Death did not arrive with meaning.
There were no regrets dramatic enough to deserve tears, no loved ones clutching his hand, no final realization about the value of life. Lin Yan simply listened to the rain tapping against the hospital window, watched the ceiling blur in and out of focus, and felt his strength slip away piece by piece.
The beeping of the machine became slower.
Then it stopped.
Just like that, his life ended.
Twenty-three years unremarkable, unchosen, unnoticed.
When consciousness returned, it did so brutally.
Pain slammed into Lin Yan like a tide, dragging him upward from darkness and forcing awareness upon him whether he wanted it or not. His chest felt caved in, each breath a shallow struggle against an invisible weight. His arms and legs burned with a dull, grinding ache, as though his bones had been cracked and put back together incorrectly.
He tried to inhale deeply.
Failed.
A cough tore from his throat, thick and wet, leaving behind the metallic taste of blood.
His eyelids trembled open.
What greeted him was not white walls or fluorescent lights but a low, uneven ceiling made of rotting wooden planks. Dark stains bloomed across it like old scars. Dust drifted lazily in the dim light, catching on the weak glow of a flickering oil lamp nearby.
The air was heavy.
Mold, damp cloth, old incense, and something sharper underneath.
Blood.
Lin Yan lay still, staring upward, his thoughts sluggish.
This isn't a hospital.
The realization did not come with panic. Instead, it settled quietly, weighed down by exhaustion and pain.
He tried to move his fingers.
A jolt of agony shot through his arm.
His jaw clenched, a groan escaping despite his effort to suppress it.
With the pain came memories.
Not his.
Images, sensations, and emotions flooded his mind fast, disordered, cruelly vivid.
A towering mountain range wrapped in white mist.
Vast stone stairways lined with disciples.
Cold laughter.
Mocking eyes.
The name Azure Cloud Sect surfaced like a verdict.
This body belonged to someone else.
Another Lin Yan.
An outer disciple of the Azure Cloud Sect, the lowest tier within a sect that ruled this region like an empire. He had no powerful family behind him, no influential master, no extraordinary spiritual roots.
Mediocre at best.
Worthless at worst.
He remembered bowing his head too often. Apologizing for things he hadn't done. Swallowing insults just to survive another day.
And earlier today
Accusation.
A senior disciple had pointed at him, claimed pills were missing.
There had been no investigation.
No chance to defend himself.
He had been dragged into the outer courtyard, forced to kneel as fists and feet rained down on him. Pain had exploded behind his eyes, bones cracking under deliberate force.
Someone had laughed.
Someone had told him to remember his place.
When he stopped moving, they had thrown him aside like refuse.
"Outer disciples don't die easily," someone had said. "If he survives, it's his luck."
That was the last memory.
"…So that's it," Lin Yan whispered.
His voice sounded wrong rougher, weaker.
He was no stranger to fantasy. Reincarnation, transmigration stories like this littered the novels he used to read late at night, killing time in a life that never truly went anywhere.
He just never expected to be inside one.
He had been reborn.
And not as a protagonist blessed by heaven.
But as trash.
The door creaked open.
Lin Yan turned his head slightly, the movement sending pain spiraling down his spine.
A girl stepped inside.
She wore plain grey robes, the kind outer disciples used. Her cultivation wasn't impressive, but it pressed faintly against him, enough to make the difference between them obvious.
She stopped a few steps away, arms folded.
"Oh," she said flatly. "You're awake."
Her gaze swept over him, detached and cold. There was no pity in her eyes only mild surprise.
"You're tougher than you look," she added. "I thought you'd already be dead."
Lin Yan didn't answer.
She clicked her tongue. "Don't glare at me. It's not my fault you offended people you shouldn't have."
"…I didn't steal anything," he said quietly.
His throat burned with each word.
The girl scoffed. "Does it matter? Who would believe you?"
She walked closer, peering down at him like one would at a broken tool.
"You should be grateful they stopped before destroying your dantian," she continued. "At least you still have a chance to live like a normal outer disciple."
A normal outer disciple.
A lifetime of bowing, scraping by, fearing tomorrow.
She straightened.
"Get some rest," she said indifferently. "Or die. Either way, don't make trouble."
Then she turned and left, shutting the door behind her without a second thought.
The silence that followed was heavier than before.
Lin Yan stared at the ceiling again, his expression blank.
In his previous life, he had been invisible.
In this one, he was disposable.
No strength. No backing. No dignity.
If things continued like this, he wouldn't survive long.
The sect was a place where power decided everything. Compassion was a luxury afforded only to those strong enough to spare it.
"…This body was meant to be discarded," he murmured.
Something shifted inside him at that moment.
Not pain.
Not memory.
But awareness.
It was subtle at first, like the sensation of being watched. Not by someone outside but from within his own mind. A presence stirred, cold and clear, unfazed by emotion.
Information flowed into him not in words, but in understanding.
A truth unfolded.
Lin Yan closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, his gaze was sharper.
He wasn't alone.
A system of sorts existed within him though it did not announce itself loudly, nor flood his vision with glowing text. It was quieter than that, calmer, as if it had been waiting patiently for him to notice.
It offered him a path.
Not one of brute force.
Not one of stolen inheritances or hidden bloodlines.
But one forged through connection.
Through love.
In this world, cultivation was born from absorbing spiritual energy, refining the body, tempering the soul.
For him, cultivation would be fed by emotion.
Affection.
Trust.
Desire.
Devotion.
The deeper and more genuine the bond he formed with another person, the stronger he would become.
Falsehoods would yield little.
Coercion would backfire.
Only real feelings carried power.
Lin Yan lay there in stunned silence.
"…You're telling me," he whispered into the empty room, "that to survive… I need to make people fall in love with me?"
The presence did not respond.
It didn't need to.
Understanding was already complete.
He exhaled slowly.
In his past life, romance had always been something distant something that happened to others. He had watched couples from the sidelines, never chosen, never pursued.
Now, in a world where strength ruled life and death
Romance was his cultivation.
The absurdity of it almost made him laugh.
"…This is either my salvation," he murmured, "or the cruelest joke possible."
Something else changed.
His perception sharpened slightly.
He could feel emotions in the air not clearly, not distinctly, but as faint ripples. Like standing near water and sensing movement beneath the surface.
Someone was nearby.
Footsteps approached.
The door opened again.
The grey-robed girl returned, this time stepping aside respectfully.
Another figure entered.
The room seemed to grow colder.
She wore pale blue robes with silver embroidery, the fabric refined yet understated. Her long black hair fell neatly down her back, secured by a simple jade pin. Her movements were composed, each step precise and unhurried.
Her presence carried weight.
Lin Yan's breath slowed without him realizing it.
An inner disciple.
Possibly higher.
"This is him," the grey-robed girl said. "The one from earlier."
The woman's gaze fell upon Lin Yan.
Her eyes were calm, distant, like still water reflecting nothing. Yet for a brief instant, surprise flickered there.
"He's alive," she said softly.
"Yes," the girl replied. "Barely."
The woman approached the bed.
With each step, Lin Yan felt a subtle pressure cool, restrained, and overwhelming. Not hostility. Authority.
She extended her hand, placing two slender fingers against his wrist.
A chill seeped into him as her spiritual energy flowed through his body, probing gently. The sensation was oddly intimate being examined and understood without words.
Her brows furrowed.
"Multiple fractures," she said. "Severe internal injuries. His meridians are strained."
"This was punishment," the girl said lightly.
The woman's fingers paused.
"Punishment has limits."
Her voice remained calm, but something beneath it hardened.
The grey-robed girl fell silent.
The woman withdrew her hand and reached into her sleeve, retrieving a jade bottle. A single pill slid into her palm, glowing faintly.
"This will stabilize him," she said. "He won't die."
She leaned closer.
The faint scent of cold lotus drifted toward Lin Yan.
She placed the pill gently against his lips.
Their fingers brushed.
The contact was brief.
Yet something deep inside Lin Yan stirred.
Not desire.
Not infatuation.
Recognition.
A fragile thread formed between them thin, nearly invisible, but unmistakably real.
Her gaze met his.
Most people in his position would look away, intimidated or desperate.
Lin Yan didn't.
He endured the pain, endured the weakness, and met her eyes calmly.
"Thank you," he said.
No flattery.
No pleading.
Just sincerity.
The woman paused.
Her eyes lingered on his face a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
Something unreadable crossed her expression.
Then she straightened.
"Rest," she said. "If you survive, report to the outer hall in three days."
She turned to leave.
As she passed the doorway, Lin Yan felt it.
The thread tightened.
Just a little.
She did not look back.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Lin Yan lay there, his body aching—but changing.
Slowly.
Steadily.
His breathing grew easier. The worst of the pain dulled, as if guided by unseen hands. Not healed outright but responding.
"…So this is how it begins," he murmured.
No grand declaration.
No sudden dominance.
Just a single connection.
A single glance.
A single moment of sincerity.
In this world, love was not weakness.
It was power.
Outside, clouds drifted across the peaks of the Azure Cloud Sect, indifferent to the changes below.
But within a body meant to be discarded
A path no one had ever walked before had quietly opened.