Pain came first, long before full consciousness returned.
Shen Liuyun felt as if his entire body had been shattered, then forcibly pieced back together in all the wrong ways.
His meridians were dry, his dantian like a cracked basin on the verge of collapse, and every breath felt like a thin blade scraping across his lungs.
He slowly opened his eyes.
An old wooden ceiling greeted his gaze, its blackened cracks spreading like veins. Dust hung in the air, drifting lazily through the pale sunlight that slipped in from a small window in the corner of the room.
"…Still alive," he murmured.
The sound was barely audible—even to himself.
He tried to move his fingers. Pain surged, yet this body—however weak—responded to his will. Shen Liuyun let out a long breath, not in relief, but in certainty.
This was no illusion.
This was truly another life.
Memories of the peak of Mount Tianyuan came crashing down on his mind like a tide of blood.
The golden sky. The punishment formation. The emotionless voice delivering its verdict.
And amidst it all—the face of a woman who looked at him without recognizing who he was.
His chest tightened.
"I failed again…" he whispered.
Yet this time, he had not died.
Shen Liuyun slowly sat up. As he inspected his body with what little spiritual awareness remained, his brows knit together.
His foundation—nearly destroyed.
Almost no qi remained.
His meridians were narrow and fragile, as though this body had been destined never to step onto the path of cultivation. Even in the mortal world, this would be called a trash body.
"Heaven…" He gave a faint smile. "You truly never change."
And yet, amid the ruin, he sensed something that should not have existed.
Deep within his soul, a faintly gleaming scar remained—dark, yet unyielding.
The Scar of Reincarnation.
The oath had endured.
His memories were intact.
"Then the game isn't over yet."
He rose from the wooden bed, his steps unsteady.
Outside came the sounds of people—of a small marketplace, roosters crowing, mortal life moving on, unaware that fate itself had just been violated.
Shen Liuyun stood before a blurred bronze mirror.
The face staring back at him was unfamiliar. Younger. Weaker. Devoid of any aura.
But those eyes—those eyes were the same as before.
Calm. Deep. And filled with a resolve that would not crumble even if the world itself were to fall apart.
"In this life…" he said softly, "I will be more patient."
Yet even as the words left his lips—
His soul trembled.
As if something… or someone… was not very far away.
Qinghe Village was not large.
Just a row of wooden houses, simple fields, and a small river flowing quietly along the eastern edge. No sects. No powerful cultivators—a place nearly untouched by Heaven's will.
And precisely because of that…
She was here.
Shen Liuyun stood at the edge of the dirt road, his body wrapped in a plain robe. Every step he took felt heavy—not because of his body, but because his soul knew that once he moved forward, everything would begin anew.
He saw her from a distance.
A young girl dressed in pale blue, her hair simply tied with a cloth ribbon. She was helping an elderly woman carry a basket of wild medicinal herbs.
There was no striking aura.
No sign of anything special.
Yet to Shen Liuyun, the world around her dimmed.
Yun Qingshuang.
He did not speak the name. He did not dare.
He had seen her as a sect's princess, as a peerless genius, as Heaven's prisoner, and as a cold corpse cradled in his arms. But today, she was nothing more than a village girl—alive, breathing, and completely unaware of who he was.
A dull ache spread through his chest.
"Stay calm…" he whispered to himself. "Don't approach."
But as if pulled by an invisible thread, Yun Qingshuang suddenly stopped. Her brows furrowed slightly, and she turned toward Shen Liuyun.
Their gazes met.
There was no flash of recognition in her eyes.
Only confusion… and something else.
His heart skipped a beat.
Yun Qingshuang slowly set the basket down. One hand pressed against her chest, her breathing uneven.
"What's wrong?" the elderly woman beside her asked.
"I…" Yun Qingshuang shook her head. "It's nothing. It just… feels strange."
Shen Liuyun lowered his gaze.
He knew that feeling.
Emotional Resonance—the first stage.
He turned and left before he himself lost control.
Yet as he walked away—
Yun Qingshuang stared at his retreating back, a feeling she could not describe stirring within her. As though something unimaginably important had just passed by… and she had realized it too late.
That night, Yun Qingshuang dreamed.
She stood beneath a collapsing sky, golden lightning tearing through the heavens. A man knelt amid blood, looking at her with eyes filled with regret.
She awoke with tears on her cheeks.
"Who… was he?" she whispered into the darkness.
And far away, on the other side of the village, Shen Liuyun opened his eyes at the same moment.
The Scar of Reincarnation pulsed faintly.
He gazed at the night sky.
"We've already met," he said, his voice cold yet gentle.
"And Heaven… has lost one move."