The rain hammered against Eastern Horizon City like an endless war drum, each drop glittering in the neon glare of billboards and glass towers. From the 88th floor of Horizon Tower, the city looked like a living constellation — millions of lights shifting and pulsing in a rhythm as old as commerce and ambition.
Lin Xuan sat alone in his leather chair, the skyline reflected in the obsidian glass behind him. The hum of the air conditioning, the muted rattle of the rain, and the distant thunder were the only sounds. He cradled a tumbler of water, condensation dripping onto the sleeve of his black dress shirt.
He had always admired storms. They were raw power — violent yet beautiful, without apology. Exactly how he had built his life.
And now, it was about to end.
A soft hiss broke the quiet. The sliding glass door behind him opened, letting in the faint scent of cigar smoke and imported cologne. Lin Xuan turned his head slightly, watching the reflection rather than the man himself.
Wang Rui stepped in, a bottle of dark green glass in one hand, two crystal wine glasses in the other. The man was immaculate as always — tailored navy suit, polished cufflinks, hair combed to a precise angle. His smile was warm, the same one Lin Xuan had seen a hundred times in boardrooms and at celebratory banquets.
"Still here at this hour?" Wang Rui asked, his tone light, almost teasing.
"Someone has to keep the ship steady," Lin Xuan replied, setting down his glass of water.
Wang Rui chuckled, crossing to the desk and placing the bottle and glasses down with deliberate care. "You remember the night we signed our first investor contract? Cheap wine, plastic cups, rain leaking through the warehouse roof?"
Lin Xuan's lips quirked. "You tried to toast three times and spilled every drop on your shirt."
"And you laughed at me for a week," Wang Rui said with a mock glare, though his eyes softened briefly at the memory. He poured deep crimson wine into both glasses, the rich aroma filling the office. "We've come a long way, Xuan."
Lin Xuan took the offered glass. "From two nobodies in a rented room to the top floor of Horizon Tower."
"Cheers… to our future."
"To the company we built from nothing."
The crystal rang with a sharp, clear chime.
The wine was smooth, velvet on the tongue — but beneath the layers of oak and plum, Lin Xuan detected a whisper of bitterness. Almost masked, but not enough to evade the instincts of a martial artist and trained chemist.
His smile didn't falter. "Poison?"
Wang Rui's lips curled in a smirk, one that stripped away years of brotherhood like shedding a mask. "You were always too clever. Too perfect. But perfect men leave no room for others to grow."
Lin Xuan's grip on the glass tightened. "You could have come to me."
"I did," Wang Rui said quietly. "When the negotiations nearly broke us, when the debt collectors were at the door. But you always… solved it. You closed the deal. You got the applause. Even in the ring, you never let me win. You left me no room but at your shadow's edge."
The poison struck like a silent blade. His vision wavered, muscles locking one by one. The glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the marble floor, the wine bleeding outward like a spreading wound.
"Why?" he rasped.
"Because I refuse to be a footnote in your story," Wang Rui said, voice colder than the rain outside. "Goodbye, brother."
Lightning split the sky, the flash freezing Wang Rui's face in Lin Xuan's mind — sharp, hard, and final.
Then darkness claimed him.
He expected the void.
Instead, he awoke to pain — not the burning venom in his veins, but the deep ache of a body worn thin by labor.
Lin Xuan's eyes snapped open to warped wooden beams, not recessed ceiling lights. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth, smoke, and animal musk. Somewhere nearby, chickens clucked, and a hammer struck metal in steady rhythm.
He sat up sharply, straw crunching beneath him, coarse wool blankets sliding off his shoulders. His hands — calloused, rough, with faint scars — did not belong to a CEO.
"This… isn't my penthouse."
The door creaked open. A woman entered, her patched tunic hanging loose over a frame made thin by years of toil. Her eyes — tired yet warm — widened.
"Xuan'er! You're awake!" She hurried to his side. "The village healer said your spiritual roots are crippled — how will you ever cultivate now?"
Spiritual roots. Cultivate.
The words were foreign, yet deep in his chest, something stirred. And then —
It hit him.
A flood of memories, not his own. A boy with the same name, Lin Xuan, living in Stone Creek Village, a farming settlement in the Eastern Spirit Continent. Born without spiritual roots, mocked by peers, pitied by elders, overlooked by sect recruiters.
The knowledge settled like a second skin. He was not just Lin Xuan, the corporate prodigy anymore. He was also Lin Xuan, the cripple of Stone Creek Village.
Strength was everything here. Without it, you were nothing.
In his old life, he had been a genius in every field he touched. Here, he was less than worthless.
His jaw tightened. Not for long.
Night fell, and the village came alive for the Spirit Moon Festival. Lanterns hung from ropes between mudbrick homes, their golden glow swaying with the wind. The air was thick with the scent of roasting meat, sweet rice cakes, and fermented plum wine.
Children raced through the streets, laughing, while drummers and flute players sat on woven mats, weaving music into the night air. Elders told stories of spirit beasts and ancient heroes, their voices rising and falling in rhythm with the crackle of the bonfire.
Lin Xuan lingered at the edge of it all. The memories in his mind told him this was the happiest night of the year. But the looks people gave him — pity, dismissal, thinly veiled relief that their sons weren't like him — soured the warmth.
He slipped away.
The pull came again — a strange tug in his chest, as if a thread was drawing him onward.
It led him to the edge of the village, to a shrine half-swallowed by weeds. The beams were warped, the stone altar cracked, the air heavy with the scent of moss and time.
Moonlight poured through a gap in the roof, illuminating a single object: a jade slip, weathered yet unbroken.
Lin Xuan stepped forward. The air seemed to thrum. His fingers closed around the jade — cold as ice. Then heat flared, sharp enough to sting, but he didn't let go.
A chime rang in his mind.
[Omni-Talent System Activated]Welcome, Host. Initializing core functions…Scanning innate talents… None detected.Generating starter package… Complete.
Lin Xuan froze. "A… system?"
[System Overview]Talent Replication – Instantly master any skill or art by witnessing it, touching a manual, or handling a related object.Material Insight – Identify and analyze any object, herb, ore, or artifact upon touch.Skill Perfection – Elevate any learned ability to its peak potential.Hidden Quests – Completing them grants unique rewards.
Its voice was neutral — not warm, not cold, but precise, like an ancient scribe reciting from an endless archive.
Lin Xuan's lips curved. "Crippled, they said? From today on, I'll have more talent than all of them combined."
Another chime.
[Hidden Quest Triggered]Objective: Learn your first cultivation technique.Reward: Automatic breakthrough to Qi Gathering Stage.
His pulse quickened. In this world, cultivation was survival — and supremacy. If the system could make him a cultivator instantly, his rise was inevitable.
Lightning cracked outside, echoing the night he died.
Only this time, it wasn't the end. It was the beginning.
"Alright, System," Lin Xuan said, stepping out into the moonlit night. "Let's begin."