Morning at Blackthorn Academy was a mechanical affair.
At precisely 6:00 AM, the academy bell hummed to life, not with sound, but with a ripple of spiritual energy that resonated through every dormitory room. Students groaned, shifted, and began another day of chasing power in a world that demanded nothing less.
Room 402 stayed quiet.
Until Lin Xuan opened his eyes.
The cultivation session had pushed his body to the edge. He felt sore, drained, like he'd just gone ten rounds with a spirit beast—but underneath it all, something was alive.
His core.
The dantian that had once held enough power to level mountains was now a flickering flame. Weak. Fragile.
But it was real.
And it was growing.
He stood and stretched. The body was still adjusting, but it obeyed him now. Yesterday, he was just a shadow trapped in flesh. Today, he had control.
He opened the small wardrobe at the foot of the bed. Inside hung a dull gray academy uniform—plain, loose-fitting, with a barely visible Blackthorn emblem on the chest. The uniform of a third-year, bottom-class student.
He put it on without a word.
The door to his dorm slid open with a soft hiss. As he stepped into the hallway, two boys coming from the other end stopped in their tracks.
Their eyes went wide.
"Shen Yi?" one of them whispered. "You're alive?"
Lin Xuan didn't stop walking.
The other boy looked shaken. "Wait—didn't he go into qi deviation last week? I thought he died."
"Yeah, they said he flatlined for a full minute before the medics pulled out…"
They lowered their voices as Lin Xuan passed.
He didn't respond. He didn't even look at them.
But they flinched all the same.
There was something in his walk—something that didn't belong to the Shen Yi they remembered.
He made his way to the student plaza, where hundreds of uniformed cultivators were already gathering for morning registration.
Floating drones moved overhead, scanning students' spiritual signatures and logging attendance. Holographic announcements hovered in the air, displaying training schedules, duel rankings, and academy notices.
Lin Xuan looked up and read the newest headline:
"Core Arena Open Duels Begin Today. Spectators Welcome."
He raised an eyebrow.
So this world still worshipped public strength. Not surprising. Cultivation, even mixed with tech, still thrived on hierarchy.
He walked toward his homeroom building.
The inside was as he remembered from the other Shen Yi's memories—clean, silver-toned, with spirit-reactive glass walls and reinforced stone floors designed to withstand explosions from unstable qi.
He found Classroom 3-C.
As he stepped inside, conversations stopped.
Dozens of eyes turned to him. Some widened in disbelief. Others narrowed in annoyance.
And then—
A mocking laugh.
"Well, well," a voice drawled from the back. "The cripple rises from the grave."
Lin Xuan turned his head slowly.
A boy leaned back in his seat with his boots kicked up on the desk in front of him. Muscular, cocky, with styled blond hair and a scar running across his jaw.
Wei Long.
Class favorite. Peak-tier Foundation Stage. Heir to the Wei Conglomerate. And Shen Yi's favorite punching bag—meaning, Wei Long did the punching.
Lin Xuan remembered the beatings. The humiliation. The sneering laughter.
But that was Shen Yi.
Not him.
He walked to the last empty seat in the back and sat down calmly, ignoring the stares.
Wei Long raised an eyebrow.
"Oi. I'm talking to you, rat."
Still, Lin Xuan said nothing.
The class murmured.
Was this really Shen Yi?
He wasn't shaking. Wasn't sweating. He just sat there, arms crossed, eyes closed like he was waiting for a storm to pass.
Wei Long stood up.
"I don't know how you crawled back from your grave, but let me remind you of something—" He walked toward Lin Xuan's desk, looming over him. "Trash doesn't belong in this class."
Silence.
Lin Xuan's eyes opened, slowly.
His gaze met Wei Long's.
There was no fear. No tension.
Only cold indifference.
"I agree," he said quietly. "Trash doesn't belong in this class."
Wei Long grinned. "Then get up and leave."
But Lin Xuan didn't move.
"I wasn't talking about me."
For a moment, the air shifted.
Wei Long's expression darkened.
"You've got a death wish."
Before anything else could happen, the door to the classroom slid open.
A woman walked in.
Tall, sharp-eyed, dressed in a flowing dark robe that contrasted with her cybernetic gauntlet—half-machine, half-cultivator. She radiated authority with every step.
Instructor Ren.
"Back in your seat, Wei Long," she said without even looking at him.
Wei Long clenched his jaw, then slowly turned and walked back to his desk.
Ren scanned the class. Her eyes landed on Lin Xuan—and narrowed.
"You're supposed to be in the medical ward," she said.
"I got better," Lin Xuan replied simply.
More murmurs.
Ren studied him for a long second.
"I don't know what miracle kept you alive," she finally said. "But don't waste it. You're already behind. If you can't catch up, you'll be dropped from the course."
He nodded once.
She turned and tapped the glass board. The lights dimmed as a new lesson appeared.
"Today, we'll be reviewing Spirit Circuit optimization and low-frequency resonance control. Those of you still stuck at Meridians One through Three, pay attention. This will determine your eligibility for next month's Core Arena."
Lin Xuan tuned her out.
He already knew all of this. The technology was new, yes—but the principles of cultivation hadn't changed.
What they called Spirit Circuits, he had known as meridian flow patterns.
What they called resonance control, he had mastered before his voice had even deepened.
He closed his eyes.
And he began mapping out the first major step in his plan.
If he wanted to survive here, he couldn't just regain power.
He had to erase Shen Yi's old reputation.
And build a new one in its place.
Quietly. Efficiently.
Until no one remembered the weakling.
Only the man who replaced him.
After class, he made his way to the training center—a massive open-air facility with energy barriers, observation decks, and private duel chambers.
He found an unused practice hall and stepped inside. The doors sealed behind him with a soft click.
He exhaled.
Then sat cross-legged in the center of the room.
The moment he closed his eyes, the world faded.
He activated the Silent Meridian Technique again, pulling from the tiniest drop of qi in his dantian and pushing it slowly through the most damaged channels in his body.
Pain returned. Stronger this time.
He bit down until blood filled his mouth—but he didn't stop.
This was cultivation.
Not the easy, pill-popping kind these students chased.
The real kind.
Where every breath was war.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
And then—
Snap.
One of the blocked meridians in his left shoulder gave way.
A rush of qi flowed through it, pure and sharp.
His body shuddered.
He grinned.
That was number two.
In a control booth above the chamber, someone had been watching.
Instructor Ren stood behind a darkened screen, arms folded.
She had scanned his file earlier. Shen Yi was supposed to be a washout. Low potential. No improvement since his first year.
But the qi readings on the panel in front of her said otherwise.
Pulse rate: stable. Energy flow: active. Core resonance: rising.
She narrowed her eyes.
This wasn't the same boy who had failed last week.
Something had changed.
"…Interesting."