"I'm sorry, we've done all we could. Prepare for the funeral arrangements."

  The doctor's voice outside the hospital room was soft, but Lin Yu on the sickbed heard every word clearly.

  Perhaps, when death is near, even one's hearing becomes exceptionally sharp—especially a mother's cries, which pierced the air like a knife.

  Lin Yu wasn't the first to lose his life in an act of bravery, and he didn’t regret it. The only thing that pained him was letting his mother down.

  His father had died early, and his mother had single-handedly raised him, enduring countless hardships. Now, after excelling in his studies and being admitted to Qinghai City People's Hospital, their lives were finally about to brighten—only for this tragedy to strike.

  "Damn this unfair world."

  Good people truly get no reward. Lin Yu cursed under his breath as his eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, slowly closing.

  "My son—"

  A heart-wrenching wail jolted Lin Yu awake. When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing at the foot of the bed, watching his mother collapse onto it in uncontrollable sobs.

  "Mom, why are you crying? I'm right here, perfectly fine!"

  Overjoyed, Lin Yu thought he had miraculously recovered. He reached out to pat his mother, only to see his hand pass right through her body.

  His mother didn’t react at all, still weeping over the bed.

  Lin Yu’s expression changed. He looked up and saw another version of himself lying on the bed—his face gaunt and ashen, clearly lifeless.

  *Am I dead?*

  He looked down at his own body—translucent, pale, and slightly see-through.

  A shock ran through him. *So, after death, the soul really does exist!*

  No matter what he said or did, his mother remained unaware.

  With the nurse’s help, his mother tearfully dressed his corpse in burial clothes before the mortuary workers loaded it onto a hearse.

  His mother climbed in beside his body, gripping his hand tightly, tears streaming from her red, swollen eyes. "Yu'er, go in peace. Once I’ve settled things here, I’ll join you soon."

  To her, her son was her entire world. With him gone, there was no reason left for her to live.

  Hearing his mother’s suicidal thoughts, Lin Yu panicked. Mimicking movie scenes of souls returning to their bodies, he lay atop his corpse—but nothing happened. Each time he sat up, only his spirit moved.

  Soon, the hearse arrived at the crematorium. After the formalities, the staff applied minimal makeup to Lin Yu’s face and handed his mother a number tag. Then, the attendants wheeled his body into the incineration hall.

  "No!"

  The moment his body was pushed into the furnace, Lin Yu’s spirit shattered.

  As his flesh burned, he felt his consciousness weakening. Countless faint points of light scattered from his spirit, which itself grew increasingly transparent.

  At the same time, another world began flashing before his eyes—an endless expanse of darkness, interspersed with crimson flames and agonized screams.

  *Hell.*

  This was the first thought that crossed Lin Yu’s fading mind. Overwhelming terror consumed him.

  Instinctively, his spirit thrashed wildly in the air, the glowing fragments still streaming from him, faster and faster.

  The hellish landscape grew clearer. A mysterious, hoarse voice called to him from below.

  Just as Lin Yu’s body was nearly reduced to ashes in the furnace, a jade-green pendant amid the embers suddenly emitted a dazzling light.

  This pendant had been left to him by his late grandfather and had hung around his neck since childhood. When dressing him in burial clothes, his mother had deliberately left it on.

  The pendant’s glow intensified until—*pop!*—it shattered. A wisp of emerald light shot out and attached itself to Lin Yu’s spirit.

  Then, a deep, ancient voice echoed in his mind:

  *"I am your ancestral sage. From this day forth, you are my successor. I bequeath to you my medical arts and mystical techniques—heal the world, and in doing so, heal yourself."*

  With that, the voice faded, and a flood of knowledge surged into Lin Yu’s consciousness: medical secrets, cultivation methods, and the experiences of his ancestors.

  As he absorbed this information, excitement surged through him—it was as if a new world had opened before him.

  But the thrill was short-lived. What use were these mystical arts now that he was a dead man bound for hell?

  Then, a memory about *soul-returning techniques* surfaced.

  According to it, those whose spirits hadn’t dispersed after death could possess a living body and return to life.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  But Lin Yu’s original body had already been reduced to ashes. Fortunately, the records also mentioned a method for when the physical form was destroyed:

  *"If the flesh perishes, become a ghost. Seek a living vessel, then inhabit it."*

  Lin Yu inhaled sharply. This meant that if he wanted to revive, he’d have to use the soul-returning technique to become a ghost and possess someone else’s body.

  But in human consciousness, ghosts were evil entities. And by taking over another’s body, wouldn’t he essentially be stealing their life?

  As he hesitated, his spirit grew fainter, now barely a shadow. The calling from hell grew clearer.

  Gritting his teeth, Lin Yu glanced at the bodies being wheeled into the crematorium and had an idea: *If the dead won’t work, what about the living dead?*

  Minutes later, he arrived at Qinghai City’s largest vegetative-state care center.

  Many coma patients had no consciousness and would never wake up—their bodies lived, but their minds were gone. Lin Yu reasoned that possessing such a person wouldn’t count as murder.

  At first, he searched room by room for a suitable host.

  But as his spirit grew dangerously faint, the hellish summons more urgent, he ran out of time.

  Without further thought, Lin Yu zeroed in on a male coma patient in his twenties. Chanting the soul-returning incantation, his spirit dissolved into a wisp of white smoke and plunged into the young man’s body.

  *"You can’t escape!"*

  The summoning voice turned into a shrill scream—then Lin Yu’s consciousness vanished entirely.

  When he awoke again, blinding light forced him to shut his eyes. After adjusting, he looked around: he was in a hospital room.

  *Success!*

  Thrilled, Lin Yu sat up abruptly, examining his new body. He yanked out the IV and jumped out of bed—only to collapse as his legs gave way.

  The muscles in this young man’s body had atrophied slightly from prolonged disuse.

  Staggering to his feet, Lin Yu glanced at the wall calendar. A whole day had passed. Touching the bed and walls, feeling their cool solidity, it all felt surreal—dead yesterday, alive today.

  After moving around to adjust to his new form, he rushed out of the hospital. Only one thing was on his mind: *See his mother.*

  At the bun shop, a crowd had gathered—a dozen thugs were shouting at Lin Yu’s mother to repay her debts.

  To fund Lin Yu’s surgery, she’d borrowed over a hundred thousand in high-interest loans. Now that he was dead, the collectors had come knocking.

  "Don’t worry, I’ll sell the shop in a few days and pay you back. Please, just leave now."

  Her eyes swollen from crying, Lin Yu’s mother pleaded, desperate to send them away. Her son had just passed—she didn’t want his spirit disturbed.

  "Bullshit! This dump isn’t worth much. With your son dead, if you skip town, who do we collect from?" The leader, a punk with dyed-yellow hair, sneered.

  "I promise I won’t run. Once I have the money, I’ll repay you immediately."

  "Not good enough. We’re getting our money today!" The punk refused to back down.

  "But I don’t have it now. You know all my savings went into my son’s treatment—"

  Her voice broke, the pain unbearable.

  "Fine. No money? Then sign over your crappy house to us. Consider it repayment." The punk’s eyes gleamed—this was his real goal.

  Lin Yu’s mother froze. The house, left by her father, was old but prime real estate. In Qinghai’s current market, it was worth at least two to three million. This was outright robbery.

  But with her son gone, what use was the house? Paying off the debts would at least let her leave this world in peace.

  Resigned, she nodded—but before she could agree, a furious shout came from the door.

  "No way! Our house is worth millions! This is robbery!"

  Then, Lin Yu—in his new body—burst into the shop like a storm.

  "The hell? Who’s this brat? None of your damn business!" The punk, seeing Lin Yu’s hospital gown, assumed he was some escaped mental patient. He swung a slap at Lin Yu’s face.

  Lin Yu dodged instinctively and shoved back—sending the punk flying six meters through the air before crashing onto a table.

  "Kill this bastard!"

  Clutching his chest in pain, the punk howled. His dozen lackeys immediately swarmed Lin Yu, fists and feet flying.

  The bun shop erupted with screams—but they were all from the thugs.

  Despite their numbers, none could land a hit on Lin Yu. His strikes, however, felt like being hit by a truck. One punch was enough to leave them writhing on the ground.

  Lin Yu himself was stunned. Legends said possessed bodies had supernatural strength—apparently true. Their movements seemed sluggish to him, easily dodged.

  "Call the cops! Call them!"

  The punk leader was terrified. He’d seen tough guys, but nothing like this—this was inhuman.

  Hearing this, Lin Yu’s mother grabbed his arm urgently. "Young man, they’re calling the police. Run! I’ll handle this."

  "Mom, what are you saying? How could I leave you?"

  Tears of joy welled in Lin Yu’s eyes. Seeing his mother alive again was everything.

  At his address, his mother froze, staring blankly at him.

  Realizing his mistake—*she didn’t recognize him in this body*—Lin Yu quickly covered:

  "Sorry, Auntie. Seeing you reminded me of my mom—it just slipped out. Don’t mind me."

  He couldn’t reveal his identity and scare her.

  "It’s alright, young man. But please, go! Don’t let our troubles drag you down." She pushed him toward the door.

  Instead of answering, Lin Yu grabbed chopsticks from the table and hurled them—*thunk!*—pinning the punk’s phone (mid-dial to 110) to the wall.

  The punk paled. The chopsticks had missed his ear by a centimeter. A slight deviation, and they’d have skewered his skull.

  "Help! Murder! Help—" The punk wailed, aggrieved. *They* were the ones who owed *him* money!

  "Shut up. I’ll repay Auntie’s debt."

  Lin Yu’s voice was ice. Now that he was back, these debts were his to settle.

  "Young man, how can this be? We’ve just met—you can’t pay for me!" His mother studied him, puzzled. Something about him felt eerily familiar.

  That he knew her surname didn’t surprise her—after her son’s heroic death, netizens had doxxed her name and contacts. Many kind souls had offered condolences, but she’d declined all.

  "Good! You said it. Hand over the cash then." The punk didn’t care why Lin Yu was intervening—money was money.

  "Give me three days."

  "..." The punk was speechless. All that bravado, and he needed *time*?

  "Don’t believe me?"

  Lin Yu’s eyes narrowed, his tone glacial.

  "I do, I do! But, uh... mind telling me your name, boss?" The punk shivered under Lin Yu’s gaze.

  *Name?*

  Right—he’d left in such a hurry, he hadn’t even checked this body’s name.

  "Don’t worry. I keep my word. Three days from now, right here. I’ll repay you with interest."

  Lin Yu’s confidence came from his new identity.

  If this guy was in a care center, his family—however modest—could surely spare a hundred or two hundred thousand. He’d borrow it now and repay them once he earned his own money.

  Having witnessed Lin Yu’s skills, the punk didn’t argue. But just as he nodded, his eyes locked onto something outside the shop, transfixed.

  Curious, Lin Yu followed his gaze.

  A red BMW X5 had pulled up. The door opened, revealing long, pale legs in white stilettos before a tall, stunning woman in a Bohemian dress stepped out.

  Tossing her dark hair and removing her sunglasses, her flawless skin and exquisite features were otherworldly. The punk and his gang gaped.

  Lin Yu was equally captivated—her beauty and aura were peerless.

  The woman glanced at the bun shop, frowned slightly, then strode inside.

  "Miss, here for buns? What filling?"

  Lin Yu blurted out—a reflex from helping his mom at the shop.

  "What did you call me?" Her icy glare could freeze lava.

  "Miss...?"

  Lin Yu was confused. Since when did women dislike being called beautiful?

  She scrutinized him, then sneered. "Wow, He Jiarong. Two months in a coma, and you don’t even recognize your own wife."