Life was nothing more than an endless, unfathomable pool, where the weak swam aimlessly like fish, their destinies dictated by forces far beyond their control. The common folk, the powerless, were nothing but prey, darting about in fleeting bursts of hope, only to be plucked from existence the moment fate—or something far greater—decided it was their time. The gods, the divine, the rulers of this world, were the fishermen, casting their lines with an indifferent hand, watching the helpless struggle before reeling them in. Unless one was a shark—powerful, relentless, and feared—one could never hope to escape the fisherman's grasp.
That was the reality of this world. That was the truth Jun Caishen had learned long ago.
"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear."
Fear of the unknown. Fear of the strong. Fear of suffering, of death, of loss. Fear ruled all things, dictated all choices, bound even the mighty in invisible chains. But fear could also be a weapon. He had learned this in his past life, and he would learn it again in this one.
For now, however, he was nothing more than a helpless infant, trapped within the frail confines of his newborn body.
His mother was kind. He could tell, even without fully seeing her, even without knowing her beyond the gentle way she cradled him, the soothing cadence of her voice. She was warmth, comfort—safety. A rarity in this cruel world.
His father, on the other hand… Jun could not say the same.
The man was a Venerable, a title earned through power and deeds, through achievements recognized by this society. That alone was respectable, for strength was the highest currency in this world, the only true measure of a person's worth. But respect did not equate to kindness. From the way his father spoke, from the disappointment laced in his tone at having a weak heir, Jun could already tell what kind of man he was dealing with.
Even in his tiny, fragile body, Jun understood. He had been here before. He had lived through this world once, had seen the way power dictated morality, the way men ruled with an iron fist while women were forced to navigate the labyrinth of strength with wit and submission. In this society, it was the men who committed the majority of crimes. The ones who seized power, who dictated life and death, who decided what was right and wrong.
And in a world like this, where the strong thrived and the weak were discarded, Jun had only one option: survival.
He still lacked the ability to talk, his tongue a useless lump in his mouth. His legs, weak and untested, could not yet support him. But he could move—just barely. And so, with the limited control he had over his small, helpless body, he did the only thing he could.
He crawled.
Crawled toward his mother, toward safety, toward warmth. It was an instinct, yes, but also a calculated choice.
Because he knew.
A child clinging to his mother was normal. A child seeking the comfort of his mother's arms was natural. It was expected. If he were to cry, to scream, to wail like any ordinary newborn, he would be labeled weak, incapable. But if he simply lay still, his silence mistaken for lifelessness, his father's disappointment would only deepen.
Crawling, however, crawling was different.
It showed will.
It showed determination.
Even if his body was weak, even if he lacked the strength to stand, even if he had just been born into this world, the simple act of moving—of choosing where he wanted to be—sent a message.
He would not be controlled.
He would not be prey.
And he would not die as just another fish in this endless pool.
For now, he would stay close to his mother. For now, he would observe. He would listen. He would learn.
Because the first step to power was knowledge.
And Jun Caishen would make sure that in this life, unlike the last, he would not be left behind.
He had thought of laying still. Perhaps if he remained unmoving, if he conserved his energy and let himself blend into the stillness of infancy, he could avoid the weight of expectations for a little while longer. He could buy himself time—time to observe, time to understand, time to adapt.
But he knew better.
If he simply lay there, silent and motionless, it would not be seen as the calculated patience of a man reborn. No, it would be seen as weakness. His father's disappointment would only deepen, the disapproval in his voice sharpening like a blade meant to cut away anything deemed unworthy.
He could already imagine it.
"The Venerable from this household's son is still alive. What are you doing dead?"
Mocking words, laced with both disdain and incredulity. A father who demanded strength, who expected resilience even from a newborn, who would see anything less than excellence as an insult to his name. A father who would sooner cast aside a weak heir than nurture one.
Jun had seen men like this before. Had lived under their rule in his past life, had been crushed beneath their expectations, had suffered for his so-called failures to meet their impossible standards. He knew exactly how this would play out if he showed even a hint of frailty.
The strong were feared. The weak were discarded.
It was as simple as that.
And so, even as his body protested, even as his muscles—barely formed, barely functioning—shook with effort, he forced himself to move. His tiny limbs, frail and powerless, strained against the weight of his own existence, but he pushed forward, inch by inch, toward the only safety he had in this world.
His mother.
She was warmth. She was kindness. She was the one thing in this cruel world that did not immediately demand strength from him. And for now, that was enough.
He could hear his father scoff, could sense the way the man's gaze lingered on him with mild disdain, as if already weighing his worth, already deciding whether he was worth keeping. But Jun did not stop.
A newborn crawling so soon—was it luck? Was it strength? It did not matter. What mattered was that it was something.
And in this world, something was always better than nothing.
His mother let out a soft gasp, surprised by the movement. She quickly scooped him up, cradling him close, holding him as if he were the most precious thing in the world.
His father, however, only sighed.
"Hmph. A weak body, but at least the will to live is there."
Jun did not react, did not flinch, did not cry. He simply let himself rest in his mother's arms, let her warmth seep into him. He had been given a second chance in this brutal world, and this time, he would not waste it.
He would not be thrown aside again.
He would not be left to rot in the mud.
He had once lived and died as Evander Soltair Vale. Now, he was Jun Caishen.
And this time, he would carve his name into history.