Read Authors note in first episode end and also this episodes end.
Its important for the future of this story.
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The Quiet Before Power
The first thing Li Xian felt was warmth.
A stark contrast to the cold silence of the void he had drifted through. Now, he was cradled in soft linen, embraced by gentle arms. Voices swirled around him — warm, melodic, and unfamiliar.
He couldn't open his eyes, not yet. His new body was still forming, fragile and uncoordinated. But his mind was clear. Too clear for a newborn.
He wasn't screaming or crying like the others. There was no panic, no fear — only silence and clarity. A faint echo of pain, perhaps, like a memory long buried.
So this is rebirth.
Even in infancy, he could sense it — the faint threads of spiritual energy moving through the air. The gentle heartbeat of the world. The slumbering potential buried within his soul.
Sometimes, in those first weeks, he would lie silently in the crib among the other orphans, staring blankly at the ceiling or the soft flutter of cloth in the breeze. He had no control over his limbs, no real way to interact with the world yet — only sight, muffled sounds, and drifting thoughts. But those thoughts were not idle.
He was always listening. Memorizing voices. Mapping the layout of his nursery through patterns of sound. Learning which footsteps belonged to which caretaker, which cry signaled hunger, pain, or sleep. It was a strange kind of training, but to Li Xian, every second mattered.
His biggest struggle wasn't physical. It was emotional.
He was alone.
Not just surrounded-by-strangers alone, but soul-deep, cosmically alone. He couldn't remember who he had been — his name, his loved ones, the sound of his mother's voice. That part of him had been severed. And yet, scattered across the remnants of that lost self were vivid flashes of stories: Douluo Dalu, Naruto, Jujutsu Kaisen — entire worlds carved into memory like constellations in a forgotten sky.
"He's an orphan," a matronly voice said, soft but laced with concern. "Found just outside the sect gates. No note, no sign of his parents. Only this pendant..."
"There's something strange about him," another muttered. "His spirit fluctuations are… quiet. Still. Too still."
"Keep him with the others. If fate brought him here, perhaps the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan is where he belongs."
They named him Li Xian, never knowing that he already carried that name through one life and death.
Time Passed
The Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan's orphanage lay in a quiet inner courtyard, sheltered by flowering trees and surrounded by stone walls carved with the sect's emblem. Children laughed, played, and trained under the watchful eyes of caretakers and low-ranking disciples.
It was a modest place, but it was safe. Structured. And for someone like Li Xian, it was a perfect seedbed.
Though still young, his soul was old. He learned quickly — too quickly — often mimicking speech and behavior with uncanny precision. He remained quiet most days, never misbehaving, never crying unnecessarily. Instead, he observed.
Yet not all was easy.
He struggled with the emptiness inside his heart — an aching void where memories of a past life should have been. He couldn't remember his real name. His family. What kind of person he had once been. Those fragments had been torn away during his passage through the void.
But other things remained — oddly intact. He remembered the story of Douluo Dalu. Of Tang San. The rise of the Shrek Seven Devils. The coming wars, the gods, the changing fate of the continent.
He thought of other worlds too — Naruto, Jujutsu Kaisen, and more. Flickers of memory from stories read or watched, lessons learned through fiction. They were all part of him now — not memories of life, but echoes of understanding.
And with them, he made a decision.
He would not follow blindly. He would not simply survive.
He would shape this world, as surely as the heroes he once admired had shaped theirs.
He remembered what ROB had told him:
"You want to earn it."
Age Three – The First Step
On the morning of his third birthday, something shifted. The cultivation technique gifted by ROB stirred for the first time — not as thought or memory, but as a living diagram etched deep within his soul.
At dawn, while others slept, Li Xian trained.
Not in martial arts — not yet. His body was too small, too soft. But his mind and spirit were ready. Every morning, he would sit beneath a gnarled cherry blossom tree in the garden, his posture upright and still.
He inhaled. Exhaled. Slowed his thoughts.
The technique was not just a method of increasing power, but a guide to uniting mind and spirit. Each breath aligned the two. Each cycle deepened the bond.
At first, the changes were invisible. But with time, his awareness sharpened. His emotions calmed. His perception of the world expanded subtly, like mist parting before sunlight.
After meditation, he performed simple body exercises — light stretching, basic balance drills, and walking meditations. It wasn't training in the eyes of the sect, but to him, it was the foundation of everything.
"What are you doing, Xian-ge?" a younger child named Ning Fu asked, his head tilted curiously as he sat on the steps nearby, a wooden toy clutched in his hand.
"Breathing," Li Xian replied, not unkindly. "And listening."
Ning Fu blinked. "Listening to what?"
"To the wind. To the garden. To myself," Li Xian said simply.
Ning Fu frowned thoughtfully. "That sounds… boring."
Li Xian smiled faintly. "Maybe. But boring things often hide important truths."
The younger boy gave him a skeptical look, then nodded slowly, as if trying to understand. "You're weird, Xian-ge."
"Maybe," Li Xian agreed. "But I'm also learning."
Ning Fu grinned, then plopped down beside him. "Okay. I'll learn too. But only for a little while."
Life in the Orphanage
The rest of the day passed with quiet rhythm. Meals were simple but warm. Lessons were taught by kind but tired caretakers — basic reading, numbers, etiquette, and simple stories about spirit beasts and heroes.
Li Xian always listened intently, memorizing everything. But he craved more.
At midday, when the children were encouraged to nap or play, he began slipping away — not far, just around the bend, to the outer library hall reserved for low-ranking disciples.
At first, the guards were confused. A three-year-old requesting entry?
"Who sent you, little one?" the guard chuckled, one brow raised.
"Just an orphan, so no one," Li Xian said simply. "But I want to learn."
The guard blinked. Then laughed. "Well, you're polite. Just don't chew on the scrolls."
In the Library
He sat cross-legged in a far corner, poring over low-level texts. The first books he found were children's versions of cultivation lore — illustrated guides to martial souls, maps of the continent, lists of sects, and basics of spirit rings.
But it was more than enough.
Spirit Masters. Soul Rings. Ten-Year Beasts, Hundred-Year Beasts, Thousand-Year Beasts. Innate Spirit Power. Twin Martial Souls — rare and dangerous. Tang Sect. Haotian Clan. Star Dou Forest.
His mind raced with every page. The world of Douluo Dalu was vast, full of structure, rules, and dangerous beauty.
He began to think often about Tang San — the story of his rise, his spirit bones, his godhood. And yet, the more he thought, the more conflicted he felt. Tang San was loyal, yes, but also hypocritical in his own way. A man who claimed righteousness while walking paths of blood and manipulation. Was he truly a good man? Li Xian wasn't so sure. But then, how many truly good men existed in this world — where power often determined morality?
He didn't hate Tang San — far from it. But he didn't idolize him either. There was something dangerous in worshiping flawed heroes. Something blinding.
What role would Li Xian play in that story? Would he be a hidden variable, a threat, a helper?
He didn't know yet. But he intended to find out. And he would be ready.
He understood something clearly now: To survive here — to thrive — he needed strength. Not just spirit power, but knowledge, control, and foresight. If others chased strength blindly, he would move with clarity.
Just like his cultivation technique had taught him.
Every night, as the sun dipped beneath the mountain ridges and the children drifted to sleep, Li Xian stared out the window of the dormitory.
He didn't yet know when his martial souls would awaken — perhaps at age six, as was customary in the Douluo Continent. The elders hadn't mentioned it yet, and he dared not ask. But the thought of it filled him with restless anticipation.
Would his power awaken quietly, or would it shake the ground like it did for Tang San? Would it change him, mold his spirit as it had done to so many others? Would it change who he was?
He wondered if power would change him the way it had changed others. Would he lose himself in the pursuit of strength, or would he find a path that was truly his own?
He didn't know — but he couldn't wait to find out. He didn't yet know who he would become.
But he knew this:
When the time came, he would be ready. Not by chance. By design.