Darkness.
That was the first thing Xian Ye felt. Not the suffocating, absolute void of death, but the heavy, oppressive weight of existence pressing down on him like an unbearable burden. His soul screamed, clawing at the fabric of reality itself, yet something had bound him, dragged him back from oblivion.
His last memory burned within his mind—the wretched faces of his betrayers, the twisted smirk of Lei Tian as he delivered the final blow, the contempt in Jiang Yue's eyes as she watched without remorse. Hatred festered inside him, coiling like a venomous serpent, its fangs buried deep into his soul.
But why? Why was he here? He should have ceased to exist. Even the heavens had abandoned him.
A sharp gasp escaped his lips as sensation flooded back into his limbs. He felt pain—not the agony of death, but a dull, persistent ache that ran through his fragile body. His chest rose and fell in labored breaths, and his muscles quivered as if they had never known strength.
And then, he heard it.
"Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. I cannot believe I share blood with such a disgrace."
The voice was sharp, dripping with disdain. Xian Ye's eyes shot open, adjusting to the dim candlelight illuminating a modest room. He saw a tall, robed figure standing over him, his expression twisted in disappointment.
"You should have died out there, Xian Ye. No—calling you that is an insult to the name. You are no longer worthy. From today onwards, you are nothing but a waste of space."
The words struck like a blade, but it was not the first time he had been looked down upon. His mind scrambled to make sense of his surroundings, and then it struck him—this was not his body. The voice was not unfamiliar, but the weight behind it was different.
Memories not his own flooded his consciousness. A different Xian Ye. A boy born into a once-noble house that had long since fallen from grace. A weakling, scorned by his family, mocked by his peers, and destined for mediocrity. He was no genius. No prodigy. He was sickly, frail, and powerless in a world that devoured the weak.
Reincarnation.
Fate had spat in his face. It had not granted him vengeance but shackled him to a body that was the very embodiment of everything he despised.
His fingers curled into the tattered sheets beneath him. No. This was not salvation. This was an insult. The heavens were laughing at him, toying with him even in death.
"Do not embarrass the Xian name further," the figure sneered before turning to leave. "The elders have already decided. You are to be sent to the outer branch to live out the rest of your miserable existence. Do not show your face before us again."
With that, the door slammed shut, leaving Xian Ye in silence.
The rage within him simmered, boiling beneath the surface. He wanted to scream, to destroy everything around him, but this body was too weak to even sit up properly. He was powerless.
But only for now.
As his vision adjusted, he caught sight of an old, cracked mirror in the corner of the room. Summoning what little strength he had, he forced himself upright and stumbled toward it. What he saw nearly made him recoil.
The boy reflected back at him was a shadow of his former self. Hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, a body barely clinging to flesh and bone. His once-magnificent golden hair was now a dull, brittle mess. This was the vessel the heavens had chosen for him?
A hollow laugh escaped his lips. If they thought this would break him, they were gravely mistaken.
He may have been betrayed.
He may have lost everything.
But he would never surrender.
His past life had ended with betrayal and regret. This one would begin with vengeance.
As the first embers of his will reignited, something within him stirred. A force—deep, dark, and unnatural—coiled within his soul, whispering, waiting.
The heavens had abandoned him.
But something far older had not.