As soon as Liu Xuefeng disappeared into the portal, Middle Heaven exhaled. The tense, electric hum of something extraordinary faded into the mundane rhythm of judgment. The men in white robes resumed their work, sorting souls with clinical precision. The white gate loomed behind them, silent and imposing, as one by one, the spirits shuffled forward to sip from bowls of gleaming silver liquid—the elixir that wiped the slate clean.
But the usual peace didn't last long. The old man handed a cup to the next soul in the queue when he suddenly faltered mid-motion, narrowing his sharp eyes.
"This girl…" he whispered, lifting the teen's chin to inspect the tears on her face.
They spilled silently down her pallid cheeks, dripping into the glowing soup she held. The liquid rippled faintly, refracting the dim blue light of her sorrow.
"This shouldn't be possible," the middle-aged man remarked, his brow furrowing.
Tears were nothing remarkable in life, but here, in this liminal space, they were an anomaly. By the time a soul crossed into Middle Heaven, its ability to weep—to feel anything—was stripped away.
But not this girl.
She stood in the line, her blank expression betraying nothing of the strength it must've taken to defy this place's laws. The tears fell anyway, unbidden, stubborn. Her soul hadn't submitted fully to the void.
"Hmm," the old man hummed thoughtfully, his lips pressing into a thin strip. "Such strong will is uncommon."
With a flick of his bony finger, a bead of white light shot forward, piercing the girl's forehead. Her shoulders jerked back, and a visible shudder ran through her. The emptiness in her gaze shattered, replaced by the warm flicker of humanity. Her face, ghostly pale just moments ago, began to flush with life as if blood had rushed back into her cheeks.
And then, the floodgates opened.
The silent tears turned into broken sobs, her body trembling as she clutched the bowl tightly. Her cries echoed faintly in the vast expanse of Middle Heaven, a haunting melody of grief and relief.
"Don't cry, child. It will be over soon," the old man said gently, stepping forward to pat her head. His hand froze mid-air.
His eyes widened, and for the second time that day, his carefully maintained composure fractured.
"What's wrong?" the middle-aged man asked, noticing the old man's sudden hesitation.
Instead of answering, the old man flicked his wrist. A shimmering hologram materialized in the air, depicting a young man stepping through a portal—Liu Xuefeng.
The girl's sobs hitched. Her reddened eyes widened in disbelief as she clutched her chest. "Xuefeng!" she cried, her voice trembling with equal parts joy and confusion.
The old man's expression softened, but his eyes remained calculating, weighing unseen consequences.
"Do you know him?" he asked.
"Yes!" she exclaimed, nodding frantically. "Where is he? Did he come here? Can I see him?"Her words tumbled out in a rush, desperate and pleading.
The two men in white exchanged glances. It wasn't often they encountered situations that tested the boundaries of their roles, but this was shaping up to be one of those days.
"No," the middle-aged man said firmly. "It's against the rules."
"Rules," the old man said, his tone laced with dry amusement. He gave his partner a pointed nudge. "If we don't tell anyone, who's to say it happened at all?"
The younger man blinked, taken aback. "You can't be serious. What if Chaos conducts an inspection?"
"I'll take responsibility," the old man replied, his voice calm but unyielding.
Reluctantly, the middle-aged man relented, letting out a resigned sigh. "Fine. But this will be on you."
He turned to the girl. "Your friend has already reincarnated. We can help you enter the same world as him, but whether you meet again will depend on fate. Are you prepared for that uncertainty?"
Her tear-streaked face brightened, and she bowed deeply. "I don't care what it takes. As long as there's a chance, I'll do it."
"Normally, only those chosen by a Fate Spirit are granted a wish," the old man said. "But because his wish was modest—merely to keep his memories—we'll allow this exception. You, too, may carry your memories into your next life."
The girl's hands trembled, her voice choked with gratitude. "Thank you… Thank you so much!"
The old man held up a hand, silencing her. "Before you go, there's something you must understand. Keeping your memories comes at a cost. You won't be reborn as an infant but as a teenager. Your new life will be far from easy. Are you prepared for that?"
She nodded without hesitation. "I don't care. As long as I can find him again, I'll endure anything."
The old man studied her for a moment, then gave a solemn nod. "One more thing. Souls often choose bodies that feel familiar, but there's no guarantee. If his soul failed to find a suitable vessel, he may look… different now."
Her lips pressed tightly. "I'll find him. No matter what."
"Very well," the old man said, his voice tinged with something unspoken—pity, perhaps, or hope. He waved his hand, and a glowing portal appeared, its edges rippling with white light.
The girl wasted no time. She ran forward, her figure blurring as she leapt into the portal's embrace.
As the light dimmed, the middle-aged man turned to his elder. "Why did you do that?" he asked quietly.
The old man's gaze lingered on the empty space where the portal had been. His voice, when it came, was soft and wistful.
"Because love… love can overcome anything."
***
As soon as Liu Xuefeng stepped through the portal, the transition was seamless, almost anticlimactic. A single blink separated one world from the next, yet the change was undeniable. The air here was different—heavier, sharper, and carrying a faint metallic tang that clung to his senses.
He opened his eyes to an alien ceiling. Smooth plaster gleamed faintly in the dim light spilling from a single chandelier overhead, its crystals refracting soft, golden hues. Everything felt… off. Like waking up in someone else's dream.
Or nightmare.
He shifted, groaning as if every muscle in his body had just woken up after a long sleep. Something was wrong—his movements sluggish, disconnected. It was like trying to pilot a machine with wires crossed. His fingers wiggled clumsily at first, his legs jerking in unfamiliar rhythms. His brain and body seemed to operate on separate wavelengths, out of sync.
After a few moments, the pieces began to fit together. The weightlessness in his limbs faded. His movements became fluid, familiar. Tentatively, he sat up and looked around.
The bed beneath him was large—no, enormous. The king-sized mattress stretched across the room like a throne, its golden-trimmed sheets as soft as clouds. A deep purple quilt, stitched with intricate gold thread, covered him from the waist down. It smelled faintly of lavender.
He ran a hand over his bare chest and froze. Bandages, stark white and crusted with old blood, were wrapped around his torso.
"What the…" he murmured, his voice rasping. His fingers traced the fabric, searching for a wound. Nothing. Not even the faintest scar.
With deliberate care, he unraveled the bandages, letting them fall to the bed in soft, bloody coils. His pale chest was unmarred, though his skin seemed thinner somehow, almost translucent.
"Did I die because of this?" Xuefeng asked aloud, his voice low and wary. The thought hung in the air, cold and heavy.
The memories of his fall flickered—his body slamming against jagged rocks, the dull thud of impact that should've shattered bones. But this body… this body was different. It wasn't his. Not really.
He stood, swaying for a moment before his balance returned. The weight of the quilt slipped away, and his reflection caught his eye—a mirror, tall and gleaming, set into the wardrobe across the room.
He approached it slowly, his breath hitching as he caught his first glimpse of himself.
The face that stared back was familiar, yet strange. His features were eerily close to his original self: the sharp jawline, the same almond-shaped eyes. But there were differences too. His black hair was gone, replaced by a cascade of gold that shimmered faintly under the chandelier's light. His eyes, once dark and steady, now glowed a crystalline blue, so vibrant they seemed to pierce through the glass.
He touched his face, his fingers running along his cheekbones, his lips. "Well," he muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth, "I guess I upgraded."
The smirk faded as he scanned the rest of his reflection. This body was thinner, weaker. His arms lacked the muscle he had once worked so hard to build, his frame almost fragile in comparison. A rich man's son, perhaps, but not a warrior.
"Alright," he said, his voice firmer this time. "You've got a lot of work to do."
The thought was interrupted by a tightness in his chest—not physical, but emotional. Memories surged forward, unbidden. His parents' faces, lined with exhaustion yet always smiling. The long hours they worked to give him a future.
"I'm sorry I can't be with you anymore," he whispered, his voice breaking. He stared at the floor, his fists clenched. "I didn't even get to say goodbye."
The grief gnawed at him, but he pushed it down. He had made his choice—he'd die a hundred times over to save Xiao Tianshi.
"Tianshi…" Her name came out like a prayer. He could see her face clearly, framed by the fading sunlight atop that cliff. Would she blame herself? Would she cry? He shook his head, forcing the thought aside.
"She's strong. She'll keep moving forward. And so will I."
He slapped his cheeks lightly, an attempt to refocus. But the moment his hands touched his face, the world around him seemed to shift. A sharp, searing pain shot through his head, dropping him to his knees.
It hit like a freight train—a tidal wave of memories, thoughts, and emotions that weren't his own.
A girl's face. A fight. Blood spilling across a marble floor. A voice, trembling with love and despair. "I'll protect you."
He clutched his head as the memories poured in, a violent torrent that left him gasping. Ten agonizing minutes passed before the flood subsided, leaving behind a still, eerie silence.
Xuefeng opened his eyes, his breath ragged. He saw not just his life but the life of this body's previous owner.
"Did you die protecting someone too?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.
The boy's final moments played like a broken reel in his mind. A fight with his cousin over a servant girl—a girl he loved but wasn't allowed to have. Their love had been forbidden, the consequences dire. The boy had stood his ground, and it had cost him everything.
Xuefeng let out a bitter laugh. "Guess we're not so different."
He stood slowly, shaking off the weight of the memories. The parallels between his story and the boy's were cruelly ironic. On Earth, he'd been the pauper in love with a princess. Here, he was the prince defending a servant.
A wry smile tugged at his lips. "At least fate has a sense of humor."
He exhaled deeply, forcing his focus back to the present. The memories of the body's former owner were a gift—a map of this world, its rules, and its dangers.
"Alright," he muttered, running a hand through his unfamiliar hair. "Time to figure out where I stand in this mess."
He glanced around the room once more, his gaze settling on a door in the corner. Whatever awaited him beyond it, he'd face it. This was his world now.
And like it or not, Liu Xuefeng had no intention of going quietly.