In a vast, endless void, a faint soul floated in silence.
The soul looked like a young man—motionless, as if sleeping.
Suddenly, his eyes opened.
“Where… am I?” he muttered, confused. “Wasn’t I killed… in that terrorist attack?”
A deep, echoing voice answered from the darkness.
“Yes, you are dead. What you see now is your soul form.”
Startled, he turned toward the voice, but the figure before him was blurred—its face hidden by light.
“Who are you? Where is this place?”
The being smiled faintly. “You may call me… a random god. I’ve been watching your life, Cang Yan. I like your spirit and determination. So, I shall grant you three gifts.”
Before Cang Yan could speak, the figure’s form began to fade.
“Goodbye… and good luck.”
The voice vanished, and darkness swallowed everything.
Cang Yan’s consciousness slipped away once moreA blinding light pierced through the darkness.
Cang Yan groaned softly as warmth flooded his body—something he hadn’t felt since the day he died. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Above him was not the void anymore, but a wooden ceiling with cracks and faint sunlight streaming through. He blinked several times, his vision adjusting.
“Where… is this?” he murmured. His voice sounded younger—clearer.
He raised his hands and froze. They were small. Pale. Like those of a child.
“What the—?! Why are my hands so small?!”
Before he could panic, a flood of memories rushed into his mind. A boy’s life, his parents, a small mountain village, cultivation legends, beasts roaming the wild…
“Ahh!” Cang Yan clutched his head as pain surged through him. The flood of foreign memories mixed with his own, until finally—everything went silent.
Moments later, he sat up, breathing heavily.
“So… I’ve reincarnated,” he whispered. “This world… is real cultivation world.”
He looked out the window—mountains rising beyond the mist, birds circling high above. The air itself felt alive with energy.
> “Three gifts…” he remembered the god’s words.
“What kind of gifts did he give me?”