The fluorescent lights of the cramped apartment buzzed incessantly, the harsh hum pressing against his temples like an unrelenting drumbeat. Stacks of textbooks, notebooks, and papers teetered dangerously around him, forming a chaotic barricade of his own making. Outside, the city lights flickered in distant windows, indifferent to the figure slumped over a desk, his pencil hovering above a sheet of complex equations that blurred before his exhausted eyes.
He was twenty-eight. High school had been a breeze, college a challenge he devoured like candy, and now, in the small cubicle of his life, he had devoured everything humanity could teach him - or at least everything he thought he could. Yet the paradox gnawed at him: the smarter he became, the more relentless the world seemed. And now, he could feel the toll.
A cough ripped through his throat, dry and violent. His chest constricted, but he kept scribbling. The formulas made sense, the logic flawless. He had solved problems in seconds that would have stumped entire teams of mathematicians, yet every victory felt hollow. The room spun; the walls seemed to collapse inward.
"Just a little more… I can finish this…" he murmured, voice raw and ragged, though his mind was sharper than ever, analyzing possibilities, calculating outcomes. Even now, as the world dimmed at the edges of his consciousness, his thoughts raced: patterns, sequences, errors he hadn't yet fixed.
A stabbing pain hit his chest, sudden and unrelenting. His pencil clattered to the desk, bouncing among the piles of paper. He tried to gasp, tried to lift himself, but his limbs betrayed him. The city outside was alive with noise he couldn't hear, lights that burned too brightly for his failing senses. He collapsed fully onto the desk, the taste of iron and dust filling his mouth.
"I… learned… everything…" His mind, sharp as a scalpel even in this final moment, ticked over memories, formulas, languages, histories, strategies. "…Why… am I… still so tired?"
And then the darkness came - not gentle, but absolute.
-
He had expected death to be sudden, clean, merciful. It was neither. Instead, it was a sensation of falling sideways into nothingness, a strange, weightless void where time had no meaning, where thoughts flowed freely but the body could not respond. The world of lights, sounds, and burdens faded entirely. Yet within this void, a faint pulse beckoned, fragile and trembling, like a candle struggling against the wind.
He instinctively reached for it - not knowing why. The pulse carried the signature of life: frail, desperate, ending. And yet, it called to him with a subtle insistence, an open invitation.
His consciousness moved, slipping through the fabric of space in a way that made no sense to any mortal physics he had ever studied. A new body awaited - a weak, dying boy, small and hollow-eyed, in a dimly lit room that smelled of smoke, mold, and unwashed linens. The boy coughed, gasping, trembling on a thin straw mattress. He was barely recognizable as alive, barely hanging on to the fragile thread of his existence.
And then, without hesitation, he entered.
-
He awoke - or rather, his consciousness settled - into the new body with a jolt. Pain immediately surged through him: every bone ached, every muscle protested. He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly, adjusting to the dim, unfamiliar room. The air was thick and musty, the window letting in a weak wash of sunlight. He flexed his fingers, tested his arms. Weak. Frail. A body on the brink of collapse.
"Not bad," he thought, almost amused despite the situation. "A challenge."
He glanced at his new reflection in the cracked wooden panel across the room. Pale, hollow, wide-eyed, staring back at him with unspoken fear. He recognized immediately that this was Lui Yan, the boy he had taken over. An orphan. A nobody. With no family, no power, no hope. Perfect.
He ran through the analysis in his mind. Hunger: moderate, but manageable if he could scavenge. Strength: nearly nonexistent, endurance minimal. Environment: rural, small village nearby, limited resources, people likely self-interested. Threats: unknown. Opportunities: abundant for someone who could think faster than anyone around him.
Even though he had no idea what this world was, even though he had no knowledge of cultivation, he began mapping it out logically. Every sensation, every subtle cue, every shift of light and air became data. This body was weak, yes, but he - he still had his mind, the ultimate weapon.
He flexed again, trying to move, and nearly collapsed. But he caught himself against the mattress, testing balance, coordination, the limits of his frail body. Hunger gnawed at him, but he ignored it for the moment, curious about something more pressing: the energy in the air.
It was subtle at first. A tingle in the extremities. A faint vibration beneath the skin, like the quiet pulse of the world itself. He experimented, pushing thought into movement, directing breath, noticing sensations in the core of his body. There was… something there. Something raw and untamed, waiting to be understood.
"Interesting," he muttered, almost laughing at the irony. A dying orphan, no knowledge, no teacher, no technique - and yet, instinctively sensing what everyone else in this world spent years learning.
He tested further. Moving slowly, deliberately, he attempted to focus this raw energy, to manipulate it in tiny ways. Nothing flashy. Nothing obvious. But he felt it responding. Tiny sparks in his chest. A warmth spreading from core to limbs. A subtle strength building in spite of weakness.
This is going to be… fun.
-
Outside the thin walls of the orphanage, life continued without pause. Farmers moved through their routines, villagers whispered of petty disputes, merchants bartered for goods. Nothing extraordinary - or so it seemed. But he noticed patterns. He noticed details: the way people's energy ebbed and flowed with emotion, the rhythms of labor, the habits of guards and commoners alike.
Everything is predictable, he thought. Predictable… until you understand the rules.
Rules. That word resonated. This world had rules, of course. Laws of power, laws of motion, laws of life and death. And if he could decipher them…
Then he could dominate.
He flexed his fingers again, testing his body. Pain flared, but he grinned inside. The first lesson was clear: survival always comes first. Understand the environment. Understand your own body. Understand the flow of energy. Then act.
The boy's body was weak. His limbs trembled with hunger and fatigue. But within, the modern man's mind ran circles around anyone in this world. Every step, every observation, every experiment was a test, a calculation, a hypothesis waiting to be proven.
And already, he felt his first tiny breakthrough: a faint awareness of the life energy around him, responding to his mind even without proper cultivation knowledge. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was real.
He smirked.
I don't need a teacher. I don't need a method. I only need to learn, and I will surpass anyone.
-
Hours passed - or perhaps minutes; time was fluid in his new perception. Hunger was still there, cold gnawed at his thin clothes, but his mind was electric with calculation, curiosity, and excitement. He explored the small room, noting its weaknesses, potential resources, and escape routes. Every shadow, every sound, every creak of the floorboards was data. Every movement, every breath, a variable in his equation.
By the time the sun hung high in the sky, he had mapped out the room, its surroundings, the layout of the nearby village he could see through the window. He had mentally calculated the strength of villagers, potential threats, food sources, and even possible allies. Every thought, every calculation, was a step toward survival, toward strength, toward understanding this strange new world.
And then, in the distance, he saw it - a flicker of unusual energy. Something that did not belong. It moved through the village like a ripple against the current, subtle yet distinct. His sharp mind immediately analyzed: source unknown, power level undetermined, intent unclear.
Curious… very curious.
He stretched his frail limbs, ignoring the protests of the body. A smile crept across the pale face of Lui Yan. Finally, something exciting. Finally, a challenge worthy of his mind.
This world was new, chaotic, and full of unknowns. And he - he was ready.
Because this time, he was not just surviving. He was observing, calculating, understanding. And soon… he would rise.
The first hours in this new body were a brutal lesson in reality. Hunger clawed at him like a living thing, sharp and unrelenting. Every limb protested, trembling under the weight of the frail body he now inhabited. He staggered to the edge of the mattress, gripping the rough wooden frame for support, and tested his legs. The floor beneath him creaked, sending vibrations up his spine, each one a reminder of his weakness.
Yet, even in this frailty, his mind ran circles around the limitations. He cataloged every sensation, every subtle pain, every twitch of muscle, like a scientist mapping uncharted terrain. The thin skin of the boy, stretched over fragile bones, was no match for the force of his thoughts, which now worked at lightning speed. Hunger, cold, weakness - none of it mattered. The body was merely a vessel, data to be understood and improved.
He glanced at the cracked windowpane, sunlight spilling unevenly across the floor. The village outside was modest, a scattering of stone cottages and dirt paths winding between them. Farmers moved with practiced rhythm, carts creaking under the weight of produce, children darting between them, their laughter a sharp contrast to the quiet despair of his new room. Even from this vantage point, he could analyze everything - the flow of movement, the patterns of behavior, the subtle signs of stress or strength in the villagers.
Everything is information, he thought. Everything can be used.
The boy - Lui Yan - had likely never thought this way. His life had been one of survival, scraping by day to day, unaware of the larger patterns around him. But now, with a mind trained to see connections where others saw only chaos, he could anticipate outcomes, predict actions, and even manipulate circumstances subtly to his advantage.
He crouched near the door, listening. Footsteps on the dirt outside were rhythmic, heavy. Someone approached the building. He focused, straining to discern details: the tempo of their walk, the tension in their posture, the faint scent carried by the breeze. A man, likely a villager, possibly a messenger or worker. Nothing dangerous. Yet he cataloged it anyway, noting every variable, every possible deviation in movement.
Movement of energy - the faint pulse he had felt earlier - remained in the back of his mind, a puzzle piece that refused to align with anything he had ever known. He experimented subtly, sending tiny impulses from his core outward. It was instinct, a curiosity-driven probing of the unknown. The sensation was weak, almost imperceptible, but real. A spark. A sign. Something existed beyond the obvious, waiting to be understood.
He allowed himself a small smile. This body may be weak, but the mind is limitless.
-
Hours became days, though the exact passage of time blurred. Hunger gnawed constantly, cold seeped into his bones, yet every day brought new observations. He learned the rhythm of the village, noting who carried authority, who acted timidly, who was aggressive. He mapped out the small alleyways, the hidden paths behind cottages, the sources of water and food. Every detail was data, every pattern a potential advantage.
And yet, even as he mapped the physical world, his attention turned to the invisible: the energy that pulsed faintly in the air, the subtle vibrations of life and force that no ordinary villager noticed. He experimented with movement, with breath, with concentration, sensing small responses that hinted at a larger underlying structure. Though he had no formal knowledge of cultivation, the logic of cause and effect, of energy flow, of systemic patterns - these were universal, and he was fast at decoding them.
He recalled snippets of ancient texts he had skimmed in the modern world, theories of life energy, quantum patterns, subtle manipulations of matter. In this body, they were no longer abstract. He could feel the principles manifest, tangible, responsive. Slowly, methodically, he began to apply them, testing limits, observing reactions. Tiny sparks of comprehension illuminated his mind: the world had rules, patterns that could be learned, analyzed, and ultimately mastered.
-
On the third day, as the sun rose in a pale wash over the village, he ventured outside. The frail legs wobbled at first, unsteady on the hard dirt path, but he adjusted, testing balance, stride, and endurance. Villagers glanced at him with curiosity, a few pitying looks, but none recognized the intelligence now occupying this hollow shell. He observed them closely, noting relationships, hierarchies, even subtle cues of power.
A dog barked, startling him, and he noted the creature's energy. Animals, too, carried information - patterns of instinct, strength, and reaction. Every encounter became a lesson, every observation a calculation. By midday, he had mapped the village in his mind, noted sources of food, water, shelter, and potential threats.
That evening, as he rested against the doorway of the orphanage, he caught movement on the edge of perception. Something unusual - a flicker of energy that did not belong. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but it tugged at the edges of his awareness. The mind of a genius raced, analyzing possibilities: cultivator? Wild beast? Trick of the light? Whatever it was, it demanded attention.
Curious… very curious, he mused. Let's see what the rules of this world really allow.
-
By the fifth day, he had begun rudimentary control over the energy. Not enough to be impressive, certainly not enough to fight or defend - but enough to sense patterns, to manipulate tiny sparks, to understand the fundamental principle that this world had mechanisms he could exploit. Even the weakest body could act as a conduit for insight, and insight was more powerful than brute strength.
He experimented with meditation, focus, and mental visualization, channeling the energy subtly. He felt faint pulses move through his limbs, through his chest, responding to his thought. Each success, no matter how minor, brought a thrill. He was learning, adapting, becoming more than the sum of his circumstances.
That night, under the weak light of a crescent moon, he surveyed the village again. Shadows twisted in the narrow alleys, wind carried scents of wood smoke and livestock, and somewhere, faintly, he sensed the same energy flicker from earlier. It moved with intention.
A cultivator, perhaps. Or something stranger. His mind ran through possibilities: observation, approach, retreat, engagement. Every scenario calculated, every outcome weighed. He felt anticipation, a spark of excitement he hadn't felt in decades of modern life. Here, in this fragile, dying body, he was alive in a way he had never truly experienced before.
This world is full of rules, full of patterns, full of variables… and he intended to understand every single one.
The night deepened, the moonlight washing pale over the rooftops. The orphan boy's body trembled, weak and frail, but within it, the mind that now inhabited it plotted, calculated, and dreamed.
A single thought resonated clearly, louder than any doubt or fear: I am not bound by weakness. I am not bound by ignorance. I will learn, I will grow, and I will surpass everyone in this world.
And somewhere in the distance, faint but undeniable, the pulse of that strange energy grew. A harbinger, a challenge, a beginning.
He grinned.
Finally… the real game begins.