The cold stink of earth was the first thing Li Wei tasted when breath clawed its way back into his lungs. Damp soil pressed against his cheek, grit sticking to his lips. Somewhere close, a crow cawed, it cried long and jagged as if mocking him.

He lay still for a moment, gathering the strength to lift his head. The last memory he carried was fire—temple halls collapsing, sect brothers screaming his name not in loyalty but in accusation. Betrayal, burning brighter than the flames themselves.

Then silence.

And now—this.

Li Wei pushed himself upright. His limbs trembled, weak and unfamiliar, the body not his own. He looked down at thin hands smeared with dirt, sleeves of a plain gray robe frayed at the edges. No trace of the crimson battle armor he had once worn with such pride.

The air here was heavy with moisture, veined with the faint scent of pine resin. Mist curled low along the ground, masking the path between crooked trees. He recognized nothing.

Rebirth.

The word crawled unbidden into his mind, a bitter taste. He had heard of such things—souls dragged back into mortal shells, forced into another cycle by spite or unfinished will. Had the resentment of his death been so deep it anchored him here?

His laugh cracked out harshly, startling the crow into flight. “So even the heavens won’t let me rest.”

He tried to stand. Pain lanced up his side, sharp enough to blur his vision. The body was frail, poorly nourished, bones jutting beneath skin. Whoever this boy had been, he was no cultivator. Certainly not fit for vengeance.

And yet… vengeance was the only thing left to him.

Li Wei steadied his breathing, fingers curling into the dirt until his nails split. He would not waste this chance. If the heavens had seen fit to return him, then he would drag every betrayer down to the grave they had denied him.

---

The sound of footsteps broke through his oath. Light, hurried. He turned, senses sluggish compared to what they once had been, but still sharp enough to catch the shape emerging from the fog.

A girl in pale blue robes stumbled into view, clutching a basket of herbs. Her hair was bound loosely, strands sticking to her sweat-damp forehead. When she saw him, she froze.

“Who are you?” Her voice trembled, but her grip on the basket tightened as if she might swing it as a weapon.

Li Wei’s first instinct was silence. Names carried weight. His true name, once whispered in fear across the cultivation world, could not be spoken here.

“I…” He let his shoulders sag, crafting weakness to mask calculation. “I don’t know. I woke up here.”

Her suspicion lingered, but pity softened the edge of her gaze. She took a step closer, cautious. “Are you injured?”

He glanced down at himself—blood crusted along his ribs, though the wound beneath felt days old. The body had nearly given up before his soul claimed it.

“Yes,” he said simply.

The girl hesitated, then bent to set her basket down. She pulled a small clay jar, unscrewing the lid to release the sharp scent of crushed herbs. Kneeling, she dabbed the salve onto a strip of cloth.

As she pressed it to his side, Li Wei studied her. Young, perhaps fifteen or sixteen. A mortal, if the lack of spiritual qi-clinging to her was any measure. Her kindness was wasted; in this world, kindness was a blade turned inward.

Still, he endured her care, silent as she bound the cloth tight.

“There,” she said softly, sitting back on her heels. “It’s not much, but it should help until we can get you to the village.”

“Village?”

“Yunhe. Just down the mountain. I’m Mei Xue.” She offered a small, awkward smile. “You’ll be safe there.”

The name cracked something buried deep. Mei Xue.

Not the same—couldn’t be. His Mei Xue had been a disciple of his sect, sworn to him, sworn to their cause. She had died in the chaos of betrayal, her scream still echoing through the marrow of his memory.

This girl’s eyes were too unscarred, her hands too gentle. A different life, a different fate. But the name twisted like a knife all the same.

Safe.

He almost laughed again, but the sound lodged in his throat. There was no such place left for him. Safety was a lie cultivated by those too weak to see the world for what it was.

But for now—he needed cover, food, time. A village would do.

“Thank you,” Li Wei said, the words foreign on his tongue.

Mei Xue helped him rise, her small frame straining under his weight. Together, they followed the narrow path down through the trees.

---

Yunhe was little more than a scattering of huts clustered around a worn well. Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying the faint aroma of millet porridge. Villagers paused in their work to stare, whispers trailing after them.

“Another vagrant?”

“Poor boy looks half-dead.”

“Where did she find him?”

Mei Xue ignored them all, guiding Li Wei into a low-roofed hut near the edge of the village. Inside, dried herbs hung from rafters, filling the space with earthy fragrance. She lowered him onto a mat of woven reeds.

“You can stay here until you’re strong enough to walk on your own,” she said, fussing with jars along a shelf. “My grandmother won’t mind.”

Li Wei leaned back, letting his gaze trace the shadows across the ceiling. Already his mind was turning, piecing together threads.

The world outside hadn’t changed much—villages still clung to sects like vines to stone, surviving at their mercy. If he was here, alive again, then the sects still ruled. Which meant Zhao Rui still drew breath.

His chest burned. Rage pulsed beneath his skin, so potent it made his vision swim.

He would find him.

He would burn his sect to the ground.

And this time, he would not fall.

---

That night, when the village slept, Li Wei sat alone in the hut’s shadows. Moonlight silvered the floor, catching on the faint tendrils of qi curling from his palms.

Weak. The flow was stuttering, shallow. This body had no foundation for cultivation. To walk the righteous path again would take years he did not have.

But the demonic path—ah, that door had never truly closed. Resentment surged easily, feeding the cracks of his spirit. His anger was ready fuel, eager to burn.

He let it spill, just enough to see the air shimmer with threads of red-black light. The shadows thickened, taking shape—a beast’s outline, massive and wolfish, flickering before dissolving again.

The corner of his mouth lifted. Yes. Even in this frail vessel, he could still call the darkness.

And the darkness had not forgotten him.

---

Days passed. Mei Xue tended to him faithfully, though he offered little in return but silence. The villagers eyed him with unease, but none dared question her.

On the fourth morning, he rose before dawn, stepping outside as mist draped the fields. He walked slowly at first, then faster, testing the body. Weak, but strengthening. Not enough.

As he neared the treeline, a presence brushed against his senses—a ripple of qi, disciplined and sharp. Not a villager.

He turned just as a figure emerged from the fog.

Tall, robed in white trimmed with silver. His hair was bound high, his expression cool as frost. A sword hung at his hip, the scabbard gleaming even in dim light.

Han Shulin.

Li Wei did not know the name yet, but recognition was immediate all the same. Power radiated from him, steady and unyielding. A righteous cultivator, trained, dangerous.

The man’s gaze swept over him, lingering briefly on the faint haze of demonic qi Li Wei had not fully hidden. His brow furrowed.

“You,” Han Shulin said, voice like tempered steel. “What sect do you serve?”

Li Wei smiled thinly, tasting the first spark of the game to come.

“No sect,” he said. “Just a shadow the world has forgotten.”

Han Shulin’s eyes narrowed. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword.

The crow from before cawed overhead, circling once before vanishing into the mist.

The new life Li Wei had been given was no simple gift. Already, it demanded war.

The mist coiled thicker between the trees, veiling branches like ghostly banners. Li Wei’s breath slowed as he measured the figure before him. Every motion of Han Shulin carried the weight of training—posture upright, sword-hand steady, gaze cutting as if it could cleave truth from lies.

This was no wandering cultivator. He bore the mark of discipline etched into his very bones.

And that made him dangerous.

Li Wei angled his head, letting a sardonic smile soften his expression. “You ask my sect, stranger, but what claim do you have for this mountain? Do you greet all weary travelers with a hand on your blade?”

The man’s eyes sharpened. “Your qi stinks of resentment. Shadows cling to you as if eager for blood. Tell me that is not the mark of the demonic path.”

The words struck like arrows. For an instant, Li Wei’s hand twitched, his qi coiling instinctively in defense. He forced the darkness down, hiding its flicker behind a mask of weariness.

“If the air here offends you,” Li Wei said lightly, “perhaps you should blame the crows.”

Han Shulin did not smile. The sword at his hip hummed faintly, the resonance of a spiritual weapon impatient for release.

Li Wei’s mind worked quickly. To reveal his strength now would draw suspicion, perhaps even a blade through his chest. But to cower too deeply would invite questions he had no intention of answering.

He let his knees sag, feigning weakness, one hand pressed to his bound ribs. “I’ve no sect, no name worth giving. Only a body barely strong enough to stand. If you wish to kill me for breathing the wrong way, then by all means—strike. At least it would be quicker than starving in this forgotten village.”

The words hung, daring yet laced with resignation.

For a long moment, silence. Then Han Shulin’s grip on his sword eased. “A clever tongue,” he said flatly. “But words do not cleanse corrupted qi. Be warned—I’ll be watching you.”

With that, he turned, boots crunching against the damp soil. His silhouette vanished slowly into the curtain of fog, leaving only the whisper of his presence in the air.

Li Wei exhaled, slow and measured, though his pulse thundered.

So. This was the caliber of opponent he would face in this life. Righteous cultivators, armed with suspicion and steel. If they discovered his true identity before his strength returned…

He clenched his fists. He would not allow it.

---

By the time Li Wei returned to the hut, dawn had broken. Mei Xue was crouched near the hearth, coaxing flame into a clay stove. She looked up as he entered, relief flooding her face.

“You’re awake early,” she said. “Did you walk far? You shouldn’t push yourself.”

Li Wei brushed dirt from his sleeve, voice calm. “Just to the trees. The air helps clear the mind.”

Mei Xue nodded, satisfied, and busied herself with stirring porridge. She did not notice the faint tremor in his hands.

As he sat, Li Wei allowed himself a moment’s reflection. Han Shulin’s presence was no coincidence. If the righteous sects were patrolling even the borders of nameless villages, then unrest brewed nearby. Perhaps rumors of demonic cultivators had already begun to spread.

And if so… he might yet have a role to play in the storm to come.

---

Later that day, Yunhe village gathered in the square. Farmers with calloused hands, children clutching at their mothers’ robes, all eyes turned toward the white-robed figure standing before the well. Han Shulin’s voice carried easily, clipped and firm.

“Two nights past, a sect outpost was attacked. The disciples slain bore wounds twisted by resentment qi. The righteous path demands we act. If any stranger has come among you, you must speak.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Villagers glanced at one another, uneasy sharp in their whispers.

Li Wei stood at the edge, silent. Mei Xue at his side shifted nervously, her hand brushing his sleeve.

Han Shulin’s gaze swept the crowd. It paused—just a fraction longer—on Li Wei, before moving on.

“This village will remain under observation,” Han Shulin continued. “Any trace of demonic influence will be purged.”

Gasps fluttered. Purged meant burned, bodies and homes alike.

Han Shulin sheathed his sword with finality, the sound ringing like a verdict. “Do not test the mercy of my sect.”

Then he strode away, leaving silence heavy in his wake.

---

That night, the village hummed with fear. Li Wei sat alone outside the hut, moonlight silvering the fields. He watched the glow of fireflies drift, their fragile light mocking the rage burning steadily in his chest.

This Han Shulin would be a problem.

Yet there had been something in his eyes—not just suspicion, but restraint. He could have struck Li Wei down in the mist, yet he had not. Why?

Curiosity? Doubt? Or something softer, unspoken even to himself?

Li Wei snorted, dismissing the thought. Sentiment was poison. Whatever flicker he had seen would mean nothing when steel met flesh.

And still… the image lingered, refusing to fade.

---

Three days passed. Li Wei healed quickly under Mei Xue’s care, though he feigned fragility to maintain her pity. At night, he trained in secret, drawing qi through veins unaccustomed to its flow. Progress was slow, agonizing, but the demonic path whispered promises in every shadow.

One evening, as he returned from the forest with herbs Mei Xue had asked him to gather, he felt the air shift. A ripple of killing intent, subtle but close.

He froze.

From the underbrush burst three figures, faces half-hidden by black cloth, blades flashing in the dying light. Their movements were clumsy, lacking discipline, but their eyes gleamed with feral hunger. Bandits, not cultivators.

The leader sneered. “Pretty boy wandering alone? Hand over the basket and maybe we’ll leave you breathing.”

Li Wei’s lips curved, not in fear but in grim amusement. Even the lowest dregs of this world sought to test him.

He let the basket drop, straightened slowly, and let a thread of resentment leak from his palm. The air thickened, shadows stretching long and sharp across the ground.

The bandits faltered, uneasy flickering across their faces.

“What trick is this?” one stammered.

Li Wei stepped forward, voice low, carrying the weight of his past life. “A shadow does not beg.”

The qi coiled, snapping into the vague form of a beast’s jaws, crimson light searing the bandits’ eyes. They screamed, stumbling back into the trees, their terror scattering them like leaves in a storm.

Silence followed.

Li Wei exhaled slowly, the beast dissolving into mist. His limbs trembled, the effort leaving his body drained, but his mouth curved into a thin smile. Weak though he was, fear remained a weapon sharp enough to wield.

A branch snapped behind him.

He turned—Han Shulin stood at the edge of the clearing, moonlight striking silver across his robes. His sword was drawn, its tip gleaming, eyes locked on Li Wei.

“I knew it,” Han Shulin said, a voice like thunder through the stillness. “You walk the demonic path.”

Li Wei’s smile only widened.

“And what will you do now, the righteous one?”

The question hung, sharp as any blade.

The clearing fell silent, the only sound the whisper of leaves stirred by the night wind. Han Shulin stood rigid, blade bared, the pale silver of his sword reflecting moonlight. Li Wei, drained but unbowed, straightened slowly.

Two lives collided in that stillness—one bound to righteousness, the other to vengeance.

Han Shulin’s voice was calm, yet the edge beneath it was sharper than steel.

“You’ve shown your true colors. Resentment qi coils around you like a curse. Explain yourself before I strike.”

Li Wei tilted his head, his dark hair spilling across his shoulders. His lips curved faintly, though his chest still ached from the effort of summoning the shadow-beast.

“Strike, then. But I wonder, will your blade kill the man before you—or the ghost of one long dead?”

The words gave Han Shulin pause. His brows drew together, just slightly. That hesitation was enough for Li Wei to see it: this man was not reckless. He would not cut down an enemy without certainty.

Good. That made him predictable.

“I walk where the world has cast me,” Li Wei continued, voice low. “If shadows cling, it is because light never wished to touch me.”

Han Shulin’s grip on his sword tightened. “Poetic excuses do not change truth. Resentment qi corrupts. It devours until nothing human remains.”

Li Wei chuckled softly, though there was no mirth in it.

“And righteousness? Does it not devour as well? Tell me, cultivator—how many innocents have you condemned in the name of purity? How many flames have your sects fed with mortal lives, all while preaching virtue?”

The accusation landed heavy. For a fleeting moment, something unreadable flickered across Han Shulin’s expression. A shadow of doubt? Or merely irritation at a dangerous tongue?

His blade lifted a fraction higher. “If you are innocent, prove it. Denounce the demonic path.”

Li Wei’s smile turned razor-sharp.

“Innocent? I died once believing innocence could shield me. I won’t waste this life repeating that mistake.”

The air shifted. Resentment qi rippled faintly around Li Wei, his control strained but deliberate. Not enough to strike, but enough to test. Enough to tempt.

Han Shulin’s sword sang as he stepped forward, qi sharpening its edge to a gleam. The clearing tensed, caught between shadow and light.

And then—

“Wait!”

Mei Xue burst from the trees, breathless, her basket abandoned behind her. She stumbled between them, arms spread wide as if her thin frame could block a blade.

“Please,” she begged, eyes darting from Han Shulin’s cold glare to Li Wei’s unreadable calm. “He’s hurt, he’s done nothing to us! He—he saved me from bandits days ago!”

Han Shulin’s eyes narrowed. “You defend him?”

“He’s not what you think,” she insisted, voice trembling. “He could’ve let me die, but he didn’t. That has to mean something!”

For a heartbeat, silence held.

Li Wei’s gaze softened—not for her words, but for her sheer foolishness. Kindness like this was brittle glass, shattered the moment it met steel. He had no illusions of being saved by it. And yet… it stirred a faint ache in his chest, an echo of loyalty long buried.

Han Shulin lowered his blade slightly, though his stance remained taut. “If what you say is true, then the matter is not yet settled. But know this—” His eyes locked on Li Wei’s, unyielding. “One misstep, one life taken unjustly, and I will end you without hesitation.”

Li Wei met his stare, unflinching.

“Then watch closely, cultivator. Perhaps you’ll learn the difference between vengeance and slaughter.”

Han Shulin sheathed his sword in a single smooth motion, the metallic ring slicing through the night. Without another word, he turned and strode back into the mist, his white robes fading like a wraith’s departure.

The silence he left behind was heavier than the confrontation itself.

Mei Xue sagged with relief, turning quickly to Li Wei. “You mustn’t provoke him! He’s from one of the great sects—if he thinks you’re dangerous, the whole village could be destroyed!”

Li Wei studied her, his face unreadable. At last, he said simply, “The sects always destroy. They only wait until it suits them.”

Her breath caught, but she said nothing.

Li Wei turned back toward the hut, steps steady despite the exhaustion clawing at his bones. His mind was already racing. Han Shulin had seen too much. He would not be easily deceived again.

And yet—striking him down now would be foolish. The man’s skill, his aura of discipline, suggested strength far beyond what this fragile body could withstand.

No. For now, Li Wei would endure the gaze of righteousness. He would bide his time, as shadows always do.

But when the day came, when his strength returned—Han Shulin would either be his greatest obstacle… or the one soul who could anchor him to something beyond revenge.

For now, Li Wei did not care which.