Even before Lin Xuan opened his eyes the next morning, he felt it.
A pressure.
Like invisible eyes pressing down on him from above.
He sat up from his meditation mat, his body soaked in spiritual mist, residual qi swirling faintly around his shoulders. The silence in his room was intact, but the air felt heavier—subtle, deliberate. Someone was scanning his presence. From a distance, cloaked.
"Already?" he muttered.
He looked at the seal glowing faintly on his wrist. The third meridian had finished stabilizing overnight, advancing the borrowed body one step further toward true cultivation.
But it was still weak. Too weak.
And the further he climbed, the more attention he drew.
He stood, pulled on a fresh uniform, and stepped outside.
Blackthorn Academy's Core Division was abuzz.
Students whispered behind hands. Conversations died when he passed. Some looked at him with awe, others with barely concealed envy or suspicion. It didn't matter. He ignored it all.
Not even a day had passed since he humiliated Song Renshu—and the campus had turned him into a trending myth.
"That guy Shen Yi... he broke a Platinum-ranked defensive formation with his bare hands."
"Did you see how calm he was? Like it was boring to him."
"No one knows his background. It's like he came out of nowhere."
"I heard someone from the Administration Hall pulled his file and found nothing. Nothing. As in, completely scrubbed."
Lin Xuan made his way toward the lower forest trail, a quiet area students rarely visited unless they needed solitude. He needed somewhere away from the sensors, the tech, the questions.
He needed to breathe.
And think.
But as he reached the second stair of the trail, someone was already waiting for him.
A girl.
She sat on a wooden bench under a canopy of fluttering red leaves, her uniform half-buttoned, boots resting on the edge of the seat like she owned the place. Her eyes were sharp. Gray. Unflinching.
"You're hard to find," she said without looking at him.
Lin Xuan stopped. "Depends who's looking."
She smiled faintly. "Smart answer."
He recognized her now.
Yan Yue.
Top 5 of the Core Division.
Also heir to the Skyshatter Pavilion—one of the few elite factions that had survived both the collapse of the ancient sects and the rise of technology.
"You want something," he said.
Yan Yue nodded. "A name."
"You already know it."
"Not your given name. Your real name."
Silence.
He looked at her more closely now. Not the sharp tongue or the dangerous lineage.
But her presence.
Something in her qi felt… old.
Not ancient. Not like his.
But practiced.
Controlled.
"Who sent you?" he asked.
"No one. I came on my own."
"Doubtful."
She turned to face him. "I don't care what lie you're hiding behind, Shen Yi. But I do care about your techniques. That meridian technique? It hasn't been seen in over two hundred years. I checked."
Lin Xuan said nothing.
She went on. "And that palm style? I've only seen descriptions of it in a forbidden scroll my master once showed me when I was ten. You shouldn't exist."
He raised an eyebrow. "But I do."
"You're not from here, are you?"
That question hung in the air.
The breeze rustled the leaves.
"You're asking questions that people get killed for," he said finally.
"And you're using skills that get people erased," she shot back. "That makes us equal."
A pause.
Then, she reached into her coat and tossed him a data chip.
"What's this?" he asked.
"An offer."
"From who?"
"From me."
He turned the chip over in his hand, his spiritual sense brushing against its encryption. High-grade. Military spec. Probably encoded with multiple trap seals.
"Dangerous," he muttered.
"Only if you're lying."
Lin Xuan looked her over one last time. She wasn't bluffing. She wasn't afraid.
But more than that—she was curious.
Not hungry for power. Not trying to control him.
She wanted to understand him.
Maybe that was even more dangerous.
"I'll think about it," he said.
She nodded. "That's all I wanted."
As she walked past him, her shoulder brushed his slightly.
"You're not the only relic walking around this academy," she said.
Then she vanished into the trees.
Back in his dorm, Lin Xuan locked the room with three different barriers—one physical, one digital, one spiritual.
Then he activated the chip.
A single file bloomed open.
And his heart stopped.
It was a photo.
A surveillance still.
Grainy. Taken at night. In a city plaza somewhere across the continent.
But the woman in the photo—
He couldn't mistake her.
Even after all these years.
Even with her face half-covered by a scarf and sunglasses.
Mo Lihua.
His fiancée.
His murderer.
She was alive.
And more than that—thriving.
The image's metadata listed her new identity: a cultivation consultant working for Celestial Nova Corp, a private military contractor that specialized in artifact retrieval and border incursions.
Her rank: Executive Consultant.
Her spiritual signature: Verified and active.
His breath left his body like a punch to the chest.
He hadn't expected to ever see her again.
He hadn't planned to look.
But fate… it had other plans.
He stared at the screen until it dimmed.
Then he sat back, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly.
"I'm not seeking revenge," he whispered.
"But if you come to me again... I won't run."
That night, the shadows moved faster.
Reports of Shen Yi's duel circulated beyond Blackthorn Academy. Across cities. Across corporations. Across the black market networks where forbidden arts were traded like candy.
And in one remote mountain facility—half-tech, half-temple—a man in a long black coat stood watching the same footage play on repeat.
"He's back," the man said.
A woman stepped into view behind him. Her voice was mechanical, filtered through a voice modulator.
"You're sure it's him?"
"No one else would use that technique. It's him. The Ghost King."
The woman nodded. "Then the seal worked. But the reincarnation didn't erase his memory."
"Not all of it."
"Should we report it to the Board?"
The man smiled faintly.
"No. Let's wait. This time, he'll lead us to the real treasure."
Lin Xuan stood on the rooftop of the dormitory that night, staring up at the stars.
The wind was cold, but he didn't mind.
His mind drifted back—not just to his death, but to the moment before it.
Mo Lihua's face. Her tears. Her blade.
She hadn't cried because she regretted it.
She'd cried because she believed it was necessary.
He remembered the words she said as she drove her sword into his heart.
"You'll destroy the world if you keep going. I'm sorry."
But he hadn't wanted to destroy anything.
Just to be free.
And now, all these years later… he had the same goal.
But this time, he would make sure no one could take it from him.
Not fiancées.
Not factions.
Not fate.
He looked at his hand, flexing his fingers.
Power pulsed through them—still dim, still forming—but undeniably real.
"Let's see how far this world will let me go," he whispered.
"And if it tries to stop me..."
He smiled.
"I'll break it."