Lin Chen drifted in and out of consciousness, the boundary between dream and memory thin as mist.
Flashes of Earth flickered in his mind a phone buzzing beside a half-empty bowl of noodles, the hum of an air conditioner, the gray skies of a city that never slept. Then, just as quickly, the sounds of this world crept in the rustle of leaves, distant roars, the whisper of qi in his veins.
He woke to the chirping of birds, his body aching, his clothes torn and blood-streaked.
The dead beast still lay beside him, unmoving.
He stared at it for a long moment, unsure whether to laugh or groan. "What the hell was that?"
The fight replayed itself in fragments. He had been on the verge of death, qi nearly exhausted, when something inside him had… moved. Not consciously, not skillfully. But it had moved.
Not just instinct.
Something deeper.
He sat up slowly, wincing at the sharp pain along his side. The gash wasn't deep, but it stung. He pressed a hand to it and exhaled.
"I should be dead," he muttered.
But he wasn't. And that, more than anything, unsettled him.
He leaned back against the trunk of a nearby tree, letting the cool bark press into his skin. His breathing steadied. Qi moved quietly inside him, responsive, aware. He didn't even have to guide it consciously. Just a flicker of thought, and it shifted, flowing to the places that needed it most.
It wasn't powerful.
It wasn't flashy.
But it obeyed him.
Or… maybe it understood him.
And then, like a dam breaking, the memories came again, this time clearer.
He didn't panic. He didn't scream. He just sat there, feeling the weight of two lives settle into his chest.
"Right," he said softly. "I remember now."
Earth.
He remembered the quiet tragedy of his first life, chasing grades that didn't matter, for jobs he didn't want, in a world that mistook busyness for purpose. Professional procrastinator. Part-time ramen enthusiast. Full-time subscriber to the 'I'll live eventually' philosophy. No lightning tribulations, just the slow erosion of hours into microwave meals and blinking cursors. Maybe that's why his qi flowed differently now. After dying with a browser full of unwatched videos and a fridge full of expired dreams, he'd be damned if he'd waste this life grinding when he could be living,
And now?
Now he was Lin Chen. Outer disciple of Windspire Sect. A sixteen-year-old cultivator with mid-grade roots, a poor reputation, and no real drive to climb higher. Until today, he'd just been going through the motions.
And maybe he would've kept doing that.
But now he remembered who he had been. And for the first time, he had the faintest sense that maybe, just maybe he didn't want to sleepwalk through this life the same way.
He stared at his hand. Qi stirred gently, like a cat curled at his feet, pretending not to listen but always alert.
No ancient artifact. No glowing tattoos. No system UI telling him what to do.
Just a strange familiarity with his own energy.
And a second chance.
He rested there for a while, letting the forest return to its usual rhythm around him. The wind shifted, brushing past the leaves in a slow, thoughtful current.
Eventually, he stood.
His legs were sore, and his back ached, but he felt… clear.
Hungry, too.
"First reincarnation lesson," he muttered, brushing dirt off his robe. "Always pack snacks."
With a grunt, he slung his herb pouch over his shoulder and began the slow walk back toward the outer sect grounds.
He didn't know what this new clarity would mean yet.
But whatever it was, he'd deal with it in the morning.
Maybe.
If he felt like it.