Night in the sect did not feel like night in Shen Lu's old world.
There were no distant engines, no elevator hum, no city glare leaking through curtains. Darkness here had weight. It pressed against wood and stone like damp cloth, held back only by paper lanterns and oil lamps whose flames trembled as if they were afraid to be seen.
Shen Lu lay on a hard wooden bed and did not sleep.
He had tried. He had closed his eyes, forced his breathing to slow, told himself rest was survival because exhaustion made mistakes and mistakes got you killed. But each time his thoughts loosened, the story tightened around him again.
Ten chapters.
He could almost see the discipline yard waiting, clean and bright and merciless. He could almost hear the crowd the book described so casually, the way they cheered when a villain finally received what the world thought he deserved.
And at the center of it all, Helian Feng.
A man built like a blade. A man whose calm felt colder than anger. A man whose sword would eventually be called Azure Severance, and whose heavenly thunder spiritual root made even his silence feel like pressure before lightning.
Shen Lu turned his face toward the wall, jaw tight, and tried to swallow the panic that kept rising like bile. It was useless. His body reacted before his mind could negotiate. His pulse jumped, his throat dried, his chest wound throbbed beneath the bandages as if reminding him that this life had already been damaged.
That wound still didn't make sense to him. He knew only what the elders had said: a talisman incident at the northern slope, an outer disciple injured, alchemy hall materials involved, and his own name dragged into it like a familiar stain.
Even if he was innocent of this particular event, he was guilty of being Shen Lu.
And in this sect, that alone was enough.
Outside his door, the guards shifted.
Not loudly. Not in a way that would count as disturbance. Just a quiet adjustment of stance that made the message clear: you are confined, you are watched, you are not trusted.
Shen Lu sat up slowly, the movement pulling at his bandages. Pain lanced through his chest, sharp enough to make him inhale through his teeth. He held still until the ache dulled into something manageable, then swung his legs off the bed.
The floor was cold. The air smelled of incense soaked into wood, and bitter herbs that reminded him of work—except there had been bright lights and plastic bottles back then, not oil lamps and carved seals and whispered accusations.
He crossed to the table where a bowl of water sat and stared at his reflection. The water's surface showed a pale blur of a face that didn't belong to his memories and yet belonged to his hands and breath now.
Shen Lu.
A villain's face. A bully's eyes. A mouth that, in the mirror's dim reflection, seemed one smirk away from cruelty.
He dipped his fingers into the water and flicked it onto his cheeks, forcing cold into his skin to keep himself present.
Think, he told himself. Think like a survivor, not like a reader.
He needed information. That was the first and most urgent truth. He needed to know what the original Shen Lu had done in the last day, week, month. He needed to know who wanted him ruined, who wanted him dead, and who might benefit from keeping him alive.
He also needed to know exactly where Helian Feng stood right now.
In the book's early chapters, Helian Feng was still being pressed down. Still forced to swallow injustice because he lacked the power to break it. But the Helian Feng Shen Lu had just met in the Discipline Hall was not someone who swallowed quietly. He spoke like a man who expected the world to listen.
That meant the timeline might be closer to the point of no return than Shen Lu wanted to admit.
A soft tap came from the window.
Shen Lu froze.
Not the sound of a guard. Not the creak of wood in wind. A deliberate, controlled tap, like someone placing a fingertip against the paper pane and choosing to be noticed.
Then another tap, sharper.
Shen Lu's eyes snapped to the window. The lattice frame held thin paper that turned the outside world into pale shadows. Pine branches moved faintly beyond it, and the moonlight painted the paper with a dim glow.
The tapping came again, three quick knocks this time.
Shen Lu's throat tightened.
If someone had come for him, the guards outside should have heard. Unless the visitor was someone they wouldn't question. Unless the visitor was small enough to move without making the kind of noise humans made. Unless the guards were part of it.
Shen Lu moved to the window and lifted a corner of the paper, peering out through the narrow gap.
A junior disciple crouched beneath the eaves, half hidden in shadow. The boy looked too young to be trusted with anything important, and too tense to be here for mischief. His robe hung slightly loose at the shoulders. His hair was tied in a knot that kept slipping. His hands were clenched so hard his knuckles showed pale.
When his eyes met Shen Lu's, he flinched like an animal expecting a kick.
Then he forced himself to lift one hand and make a quick gesture at his own chest, then toward Shen Lu's door. His eyes widened as he did it, urgency vibrating in the movement.
Someone is listening.
Shen Lu let the paper fall back into place and stared at the door.
The guards were silhouettes behind it. Silent. Patient. A presence he could feel even without seeing.
He forced his voice to carry just enough to sound like casual complaint, like the kind of lazy arrogance the original Shen Lu might have used.
"I'm tired," he said loudly enough for the door to hear. "I won't cause trouble."
No response.
Outside the window, the boy hesitated, then tapped again—one last time, sharp and desperate.
Shen Lu held himself still, listening.
The tapping stopped.
A moment later, something scraped softly beneath the door. A thin paper slip slid across the floorboards and came to rest near Shen Lu's feet.
Shen Lu stared at it for a heartbeat, then bent and picked it up.
The paper was cheap and thin, meant for quick notes, not formal declarations. Two short lines were written on it in careful strokes.
Life-saving medicine.
You will die.
Shen Lu's breath caught in his throat.
He glanced at the window, but the boy was already gone, swallowed by the shadows under the eaves. The night outside looked empty and innocent, as if no one had been there.
Shen Lu folded the paper slip slowly and tucked it into his sleeve.
His mind raced.
A warning like that could come from someone who had read the book. It could come from someone who knew the plot. But it could also come from someone who knew the sect, who knew Shen Lu's reputation and Helian Feng's hatred, and who didn't need prophecy to predict what would happen next.
The words made one thing clear: someone believed his death was coming soon.
And someone believed there was a pill that could delay it.
Or control him through it.
Shen Lu turned toward the door, expression settling into irritation. If the guards were listening, he needed to give them something familiar to hear: the villain's impatience, not the new Shen Lu's careful silence.
"I need water," he snapped, pitching his voice into that rude register he hated using. "The medicine you gave me is bitter."
A pause.
Then one guard answered from outside, voice stiff with duty. "Senior Brother Shen, you are confined. We can bring water."
"Then bring it," Shen Lu said sharply. He waited, then added with extra contempt, "Do you think I'm going to die of thirst before you decide I'm innocent?"
The guard didn't respond, but Shen Lu heard a movement, then the door opened a crack.
A junior disciple slipped inside carrying a kettle. He kept his head bowed, eyes down. He moved quickly, placing the kettle on the table as if the room itself might bite him.
As he passed Shen Lu, his sleeve brushed Shen Lu's palm.
Something cold and smooth pressed into Shen Lu's hand.
The junior disciple didn't look up. He bowed, turned, and left without a word. The door shut again. The guards resumed their positions outside as if nothing had happened.
Shen Lu stood motionless for a long heartbeat, then slowly opened his hand.
A tiny jade vial lay in his palm.
It was not common jade. It was pale, almost translucent. Fine preserving seals were carved around it, the kind used for pills meant to remain potent for years. The vial was warm from being hidden against the disciple's body.
Shen Lu placed it on the table and stared at it.
Life-saving medicine.
The warning note's words seemed to pulse in his memory.
He picked up the vial and turned it in the oil lamp's light. Through the thin jade he saw the shadow of a pill inside, smooth and round. He tilted it again and caught a glimpse of the color.
Pale gold.
High grade.
Not something given casually. Not something a junior disciple could obtain alone.
His mouth went dry.
In the book, a rare pill had existed early on. A pill that could have saved someone. A pill used as a tool for cruelty. A pill that helped paint Shen Lu as irredeemable.
Was this that pill?
Or was this someone else's move entirely?
Either way, it was dangerous.
If it was poisoned, it would kill him. If it was real, it could save him—but it could also mark him, trap him, bind him to whoever had provided it. Nothing in this sect was free. Even kindness came with hooks.
He set the vial down and forced himself to breathe slowly, as if breathing could turn chaos into order.
He needed to test it. He needed to verify what it was and whether it carried hidden intent.
Alchemy.
If there was one advantage to being trapped in an alchemist's body, it had to be that.
Shen Lu reached inward, searching for the presence of his whip. A soul-bound spirit weapon should be there, coiled in the depths like an extension of his own spirit.
He tried to summon it.
Nothing answered.
He felt only a dull resistance, like pressing against a closed door.
The elders had begun sealing it already.
Shen Lu's jaw tightened. So he couldn't rely on it right now.
Fine.
He still had his mind, his senses, and whatever instincts this body carried.
He poured water into a cup, wet a cloth, and wiped the jade vial's surface carefully, as if cleaning it would remove danger. Then he brought the damp cloth to his nose and inhaled.
Bitter herbs. Clean mineral. No obvious metallic tang of crude poison. No sour rot of decayed ingredients.
Not proof. But it didn't scream death either.
He held the vial up again and studied it. The seals were fine and precise, the kind of work done by someone skilled. The pill inside sat perfectly still, as if even the way it rested was controlled.
Shen Lu's eyes narrowed.
He had watched pharmacists and herbalists handle medicine his entire adult life. The real experts weren't the ones who talked the loudest. They were the ones whose hands didn't waste movement. This vial felt like that. Quiet competence.
Which made it worse.
Because the person behind it was likely competent too.
A whisper of movement came from outside the window again, different from the tapping before. Heavier. Sliding.
Shen Lu's spine went cold.
The paper pane bulged slightly, as if something pressed against it from outside. A long shadow moved across it.
Not a person.
Something coiling.
Shen Lu's breath stopped.
A neat slit appeared in the paper, cut cleanly. Something glossy pushed through.
An eye.
Dark, reptilian. The pupil thin as a thread.
It stared at Shen Lu through the crack.
Shen Lu did not move.
Then a voice slid into the room—young, sharp, and unmistakably inhuman.
"You look worse than the last time I saw you."
Shen Lu's blood turned cold.
He had seen spirit beasts described in books. He had never heard one speak with such casual arrogance, as if it had the right to judge him.
He forced his throat to work. "What are you?"
There was a pause filled with offended silence.
"What am I?" the voice repeated, faintly hissing on the edges of the words. "You forgot me already, Shen Lu?"
Hearing the name in that voice made Shen Lu's stomach twist. It wasn't just a name. It was a reputation.
The eye narrowed. "Open the window. I'm not crawling through paper like some common worm."
Shen Lu stared at the slit. Outside his door, guards. Inside his room, a spirit beast that spoke. On his table, a rare pill laced with unknown intentions.
He moved anyway, because frozen prey died.
He slid the lattice open.
Cold night air poured in. A small serpent flowed onto the sill with smooth confidence. Its scales were dark, faintly iridescent, like deep water under moonlight. It coiled once, lifted its head, and looked at Shen Lu as if Shen Lu was the one intruding.
Its tongue flicked once, tasting the air.
Then it said, blunt as a verdict, "You're not my Shen Lu."
Shen Lu's heart slammed so hard his chest wound flared.
The serpent's eyes narrowed further. "Don't bother denying it. Your body is his. Your soul is not."
Shen Lu held himself perfectly still. He didn't lunge. He didn't reach for a weapon he couldn't call. He didn't even let his breathing change too much.
He spoke softly, letting calm be a blade.
"If you can tell that," he said, "then you can also tell I can't afford noise."
The serpent studied him. Then it made a sound that might have been laughter if a snake could laugh.
"I can tell you smell like fear," it said. "And you smell like stubbornness."
Shen Lu swallowed. "What do you want?"
The serpent's head tilted slightly. "To survive. To grow. To bite anyone who tries to touch what's mine."
The possessive certainty in the words sent a chill over Shen Lu's skin.
Then the serpent's gaze slid to the jade vial on the table. "What's that?"
"A pill," Shen Lu said. "Someone slipped it to me. They called it life-saving medicine."
The serpent moved closer, coiling with effortless grace. It lifted its head to the vial, tongue flicking.
Then it snorted, disdainful.
"Not poisoned," it said.
Shen Lu's relief lasted less than a heartbeat.
"But it's a leash," the serpent added.
Shen Lu's eyes sharpened. "How?"
"There's a tracking mark," the serpent said, as if explaining something obvious to a slow student. "Subtle. Whoever gave it wants to know where you are when you use it. Maybe they want to 'save' you again. Maybe they want to drag you to them when you're weak. Either way, it isn't kindness."
Shen Lu stared at the vial until the oil lamp's flame trembled.
Someone wanted him alive.
But controlled.
Outside, one guard shifted again, and the sound cut through Shen Lu's thoughts like a warning bell.
The serpent turned its head toward the door. "You're being watched."
"I noticed," Shen Lu said.
The serpent looked back at him, arrogant eyes bright. "So stop sitting like prey. Decide."
Shen Lu exhaled slowly.
His whip was sealed. His name was under investigation. Helian Feng's suspicion had teeth. And now a hidden hand was trying to collar him with a pill that could heal him while tightening its grip around his neck.
Shen Lu looked at the serpent again. "Do you have a name?"
The serpent's expression turned even more smug, as if the question amused it.
After a beat, it said, "Yuan."
The name landed like something ancient.
Shen Lu nodded once, as if accepting a pact he didn't fully understand. "Yuan. Tell me something."
Yuan's tongue flicked. "Ask."
Shen Lu's eyes narrowed with focus, the first real focus he'd felt since waking in this world.
"How many days ago did I start acting different?" he asked.
Yuan blinked, then answered without hesitation. "Today."
Shen Lu's chest tightened.
So it really had just happened. He hadn't been in this body long. That meant the original Shen Lu's momentum—his grudges, his cruelties, his enemies—was still moving, and Shen Lu had been dropped into the middle of it like a man tossed into a river.
Shen Lu forced the panic down until it became something like resolve.
"Good," he said softly, surprising himself with the steadiness of his voice. "Then you saw the last thing the original Shen Lu did before I woke up here."
Yuan's eyes glittered with interest.
Shen Lu leaned forward slightly, ignoring the ache in his chest.
"Tell me," he said, "who did I anger most recently…"
He paused, then added the question that mattered more than all the rest.
"And how close is Helian Feng to killing me?"
Yuan's expression sharpened with cruel delight, as if the idea entertained it.
"Close," Yuan said.
Then it coiled tighter, eyes bright in the oil lamp's glow.
"And closer.