Arjun had always believed that effort should mean something.
But the world never agreed.
From childhood, his body had been weak—frequent sickness, low stamina, slow reflexes. Teachers ignored him. Classmates mocked him. Even when he tried harder than anyone else, the results never came. Talent, they said, was everything. Without it, effort was just wasted movement.
By the time he reached adulthood, Arjun stopped expecting miracles. He worked, ate, slept, and repeated the cycle like a shadow passing through life. No ambition. No future. Only quiet exhaustion.
On that night, rain poured heavily over the empty street. Arjun walked alone, soaked, his thoughts drifting as always toward stories—cultivation novels where mortals could challenge heaven itself, where weakness was temporary, and perseverance mattered.
“If only a world like that existed,” he thought faintly.
He never noticed the speeding vehicle.
Pain came suddenly—sharp, overwhelming—then vanished just as quickly. His body hit the ground, vision blurring as the rain mixed with blood. Sounds faded. The world dimmed.
As consciousness slipped away, Arjun didn’t scream. He didn’t curse fate.
In his final moment, one quiet thought echoed in his mind:
If there is another life… let me be reborn in a cultivation world.
Then—nothing.
Death Was Not the End
Darkness stretched endlessly.
There was no sense of time. No body. No thoughts. Just an empty void where even identity felt thin. Arjun might have remained there forever—if something had not changed.
A sudden pressure appeared.
Not pain. Not warmth.
But presence.
The void trembled, as if something ancient had turned its gaze toward him. Symbols—older than language—flickered briefly in the darkness, then shattered like glass.
And suddenly—
Breath returned.
Awakening in the Unknown
Arjun gasped violently, lungs burning as cold air rushed in. His eyes snapped open, filled instantly with light. Blue sky. Towering trees. A strange mist drifting through the air like living fog.
He lay on damp soil, heart pounding.
“Where… am I?”
His voice sounded younger. Lighter.
Before panic could take hold, a sharp pain exploded inside his head. Memories that weren’t his own flooded his mind—childhood humiliation, failed cultivation tests, hunger, fear.
A name surfaced.
Lin Yuan.
Arjun clutched his head, teeth clenched, as the memories settled into place. This body belonged to a twelve-year-old boy from the Azure Cloud Sect, one of the lowest outer disciples. Born without talent. Mocked daily. During a recent sect trial, Lin Yuan had been pushed into this forest and left for dead.
Arjun slowly sat up, hands trembling as he looked at them.
Smaller. Younger. Unscarred.
“I… reincarnated?”
As the realization sank in, the surrounding mist subtly shifted. Spiritual energy gathered faintly around him, responding to his presence like water to gravity.
Arjun didn’t notice.
The Cultivation World
Standing up, Arjun took his first steps in this new world. Each movement felt strangely smooth, as if his body were perfectly balanced. The air felt heavy—dense in a way he had never experienced before.
He remembered the cultivation techniques from Lin Yuan’s memories and tried to circulate spiritual energy through his meridians.
Nothing happened.
No warmth. No flow. No response.
He sighed softly. “No talent… even here.”
Instead of despair, calm settled over him. He had already lived a life of weakness. This was familiar territory. If anything, the second chance itself was more than he had expected.
What Arjun didn’t realize was that his body was already absorbing spiritual energy—passively, without cultivation, without awareness. The energy entered him and vanished as if swallowed by an endless abyss.
Far away, deep within the forest, a powerful spirit beast abruptly stopped moving. Its instincts screamed danger. Trembling, it turned and fled.
Arjun continued walking, unaware that the forest itself had begun to fear him.
Return of the Dead
By the time Arjun reached the edge of the forest, the outline of Azure Cloud Sect appeared in the distance—towering peaks, stone stairways, and floating platforms glowing faintly with formations.
Disciples noticed him immediately.
“Is that… Lin Yuan?”
“He survived?”
“How?”
Most reactions were laughter. Some were annoyance. No one showed concern.
“He’s still trash,” one disciple scoffed. “Dying once won’t change that.”
Arjun bowed his head slightly and walked past them, keeping his expression neutral. Attention was dangerous. He had learned that in his previous life.
That night, as he slept in his small outer-sect room, spiritual energy from the surrounding mountains quietly surged inward. Ancient seals deep within his soul trembled faintly—then stabilized, locking themselves tighter.
Somewhere in the sect, an elder suddenly woke from meditation, coughing blood.
“…Impossible,” the old man whispered, fear creeping into his eyes..
