Lu Yan died on a Tuesday.
Not dramatically. No headlights. No screaming tires. No last words that mattered.
Just a spreadsheet glowing on a monitor at 11:47 p.m., stale coffee cooling beside his keyboard, and the quiet realization—sharp, sudden, humiliating—that this was it. That if he closed his eyes now, tomorrow would look exactly the same.
He remembered thinking, I should've lived more.
Then his chest tightened.
Not pain. Not exactly.
More like something being gently—but firmly—turned off.
He woke up choking.
Cold air slammed into his lungs, raw and sharp, carrying the scent of pine resin, damp soil, and something metallic. His body convulsed, fingers clawing at rough fabric beneath him as he dragged breath after breath into a chest that felt unfamiliar—lighter, younger, too responsive.
The sky above him was wrong.
Too blue. Too deep. Like someone had scrubbed the haze out of it.
Lu Yan rolled onto his side and retched, bile burning his throat. His hair—his hair—fell forward, long and black, brushing his cheek. That alone froze him.
Long.
That wasn't right.
His hands shook as he pushed himself upright. The world tilted, then steadied. Muscles responded instantly, cleanly, without the dull ache he'd carried for years. His vision was sharp. Colors too vivid. He could see individual leaves trembling in the breeze, feel the pulse of the earth through the soles of his thin cloth shoes.
Shoes he didn't own.
Clothes he didn't recognize.
A body that moved like it belonged to someone else.
"No," he whispered, voice hoarse. Younger.
Too young.
Memories surged—two lives crashing together like poorly stacked glass. One moment he was Lu Yan, twenty-eight, office worker, survivor of deadlines and quiet disappointments. The next—
A mountain path.
A worn robe.
Cold mornings hauling water.
Being shouted at for being too slow.
Being invisible.
He pressed his palms against his temples as the truth settled, heavy and undeniable.
"I reincarnated," he said softly, then laughed once—short, breathless. "You've got to be kidding me."
Azure Heaven Continent.
The name surfaced without effort, accompanied by a flood of context. Cultivators. Sects. Immortals. A world where strength decided everything and weakness was a sin you paid for daily.
And this body?
Lu Yan closed his eyes.
Outer disciple. Lowest rung. No backing. No talent worth mentioning. Eighteen years old. Parents dead. Assigned to menial work at a minor righteous sect on the edge of relevance.
If this were a novel, he'd be dead within ten chapters.
A breeze passed through the trees, carrying distant voices—laughter, light footsteps. Other disciples, maybe heading back from morning training. He was supposed to be there. Late already.
He stood slowly, brushing dirt from his robe, heart pounding—not with fear, but with something else.
Anticipation.
For the first time in years, the weight on his chest was gone. No emails waiting. No meetings. No slow erosion of self.
He was alive.
Truly alive.
And then—
A presence stirred.
Not outside. Inside.
Warm. Amused.
Oh?
The voice wasn't sound. It slid directly into his thoughts, smooth as silk, tinged with unmistakable curiosity.
Lu Yan stiffened. "Who's there?"
A pause. Deliberate. As if the thing on the other end was enjoying this.
Correction, the voice replied. What's here.
Heat bloomed behind his sternum, spreading outward in slow waves. Not painful. Intimate. Like someone leaning close enough that he could feel their breath, even without touch.
Golden light flared before his eyes, resolving into translucent text.
—
[Heavenly Desire Manual initializing…]
Host compatibility: 99.8%
Emotional Resonance: Exceptional
—
Lu Yan stared.
"…A system," he murmured.
Of course.
Because apparently dying quietly wasn't enough. The universe needed irony.
I prefer "Manual," the voice said lightly. System sounds so… rigid.
The text shimmered, rearranging itself.
—
[Welcome, Lu Yan.]
Reincarnation confirmed.
Desire Path: Unlocked.
—
"Desire Path?" He frowned. "That sounds… dangerous."
Everything interesting is, the Manual replied, unbothered. Relax. I don't bite. Unless invited.
A strange laugh escaped him before he could stop it. "You're joking."
Occasionally. Mostly not.
More text appeared, slower this time, each line pressing into his awareness with weight.
—
[Heavenly Desire Manual]
Function: Convert desire, emotional bonds, intimacy, longing, jealousy, and romantic resonance into cultivation power.
Warning: Suppression of desire will result in stagnation.
Note: Consent is mandatory. Force results in backlash. Severe backlash.
—
Lu Yan blinked.
Then blinked again.
"…You're telling me," he said carefully, "that my cultivation depends on… feelings?"
On connection, the Manual corrected. On the delicious tension between want and restraint. On closeness that hasn't yet become indulgence.
Warmth pulsed again, sharper this time, and he sucked in a breath despite himself.
"This is a dual cultivation technique," he said. "Those are forbidden."
Crude dual cultivation is, the Manual replied. This is refined. Elevated. I don't require explicit acts.
A pause.
Though I won't complain if they happen.
Lu Yan exhaled slowly, a grin tugging at his lips despite the absurdity. "You're trouble."
Oh, absolutely.
Information poured into him then—not overwhelming, but precise. Metrics. Ranks. Systems of measurement that felt instinctively right.
Desire Level.
Intimacy Level.
Bond Rank.
Yin Resonance.
Each tied not to bodies, but to hearts. To attention. To the subtle gravity that pulled people together.
"This world is going to hate me," Lu Yan murmured.
Only the ones who pretend they don't want, the Manual said. You, on the other hand…
The warmth curled, approving.
You're honest.
That was true.
He'd never been a saint. He appreciated beauty. Enjoyed flirting when life allowed it. He just… hadn't had the time. Or the courage.
Now?
Now he had a second life.
A cultivation world.
And a Manual that thrived on exactly the things everyone pretended to rise above.
Footsteps crunched nearby.
Lu Yan's head snapped up.
A figure emerged from between the trees—a young woman in pale blue robes, a basket tucked against her hip. Frost-cloud insignia embroidered at her sleeve. Her posture was straight, disciplined. Her expression cool enough to chill the air.
Beautiful, in a distant, untouchable way.
She stopped when she saw him.
Their eyes met.
And the world—
Shifted.
It was subtle. A tightening in his chest. A ripple through the air, like a plucked string. Her breath caught, just slightly. Not fear. Not surprise.
Awareness.
Before either of them could speak, golden text exploded across Lu Yan's vision.
—
[Yin Resonance Detected]
Target: Lin Yue
Status: Stranger
Compatibility: High
—
The warmth surged, sharp and intoxicating, as if the Manual had just found its favorite toy.
Lin Yue frowned faintly, gaze lingering on him a second too long before she masked it. "You're… late," she said, voice cool but not unkind.
Lu Yan opened his mouth—
And a bell rang out across the mountains, loud and urgent.
An alarm.
Her expression changed instantly. "That's the inner grounds signal."
Shouts echoed in the distance. Cultivators moving. Tension snapping tight.
Lin Yue turned sharply toward the sound.
Then back to him.
"Don't stand there," she said. "If you value your life—move."
And with that, she was gone, frost-blue robes vanishing into the trees.
Lu Yan stood frozen, heart pounding, golden text fading slowly from his vision.
Well, the Manual purred. That was fast.
"What just happened?" he whispered.
Interruption, it replied cheerfully. My favorite kind.
Somewhere deeper in the sect, something had gone very wrong.
And Lu Yan, newly reborn, newly bound to desire itself, took his first step toward it—utterly unaware that this single moment would change everything.