There was no light in death. Only silence.
Not peace. Not pain. Just… absence.
And in that absence, he remembered everything.
The rain had fallen slow that night.
Each drop felt heavier than the last, as if the sky itself mourned the inevitability.
He had trusted them.
He had given them everything.
And in return, they gave him a final look of pity… before pushing him into the path of steel and speed.
The headlights consumed his world.
Then came the sound—flesh against machine, bones snapping like twigs.
And then, stillness.
But the abyss had no end.
---
Warmth.
No… heat. Pressure.
A distant sound. A muffled cry. A foreign language.
The chaos of birth, unfamiliar yet disturbingly calm.
> "It's a boy!"
"He's not crying…"
The voice was trembling with fear. In this village, children cried when born. It was seen as a sign of life.
But this one—he stared in silence.
Eyes that should not have seen the world yet… were open.
And in them, a stillness that did not belong to a child.
No fear. No confusion.
Only observation.
---
He did not scream. He did not flail.
He simply watched.
His body was weak. Helpless. A prisoner of infancy.
But his mind?
It was untouched.
He remembered everything.
His betrayal.
His death.
The moment he realized that no one, not even the closest ones, could be trusted.
And now… this. Rebirth.
---
The village was nameless.
A cluster of wooden huts surrounded by dense forest.
Primitive. Isolated. The people knew nothing of Qi, nor of cultivation.
To them, legends of immortals were bedtime stories—tales of far-off beings who could pluck stars from the sky and split mountains with a glance.
They did not know the truth.
He did not tell them.
He observed. He waited.
His new parents were poor. Simple. Their hands bore the calluses of survival.
They held him with trembling hope, whispering names, unsure of what to call the silent child.
He listened to their language, their customs, their fears.
He noted the layout of the village, the routes of the hunters, the habits of the old priest who told stories of the so-called gods.
He did not belong here.
But he was here.
And that meant something had gone wrong.
---
> "Why am I here?"
"Who sent me back?"
"What do they want me to do?"
He asked no one.
He trusted no one.
But deep inside, he could feel something else—a presence.
Not a voice.
Not a system.
Just… awareness.
As if the world itself was watching him.
And waiting.