The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old flowers.
Joseph Arlington lay in his bed with his head propped up on two pillows, the IV stand humming softly beside him. The heart monitor beeped in a slow, steady rhythm, like the ticking of a clock winding down. Outside the window, the sky was overcast, casting the room in a dull gray light.
The book sat open on his lap.
It was thick, worn at the edges, its pages curled with use. A wuxia novel—one of many he'd read over the years. But this one was his favorite. He had read it four times already, and he was reading it now for the fifth, though his hands trembled too much to hold the pages steady.
It was the story of Wei Shen, a loyal disciple of the Azure Cloud Sect. Wei Shen had trained for years, overcome impossible odds, and risen to become one of the sect's most promising cultivators. On the night of his wedding, he had been betrayed by his fellow disciples—slain in silence beneath a sky lit with red lanterns. The novel ended with his death, and a vow whispered into the void.
Joseph's eyes flicked across the lines once again, lips moving silently as he read:
"If I had one more lifetime… just one more… I would return stronger. I would tear down the heavens themselves."
He paused, the weight of the words sinking deeper this time.
The door creaked open gently.
Nurse Melanie stepped in, her steps soft as usual. She was in her early forties, with kind eyes and a tired but sincere smile. She had been with him through most of his stay. Behind her followed Nurse Andrew, younger, quieter, often the one to take vitals in the morning.
Melanie spoke first. "Hey, Joe. How's the pain today?"
Joseph gave her a weak smile. "Not bad. The morphine's doing its job."
She looked at him for a moment before checking the monitor. "Your oxygen's low. Want to try a little more flow?"
He shook his head. "No. I want to be clearheaded right now."
She didn't argue. She just adjusted his blanket and touched his shoulder lightly.
Andrew moved to check the IV. "Need anything? Water? Ice chips?"
Joseph glanced at the book. "I'm okay. Just reading."
There was silence for a moment, the kind that settles between people when the truth hangs in the air but no one wants to speak it. They all knew.
The latest scan had come back three days ago. The chemo wasn't working. The cancer had spread—lungs, spine, liver. Joseph had maybe a few days left. A week at most.
Melanie sat at the edge of the bed, just enough to be close but not intrusive.
"You've been reading that one a lot," she said, nodding to the book.
Joseph smiled faintly. "It's about a man who dies with a promise in his heart. But he gets another chance. Reincarnates five hundred years in the past to get strong and take revenge."
Melanie looked at him carefully. "And you like that?"
He shrugged. "I guess… I just wish life worked like that. That you could... get a do-over. Not for revenge. Just... to do it right. To be strong enough the second time."
She didn't answer. Instead, she placed her hand gently over his.
Andrew glanced away, blinking a little too fast.
Joseph looked at them both, then out the window.
"I was always alone, you know," he said quietly. "No brothers. Parents passed. I taught literature. No wife. No kids. My whole life... I felt like I was waiting for something. Like I was born in the wrong world."
"Maybe this world just didn't deserve you," Melanie whispered.
Joseph chuckled weakly. "That's a sweet lie."
The monitor beeped steadily. The book lay open in his lap, a soft breeze from the cracked window rustling its pages.
"I always thought… if I could go there," he said. "To a place like that… where strength matters, where your choices echo… I'd be more than what I was here."
He turned his head slowly and looked at them. "If I die tonight, don't be sad. Just imagine I got that chance."
Neither nurse spoke. Melanie leaned forward and pressed her forehead gently against his. Andrew placed the book beside him, closing it with care.
They sat with him in silence until he began to doze off, breathing slower and slower.
His final thought was simple.
Let me go where I was meant to be.
And the world went still.
****
The rain stopped. The beeping faded. The room emptied of sound.
And in that silence, something ancient stirred.
A deep, resonant voice echoed—not in the room, but in Joseph's mind. It was vast, powerful, and heavy as the sky itself.
"You have called. I have answered."
Darkness unfolded around him like a flower. The hospital room vanished, replaced by the infinite stars of a night that had never known dawn.
Joseph floated in the void, light pouring through him, around him. He wasn't afraid.
The voice returned, louder now, impossible to resist.
"The wish you carried has reached the Southern Gate. You seek meaning, strength, and rebirth. So it shall be given."
A massive form stepped from the shadows—its body covered in dark silver fur, eyes burning like full moons. A dog, but the size of mountains. Regal. Timeless. A beast from myth.
"I am Tiangou, guardian of the Gate of Heaven. You have been chosen to inherit what was once denied. You shall walk the path of the broken, the betrayed, the forgotten."
"You will awaken not as Joseph. Nor only as Wei Shen. But as both. Two souls. One fate. A cycle reborn."
Joseph tried to speak, but his voice was gone. He felt his body dissolve—his limbs, his breath, even his thoughts stretched and reshaped.
"Now rise, child of sorrow. Awaken… and begin anew."
****
A sharp breeze brushed across his cheek.
Joseph gasped as warmth returned to his skin, the scent of grass and incense filling his lungs. His eyes flew open.
Sunlight filtered through pale clouds. A valley of quiet stillness stretched before him—hills rolling with early spring grass, cherry blossoms swaying in a gentle wind.
He was seated on a smooth stone, legs crossed, hands on his knees.
Robes—simple, white and gray—clung to a younger, healthier body. Strong. Balanced. His.
Not Joseph Arlington's body.
Wei Shen's.
He tried to move, but a sharp voice broke the stillness.
"Stop fidgeting," someone said behind him.
Joseph turned his head slightly.
A man in long, flowing robes stood nearby, eyes half-closed in meditation. His voice was deep, firm, but not unkind.
"Young disciple," the man said calmly. "I told you to still your breath, not fall asleep. This is not a nap. You're here to cultivate focus, not dream of food."
Joseph blinked, trying to catch his breath.
"I…"
The words caught in his throat. A dozen voices warred in his mind. Memories. Names. Swords. Blood. Earthly sorrow. Heaven's promise.
The man turned to face him fully.
"Pull yourself together, Wei Shen," the sect elder said. "We begin again."