Pain.
That was all he knew for a while. A dull, grinding pain that pulsed with each breath.
Above him, a cracked wooden ceiling peered down silently. The air was heavy with perspiration, dried blood, and the lingering decay of old wood. Every movement delivered a stinging stab across his ribcage.
This is not my world.
Memories passed through his mind like smoke, disjointed and blurry.
He tried sitting up. His body rejected.
A groan escaped his lips.
More pain. More disjointed visions pass through his thoughts.
A fight. No, a beating. One-sided and harsh. The boy, whose body he now occupied, had chosen a battle he couldn't win.... and paid the price.
Then came clarity.
QingHe Mountain Sect. Outer disciple.
Seventeen years old.
His name was Li Fan.
Li Fan drew in a shaky breath and forced himself upright, his ribs screaming with every inch. His vision swam, but he didn't stop until he was sitting.
His fingers clutched the thin blanket draped over him. The fabric was coarse, cheap, and scratched at his skin.
How did I get here?
The query pushed at the back of his mind, eliciting recollections.
A desk. A flickering monitor. A tiny area filled with the aroma of instant noodles and cold coffee.
He had worked himself into the ground. For long hours and unpaid overtime. A nobody in a company that wouldn't notice if he died at his desk.
And that's exactly what happened.
There was no car crash. No murder occurred. No heroic sacrifice. Just a heart that stopped in the middle of a spreadsheet.
He died silently, slumped forward, with no one to see.
There was no light at the end of the tunnel. There was no major revelation. Just blackness, and then this.
The world.
This broken body.
Li Fan looked down at his callused hands.
What now? he thought.
There was no system prompt. No divine guide. No cheat ability whispered into his ear.
He sat in silence, the chill in the wooden cottage sinking deep into his skin. Then—
Creak.
The door opened with a groan of old hinges. Li Fan turned his head slowly.
A familiar face stepped in.
Tall, lean, with a sharp jawline and a calm aura. Dressed in plain outer sect robes, but carrying himself with ease. Wu Jiang.
They had entered the sect on the same day. Two hopeful boys clutching their humble belongings, wide-eyed at the mountain gates.
But talent had driven a wedge between them.
Wu Jiang possessed dual spirit roots—water and wind. Low Mid-grade but enough to separate him from the rest. He'd advanced steadily, even cautiously. And now, two and a half years later, he was on the verge of reaching Qi Gathering Stage 5.
Li Fan, meanwhile, had barely touched Stage 3 in all that time.
Just an ordinary Qi Gathering Stage 2 cultivator.
The sect rules were harsh.
Three years. That was all outer disciples were given. If you didn't reach Stage 5 by then, you were expelled. Thrown off sect grounds to become a glorified servant—or worse, a wandering cultivator.
Wu Jiang had a chance.
Li Fan had six months left.
"You're awake," Wu Jiang said softly, closing the door behind him.
Li Fan studied his expression. There was no joy, no celebration. Just a faint trace of surprise.
"I didn't think you'd survive," Wu Jiang said, walking over and kneeling beside the low cot. "But… you did."
Did he? Li Fan wondered. The original Li Fan hadn't made it, not really.
Wu Jiang reached into his robe and pulled out a small jar of ointment. "I applied some medicine when I dragged you back here. You'd cracked two ribs. The bruising on your back was nasty. I really didn't think you'd last the night."
Li Fan lowered his eyes. "…Thank you."
Wu Jiang gave a short nod. "You're lucky he didn't kill you."
He?
That was right.
The memories were clearer now.
It had been a simple mission—just another day in the outer forests, pulling up spirit weeds near a Qi Spring.
Then, by chance, he found it.
Half-buried beneath the roots of an old tree, glowing faintly with spiritual energy—a Grade 1 Spirit Herb.
A rare and valuable cultivation resource
For others, it might've been a pleasant surprise.
For Li Fan, it had meant everything.
He could've traded it for cultivation resources. Maybe even a few low-grade spirit stones. Enough to push him past his bottleneck… maybe even reach Stage 3.
For once, something had finally gone right.
And that's exactly when everything went wrong.
But he'd been careless.
He hadn't been secretive enough.
When he stepped out of his cottage the next day, Chen Mu was waiting for him.
Chen Mu was a Qi Gathering Stage 4 disciple. He was prideful, arrogant, and worse, he was blessed with a low-high fire spirit root that was nearly mid-grade.
Chen Mu didn't need an excuse. He asked once—condescending and casual—but when Li Fan refused to hand over the spirit herb, he didn't hesitate to attack.
One blow. Then another. And another.
Li Fan had tried to run. But the fight was short and brutal.
He wasn't even sure how he'd made it back.
Wu Jiang stood and dusted off his knees. "I bandaged what I could. You'll need more rest."
Li Fan nodded slowly.
They hadn't spoken like this in over a year. Not since Wu Jiang outpaced him in cultivation and started training with better partners. They were still polite, still nodded in passing—but not friends.
Maybe they never had been.
Still, he had helped.
"Why did you help me?" Li Fan asked.
Wu Jiang paused at the door. "Because no one else would have offered to," he said after a moment.
The door shut behind him with a dull thud.
Li Fan leaned back and stared at the ceiling again.
The pain had dulled to a low throb.