His name was Lạc Trần, an orphan with no memory from birth.
He named himself after a saying "Trần Ai Lạc Địa" - a spec of dust that falls to the earth, hoping that even if he died, at least something of him would remain in the world.
At ten years old, the Cloudspike Sect discovered he possessed the Heart of Saint and took him in through their mountain gates.
Ever since his heart awakened, Lạc Trần began to see strange, fragmented memories - visions of a place called Earth, where steel beasts roamed, towering structures pierced the skies, and weapons could kill from miles away.
And all of it - created by mortals without even a trace of chi.
Lạc Trần never gave it much thought. He assumed it was some illusion, a daydream conjured in moments of boredom. After all, with his strength, he couldn't leave Linh Khư to verify if Earth truly existed.
Then everything changed.
He met the sect leader's daughter: Vân Thiên Sước.
They grew up together. Trained together. Rarely interacted with others in the sect. They were childhood companions—seen by many as future soulmates, having endured countless trials side by side.
Until one fateful expedition into a secret realm.
Lạc Trần inherited the celestial meridians there. The Everwatchers assessed his talent as unmatched across all four continents.
Three months later, someone within the sect accused him of colluding with demonic cults.
Vân Thiên Sước stepped forward as a witness.
The sect leader declared judgment on the spot: "The evidence is conclusive."
His celestial meridians were forcefully stripped away. His Heart of Saint gouged from his chest. And then, he was cast into the Dry Sea - a convenient place to dispose of the dead.
The Heart of Saint had the power to sense truth within a person's heart. That's why Lạc Trần had always trusted Vân Thiên Sước so deeply - believing that her heart was true.
But the moment the blade pierced his chest and ripped out his heart, a horrifying realization dawned on him.
From the very beginning, the elders of the Cloudspike Sect had planned to take his heart and transplant it into Vân Thiên Sước.
He never saw the betrayal coming - because that "junior sister" had long been implanted with an alternate personality through divine technique.
As he was hurled off the mountain path, his consciousness faded into darkness.
---The separator line make a grand entrance---
When Lạc Trần woke again, he found himself lying inside a wooden hut.
Simple. Worn. It reminded him of the shaft he grew up in.
Beside the bed sat an old man with rough, iron-strong hands. He gripped Lạc Trần's wrist, channeling a stream of powerful chi into his shattered meridians.
"You people..."
"Don't move."
A blind man sat nearby, waving a carving knife in the air like a blur.
A man with a missing limb leaned on the bedpost and said, "You're heartless right now. If the village chief weren't sustaining your blood flow with his chi, you'd be dead."
"This is...?"
"No need for talk. In the village of Sickos, we don't say thank you. Don't bother being polite either."
That was the wine brewer.
The one-armed man tapped the bedframe. "Hey Madame Mute, when's the deaf guy getting back?"
"Soon," she signed with glowing fingers. "He said he went out to fetch something special."
The energy around her gestures nearly crystallized. Lạc Trần felt a chill crawl down his spine.
Everyone in this room was a monster.
Madame Mute's cultivation might even surpass the Grand Elder who personally tore out his celestial meridians.
"From now on, Lạc..."
"Stop right there. In the village of Sickos, no one uses real names. There aren't many of us, and none are normal. From now on, you'll be known as 'sick boy.' That guy there is the cripple. The bald one is the stick. I'm one-armed. That guy with the knife is the blind man. The one in the wheelchair is the chief. That lady's Madame Mute. Then there's a mad doctor who disappears from time to time, and a deaf blacksmith who's out right now. If that's too crass for you, just call us by what we do."
The butcher thumped his chest.
The blind man added, "Next time Madame Mute signs something, can one of you read it out loud? You trying to bully a blind man?"
"Cut it out. Everyone here's crippled, crazy, or sick. No one's getting special treatment."
That was the bald one.
The village chief coughed softly. "Alright, enough. Don't scare the boy. Kid, I know you've got a past. We don't ask about it. And we don't expect you to ask about ours. As long as you respect that, you're welcome to stay here in the village of Sickos."
"I wouldn't dare. You saved my life, Chie..."
"No need for formalities. Stay if you like. Worst case, I'll teach you woodworking."
The blind man chuckled.
The butcher snorted. "You? Teach woodworking? You can barely carve a spoon. Kid, come hunting with me - you'll actually learn something useful."
"When you've got money, come buy wine from me."
That was the brewer.
"Call me Brother Cripple. When you're better, I'll take you out to bless the 'divine spear'."
The cripple raised a brow and grinned slyly.
Madame Mute, clearly fed up, jabbed a needle into his rear. The man jumped around like a mad monkey, making the whole hut burst into laughter.
Not long after, the deaf blacksmith returned.
The village chief gave him a task. In less than two hours, he forged an iron heart that fit Lạc Trần's chest perfectly - and built a harness to keep it secured.
From that moment on, Lạc Trần began to recover.
Before long, he was walking around the village like a normal man, albeit only for an hour or so each day.
---the separator line return with a superhero landing---
Ten days flew by.
Lạc Trần slowly got used to the villagers and their oddities.
The chief was always napping and dodging responsibility, but when it mattered, he was the strictest - and most fearsome - among them. No one dared raise their voice in his presence.
The cripple was shameless and flirtatious, but easy to talk to. He handled most of the village's trading and supply runs.
The blacksmith was quiet, rarely speak a word, and loved mischief. He often made strange gadgets to prank people. Though the weakest of the lot, his bag of dangerous toys was so vast, no one dared mess with him.
The butcher was a hothead who hated beating around the bush. He could shoot a bow one-handed, and his archery was... otherworldly. When his arrow - more like a crude twig - hit a beast, it simply died. No blood, no wounds. Just dead.
The brewer was a loner and didn't like visitors. Also a hardhead. His rule: shout your order from the door, write down the wine and amount on a note, toss it inside. He'd read it, pour the wine, and bring it to the door. Even the village chief would take a head bump if he broke that rule - though it was the brewer who always ended up losing the fight.
The blind man loved poetry and was deeply sentimental. Rarely leaving his room, he clung to his carving knife like a lifeline. Except for eating, buying wine, or when the chief called, he spent his days carving the same faceless women. Only the cripple could sometimes coax him into making other carvings for sale.
The mad doctor was… well, mad. A mystery wrapped in insanity. He raised chickens, grew vegetables, and sometimes cursed his crops for "eating his chickens." He'd vanish for days, then return carrying wounded people. No one knew where he got them, and he never explained. Only when the village chief came would he hand the people over to be taken to another villages.
Madame Mute ran the fabric shop. She did all the village's tailoring, but her embroidery was hideous. Tigers looked like pigs. Phoenixes like plucked chickens. Yet when the cripple returned from trading trips, her profits were always the highest.
Before Lạc Trần came, she also cooked.
Then she tasted his food - and fired herself on the spot.
Everyone else's cooking was worse than dog food.
And speaking of dogs - there was Mr. Onion.
Yes. Mr. Onion, the absurd mutt.
He'd regularly sneak out of the village only to get pummeled by the chief, as if playing a brutal game of hide-and-seek. Sometimes, the chief would feign sleep to let him go, and the dog would return just to pee on his leg.
So the chief flattened him like a pancake for three days straight.
Mr. Onion also picked fights with the doctor's chickens every now and then, and always ended up foaming at the mouth on the roadside.
He stole meat and wine from the butcher and brewer whenever chance arose. The butcher chopped off his tail. The bald one broke his middle leg.
And still - he seemed to enjoy the beatings, and would come back for more.
Truly, in the village of Sickos, no one - not even the dog - was normal.