye Yifan – the most ordinary, sickly, unlucky, freshly lightning-struck young man in the universe – slipped into blank nothingness.