Chapter 2 — The Burden of Morning Light
Morning came quietly, bleeding into the world through thin cracks in Ling Tian's rotten walls. Pale light pooled onto the dusty floorboards, tracing the uneven lines of a life shaped by poverty, neglect, and silence.
Ling Tian opened his eyes slowly, as though waking from a dream that wasn't quite finished.
The first thing he noticed was the cold—the familiar ache in his bones, the stiffness of a body that had always been too weak, too fragile. But beneath that… something else lingered.
A heaviness that wasn't physical.
A fullness that didn't belong to an eighteen-year-old boy living in a shack.
It was the weight of two lives.
He sat up slowly. His head throbbed, a dull pulse that matched the faint warmth in his chest where the sealed Eternal Unity Body slumbered. The memories of his previous life—of a lonely apartment, a failed body, a quiet death—had returned in a single violent wave last night.
They still settled awkwardly inside him, like emotions that had nowhere to go.
He touched the center of his chest, fingers shaking.
In his past life, he had died alone.
In this one, he had been born alone.
And yet… he wasn't alone now.
Xinya's face flickered through his mind—soft eyes, worn hands, a brave smile that tried too hard to hide fear. The way she had always stood in front of him when the world became too cruel. The way she looked at him like he wasn't a burden, but someone worth protecting.
His heart tightened painfully.
He had spent eighteen years being taken care of by the same girl who had nothing—less than nothing—and still shared everything she had.
He had wasted so much time.
A soft knock broke his thoughts.
"Tian? Are you awake?"
Her voice drifted in like sunlight—gentle, warm, familiar.
He blinked, startled by how quickly his chest filled with something fragile.
He stood, legs trembling slightly, and opened the door.
Yun Xinya stood there with a small basket in her arms. Her cheeks were flushed from the morning cold, and her dark hair was tied into a loose ponytail that kept slipping over her shoulder. She wore patched clothes, thin from years of mending, but she carried herself with quiet, stubborn strength.
"Tian…" She blinked, surprised. "You're already up?"
Her tone held worry—not surprise that he was awake, but that he had opened the door so quickly, without coughing or stumbling.
He offered her a small smile. "Couldn't sleep much."
Her brows furrowed. She shifted the basket into one hand and reached out with the other, her palm lifting toward his forehead.
"You're not feverish again, are you—?"
He caught her wrist gently.
She froze, eyes widening.
They had held hands before—when running from bullies, when sharing warmth in winter—but never like this. Never something he had initiated.
"You don't need to worry," he said quietly. "I feel… better."
The lie hurt to say, but he didn't want her to see the storm inside him, the memories of a man twice his age swirling beneath the face of a boy.
Xinya gently pulled her hand back, cheeks slightly pink. She glanced away, embarrassed at how fast her heart was beating.
"Um… I brought breakfast," she said, lifting the basket.
Inside were half-stale buns, a few boiled greens, and a small sliver of dried meat—her entire meal from last night and the scraps she saved from morning chores.
"For you," she added softly.
He stared at the food, throat tightening. "Xinya… this is too much."
She shook her head immediately. "It's not. You need it more."
He wanted to argue, but her expression was firm—the kind of determination he had always admired and feared in equal measure. The kind he had never understood… until now.
"Thank you," he said softly.
She smiled—a shy, fragile smile she always gave only to him.
"Eat while it's warm."
They sat on the doorstep together, sharing one bun between them while the sun climbed slowly over the hills. The village was beginning to stir; smoke curled from chimneys, and distant voices echoed from the well.
Ling Tian ate slowly, not because he wanted to savor the food, but because he couldn't stop glancing at Xinya. Every bruise on her hands or faint scar on her arms whispered stories he never truly heard before, too wrapped up in his own pain to notice the depth of hers.
He saw everything differently now.
Her loneliness.
Her exhaustion.
Her hope.
And… her fear.
A fear of losing the one person who treated her like more than a servant.
For years, he had been blind.
"Xinya," he said quietly.
She turned, bun halfway to her lips. "Hmm?"
"Thank you."
She blinked. "For what?"
"For staying. All these years."
Her breath caught.
The bun slipped slightly in her fingers as her eyes softened, then trembled. She looked away quickly, blinking fast.
"Tian… don't say things like that or I'll…" She swallowed hard. "It'll make me cry."
He smiled faintly. "Then cry. I owe you that much."
She shook her head violently and stood up, cheeks flushed. "Let's get water before people stare."
The village was small, nothing more than clustered huts and dirt paths lined by old fences. Chickens squawked at their feet as they walked. Dogs barked lazily from shaded alleys. Children ran past carrying baskets of herbs and firewood.
But when Ling Tian and Xinya approached the well, the village quieted.
Eyes followed them.
Whispers started.
Mouths curled in disdain.
"There he is—the cripple."
"Can't even gather water without Xinya babysitting him."
"What a burden."
"Why does she waste her talent?"
Xinya's grip on the bucket tightened.
Tian stepped in front of her before she could say anything. The movement was unsteady, almost clumsy, but it startled her.
"Tian…?"
He faced the crowd—not confrontationally, not angrily, but standing between her and their cruelty. For the first time in years, he wasn't hiding behind her shadow.
A few villagers blinked in surprise.
One of the older boys snorted. "Look at him acting brave. Trash root trying to be a hero."
Another one stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "What, you wanna try something, cripple?"
Tian remained still.
He wasn't strong.
He wasn't threatening.
He wasn't anything they should fear.
But he didn't step back.
And that… irritated them.
The tallest boy shoved him hard.
Tian stumbled but didn't fall. Xinya reached out instinctively, grabbing his sleeve to steady him.
The boy sneered. "Pathetic."
Xinya's eyes burned with fury. She stepped forward, ready to bite back with words sharper than knives—but Tian gently pulled her behind him again.
A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers.
It was the weakest gesture they had ever seen.
But also the bravest.
"Let's go," Tian said quietly.
"But—"
"Please, Xinya. Let it go."
She looked at him for a long moment… and finally nodded, biting her lip hard.
They left the well together.
Behind them, the bullies laughed, but none dared to follow.
Something about Tian had changed.
They couldn't say what.
But it unsettled them.
By late morning, Tian sat beneath the old willow tree behind his hut—the same place he and Xinya had spent countless days hiding from the world.
The willow's branches hung low, swaying gently like long strands of emerald hair. Sunlight filtered through them, scattering patterns across his face as he sat cross-legged in the grass.
For years, he had tried to cultivate here.
For years, nothing happened.
He had thought it was because he was weak.
Because he had no spiritual roots.
Because Heaven had abandoned him.
But now he knew…
His meridians were sealed.
His body was waiting.
His fate had a price he had finally paid with eighteen years of loneliness and longing.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
The world felt different—quieter, clearer, as though a layer of fog had been lifted from his soul. He let the memories of his past life settle inside him, not as burdens, but as truths.
Then he tried the breathing technique again.
Slow inhale…
Hold…
Slow exhale…
The pattern he had repeated tens of thousands of times.
Except this time—
A faint warmth flickered deep inside him, like the first spark beneath frozen ashes.
He froze.
His heart pounded.
He focused desperately, trying to grasp it—but the warmth slipped away like a shy animal retreating into darkness.
He tried again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, the warmth appeared only for a heartbeat before fading.
But that was more progress than he had felt in eighteen years.
He exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to his chest. "So… it wasn't impossible after all."
His eyes burned with emotion.
He wasn't imagining it.
He wasn't cursed.
He wasn't hopeless.
He was sealed.
And now… the seal was beginning to stir.
His body trembled with excitement—but the moment shattered when he suddenly gasped and collapsed sideways, clutching his chest. Pain rippled through him, as if something inside resisted his attempt.
He coughed violently, body shaking.
Blood welled at the corner of his lips.
"Tian!"
Xinya's voice shot through the air like an arrow. She ran toward him, dropping to her knees beside him.
"What were you doing?" Her voice trembled as she cupped his face with both hands. "Why are you coughing blood? Did someone hurt you? Did they—?"
"I'm… alright…" He forced a smile through the pain.
"You're not alright!" she snapped, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "You can barely stand, and now you're doing something reckless again—"
He caught her hand gently.
Her words froze.
He had never touched her this gently before—like she was something precious, something he feared to break.
"Xinya," he whispered. "I'm sorry for worrying you."
Her breath caught. Tears spilled over, landing softly on his cheek.
"I… I don't want to lose you," she whispered. "You're the only one I have."
The admission pierced him deeper than any insult the villagers had ever thrown.
He clenched her hand. "I'm not going anywhere."
She held onto him tightly until his breathing steadied. Then she helped him sit up, fussing over him, brushing dirt from his clothes, wiping blood from his lips with her sleeve.
Although he felt weak and dizzy, Tian's heart felt strangely light.
Every touch from her sank deeper than it ever had.
Every tear she shed carved itself into him.
Every worry in her voice was a quiet reminder of just how much she had given.
"Xinya," he said softly. "Thank you… for staying with me."
Her cheeks burned as she looked down at her lap. "I stay because I want to."
He swallowed hard, emotion pressing against his ribs. "And I want to be someone worth staying for."
She lifted her head sharply, eyes wide.
"Tian…"
He looked away, not trusting himself to say more.
Not yet.
Rumors traveled faster than wind in Willowleaf Village.
By afternoon, Xinya heard them while doing chores for the herbalist's wife.
"Did you hear? Elder Mo is planning to take the orphan boy's hut after harvest."
"About time. That space is wasted."
"He's nearly nineteen and still a cripple. No cultivation at all."
"What a shame Xinya is tied to him. The girl has talent. Should leave him behind."
Xinya dropped the basket she was holding.
The herbs scattered across the floor.
Her breath hitched.
The herbalist's wife clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Girl, are you deaf? Pick that up."
Xinya didn't move.
She could barely breathe.
Ling Tian… losing even the hut he lived in?
His only shelter?
Her hands trembled violently.
She gathered the herbs mechanically, her mind racing with fear and anger.
When she finished her chores, she ran—ran through the village paths, through the small market stalls, past the fields—until she reached Tian's home.
She burst into the clearing, breathless.
"Tian!"
He was sitting outside, mending a cracked bowl with careful, painstaking movements.
When he saw her flushed cheeks and wide eyes, he set the bowl aside immediately.
"What happened?"
She grabbed his sleeve, voice breaking. "They're going to take your hut. Elder Mo—he said—he wants this space for storage—"
Tian froze.
He felt the weight of his life pressing down once more.
Xinya continued, tears forming. "Come live with me. My hut is small, but we can share it like before. I'll make it work, I'll—"
He stroked her head gently.
The gesture shocked her into silence.
"Xinya," he said softly. "You already do so much for me. I won't make your life harder."
She shook her head violently. "You're not making it harder! You're—"
He placed a hand on her cheek.
She stopped breathing.
"You're the only warmth I have in this world," he whispered. "I won't let myself take more from you."
"Tian…"
Her voice trembled painfully.
She looked like she wanted to argue, to scream, to cry, to hold him—but she did none of those. She simply leaned forward and pressed her forehead against his shoulder, gripping his clothes tightly.
"Don't leave me alone," she whispered. "Please."
He wrapped an arm around her gently, careful not to let her feel how weak he truly was.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered into her hair. "I promise."
Night fell quietly, painting the sky with deep shades of blue.
Ling Tian sat alone in his hut after Xinya finally left, her eyes red from holding back tears. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows along the warped wooden walls.
He lay on his straw bedding, staring at the ceiling, listening to the village's distant noises fade into silence.
His two lives twisted together inside him, memories overlapping like waves.
In his past life, he had lived selfishly—seeking pleasure, running from silence, drowning his emptiness in bodies and noise. He never cherished anyone. Never protected anyone. Never held anyone through their fear.
And in this life…
Xinya had given him everything.
Not because she expected anything.
But because she understood loneliness.
And because she cared.
Truly cared.
He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
He had died alone once.
He had drowned in regret once.
Not this time.
Never again.
He sat up slowly, pressing a hand over his heart as a faint warmth pulsed beneath his palm.
"…I won't stay weak," he whispered. "Not anymore."
The warmth brightened gently—still sealed, still dormant, but responding to his resolve.
He looked out through the crooked window at the night sky, stars shimmering faintly above the trees.
For the first time, his eyes held not fear…
but determination.
"I will stand beside her," he whispered into the quiet. "No matter what."
Outside, the world remained the same—cold, harsh, indifferent.
But something inside Ling Tian had changed irreversibly.
The burden of morning light had become a promise.
And his path…
had finally begun.