Darkness, dampness, frigidity.

  The sensation of suffocation clung to Lin Rui, relentless. He jolted his eyes open, chest heaving, gasping for breath as if a hand were clamped around his throat. His body was encased by heavy wooden planks, limbs stiff, hands and feet powerless, nostrils filled with the dry scent of sandalwood and a faint, almost imperceptible whiff of decay.

  —A coffin.

  He was in a coffin.

  "Shit..." Lin Rui's brain snapped awake. He attempted to raise his hand to push open the coffin lid, but a jolt of muscle cramps shot through him. His entire being felt sealed off, his Qi flowing stagnant, and even the simplest movements became arduous.

  —This body had died once already.

  Just then, a torrent of jumbled memory fragments flooded his mind, like a forcefully injected stream of information, causing his brain to roar.

  Memories of the predecessor—

  Bamboo Cloud Town, Lin Family, Lin Rui.

  —His mother had mysteriously disappeared when he was young. His father, Lin Yuntian, was the fifth son of the current family head, Lin Tianhua, and a cultivator. Though lacking remarkable talent, he had steadily progressed through unwavering loyalty and diligent cultivation, step by step reaching the "Foundation Elixir Art Stage" ( 丹诀初炼 - Dānjué Chūliàn, Initial Refinement of Elixir Art，6th Level), barely squeezing into the ranks of official family stewards.

  Lin Yuntian received a family order a year ago and was dispatched to the Qingluo Prefecture border to investigate "unusual secret mine activity. " He has not returned since, and his fate is unknown.

  With his father gone, Lin Rui's situation became even more precarious.

  The Lin Family was a cultivation clan. All resources were tilted towards descendants with "cultivation prospects." At the same time, Lin Rui, to this day, has not even achieved "Mystic Method Enlightenment" (秘法启蒙 - Mìfǎ Qǐméng，1st Level), remaining stuck in the ordinary mortal stage. His meridians were inherently sluggish and blocked, his cultivation speed excruciatingly slow. In the eyes of the family, such aptitude was synonymous with uselessness.

  The family elders had long given up on nurturing him. They deprived him of his right to use the family's cultivation grounds and withheld even the lowest-grade elixirs, deeming his existence a waste of resources.

  The only person who loved him—his father—was now also gone.

  Ostracized within the family—

  In the depths of Lin Rui's memory, scenes of ridicule and neglect from family disciples surfaced.

  "He still hasn't mastered even the introductory chapter of the Lin Family Heart Sutra? So many years, and he is still at 'Heart Sutra Initial Cultivation,' what a waste!"

  "Heard his father hasn't returned for a year, probably dead. No wonder the clan won't even waste spiritual Qi on the residence he lives in."

  "What's the point of someone like him living? Can't cultivate, not even fit to be a servant."

  ...

  Unable to cultivate meant lacking a voice. Without cultivation, there was no status. Strength was the only rule in this family, and he was merely an ordinary clansman incapable of advancement.

  But Lin Rui had never given up on cultivation. Year-round, he persisted with physical training and muscle and bone tempering, and alone in the bamboo forest behind the mountain, he had attempted countless times to regulate his breathing, even if spiritual Qi flowed so sluggishly that he could only absorb a minuscule wisp of spiritual breath a day, even as those remarkably talented family disciples could break through realms in mere days, he still gritted his teeth and persevered.

  —Until a month ago, he began to sense something was wrong with his body.

  Initially, it was just fatigue and dizziness. He had assumed it was due to over-cultivation, but soon, he discovered the Qi within his body growing weaker and weaker, even the Heart Sutra's circulation becoming sluggish.

  Days later, he couldn't complete the most basic breath regulation exercises.

  Afterward, his breathing grew heavy, and his limbs weak until even gripping a bamboo branch became difficult. Exhausting what little strength remained, he dragged his frail body to the Scripture Pavilion, poring over every medical text he could find, finally locating a familiar symptom description in a tattered medical scroll—

  "Soul Powder, colorless and odorless, capable of sealing meridians, causing a cultivator's spiritual power to wither, ultimately leading to exhaustion and demise."

  Lin Rui's fingers clenched the page, knuckles bone-white.

  He had been poisoned.

  Vendettas were not uncommon within the family, but he possessed nothing and posed no threat to anyone. Then, who wanted him dead?

  Vague possibilities flickered in his mind, yet evidence remained elusive. And the family would hardly care how a "useless waste incapable of cultivation" died.

  On the very night, he resolved to uncover the truth, his body finally succumbed to the toxin's insidious erosion. His consciousness plunged into darkness, the last image seared into his mind—himself collapsed on cold, hard flagstones, a thread of coppery blood welling in his throat.

  Until now, he had awakened.

  "...You're awake."

  Lin Rui's consciousness returned from the tide of memories, a pang seizing his chest, a faint voice echoing in his ears.

  —It was the former Lin Rui.

  The boy's voice was hoarse, muted, calm yet desolate and sorrowful as if he had already accepted his own demise.

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  "I... knew I wasn't good enough after all."

  "If only I could be as strong as you."

  "But, since you've lived... could you live on for me?"

  Lin Rui closed his eyes, slowly curling his fingers into a fist. The wood grain of the coffin wall was distinct beneath his palm.

  —Strong?

  A sudden urge to laugh welled up within him.

  Was he strong?

  Los Angeles. The childhood orphanage. Damp, double-decker iron beds. The clamor and squabbles of children. The wail of sirens screaming past. And the indifferent adults.

  "This child is clever but too unsociable."

  "He doesn't cry or fuss like a little wolf cub."

  "No matter what happens, he carries it all himself, never asking for help, never shedding a tear."

  From a young age, he understood that no one would come to save him.

  Orphanage kids were constantly bullied. When he first arrived, he was small and quiet; he looked like easy prey. But the first time he was beaten black and blue, he didn't cry. Instead, he bit back his pain, waiting in the night until those bullies were sound asleep, then retaliating in the most cold-blooded manner.

  After that, no one dared to touch him carelessly.

  "You're strong."

  He vaguely remembered a boy his age saying this to him once.

  But what use was strength? Hunger wouldn't torment you less for being strong; no one would spare you a second glance just because you fought back.

  So, he learned to be self-reliant, distrustful, and depend only on himself.

  He became a private investigator, using his intellect to earn money, trying to live a little easier in this dog-eat-dog world.

  But he had still failed.

  A rainy night in Los Angeles, a damp, deserted parking lot, that whispering shadow, a heavy, silencing blow... he hadn't even had a chance to resist before being plunged into darkness.

  —Yes, perhaps he had never indeed won.

  Lin Rui chuckled softly, his voice dry and raspy, laced with a hint of self-deprecation.

  Yet, never had he imagined, upon opening his eyes, he would be granted a second life.

  Alive, within the body of another "Lin Rui."

  "Do you know..." That faint voice echoed again, the Bamboo Cloud Town Lin Rui continued, his tone still gentle and serene. "When I was little, I was always afraid of the dark."

  Lin Rui blinked, momentarily taken aback.

  "The nights here are cold. The windows in my room never quite closed properly, wind whistling in, like something was trying to drag me away." The boy spoke slowly, as if lost in reminiscence. "I told Father, but he was always away on missions, never home. No one in the family cared about me, and I didn't dare to speak up, because they all thought I was unwanted."

  Lin Rui frowned slightly, fingers drumming against the coffin's inner wall, scoffing softly, "Afraid of the dark? What's there to fear? It'll be dawn eventually."

  "...It's not the same," the Bamboo Cloud Town Lin Rui murmured. "You know you'll see the dawn, but I didn't."

  Lin Rui's fingertips paused mid-drum.

  "You grew up in Los Angeles, didn't you? I absorbed your memories before you awakened too. The nights there, streetlights are so bright, neon dazzling in every color imaginable. Even standing in a bar back alley, you can still hear the distant hum of traffic."

  "But Bamboo Cloud Town is different."

  "The nights in my courtyard, they were pitch-black, couldn't see your own hand in front of your face. The nights here, no streetlights, no sound. You start to feel like... forgotten by the world."

  "And then, you really will be forgotten."

  The boy spoke slowly, his voice fading lower and lower, until it dwindled to a mere sigh.

  "I always thought, if I just tried a little harder, maybe I wouldn't be forgotten."

  "Maybe Father would return, maybe the family would accept me again, maybe... I really could become a cultivator."

  "But I still died."

  "So... could you help me?"

  Lin Rui drew a deep breath, leaning back against the coffin, two vastly different nights flashing through his mind simultaneously—

  Los Angeles, neon bar lights, bustling, gaudy, humid air.

  Bamboo Cloud Town, dark nights, quiet, cold, a solitude that swallowed you whole.

  The former Lin Rui had longed to be seen. And himself?

  He had never needed anyone's attention, never cared how the world viewed him.

  Yet now, he was being entrusted by a dead boy with the task of "living on."

  —Live on?

  This time, perhaps he would try.

  Lin Rui exhaled softly, licked his chapped lips, a wry smile playing on his lips, tinged with resignation, yet also a hint of amusement.

  "...You, huh? Fine then, I'll try my best."

  He raised his hand, abruptly pushing outwards with every ounce of strength he possessed—

  Bang!

  The coffin lid slammed open with a resounding bang, icy air rushing in, the lit sandalwood incense drifting languidly within the ancestral hall, the slightly trembling ancestral tablets lending an air of solemn majesty to the entire hall.

  Outside the coffin, the Lin Family Ancestral Hall stood solemn and silent.

  Several Lin clansmen were murmuring amongst themselves nearby. The sudden tremor of the coffin startled them into stillness, turning back, dumbfounded.

  And amidst their shocked gazes, Lin Rui propped himself up slowly in the coffin, disheveled short hair, face deathly pale, yet a sardonic smile curling at the corner of his lips, his entire being exuding an eerie aura, as if returned from the underworld, chillingly uncanny.

  Lin Rui chuckled softly, his voice dry and raspy, laced with a hint of self-deprecation.

  Yet, never had he imagined, upon opening his eyes, he would be granted a second life.

  Alive, within the body of another "Lin Rui."

  "Do you know..." That faint voice echoed again, the Bamboo Cloud Town Lin Rui continued, his tone still gentle and serene. "When I was little, I was always afraid of the dark."

  Lin Rui blinked, momentarily taken aback.

  "The nights here are cold. The windows in my room never quite closed properly, wind whistling in, like something was trying to drag me away." The boy spoke slowly as if lost in reminiscence. "I told Father, but he was always away on missions, never home. No one in the family cared about me, and I didn't dare to speak up because they all thought I was unwanted."

  Lin Rui frowned slightly, fingers drumming against the coffin's inner wall, scoffing softly, "Afraid of the dark? What's there to fear? It'll be dawn eventually."

  "...It's not the same," the Bamboo Cloud Town Lin Rui murmured. "You know you'll see the dawn, but I didn't."

  Lin Rui's fingertips paused mid-drum.

  "You grew up in Los Angeles, didn't you? I absorbed your memories before you awakened, too. The nights there, streetlights are so bright, neon, and dazzling in every color imaginable. Even standing in a bar back alley, you can still hear the distant hum of traffic."

  "But Bamboo Cloud Town is different."

  "The nights in my courtyard were pitch-black, and you couldn't see your own hand in front of your face. The nights here, no streetlights, no sound. You start to feel like... forgotten by the world."

  "And then, you really will be forgotten."

  The boy spoke slowly, his voice fading lower and lower until it dwindled to a mere sigh.

  "I always thought, if I just tried a little harder, maybe I wouldn't be forgotten."

  "Maybe Father would return, maybe the family would accept me again, maybe... I really could become a cultivator."

  "But I still died."

  "So... could you help me?"

  Lin Rui drew a deep breath, leaning back against the coffin, two vastly different nights flashing through his mind simultaneously—

  Los Angeles, neon bar lights, bustling, gaudy, humid air.

  Bamboo Cloud Town, dark nights, quiet, cold, a solitude that swallowed you whole.

  The former Lin Rui had longed to be seen. And himself?

  He had never needed anyone's attention, never cared how the world viewed him.

  Yet now, he was being entrusted by a dead boy with the task of "living on."

  —Live on?

  This time, he may try.

  Lin Rui exhaled softly, licked his chapped lips, a wry smile playing on his lips, tinged with resignation, yet also a hint of amusement.

  "...You, huh? Fine then, I'll try my best."

  He raised his hand, abruptly pushing outwards with every ounce of strength he possessed—

  Bang!

  The coffin lid slammed open with a resounding bang, icy air rushing in, the lit sandalwood incense drifting languidly within the ancestral hall, the slightly trembling ancestral tablets lending an air of solemn majesty to the entire hall.

  Outside the coffin, the Lin Family Ancestral Hall stood solemn and silent.

  Several Lin clansmen were murmuring amongst themselves nearby. The sudden tremor of the coffin startled them into stillness, turning back, dumbfounded.

  And amidst their shocked gazes, Lin Rui propped himself up slowly in the coffin, disheveled short hair, face deathly pale, yet a sardonic smile curling at the corner of his lips, his entire being exuding an eerie aura, as if returned from the underworld, chillingly uncanny.