The night was quiet, save for the rhythmic tapping of keys on a keyboard. Lin Feng sat hunched over his desk in his small apartment in Shanghai, his eyes glued to the glowing screen of his computer. The room was dimly lit by the soft blue light emanating from the monitor, casting long shadows across the cluttered workspace. Coffee cups—some empty, some half-full—were scattered around him like forgotten relics of countless sleepless nights. He had been working tirelessly on a project for weeks now, trying to meet an impossible deadline set by his demanding clients.

Lin Feng sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes with one hand while reaching for his coffee mug with the other. His fingers brushed against its warm surface, but before he could lift it, his elbow accidentally nudged the cup off the edge of the desk. Time seemed to slow as the mug tumbled through the air, spilling its dark contents onto the floor—and worse, onto the power strip connected to his computer.

There was a sharp crackle of electricity, followed by a blinding flash of light. Lin Feng barely had time to register what was happening before a searing jolt coursed through his body. Pain exploded in every nerve, and then... nothing. Darkness enveloped him.

***

When Lin Feng opened his eyes again, he found himself lying on a hard wooden bed, staring up at a thatched ceiling. For a moment, confusion clouded his mind. Where was he? This wasn't his apartment; this wasn't even modern-day China. The air smelled different here—earthy, tinged with the faint aroma of herbs and smoke. Slowly, memories began flooding back to him. Memories that weren't his own.

He realized with growing shock that he was no longer Lin Feng, the overworked designer struggling to make ends meet in bustling Shanghai. Instead, he inhabited the frail body of a sickly orphan boy who lived in a remote village on the Martial Soul Continent. The boy's name was also Lin Feng, though their lives couldn't have been more different.

This Lin Feng had grown up alone after losing both parents to illness when he was very young. He survived thanks to the kindness of villagers, but life hadn't been easy. Constantly plagued by fevers and weak lungs, he often spent days confined to his bed, too weak to do much else. Just yesterday—or perhaps hours ago—he had succumbed to yet another fever, leaving behind only vague whispers among the villagers about how tragic it was for such a young soul to pass away so soon.

But here he was, alive once more. And not just alive—reborn. As Lin Feng processed these new memories, a wave of disbelief washed over him. Was this real? Had he truly died and somehow awakened in another world? It sounded absurd, yet everything felt vividly tangible—the rough texture of the blanket beneath him, the distant chirping of birds outside, the gentle breeze rustling through the cracks in the walls.

Then came the realization that sent shivers down his spine. Tomorrow was the Awakening Ceremony—a rite of passage for all sixteen-year-olds in the village. On this day, each participant would undergo a sacred ritual conducted by the village priest, during which they would awaken their Martial Soul.

In the Martial Soul Continent, martial arts reigned supreme. Every individual possessed the potential to awaken a unique Martial Soul upon turning sixteen, a manifestation of their inner strength and abilities. These souls took various forms—weapons like swords or spears, creatures such as tigers or dragons, plants, elements, and even abstract concepts. They were not physical entities but rather illusions born within the consciousness, serving as conduits for one's martial energy.

However, not all Martial Souls were created equal. They were graded from 1 to 9, with Grade 1 being the rarest and most powerful, while Grade 9 represented the weakest. One's grade determined not only their initial prowess but also their future prospects in life. Those with high-grade souls often rose to prominence, becoming warriors, leaders, or legends, whereas those with lower grades faced a lifetime of mediocrity or servitude.

For someone like Lin Feng—the weak, sickly orphan who barely scraped by day-to-day—the odds of awakening anything impressive seemed slim. Most people assumed he wouldn't even survive long enough to reach the ceremony. Yet fate had intervened, giving him a second chance at life. Now, armed with knowledge from his past existence, Lin Feng resolved to seize this opportunity.

The next morning arrived sooner than expected. The sun peeked over the horizon, bathing the village in golden light. Villagers gathered near the central square, where a makeshift altar had been erected for the ceremony. Excitement buzzed in the air as teenagers lined up eagerly, anticipation written clearly on their faces. Some wore confident grins, certain of their destined greatness, while others fidgeted nervously, unsure of what awaited them.

As Lin Feng approached, murmurs spread through the crowd.

"Lin Feng? But... he was supposed to be dead."

"He looks better than yesterday. Maybe he's finally getting stronger."

"Poor child. He has suffered so much. I hope he awakens something."

A few skeptical voices still lingered, but most of the villagers watched with a mix of curiosity and concern rather than outright disdain. Though many pitied him, others had quietly provided food and shelter over the years, ensuring he didn't succumb entirely to his frailty. Lin Feng ignored the whispers, keeping his expression calm as he joined the line.

At the front of the line stood two boys, each eager to prove themselves. The first was Li Wei, a tall and muscular youth known for his athleticism. When it was his turn, he knelt before the village priest, who placed a weathered hand on his forehead and began chanting. A faint glow enveloped Li Wei, and moments later, a shimmering broadsword materialized above him. Its blade gleamed with an ethereal light, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

"Grade 5 Broad Sword Martial Soul!" the priest announced, nodding approvingly. "A fine weapon for a warrior."

Li Wei beamed with pride as he stepped aside, allowing the next participant to take his place. This time, it was Mei Ling, a shy girl with delicate features. She trembled slightly as she knelt before the altar, her hands clasped tightly together. The priest repeated the ritual, and this time, a translucent vine coiled around her arm, sprouting tiny green leaves that glowed softly.

"Grade 6 Plant Manipulation Martial Soul," the priest declared. While not as impressive as Li Wei's sword, the crowd still applauded politely. Mei Ling smiled timidly, relief evident on her face.

Finally, it was Lin Feng's turn. Stepping forward, he knelt before the village priest, an elderly man clad in flowing robes adorned with intricate patterns. The priest placed a weathered hand on Lin Feng's forehead and began chanting in a language unfamiliar yet strangely resonant. A surge of warmth spread through Lin Feng's body, and suddenly, images flooded his mind.

He saw flashes of his old life—the countless hours spent designing logos, websites, and user interfaces. He remembered the thrill of creating something beautiful and functional, the satisfaction of seeing his work come to life. Then, the vision shifted. Before him materialized a sleek, futuristic tablet-like interface, hovering within his consciousness. Its surface shimmered with holographic displays, buttons, and sliders, reminiscent of the design software he had used back on Earth.

But unlike the others, nothing appeared outwardly. No glowing weapons, no elemental manifestations—just silence. The priest frowned, studying Lin Feng intently.

"It seems…" the priest hesitated, his voice heavy with disappointment. "…your soul has failed to awaken."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some villagers exchanged pitying glances, while others whispered amongst themselves.

"Poor Lin Feng," one woman murmured. "He always was too weak."

Li Wei smirked, crossing his arms smugly. "I guess we know why he never stood a chance."

Lin Feng clenched his fists, biting back the urge to defend himself. But deep inside, he felt a strange calm. Because he knew the truth. The tablet remained hidden, visible only to him—a secret weapon buried deep within his mind. As he rose to his feet and walked away from the altar, he couldn't help but smile faintly.

They thought he was powerless. Weak. Ordinary.

But they were wrong.

Later that evening, after the feast from the ceremony, Lin Feng retreated to his hut, closing the door firmly behind him. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he closed his eyes and focused inward. Instantly, the holographic tablet reappeared in his mind's eye, glowing softly against the darkness of his thoughts.

Tentatively, he reached out with his consciousness, brushing his fingers against the interface. To his amazement, the tablet responded immediately, projecting lines of code and design schematics into the air around him. Information flooded his mind—commands, functions, and possibilities beyond imagination.

"This… this changes everything," Lin Feng whispered, his heart racing with excitement. His Martial Soul wasn't just a relic of his past life; it was a bridge between worlds, a testament to his unique journey. And perhaps, just perhaps, it was the key to rewriting his destiny.

Unbeknownst to the villagers, Lin Feng wasn't powerless at all. In fact, he might be the most dangerous person in the entire village.