Lin Yan slept.
Not peacefully his sleep was broken, shallow, dragged down by pain and unfamiliar dreams but it was sleep nonetheless. Each breath no longer felt like it might be his last, and that alone was miraculous.
He drifted in and out of awareness, suspended between consciousness and darkness.
At times, he dreamed of rain tapping against glass, echoing memories of a life that felt distant and hollow. At others, he dreamed of cold mountain winds and endless stone steps, of eyes filled with contempt and voices that called him trash without hesitation.
And threaded through it all was something new.
A quiet warmth.
Subtle, steady, persistent.
It didn't overwhelm him or erase the pain. It simply existed, easing the sharpest edges, guiding his battered body as if some unseen rhythm had taken hold within him.
When Lin Yan finally woke again, light filtered into the room.
Not the harsh glow of day just pale morning sunlight slipping through the narrow window, illuminating dust motes drifting lazily in the air.
He lay still for several breaths, testing his body.
Pain remained.
But it was no longer consuming.
His ribs still ached when he inhaled deeply, and his limbs felt heavy, but the sensation of being completely shattered was gone. The crushing pressure in his chest had eased. His thoughts were clearer.
Alive.
He was alive.
Lin Yan slowly clenched his fingers.
They obeyed.
A quiet laugh escaped his lips.
"I really didn't die," he murmured.
He shifted slightly, propping himself up against the wall. The movement sent a dull ache through his side, but it was manageable. Three days ago—or what felt like three days this would have been impossible.
That woman's pill had kept him alive.
But Lin Yan knew instinctively that medicine alone didn't explain this recovery.
Something had changed within him.
He closed his eyes and focused inward.
There was no glowing panel. No flood of instructions. No voice narrating his status.
Instead, he felt… tension.
Threads, faint as spider silk, extending outward from him. Most were empty, unrealized, waiting.
One, however, was different.
Thin but present.
He didn't know where it led, only that when he thought of the woman in pale blue robes, it pulsed faintly, responding to his attention.
Senior Sister Su.
Su Qingyao.
Her name surfaced naturally from the memories of this body.
An inner disciple renowned for her cold temperament and strict adherence to sect rules. A woman of talent and composure, rumored to have rejected countless admirers without mercy.
Someone far above him.
Someone he should not even think about.
Lin Yan exhaled slowly.
"So that's the thread," he muttered.
It didn't make him stronger instantly. He felt no surge of power, no sudden enlightenment.
But his body responded to it resonated.
As though acknowledging something that should not exist, yet did.
A knock sounded at the door.
Lin Yan's gaze sharpened.
"Come in," he said.
The door creaked open, and the same grey-robed girl from before stepped inside, carrying a wooden tray. On it rested a bowl of thin porridge and a small cup of water.
"You're awake," she said, glancing at him with mild surprise.
She set the tray down on a low table. "Eat. Elder Su said you could stand in three days if you don't die."
Elder Su.
So she was considered an elder-level figure already.
Lin Yan picked up the bowl slowly, hands steady despite the weakness still lingering in his arms.
"Thank you," he said.
The girl snorted. "Don't thank me. I'm just delivering food."
She hesitated, then added, "You're lucky, you know."
"Lucky?"
"Senior Sister Su doesn't usually involve herself with outer disciple matters," the girl said. "If she hadn't passed by yesterday, you'd probably be dead."
Lin Yan nodded slightly. "Then I am lucky."
The girl studied him for a moment longer, her expression uncertain—as if something about his calm response unsettled her.
"…Eat quickly," she said finally. "I won't clean up if you spill it."
She turned and left.
Lin Yan ate slowly.
The porridge was bland, but warm. Each swallow sent a faint, comforting heat through his body, merging with that quiet warmth already within him.
As he ate, memories surfaced more clearly now details he hadn't noticed before.
This Lin Yan had lived cautiously. Too cautiously.
He kept his head down, avoided conflict, never spoke unless spoken to. He endured insults, believing survival alone was enough.
But survival without strength in this world was a slow execution.
Lin Yan finished the porridge and set the bowl aside.
"…Three days," he murmured.
That was what Su Qingyao had said.
If he survived, report to the outer hall in three days.
It wasn't an invitation.
It was a test.
If he failed to recover enough to appear, no one would care. His absence would simply confirm that trash should not have lived.
Lin Yan slid his legs over the edge of the bed.
Pain flared.
He inhaled sharply and paused, waiting for it to pass.
Then, slowly, he stood.
His knees trembled, but they held.
The room swayed slightly, then stabilized.
He exhaled through clenched teeth, steadying himself against the wall.
"I can stand," he whispered, a faint smile touching his lips.
That alone was progress.
Over the next day, Lin Yan moved cautiously.
He did not leave the room, but he forced himself to walk short distances, stretch his limbs, and breathe deeply. Each movement sent a dull ache through his body, yet each time he rested, the pain retreated a little faster than before.
At night, he slept.
And when he slept, the warmth deepened.
He dreamed less of rain.
More of cold, clear eyes.
On the second day, rumors began to drift in.
Outer disciples passed by the room occasionally, their voices seeping through thin wooden walls.
"…He's still alive?"
"No way."
"I heard his injuries were bad."
"Doesn't matter. He offended Senior Brother Zhou."
"He's done for."
Names he didn't know or barely remembered floated through the air.
Senior Brother Zhou.
The one who had accused him.
The one whose reputation rested on crushing weaker disciples to remind them of their place.
Lin Yan listened in silence.
No anger flared.
No fear either.
Only understanding.
If he appeared in the outer hall in three days, he would stand before those same people again.
Weak.
Recovering.
Unprotected.
They would not welcome him back.
They would test him.
They always did.
That night, the thread pulsed faintly again.
Lin Yan opened his eyes, staring into the darkness.
His thoughts drifted naturally toward Su Qingyao.
He didn't imagine her face or her figure not consciously.
He remembered her presence.
The quiet authority in her voice. The restraint in her actions. The way she had paused when he thanked her.
Loneliness.
He didn't know how he knew but he did.
She carried solitude like armor, wearing it so long it had become part of her.
Lin Yan swallowed.
It wasn't attraction.
Not yet.
It was recognition.
And perhaps, sympathy.
The thread warmed.
The next morning the third day Lin Yan dressed himself.
The grey outer disciple robes hung loosely on his frame, still bearing faint stains that hadn't fully washed out. He tied the sash slowly, deliberately.
When he looked at his reflection in the small bronze mirror by the door, he barely recognized himself.
Pale.
Thin.
Eyes too calm for someone who should have been afraid.
"Time to go," he said softly.
The walk to the outer hall took longer than it should have.
His steps were slow, measured. Every movement reminded him of how fragile this body still was.
Along the way, he attracted attention.
Whispers followed him like shadows.
"He really survived…"
"That's him."
"The thief."
"He should've stayed dead."
Lin Yan ignored them all.
When he reached the outer hall, the courtyard was already crowded. Outer disciples stood in loose clusters, some practicing techniques, others chatting idly.
At the center stood a tall young man in blue robes trimmed with gold.
Zhou Kang.
Senior Brother Zhou.
He was handsome in a sharp, arrogant way, his posture relaxed, arms crossed as he spoke to a pair of disciples who laughed eagerly at his words.
When his gaze shifted and landed on Lin Yan the laughter stopped.
Zhou Kang's lips curled into a smile.
"Well," he said loudly, ensuring everyone heard. "Look who crawled back."
The courtyard quieted.
All eyes turned toward Lin Yan.
Zhou Kang stepped forward slowly, his aura pressing outward deliberately.
"Still breathing after that beating?" he continued. "You really are hard to kill."
Lin Yan stopped a few paces away and bowed just enough to be respectful, not submissive.
"Senior Brother," he said calmly.
That alone caused a flicker of surprise.
No trembling voice.
No fear.
Zhou Kang's smile deepened, but his eyes hardened.
"Did you come to beg?" he asked. "Or to confess properly this time?"
"I came," Lin Yan replied, "because Senior Sister Su instructed me to report here if I survived."
The name landed like a stone.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Zhou Kang's smile froze.
"…Senior Sister Su?" he repeated slowly.
Lin Yan met his gaze. "Yes."
For a moment, tension thickened the air.
Then Zhou Kang laughed.
"Senior Sister Su is busy," he said lightly. "Do you really think she remembers trash like you?"
Lin Yan said nothing.
He simply stood there, back straight, gaze steady.
The thread within him pulsed.
Not with power.
With certainty.
Zhou Kang's laughter faded.
"You're getting bolder," he said coldly. "Maybe that beating wasn't enough."
He took another step forward.
Before he could speak again, a chill swept across the courtyard.
The air stilled.
Every disciple felt it.
From the stone steps above the hall, a figure descended.
Pale blue robes.
Silver embroidery.
Calm, unreadable eyes.
Su Qingyao.
The courtyard fell silent.
Zhou Kang's face paled.
"S–Senior Sister Su," he said quickly, bowing.
She did not look at him immediately.
Her gaze settled on Lin Yan.
He bowed.
"Senior Sister."
Her eyes lingered on him, assessing not his injuries, but his composure.
"You survived," she said.
"Yes," Lin Yan replied.
A faint, nearly imperceptible nod.
"Good," she said.
She turned her gaze to Zhou Kang.
"Outer disciple Lin Yan is under my observation," she said calmly. "Any disputes regarding him are suspended."
Zhou Kang stiffened.
"…Understood," he said through clenched teeth.
She turned to leave.
As she passed Lin Yan, her voice dropped just enough for him to hear.
"Three days," she said. "You did well."
The warmth surged.
The thread tightened.
And for the first time since awakening in this world.
Lin Yan felt something unmistakable.
Opportunity.