Seven months had passed since Ren Zhaoyang had opened his eyes in this new world.
His body had grown, though not by much. It still felt fragile, sluggish, and sensitive to pain. Every little movement sent a dull ache through his limbs. Crawling required effort, sitting took focus, and even speaking strained his throat. It was like his entire frame was made of paper, every joint fragile, his muscles soft and underdeveloped. But he had adapted. As always.
He could move now, a little at a time. He no longer cried out when pain surged in his chest from sudden motions or cold air. He simply bore it, quietly. Breathing still hurt sometimes. His illness hadn't faded, but he had learned to work around it.
The villagers who occasionally visited Su Yi's home only saw a quiet, pale, adorable little girl. Her complexion was ashen, her lips light pink, and her large white-grey eyes had a glassy sheen to them—cold, unreadable, yet mesmerizing in their own way. Some even called her a lucky child, saying her features were auspicious or touched by the heavens. They brought dried herbs, soup, soft blankets, even little dolls. They cooed gently, whispered how "poor Lingxi" was too quiet, too calm for a baby. Some believed she was just shy. Others said she was weak and needed spiritual blessings.
Ren had learned their language. Seven months of listening, observing, and connecting words to actions—it had been enough. He understood nearly everything now, even if he couldn't speak much of it. His vocal cords were still underdeveloped, and speaking more than a few words left his throat raw and burning. So he remained quiet, using silence as a shield.
The man who had saved him and named him was Su Yi, a hunter who lived on the outer edge of a modest settlement called Gentle Spring Village. Su Yi was a simple man—rough hands, weathered eyes, and a gruff voice. But he was not cruel. He cooked meals, applied bitter salves when Ren's fever worsened, and even carried her outside on warmer days.
The name Su Yi gave him was Su Lingxi.
Ren did not like it. He never accepted it in his heart. "Lingxi" was soft, feminine, delicate. It didn't belong to him. Still, he responded when called. There was no benefit in refusing. Let them believe what they wanted. Inside, he was still Ren Zhaoyang. Always would be.
He tried not to think too deeply about the body he now occupied. It wasn't the same as when he was a man. He hadn't yet developed anything distinct. Physically, a baby girl's body wasn't too different. But the knowledge sat in the back of his mind, like a thorn under skin. He didn't accept it. He didn't agree with it. He avoided his reflection when possible. He didn't like how people addressed him as "little girl" or "sweet child." It was just another discomfort to endure.
But discomfort was nothing new.
One afternoon, Su Yi brought him outside again, wrapped in a thick cloth. The air was chilly but manageable. They sat quietly near the well while Su Yi repaired a bowstring. Ren's eyes wandered, observing villagers going about their day—some hanging clothes to dry, others carrying bundles of firewood.
Two older men stood nearby, chatting in low tones.
"Did you hear about Clear Valley City?" one of them muttered.
"What about it?" the other asked.
"They say an evil cultivator razed the entire city. Slaughtered everyone. Burned half the mountain down. The Seven Star Sect sent people to hunt him."
Ren's attention sharpened immediately. His gaze, blank seconds ago, narrowed slightly.
"The cultivators passed through Windbend Town not long ago," the first man continued. "My cousin saw them. Said they didn't even stop to speak. Just flew right over."
Ren's mind whirred. There it was—confirmation. Cultivators. Sects. Not just idle rumors or odd titles. Power structures. Organizations. People who could destroy cities—and no one had mentioned police, law enforcement, or anything remotely modern. The world he was in wasn't just a different country or continent. It was a completely different reality.
A world where strength ruled.
A world where people like "cultivators" massacred cities, and others simply accepted it.
He had no illusions now. This was not Earth. Not even close.
His eyes drifted to the side. Su Yi was still working, expression calm.
Ren glanced down at his own tiny hands. Soft, pale, not trembling as much anymore. Still weak. Still slow. His illness—whatever it was—remained. He had spent weeks trying to understand it. It wasn't just malnourishment or congenital weakness. It felt deeper, almost like something inside his body was out of sync, like his soul and form were mismatched. He could feel something wrong beneath the surface, like his flesh resisted his very presence. And yet, he hadn't died.
He endured.
Because that was what he did.
Survive, adapt, outlast.
Even in this frail body. Even as a sickly little girl in a world ruled by monsters in human skin.
He still had his mind.
And for now, that was enough.