The wind was cold that morning, sharp enough to sting bare skin. Dust drifted through the narrow alleyways of an old town built between jagged cliffs and crooked roofs. Among the smell of rotten vegetables and damp stone, a small boy sat against a crumbling wall — skin pale, body thin, his eyes holding the shadow of countless lives.
That boy was Aizel.
He didn't know how or why he had ended up in this world. One moment, he had closed his eyes in death — his body old, lonely, and forgotten — and the next, he awoke to the sound of street vendors shouting prices and the laughter of strangers. He had been reborn. Reincarnated.
But to him, there was no joy in this new beginning. He didn't desire a grand destiny, a second chance, or even happiness. He only wanted to disappear.
To fade into the quiet emptiness that had followed him all his life.
Yet he didn't.
Because even in this strange new world, his mother's voice still echoed in his mind — a ghostly whisper that refused to fade:
> "Only the weak give up on life."
He could never forget those words. They bound him tighter than any chain.
So Aizel lived.
He wandered the dirty streets of a small town called Lianghou, wearing rags that barely covered his fragile body. The people here called him nameless, beggar, street rat. No one knew his name, and he never bothered to tell them. His parents had abandoned him when he was still small, leaving him beside a broken bridge with nothing but a stale bun in his hand. He grew up learning which alleys had the least dogs and which trash bins had food that wasn't rotten yet.
Sometimes, he wondered if this was punishment — a continuation of the quiet suffering from his past life. Maybe heaven itself wanted him to live again, just to keep hurting.
One day, the boy dragged his aching body down the main road, his stomach hollow and his lips cracked from thirst. The sound of drums and shouting drew his attention — a crowd had gathered in the marketplace. Aizel's dull eyes flickered for the first time that week.
He moved closer, standing at the edge of the crowd. His dirty appearance made people step away in disgust.
"What's that smell?" one woman muttered.
"Keep your distance. He'll bring bad luck," another hissed.
Aizel ignored them. He had heard worse.
In the center of the square stood a group of robed men with glowing symbols embroidered in gold on their sleeves. A bright crystal hovered above a stone altar, pulsing with light. The crowd whispered in awe — it was a Spiritual Root Test conducted by Ling Long Sect, one of the smaller cultivation sects in the region. Even though it wasn't among the great sects, for ordinary people, this was heaven itself descending to the mortal world.
Those who possessed a strong spiritual root could cultivate, gaining strength, wealth, and eternal life. It was every mortal's dream.
Aizel watched silently. He didn't dream of immortality — he didn't even understand the idea fully — but deep inside, something stirred.
A faint, almost forgotten instinct whispered: If I can become strong… maybe I'll never be helpless again.
When the line of children finished, Aizel hesitated. His feet moved on their own, carrying him toward the altar. The guards frowned, but before they could shove him away, an elderly man in white robes raised a hand.
"Let the child come," the man said.
It was Immortal Master Lin Fye, one of Ling Long Sect's elder disciples. His eyes were calm, but when they landed on Aizel, they narrowed slightly.
He saw something unusual — a faint black mist clinging to the boy's body, something ancient and heavy.
"Come forward," Lin Fye said softly.
Aizel trembled as he stepped up to the glowing stone. He placed his dirty hand on it.
Nothing happened.
The stone stayed dark. Silent.
The crowd erupted in laughter.
"Hahaha! Even the stone can't stand the smell of a beggar!"
"Trash like him dares to dream of cultivation? How shameless!"
"Get lost, rat!"
Lin Fye frowned. "Try again," he said. His voice was calm, but his eyes had a trace of pity. Aizel tried once more — pressing his palm harder this time. Still, there was no light. No reaction.
Lin Fye sighed. "He has no spiritual root," he murmured. "His path ends here."
The boy didn't understand the meaning, but he understood rejection. He had lived with it all his life.
The crowd jeered louder now, and someone threw a pebble that struck his forehead. A thin line of blood trickled down, but Aizel didn't flinch. He just lowered his head and whispered, almost to himself,
> "So even this world doesn't want me…"
He turned and walked away quietly, clutching his empty stomach. As he disappeared into the alley, Lin Fye's gaze lingered on the boy's retreating back. For just an instant, the old man thought he saw something — a faint shadow behind the child, vast and endless, like a sleeping abyss.
"Strange," he muttered. "What is that… aura?"
But then he shook his head. "Perhaps it was just my imagination."
That night, Aizel sat beneath the broken bridge where he often slept. The air was damp, his body weak from hunger. He thought of his mother again — of her smile, her voice, and the way she said 'I'm ashamed of you'.
Even in this new world, those words hurt more than hunger.
He whispered softly,
> "Mother… I'm still living. I'm still trying."
He didn't cry. There were no tears left to cry.
Days passed. He continued to survive by collecting garbage, selling scraps of metal and glass to the junk merchants. His hands were covered in cuts, his legs scarred from the cold stones he slept on. Every night, he curled up against the bridge wall and stared at the moon reflected in the river. The same moon from his old world — or so it seemed.
One morning, he awoke with a burning fever. His body was trembling, and his breath came in ragged gasps. The world spun around him.
People walked past without even looking at him.
A man stepped over his body as if he were trash.
A dog sniffed him, then wandered away.
So this is how I die again, he thought weakly. Like this… alone.
But then — through the blur of his fading vision — a soft shadow fell over him.
"Hey, are you okay?"
The voice was gentle, clear as spring water.
Aizel forced his eyes open. Before him stood a woman — no, not a woman, a vision. She had long silver-white hair that shimmered like moonlight, and crimson eyes that glowed softly, filled with a warmth he hadn't seen in years. Her blue silk robe rippled in the wind, and a faint fragrance of jasmine lingered in the air.
For a moment, Aizel forgot to breathe. In his fevered state, she looked like a fairy who had descended from heaven.
The woman knelt down beside him, her brows furrowed. She touched his forehead — her skin was cool and soft.
"You're burning up," she said. "Where are your parents?"
Aizel smiled faintly, his lips trembling. "I… don't have any."
The woman's expression softened, sorrow flickering in her eyes. She didn't ask anything more. Instead, she handed him a warm bun and a few silver coins.
"Eat," she said gently. "And find shelter. The world isn't kind to those who face it alone."
Aizel stared at the bun. His hands trembled as he held it, afraid it might vanish if he blinked. The smell of freshly baked bread filled his nose — he hadn't eaten anything warm in days. Slowly, he took a small bite. Tears welled up in his eyes without warning. It tasted… kind.
The woman smiled faintly. "My name is Zhinü. Remember it."
Then she stood up, turning back toward a group of elegantly dressed cultivators waiting by a carriage. "Zhinü, hurry!" one of them called.
"I'm coming!" she replied, waving at Aizel before rushing off.
Aizel sat there, staring after her. His lips moved soundlessly as he whispered her name again and again.
"Zhinü… Zhinü…"
That night, he didn't sleep. He held the remaining half of the bun close to his chest as if it were treasure. For the first time in this new life, he felt something warm flicker inside him — something that wasn't pain or despair.
Maybe… not everyone in this world is cruel.
Days turned into weeks. Aizel never saw Zhinü again, but her name lived in his heart like a small candle in endless darkness. Whenever he felt his will fading, he would remember her crimson eyes and her voice.
> "The world isn't kind to those who face it alone."
He didn't know why, but those words felt important — like a thread pulling him toward something greater.
So he worked harder. He began gathering discarded herbs from the apothecary's waste bins and studying the names written on the labels. He couldn't read well, but he remembered shapes and patterns. He learned to mix leaves and roots into small poultices, selling them to wounded beggars. Little by little, he saved enough money to rent a tiny wooden hut near the river.
At night, he often talked to the stars, imagining that one of them was his mother — and another was Zhinü.
"Mother, I'm still living," he'd whisper. "I haven't given up."
The years passed quietly. But fate, as always, doesn't leave the weak alone.
One night, as Aizel returned to his hut, he saw flames flickering in the distance — the Ling Long Sect's outer disciples were fighting a rogue cultivator near the town. The air crackled with spiritual energy, the ground shaking beneath every clash. People screamed and ran for cover.
Aizel watched from the shadows, his heart pounding. He saw men flying through the air, glowing blades clashing against spells of light. It was like the heavens themselves were at war.
And then — amidst the chaos — he saw her.
Zhinü.
She was there, standing among the cultivators, her blue robe flowing like the night sky, her silver hair glowing beneath the firelight. She looked older, stronger, but still carried that same calm warmth.
Aizel's breath caught in his throat. She was real. Not a dream.
But before he could even call out, an explosion tore through the street. The impact threw him backward, his body crashing into the ground. Pain shot through his ribs, and darkness filled his vision.
As he drifted into unconsciousness, the last thing he saw was Zhinü turning — her crimson eyes meeting his, widening in shock.
Then, silence.
And in that silence, Aizel's heart whispered one final promise:
> "Mother… I'm still alive.
No matter what this world takes from me — I will live."