Stumbling out of the neon lit bar, he couldn’t help but grin at how ridiculous everything seemed. The streetlights spun in his vision, and his stomach churned a warning. He had stayed for that last round, and now his head felt thick with booze, his tongue twice its normal size. His coworkers were gone, leaving him to nurse his grievances and half-baked dreams alone on the slick sidewalk.

  He thought about the day, the never ending blueprints, the meticulous calculations, and the countless revisions that seemed to spiral into infinity. Hours spent refining structural models, optimizing load distributions, and ensuring not a single bolt was out of place. The office party had been billed as a celebration, a rare reprieve from deadlines and corporate drudgery. Well, he had embraced that reprieve a little too eagerly, it seemed. His ears still rang from the bass heavy music and the chorus of half drunken engineers exchanging war stories about impossible projects and clueless managers.

  “Tomorrow… tomorrow’s the day I show them,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow as he groped for his car keys, only to remember he had left them back at the office so he wouldn’t drive. A wise decision, really. In his current state, steering anything larger than a barstool would have been an accident waiting to happen.

  His shoes scuffed the concrete while his mind rattled on in a half coherent rant about how underpaid he was, about how smug managers congratulated themselves for assigning impossible deadlines. Would any of them notice that he had slipped away from the bar? Did they care? Probably not.

  A single street lamp flickered overhead, casting fitful shadows on the deserted street. The city seemed unnaturally quiet this late, and his coat felt heavier than usual, whether from sweat or the booze making everything hazy, he wasn’t sure.

  “Just gotta get home,” he told himself, fumbling for his phone to call a ride. The screen blurred, and each tap missed the mark. It was as if his fingers had entered an agreement with gravity to sabotage his every move.

  He tried to focus on the future, on the plans he once had. Learning new skills, traveling, maybe starting his own company. Silly ideas, he told himself now, especially when every week left him half dead from overtime.

  A single blaring horn thundered through the night, followed by the roar of a truck engine. His head snapped up. Somehow, he had wandered right into the middle of the road. The truck’s headlights bore down on him, blinding him as though he were staring into the sun.

  “Move, idiot!” he warned himself, but his feet refused to obey, weighed down by alcohol and fatigue. Adrenaline flared briefly, just long enough for him to comprehend the impending impact.

  Then it was too late.

  Metal, glass, and unstoppable force slammed into him with a sickening thud, the screech of tires echoing in his ears as the world twisted and slowed, edged in darkness. Pain barely registered, overshadowed by a sudden pang of regret. Office squabbles, trivial problems, none of it mattered now. In the face of death, all the petty frustrations and meaningless concerns of his old life seemed laughably small. This can’t be it, he thought. There was so much left undone, so much he had never dared to reach for, and now it was slipping away beyond his grasp.

  Then, as the final moment stretched into an eternity, images exploded through his consciousness: birthdays and heartbreaks, quiet triumphs and long-buried regrets. He prepared to embrace the end, until something else flickered across his thoughts: memories not of this world. Towering mountain peaks shrouded in mist loomed before him, and he recalled forging his spirit core beneath a storm swept sky, his bones throbbing with the raw power of harnessed spiritual energy. He remembered facing down demonic beasts in brutal, life or death battles, and meditating through nights that seemed to crush his soul under the weight of cultivation. It was a life of endless strife, where the heavens themselves tested the courageous, and fate bowed only to those resolute enough to challenge it.

  And then, nothing.

  Darkness stretched endlessly around him, a quiet, suffocating void where time and space lost all meaning. He wondered if this was the afterlife, or some purgatory where lost souls drifted aimlessly. His thoughts spun, returning to the mysterious memories that had surged through his mind at the moment of impact: towering mountains, roaring skies, and a life steeped in cultivation. Scenes reminiscent of those fantastical Xinxia novels he used to read online, yet now alarmingly real.

  Before he could piece together the fragments of that other existence, an unseen force tugged at him. Slowly at first, then with an urgency that made everything else fade. There was a glimmer ahead, a sliver of light that grew from a pinprick to a shining portal at the end of a tunnel.

  He felt himself being thrust forward, closer and closer, until he was consumed by brilliant, blinding radiance. Then came warmth, almost too intense, and a rush of unfamiliar noises. When his eyes finally adjusted, he could make out hulking shapes towering over him, speaking in a language he didn’t recognize.

  They were giants, or so it seemed to his bleary eyes. He tried to reach out, only to realize his arms were tiny, his movements clumsy. The realization struck him like a lightning bolt: he was a baby.

  Panic seized him, and an irrepressible cry burst from his lungs. Gone were the aches and burdens of his old body, replaced by a vulnerable new form. He wailed in confusion and fear, unable to fathom how he had been hurled from one life into another so abruptly.

  Months passed, though time felt meaningless when you couldn’t walk or talk, let alone hold anything meaningful. Despite his tiny body, his mind remained sharp, yet tangled in a storm of fragmented memories. The clash of two worlds raged within him. His past life as an engineer, vivid and clear, and the remnants of something far older, something ancient and powerful. His cultivator days, though undeniable, were a mess of disjointed recollections. Some moments stood out with striking clarity. Standing atop a windswept peak, defying the heavens, or channeling raw spiritual energy through his veins with the force of a tidal wave. Others were frustratingly blurry, like faded ink on an old scroll, impossible to decipher. And then, there were gaps. Vast, empty voids where memories should have been. What had he lost? What had been taken from him? The missing pieces gnawed at him, a puzzle he could not yet solve.

  One day, as he was being carried by his mother, he noticed tapestries on the walls depicting grand castles and warriors locked in battle. The high arched windows let in streams of light that bathed the spacious halls. This was definitely no ordinary house, everything pointed to a castle of some sort. The grandeur surrounding him only deepened his frustration. He had once walked among celestial palaces, bent the fabric of reality to his will, and now he was reduced to a babe in arms, struggling to reclaim fragments of a life that had been torn away. Yet, even in his helplessness, a resolve was growing within him. He would recover what was lost. He would find a way to reclaim the power that had once been his.

  His mother, the woman cradling him, was striking in appearance. Her golden hair cascaded in soft waves down her shoulders, catching the light like spun silk. Her blue eyes, gentle yet unwavering, held a warmth that softened the nobility etched into her every feature. There was kindness in the way she looked at him, a quiet tenderness that contrasted with the poise of someone raised among aristocracy. She wore an elegant gown, its embroidery intricate, shimmering like the sea at dawn, an unmistakable mark of high birth. Yet, despite her regal aura, there was something deeply maternal in the way she carried him, as if the grandeur of her lineage mattered far less than the tiny life in her arms.

  His father, whom he had seen towering over servants with an air of command, was the embodiment of a warrior turned noble. He was broad shouldered, his presence filling the room with effortless authority. His dark blonde hair was neatly tied back, revealing a chiseled jaw and grey eyes that gleamed with determination, the gaze of a man who had earned his place through sheer will. Dressed in a fitted doublet adorned with a family crest, he moved with a confidence that commanded respect. The crest itself was striking. A regal beast, part lion and part wyvern, its body encased in jagged, armor-like thorns that curled menacingly around its form. Its piercing eyes and poised stance exuded power and resilience, a symbol not just of strength but of the unyielding will to survive and thrive even in the harshest of conditions. Yet, when he approached the crib at night, speaking in a low, unfamiliar tongue, there was a certain warmth to him, one that softened the edges of his otherwise imposing form.

  While the towering figures who tended to him spoke in unintelligible babble, they were clearly trying to communicate. Sometimes they would babble excitedly while waving a wooden toy in front of his face, like a kindhearted jester. Other times, they would chatter while bouncing him on their knees, looking expectant whenever he gurgled. He once tried to respond with a serious nod, like a wise elder from his cultivation days, only to discover that controlling a baby’s neck required more effort than any foundation building technique he’d ever practiced.

  It was through this constant repetition and exaggerated gestures that he came to recognize a single word, spoken over and over again with enthusiasm, his name. Whether it was his mother’s gentle cooing, his father’s firm yet affectionate voice, or the delighted tones of the maids, they all seemed intent on making him understand that he was Edwin. The realization struck him as oddly profound. He had once been an adult with an identity of his own, yet now, he was merely Edwin, an infant in a world he barely understood. The absurdity of it made him want to laugh, but all that came out was an uncontrollable, gurgling giggle, much to the delight of his caretakers.

  There were moments he’d lie awake in a cradle, listening to the echo of footsteps on stone floors. He’d think back to his old life, engineering projects, looming deadlines, that ill-fated truck, and also to the more ancient memories of harnessing spiritual energy under stormy skies. Could a baby even harness spiritual energy? He tried once, focusing all his infant will on channeling some cosmic force, only to end up with a thunderous rumble in his stomach that prompted a hasty diaper change. So much for unstoppable cultivation prowess.

  Yet, as frustrating as this was, he couldn’t deny the odd hilarity of it all. Here he was, a grown man trapped in a baby’s body, in what seemed like a medieval fantasy setting. Each day, a new test of his patience arrived, be it fumbling for a rattle or attempting to crawl without face planting on the marble floor.

  The people around him, servants perhaps, appeared gentle, though no one seemed to suspect he possessed a lifetime of memories. Their language eluded him, but they pointed to themselves and repeated names or words, clearly hoping he would mimic them. He made token attempts, usually culminating in giggles from the adults. If only they knew he understood more about cosmic energy than he did about goo-goo-ga-ga.

  Despite the strangeness of it all, a small flicker of excitement brewed inside him. If this castle was real, if his cultivation memories were more than a delusion, who knew what awaited him in this new life? But for now, he had more pressing concerns, like conquering the fine art of crawling, and maybe one day holding his head up without wobbling like a newborn deer.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  Months passed until finally, he reached his first year of life. In that time, the strange words spoken around him had begun to make sense. At first, it was just fragments, scattered pieces of meaning he could barely grasp. But gradually, patterns emerged, words gained definition, and before he knew it, he could understand the language spoken by those around him. He was no longer lost in a sea of unintelligible sounds. He could follow conversations, recognize names, and piece together the world around him with clarity.

  To mark the occasion, his parents dressed him in a finely tailored outfit, far too extravagant for a child who could barely walk. The fabric was rich, embroidered with golden thread, befitting the son of a noble house. The household bustled with preparations as his parents invited important and close figures from the domain to celebrate. Servants hurried through the stone halls, arranging grand feasts and decorations, while Edwin, oblivious to the weight of aristocratic expectations, merely tugged at the stiff collar of his tiny doublet, wondering why infants had to suffer for the sake of appearances.

  His parents paraded him proudly through the great hall, presenting him to the assembled guests, though calling them nobility might have been a stretch. The frontier was no place for grand dukes or high lords, and the people gathered were mostly well to do merchants, minor landowners, and a handful of lesser knights who swore fealty to his family. Nevertheless, they all seemed to think a one year old in embroidered finery was the most fascinating spectacle of the night.

  “Oh, what a handsome young heir!” one woman gushed, pinching his chubby cheek with the enthusiasm of a baker testing dough. He feared it might never return to its original shape. “He has his mother’s eyes!” another declared, as though she had just uncovered a divine secret. A burly man, likely a knight, chuckled and clapped his father on the back. “With lungs like that, he’ll make a fine commander one day! Or a bard, if he keeps wailing like that!”

  His father, usually reserved, looked absurdly pleased. "Strong grip for a boy his age! He’ll make a fine knight!" he boomed, presenting Edwin’s tiny hand to an old soldier who peered at it as if judging a blade’s balance. His mother, meanwhile, simply smiled, radiating the kind of warmth that made people melt.

  Meanwhile, Edwin endured it all with the patience of a saint, or rather, a man trapped in the body of an infant. He had once stood on mountain peaks, defying the heavens, yet now he was apparently being judged on his ability to not drool on himself. It was maddening. He tried to glare at the crowd with the silent dignity of a warrior, but all that came out was an involuntary gurgle, which, to his horror, only seemed to delight the guests even further. He was doomed.

  There was one guest that he was fairly familiar with, though calling him a guest was generous, he was clearly a permanent fixture of the castle. The old man, somewhere between fifty and sixty, had natural silver hair and eyes, though they appeared faded, washed out like an echo of what they once were. What might have once been striking and regal now seemed drained, as if time itself had leached the vitality from his very being. His gaze often carried a distant, hollow quality, as though he were staring at something long lost or just beyond reach. His slight hunch and drifting gait made him seem adrift in his own world, a specter lingering where he no longer belonged. Edwin had seen him many times when his mother carried him through the castle, always either gazing into the distance or muttering incomprehensible words to himself, lost in thoughts only he could understand.

  Sometimes, he would bark at passing servants for no discernible reason, his grouchy demeanor making him seem like an eccentric relic from another age. Other times, he’d harass the maids, earning him a sharp slap without hesitation. Edwin had come to enjoy those moments, mostly because his mother would glare at the man and whisper to him, "Never grow up to be like that," with all the conviction of a woman deeply determined to prevent a repeat of such behavior.

  Yet, there were rare occasions when the old man’s gaze sharpened, his hunched posture straightening ever so slightly. In those moments, he looked as though he were contemplating something profound, lost in thoughts far beyond the comprehension of those around him. It reminded Edwin of the wise elders from his past life, those who sat in meditation for days, as if glimpsing into the fabric of the universe itself. But before Edwin could ever get a good read on him, his mother would always pick up the pace, carrying him away quickly with a look of concern, as if the old man’s moments of clarity were more troubling than his usual madness.

  The old man was still acting as eccentric as ever, shoveling food into his mouth with the enthusiasm of a starving beast, all while chatting animatedly with the few guests who seemed willing to humor him. Despite the sheer chaos of his eating, bits of bread torn apart like a battlefield, soup slurped with abandon, and meat devoured as though it might run away, there wasn’t a single stain on his clothes. Not a crumb, not a drop of broth. It was almost supernatural, as if the filth itself feared him too much to stick.

  After a while, Edwin's father raised a hand, commanding the attention of the gathered guests. The hum of conversation quieted as he stepped into the center of the hall, standing tall with Edwin in his arms and his wife at his side. His deep voice carried effortlessly through the room.

  "Friends, loyal vassals, and esteemed guests," he began, his tone warm yet firm. "Tonight, we celebrate the first year of my son Edwin's life. A child who, though small now, will one day inherit our legacy, carry our banner, and stand as a pillar of this land. It is my honor, and my deepest joy, to share this moment with all of you."

  Scattered applause and cheers rose from the crowd, along with the occasional call of goodwill. Edwin, for his part, simply blinked at the sea of unfamiliar faces, inwardly lamenting that he was being paraded around again.

  Then, his father smirked, turning his gaze to the old man. "And to mark the occasion, we have something special planned. Our very own esteemed elder has agreed to put on a little show for us."

  Murmurs spread through the crowd, some amused, others confused. The old man, still chewing noisily, suddenly perked up, his eyes widening as if he had just remembered something important. Swallowing exaggeratedly, he smacked his lips and stood, raising his arms dramatically as if the mere act of standing required divine intervention.

  “Ah, my dear lord and lady!” he declared loudly, wiping nonexistent crumbs from his pristine clothes. “What a fine occasion this is! The young master Edwin has graced this world for a full year! A year, I say! And what a bright future he shall bring to this humble domain!”

  The guests chuckled, some amused by the theatrics, others just enjoying the spectacle of a seemingly deranged old man taking the spotlight.

  With an exaggerated flourish, he strode, or rather, wobbled, to the center of the hall, his wild gray hair bouncing with each step. “Now, dear guests, esteemed friends, loyal folk of this house, prepare yourselves! For tonight, you shall witness a performance the likes of which this castle has never seen!”

  With a sudden shift in demeanor, his posture straightened ever so slightly, his hands moving with an elegance that seemed at odds with his earlier bumbling. With a clap, the torches lining the walls flickered and grew brighter, casting eerie, dancing shadows across the hall. Gasps filled the room as he gestured upward, and from nowhere, tiny motes of golden light spiraled into existence, swirling like fireflies caught in an unseen current.

  Then, with a slow, deliberate wave of his hands, the floating lights wove together, forming shapes. Knights in shining armor, dragons soaring through unseen skies, waves crashing upon an invisible shore. Each image flickered with ethereal brilliance before morphing into something new, mesmerizing the crowd.

  As the spectacle continued, he raised a single finger, and from his palm, a flower of light bloomed, petals unfurling in a radiant display before dissipating into mist. The guests, utterly captivated, burst into awed applause as he let his hands fall to his sides, grinning with what could only be described as theatrical satisfaction.

  Taking a bow so deep it looked as if he might topple over, he smirked and declared, “And now, dear friends, for the grand finale!”

  With a sudden flourish of his hands, the glowing motes of light burst into the air like fireworks, cascading down in shimmering waves. The images of knights and dragons dissolved into a breathtaking swirl, forming a luminous vortex above the hall. A final clap echoed through the chamber, and with it, the lights collapsed inward, condensing into a single brilliant orb that hovered for a moment before bursting into a shower of golden sparks, illuminating the room like stardust.

  The hall fell into stunned silence. Then, as if a spell had been broken, a resounding applause erupted from the audience, cheers and laughter mingling as they marveled at the spectacle.

  The old man straightened, looking immensely pleased with himself. With a smug grin, he spread his arms and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy your meal and have a splendid evening!” With that, he struck a comical pose, raising one hand dramatically while the other rested on his hip. Then, with a mischievous grin, he snapped his fingers. A small smoke explosion erupted around him, momentarily obscuring him from view. As the smoke quickly dispersed, revealing... nothing. The old man was gone.

  Gasps spread through the audience, heads turning and eyes scanning the hall, but there was no trace of him. Laughter and applause followed, some guests shaking their heads in amazement, others grinning at the absurdity of it all. Whatever else could be said about him, the old man certainly knew how to make an exit.

  Meanwhile, Edwin sat in stunned silence, his tiny body frozen as his infant mind struggled to process what he had just witnessed. Magic. Real, undeniable, magnificent magic. It wasn't a trick, nor an illusion conjured through sleight of hand. The old man had wielded true power, something beyond anything he had seen in his previous life of technology and cold logic. Though he had once wielded techniques far grander than the old man's dazzling display, seeing magic with his own eyes was still breathtaking. The sheer spectacle of it, the way it bent reality itself, made his past memories of cultivation surge forward, vividly reminding him of the heights of power he once reached.

  As those memories flooded back, he recalled the final moments of his first life, his ascension, or rather, his failed attempt at it. He had stood beneath the storm wrought heavens, his body battered yet unyielding, ready to withstand the final tribulation that would mark his transition into true immortality. The clouds churned, flashing with divine fury, and he felt the weight of the heavens pressing down on him, testing him, demanding his worthiness.

  Just as the final bolt of tribulation lightning prepared to strike, something flickered at the edge of his vision, a shadow, swift and subtle. Before he could react, searing pain erupted through his body as something, swift and treacherous, pierced through his defenses. His protective treasures, artifacts refined through years of cultivation, shattered one by one, their spiritual energy dispersing like mist before the dawn. His barriers cracked, flickering desperately in defiance before failing him entirely. In that moment, realization struck him harder than any tribulation lightning could. This was no accident. It was an attack, a betrayal, a calculated strike timed to leave him vulnerable. And as the heavens roared above, their judgment imminent, he knew there was no time left to fight back.

  The pain, the shock, the sheer disbelief, those emotions surged through him now, just as they had in that moment, before darkness had claimed him.

  Compared to that grand struggle, his life on Earth had been painfully mundane, filled with circuits, machinery, and endless calculations, devoid of wonder. The days of debugging designs, running simulations, and working with complex systems felt trivial now, their significance dwindling in the face of the reality before him. But now, those memories felt distant, fading into irrelevance. The betrayal that led to his downfall, the final tribulation that consumed him. It was as if the heavens themselves had refused to let him ascend. His supposed triumph had been ripped from his grasp in the cruelest of ways. And yet, here he was, reborn into a world of magic.

  His thoughts swirled in excitement, tangled with lingering bitterness. If this world had magic, if such power was real, then did that mean he had a second chance to reach the heights he had once pursued? Would he be able to wield it? Would it be different from cultivation? The very idea sent shivers down his tiny body. He imagined himself standing atop a towering cliff, robes billowing in the wind as he commanded the elements with a flick of his wrist. Fire, water, lightning, each force dancing at his command, swirling and converging at his will like a symphony of untamed power. He envisioned entire storms bending to his fingertips, mountains crumbling beneath a mere thought, and the very fabric of reality twisting to his desires. The possibilities stretched before him like an endless horizon, vast and boundless, calling him forward to reclaim what was once his.

  The sheer potential of this world sent his heart hammering. No longer was he bound by the chains of mediocrity, forced into the drudgery of a lifeless career. No longer was he weighed down by the regret of his failed ascension, the bitter sting of treachery still fresh in his soul. He had been given not just a second chance, but a third, an opportunity that defied the natural order. Fate had torn him down twice, but now, standing at the threshold of yet another life, he refused to let this one slip through his fingers. A world of wonder and untapped power lay before him. This time, he would not be so na?ve. This time, he would seize his destiny with both hands.

  But first, he needed to learn how to walk without falling on his face.