Lin Xuan opened his eyes to silence.
A ceiling, carved from dark wood and aged by centuries, stretched above him. Each beam was meticulously engraved, twisting like serpents and dragons, the craftsmanship precise yet old. The scent of incense lingered faintly, mixed with herbs that smelled of sharp, bitter medicine. The soft light of a distant paper lantern fell over a massive bed, draped in embroidered silk curtains. The bed itself was enormous, almost too large for a single person, but the mattress sagged slightly in the center, as though it had held someone frail for decades.
He tried to move.
Pain. Sharp, piercing, and precise. It struck his limbs like lightning. His arms trembled as he tried to sit upright. Slowly, painstakingly, he managed it. But when he attempted to stand, his legs refused him. They buckled, trembling under weight that should have been light. Sharp pain coursed through his meridians, radiating from his joints and down his spine. It was a feeling he could not ignore—every fiber of his body screamed at him that this was not his own.
He stared at his hands.
Wrinkled, veined, fragile. The nails were brittle, the skin loose and pale. Lines ran like rivers across his knuckles, fingers gnarled from years of cultivation—or perhaps age. He flexed them experimentally, and the pain flared anew. His arms felt heavy, slow, unresponsive, yet there was strength buried deep, locked away.
He tried to stand again, silently willing his legs to obey. They did not. He could shift his weight slightly, sit more upright, but anything beyond that was impossible. He sank back into the bed, exhaling slowly.
Where am I?
His mind raced. One moment he was walking home from his college classes, the next… darkness.
A fatal accident flashed through his memory: headlights, screeching brakes, the impact, the sharp pain, and then nothing.
And now he was here. In a body that was not his own.
He looked at himself in the reflection of the polished wooden floor beneath the bedframe. A faint glow reflected from the lanterns, and the face that stared back was unfamiliar. White hair framed his face in soft waves, streaked with hints of age. The skin was weathered, yet there was a faintly sharp beauty beneath it, as though the features had once been striking in youth. His eyes, however, were the most jarring. They were clear, piercing, but lined with exhaustion, pain, and decades of unresolved struggle.
Lin Xuan's mind spun.
I… I'm an old man?
He lifted a hand to his face. The fingers were frail, trembling. He touched his temple, his jawline, and the sharpness of his cheekbones betrayed a life that had once been strong. But the body's frailty was undeniable. Every movement, every adjustment caused small, stabbing pains through his muscles and bones.
He forced himself to breathe evenly.
This body… it belonged to him now.
And the memories… faint traces floated in his mind. They were not his own. Snippets of cultivation techniques, knowledge of formations, old clan strategies, battle scars, failed breakthroughs. Each fragment came unbidden, unfiltered. He knew what he was.
Lin Clan.
He sat upright, breathing shallowly. The name echoed in his mind, weighted with history. Once a great clan, now on the brink of decline. The reason for its decline was simple: its leader, the ancestor he now inhabited, had failed. Failed to break through to Qi Refining. Failed to stabilize his own body. Failed to secure the Lin Clan's place in the world.
He remembered the fragments:
Body Refining Level 12. Peak mortal stage. Dozens of years spent trying to step into Qi Refining. Countless injuries, forced retreats, battles lost not by lack of skill but by the natural limits of the body. The clan weakened under his stagnation. Generations of talent wasted, resources squandered.
And now… he was here.
A modern mind trapped in the frail body of a dying ancestor, in a world he did not yet understand.
Why me?
Why here?
The question echoed, unanswered. He tried to think logically, to trace a path from his old life to this one. A fatal accident. That was clear. Then the shift. Then consciousness. He could feel the remnants of his modern body—the memories, the reflexes, the sense of physics—but layered over it was this new reality.
He flexed his arms again. The veins were faintly visible beneath the pale skin. Muscles moved sluggishly, restrained by injury and decay. He tested his legs once more. No response.
A mechanical tone interrupted his thoughts.
[Ding.]
[Clan Development System Binding…]
[Host detected: Lin Xuan.]
[Current Realm: Body Refining Level 12.]
[Clan Status: Declining.]
[Daily Sign-In Function Activated.]
[New User Gift Package Available.]
The voice was calm, clinical, devoid of emotion. Yet in that simplicity, a sense of inevitability settled in Lin Xuan's chest.
This was not a dream.
This was not imagination.
A system.
A path forward.
He exhaled, allowing himself to sink back into the massive bed. For the first time, he examined his surroundings fully. Scrolls lined the walls, some tightly rolled, others open with faded calligraphy. Shelves held jars of herbs, bottles of strange liquids, and small mechanical devices of unknown function. Across the room, a simple writing desk was stacked with texts on cultivation, formation diagrams, and historical accounts of the Lin Clan.
A faint chill of realization swept through him.
He was not merely in another body. He was in the body of the Lin Clan's dying ancestor—the last hope for a family in decline. Every decision he made, every action, would affect the fate of a clan that had once been mighty.
And yet he could not even stand.
Lin Xuan's mind churned. He ran through possibilities. Rest. Recover. Cultivate. Survive.
But one truth pressed itself inescapably into his consciousness:
The Lin Clan would fall if he remained weak.
His eyes narrowed. White hair framed his face like a halo in the lantern light. The mechanical tone in his mind echoed softly again:
[Daily Sign-In Available.]
[Clan Development Functions Ready.]
Even with nothing else, the system offered a foothold.
Lin Xuan exhaled again, slowly. He had entered this world broken, frail, yet alive.
The question of why—why him, why now—would remain unanswered for the time being. Survival came first. Strategy next. Power, eventually.
He lay back on the bed, examining his hands once more. The lines, the veins, the faint tremor in his fingers—they were all reminders.
Lin Xuan was old. Weak. Declining.
And yet, in this frail body, a spark of something new ignited in his mind: a plan.
A determination.
The Lin Clan would not fall while he was alive.
The dying ancestor of the Lin Clan, at Body Refining Level 12, on the verge of death, lying in a massive bed in an ancient chamber, finally understood one thing.
He had a system.
He had a chance.
And he would not waste it.
He flexed his fingers again, slowly, painfully. Pain that told him he was alive. Pain that told him he could still move.
The journey had begun.
[Current Status: Body Refining Level 12 — Injured, Frail]
[Clan Status: Declining]
[System Functions: Daily Sign-In, Clan Management, Unknown Features Pending]
Lin Xuan closed his eyes. One week in this body. One week to gather strength, to understand his surroundings, to awaken to the reality of his new life.
He would rise.
Even from the brink of death.