The vast Heaven Heart Domain was ruled by the mighty Azure Dragon Empire. Under its vast jurisdiction lay countless cities—some grand and glorious, others humble and forgotten. Among them, at the very edge of the empire's reach, bordering the desolate Nameless Void Domain, lay a remote city known as Lingyun City.
Lingyun City was small. Isolated. Insignificant in the eyes of the central empire.
Nestled at the boundary between the prosperous Heaven Heart Domain and the twisted, uninhabitable chaos of the Nameless Void, it had little to offer in terms of trade, talent, or spirit resources.
The city's highest authority was the City Lord's Mansion, where a solitary Core Formation realm cultivator governed the people and maintained order. In any of the empire's central cities, such strength is not enough to even look at. But here, at the edge of the empire, Core Formation was already untouchable.
Beneath the City Lord's Mansion, three families held the city's foundation in their hands: the Lin Family, the Mu Family, and the Xu Family.
Each of the three clans had a single Spirit Gathering realm cultivator as their cornerstone. In Lingyun City, that was enough to dominate the streets and cast long shadows over the common folk. Their influence stretched from the markets to the outer farmlands.
---
Within the innermost courtyard of the Lin Family estate, the air was thick with tension.
Behind closed doors, pained groans echoed faintly from within the birthing room. Servants and midwives moved swiftly, their expressions tense and voices low. Outside, in the stone-paved corridor lined with aged plum trees, a man paced back and forth like a caged beast.
His name was Lin Zhenhai, current patriarch of the Lin Family.
Though only at the peak of Foundation Building, in Lingyun City, he stood as one of the strongest cultivator. Yet at this moment, none of that strength or status could calm his heart.
Inside, his wife—Su Wenling, the matriarch of the Lin Family—was giving birth to their first child.
Lin Zhenhai's steps faltered for a breath, then resumed again with greater urgency. Every groan from the room made his hands clench, and sweat beaded on his brow despite the cool morning breeze.
Beside him, a middle-aged couple stood quietly, their presence solemn yet dignified.
The man was Lin Tianwu, former patriarch of the Lin Family and Lin Zhenhai's father. His hair had grayed at the temples, and the years had carved lines of age into his face, but his back remained straight, and his eyes still held the calm sharpness of a seasoned cultivator. As the only Spirit Gathering realm expert in the Lin Family, his existence alone was the foundation that kept the clan from falling behind their rivals.
At his side stood his wife, Jiang Ran, a graceful woman whose presence was gentle, yet unshakable. Her voice alone could quiet rowdy disciples, and even the stewards bowed low in her presence. She was the soul of the Lin household.
"It's almost time," Lin Tianwu said at last, his voice deep but composed. "Worrying won't change anything. Focus your mind."
Lin Zhenhai stopped pacing but couldn't quite still his hands. "I know, father… but what if something goes wrong?"
Jiang Ran stepped forward and gently placed a hand on her son's arm. "Wenling is strong, and the midwife is experienced. Have faith in her, and in your child."
Just then, the doors creaked open.
A servant girl rushed out, her face flushed with excitement and relief.
"Patriarch! Madam has delivered safely—it's a boy!"
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then Lin Zhenhai exhaled a long breath, his legs nearly giving out as his tension melted away. Lin Tianwu's stern face softened slightly, while Jiang Ran covered her mouth, tears quietly brimming in her eyes.
"A boy…" Lin Zhenhai murmured, his voice hoarse.
Far above Lingyun City, the clouds stirred slightly, and a faint breeze swept through the Lin estate—gentle, almost reverent.
None of them noticed the subtle pulse of qi that rippled from the birthing room. Silent. Unnatural.
Faint and brief...
---
Darkness.
It wasn't cold. It wasn't empty.
It pulsed.
Something beat faintly in the abyss—like a forgotten drum buried beneath the skin of the universe. Lin Xuan wasn't sure if he was awake or dreaming. He floated in warmth and stillness, as though wrapped in layers of silence.
Then—
Thump.
His heart beat.
Again.
Air rushed into his lungs, wet and choking. A cry echoed—not his voice, but instinct dragging sound from a throat too small, too weak. Light flooded his eyes. He flinched, though his body barely responded.
Everything was wrong.
His limbs were too short. His vision blurry. His skin too soft. Every movement felt foreign, clumsy—like wearing someone else's body.
No. Not someone else's... a newborn's?
Sounds—shouts, hurried footsteps, crying—surged in from all directions. He felt hands lifting him, wrapping him in soft fabric, pressing him to warmth. A woman's voice trembled beside him, weeping in relief. He couldn't see her clearly, but her heartbeat calmed something in him.
Then a name reached his ears.
"Xuan'er... my son…"
His mind shook.
Lin Xuan.
That name.
His name.
But this body wasn't his.
Memories slammed into him-the cold dorm room, the stale bread, the dog, the headlights, the impact—everything was intact. But alongside those memories was a presence. Faint. Dormant. But immense. A mark embedded deep within his soul. Not visible. Not speaking. Just there.
Like a sleeping sun behind storm clouds.
He didn't know how, but he felt it.
And this world…
It wasn't modern.The wind carried traces of something wild. Ancient. Every breath felt heavier, but not unpleasant. Richer. Thicker.
"…I've reincarnated."
The realization sank in slowly, like ink spreading through paper.
---
Lin Xuan lay still, wrapped in the warmth of soft silks and steady heartbeats. His limbs were too weak to move, but his mind was clear—eerily so. His eyes, half-lidded, carried a sharpness that didn't belong on a newborn's face.
He wasn't alone.
Four figures leaned over him, casting shadows on the silk cradle. Two men. Two women. Their faces hovered above like drifting clouds—curious, concerned, warm.
He said nothing. He did nothing. Crying felt… unnecessary.
And apparently, that in itself made an impression.
"So calm…" the elder man muttered, stroking a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes were sharp, unfaded by time. Though clearly middle-aged, he held the air of someone still in his prime—like a general turned scholar, strength tamed into wisdom. His back was straight, his bearing firm. Authority clung to him like a mantle.
"He's not crying at all," the younger woman said with a small laugh. Her voice was soft, a little breathless. Loose strands of hair clung to her cheeks, still damp from the sweat of labor. Her beauty wasn't blinding, but it was gentle—comforting. Pretty in a way that grew on you the more you looked.
Her eyes held him with quiet wonder, like he was something fragile and miraculous.
A man stood just behind her, broad-shouldered and stiff with emotion. He had the look of someone used to command, but awkward in the face of something this small, this new. His features were decent—clean lines, steady brows.
"Worthy of the Lin bloodline," he muttered under his breath, almost as if reassuring himself. "He doesn't even flinch."
"Or he's just confused," the older woman replied gently, her tone laced with quiet amusement. Despite her words, she smiled as she leaned closer. Her beauty was refined, like a noble lady in her thirties—poised, elegant, and entirely in control. There was a steadiness in her eyes that said she'd seen storms and weathered them all.
Their robes flowed like water, layered in silks that shimmered faintly with fine embroidery—clouds, cranes, and ancient sigils. Their voices, posture, and every detail about them whispered of an era far removed from modernity. Refined. Ancient.
Lin Xuan's eyes shifted, taking in more of the room.
Wooden beams stretched across the ceiling, etched with plum blossom carvings so delicate they seemed alive. Silk curtains stirred with the breeze. An incense burner sat nearby, its smoke trailing like ghostly ribbons into the still air. The windows were latticed with paper screens, and the furniture around him was dark, hand-polished wood—crafted with care, shaped by skill.
No electricity. No machines. No plastic. No cold hum of the modern world.
Just the creak of wood, the hush of wind, and the heartbeat of something timeless.
> …Did I travel back in time?
The thought struck without fear. In fact, a hint of amusement tugged at his lips.
If this truly was the ancient world… then hadn't he just won the reincarnation lottery?
No more struggling with grades, job markets, or rent payments.
He could plagiarize from the greats—Li Bai, Du Fu, Tao Yuanming. Just one poem stolen from Earth could crown him a literary genius here. If he played his cards right, he might ascend as a scholar, a sage—maybe even a nobleman.
And if this really was ancient China…
His newborn heart fluttered.
> Polygamy's legal, right?
A quiet life of poetry, gardens, fine wine, and a few beautiful wives… Who could complain?
He looked up again at the four figures as their voices softened, the warmth between them wrapping the room like sunlight.
"Zhenhai, you're trembling."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"…Hmph."
Zhenhai. Lin Xuan stored the name. That would be his father.
The woman beside him—his mother—offered a soft, tired smile. "Don't tease him, mother-in-law. He's just nervous."
Mother-in-law. So the graceful woman must be his grandmother.
The older man with the beard nodded thoughtfully. "Our Lin family has a new heir. Wenling, you've done well."
Wenling. That was his mother's name.
And the elegant woman—his grandmother—added in a hushed tone, "He's strong already. Look at him—no tears, no panic. He's listening. I think… he understands us."
The old man chuckled, beard rustling faintly boasting. "I'm telling you, Ran, he's different. Even I Tianwu wasn't this calm when I was born."
Ran… Tianwu…
Names clicked into place like puzzle pieces.
Lin Zhenhai, his father—handsome and composed, a proud scion.
Wenling, his mother—radiant and nurturing, beauty in its prime.
Lin Tianwu, the refined elder with sharp eyes—his grandfather.
Ran, the graceful woman with timeless elegance—his grandmother.
And he, Lin Xuan, lay there among them, small but watching. Waiting.
Ready to write his second life into legend.