Max groaned, his head throbbing with a heavy, inward pressure.
"Ugh—I need Ice."
He didn't open his eyes. He didn't need to.
Four steps forward, turn slightly—the fridge would be there.
He rose, took a step, then another—smacking his forehead into something solid. Staggering back, he dropped to his knees, one hand bracing the floor, the other pressing his brow.
That wasn't drywall.
He opened his eyes to dark wood paneling—polished, clean, with carved trim. This wasn't his room. The air was tinged with herbs and fresh linen—no old food, no cheap beer, no city noise—only stillness and unfamiliar silence.
His hands looked smaller, the scars and calluses gone.
At this moment, the door opened quietly.
"This lowly servant greets Young Master. Is Young Master well?" A girl stood in the doorway, head bowed, hands folded. Her voice was calm, without urgency.
"—And who the hell are you?" he asked, voice hoarse.
A pause. "It is this lowly servant, Lin Xue."
"Lin who—arghh" A tearing pain shot through his head.
Images surged up—heat, the scent of boiling herbs, the metallic tang of a furnace, a courtyard, a cauldron shattering. He clutched his head with both hands, tears rolling down his cheeks. These weren't stray thoughts. They were memories. And—This isn't my body.
"Get" he managed. "Get me—something—for the headache."
Lin Xue bowed and left.
He stayed kneeling, breathing slowly, letting the memories settle. A Tier 1 pill—basic, stable, shouldn't have exploded unless something had been altered. The original owner noticed the refinement turning unstable, but he forced the refinement anyway.
And—BOOM.
So that's it. One bottle too many, and you can wake up in another world.
He pushed himself up and found a clay cup by the bed with unusual familiarity. The water was warm, but he drank it. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked out the open window. Sunlight filtered through the lattice, illuminating rooftops, courtyards, and a distant tower etched with geometric lines. He stared for a long moment.
Then, quietly, he laughed—first slowly, then loudly. He was dead. Finally! Whatever he'd left behind was just plain ol' suffering. And it was gone. A total reset. He'd woken up in a cultivation world.
A knock interrupted his thoughts and crazed laugh.
"Young Master. This lowly servant has brought the medicine. May I enter?"
Silence.
Sorrow crossed his face for a moment. Then, with a confidence that wasn't his own, he said—
"Enter."
Lin Xue stepped in with a tray—porcelain bottle, small bowl, and cloth. She set it down without lifting her gaze, then retreated a step and stood waiting.
He studied her. An average face, carefully arranged into neutrality—too carefully. He stared at her for a minute or two. She did not react. Head lowered, face calm, breath steady—as if the silence belonged to her, not him. The memories explained why. The original Lin Yushan had humiliated her, never crossing the ultimate line, but enough to make her wary.
He sighed, poured the medicine into a bowl, and downed it in one go. The pounding in his skull took priority over everything else.
"How long have I been unconscious?" He looked around the room.
"Three days, Young Master." Her voice was sweet, but utterly without feeling.
He winced and looked at her. "Too bad I didn't die, right?" Her expression didn't change.
At this moment, heavy footsteps approached. The door opened without waiting. Lin Xue's posture tightened unconsciously. His father entered—a tall, straight-backed man, his disappointment barely hidden. Behind him, his mother moved quickly. She looked exhausted, eyes swollen, and hair untidy. When she saw him upright, relief swept across her face.
"So people die refining Tier 1 pills now? That's a first for me," his father remarked.
His mother ignored this, crossing the room to put her hands on his shoulders. "Shan'er… how are you?" Then she noticed the bruise forming on his forehead. "What's this? Why are you injured?" She turned sharply. "Lin Xue! Bring salve for this. Now."
Lin Xue bowed and left. His father watched her retreat, eyes narrowing for a moment before he looked away.
"Mom," he said softly. The word came naturally, and he let it. "I'm okay. I just walked into the wall after waking. Wasn't fully aware. How are you?"
She paused, studying his tone. It wasn't like him. His father noticed too, his expression shifting for a moment.
"What did you say?" his mother asked quietly.
He offered a faint smile. "How are you?"
Her grip tightened. "Are you really okay, Shan'er?"
He took her hand. "I'm really okay, Mom. Sorry for worrying you."
He looked at his father. "Father—I made a stupid mistake. It won't happen again. I'll spend more time studying refining techniques."
Silence stretched between them.
The original owner of the body would have deflected and denied.
His father cleared his throat. "It's good that you understand. Rest now. We'll speak later."
His mother nodded. "Yes. Rest. Don't worry about anything."
"Okay, Mom. Father. I'll rest. You two should rest as well," he said, noticing the fatigue in their faces.
"I'll stay and apply the salve." She shook her head gently as she spoke.
"No need. I'll ask Lin Xue." He smiled gently, trying to reassure her.
"I will stay." She did not move.
He softened his voice. "Mom—please rest. I don't want you worrying anymore. I already feel guilty enough as it is."
She hesitated, studying him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But rest properly."
They turned to leave. Outside, her gentle expression hardened. "Did brother Zhen find anything after investigating the cauldron?" she asked in a low voice.
His father's reply was cold. "We'll know by tomorrow. But no matter how useless my son is, failing at Tier 1 pills through a cauldron explosion is impossible. Whoever did it will pay."
They walked away.
Inside, Max let out a quiet breath. So this is what it feels like to have parents…
When the memories flooded his mind, he understood a few things. This body belonged to a sixteen-year-old boy named Lin Yushan. He had parents who loved him. His mother did so openly; his father did so in his own quiet way. So when they came, he let himself lean into that love—even if it meant pretending to be someone he wasn't.
Max sat cross-legged on the bed and examined himself. He realized he was different now—more confident. Nothing like the introverted version of himself who once struggled to meet someone's eyes, let alone speak with this steady calm. He knew it was Yushan influencing his personality. The boy had been arrogant, blindly confident, and that arrogance now filled the gaps where his self-respect had once been missing.
I will never be scum, though.
Yes, scum. Anyone who drives others to wish for death deserves no better word. His gaze shifted to the whip hanging on the left wall. He exhaled quietly. "Now I'll have to bear the weight of that whip."
He glanced once more at the door. Then he closed his eyes. Despite the burden, excitement hummed beneath his skin.
According to the memories crowding his mind, if he followed the correct breathing sequence, Void Essence would flow into his body naturally. That would be the true beginning of cultivation.
The thought alone made his chest feel light.
In his previous life, he had devoured countless novels about immortals and transcendence. Back then, they called it spiritual energy… essence qi… heaven and earth energy—names varied from story to story. Here, people called it Void Essence.
Perhaps it behaved differently. Perhaps its principles were more complex than the fantasy systems he once read about.
But to him, the difference was irrelevant.
Energy was energy.
As long as it could be drawn in, refined, and used to grow stronger, he did not care what name this world gave it.
He let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. How embarrassing. He recalled his younger self, shouting grand declarations in the dark, and forced the excitement down.
He inhaled slowly, then exhaled. Again. And again.
The Lin family's cultivation method was called the Verdant Circulation Sutra. To his modern sensibilities, the name sounded almost pretentious. He used to think authors exaggerated technique names for effect—apparently not.
He adjusted his posture and followed the breathing rhythm from memory: draw breath slowly, guide awareness along specific meridians, hold gently, release without strain.
For several minutes, nothing happened.
Then, faintly, a cool sensation slipped in with his breath—subtle, nearly imperceptible. A thin thread of energy drifted through his nose and settled briefly within his chest.
This is Void Essence!
His heartbeat quickened. He tried to guide it as the technique described, but the moment his mind tightened with anticipation, the sensation scattered like mist.
Gone.
He exhaled and tried again, but each attempt was undone by his own excitement. Every small success triggered anticipation, and anticipation broke his rhythm.
After several tries, he opened his eyes.
"This is going to take a while."
Cultivation required stillness and discipline—neither of which he had ever truly mastered.
A knock came at the door. "Young Master, this lowly servant has brought the salve."
"Enter." He got out of bed and said.
Lin Xue entered carrying a tray—a small porcelain container and a folded cloth. She approached and stopped an arm's length away, careful not to step any closer, her head lowered.
He met her lowered gaze. "Apply it to the bruise."
Without a word, Lin Xue set the tray aside, opened the porcelain container, and dabbed a small amount of salve onto her fingertip. She lifted her gaze to the bruise without looking at him, stepped forward, and applied the salve.
"Ow, ow. Go easy, will you?" He muttered, flinching despite himself.
She didn't reply. After finishing, she stepped back, collected the tray, and prepared to leave.
"Wait," he said, taking the salve from the tray. "I know you still have bruises that haven't healed."
She trembled visibly.
"Relax," he said more firmly. "I'm not whipping you. Ever."
It took her a moment to recover. When she did, she straightened, though her gaze remained fixed on the floor.
"And I also know you didn't ask anyone apply salve for you," he said, stepping behind her. "You chose to endure it—that ends today. I'll apply it until you're healed."
Lin Xue's shoulders tensed. A trace of indignation flickered in her eyes, quickly buried beneath restraint. So be it. I will endure this, too. She closed her eyes and waited.
Max didn't notice the indignation in her eyes. To him, it was simple. He had wronged her—if not personally, then through the body he now wore. This was repayment. But repayment could look different from the other side.
Lin Xue had survived by lowering her head and enduring. For her, being touched again—even gently—carried echoes of the past.
He lacked the experience to see that. In his old life, women had been distant figures. In this one, the boy Yushan, whose body he inhabited, had treated them as ornaments or tools. He stood somewhere in between—trying to be better, not yet understanding how.
He lowered her robe carefully, just enough to expose her back, marked with old scars and newer lash wounds. His jaw tightened. The boy who had done this deserved no forgiveness. He applied the salve gently, careful not to press too hard against the scabbed skin.
"That's it. Leave the salve here. Bring me some food, then go rest." He set the container carefully on the table near his bed. "Ah—and throw that whip out, will you?" He looked at the whip hanging on the wall with open disgust.
Lin Xue wasn't certain she had heard him correctly.
After a moment's hesitation, she straightened her robe and reached for the whip. Her fingers trembled as she took it down. She lowered her head in a formal bow and left the room.
He remained where he stood, looking at the door. Only then did the absurdity sink in. In his previous life, he had been too timid to hold a conversation without hesitation. Now he was giving orders—touching someone, even a woman—without flinching.
His thoughts and actions were no longer entirely his own. The personality within this body was changing him, blending into him. He realized that his rising confidence was not purely a blessing. He was becoming more brazen. Sharper. Less hesitant.
For a fleeting moment, his timid side surfaced—fear tightening in his chest. What if he was losing himself? What if the person called "Max" slowly disappeared beneath the name Lin Yushan?
The fear lingered only briefly. It faded as quickly as it had appeared. The newly found confidence settled back into place, steady and unyielding.
He was living under a borrowed name.
Perhaps it was only natural that the name would begin to shape the man.
"Welcome to the new world, Maxie." He let out a quiet sigh.