Lui Ming had been trying for days to gather information about Mu LingFeng.
The results? Pathetic.
Every time he dared to inch past the doorway of the rundown courtyard, Mammy Lu or Mammy Fang would pop out of nowhere like overzealous scarecrows. They'd drag him back inside as if letting him touch sunlight would cause the sky to fall.
At first, he assumed it was coincidence. Now he was sure they were monitoring him more closely than before. Watching his movements. Tracking his habits. His every step felt like it echoed too loudly.
They were up to something. He just didn't know what.
The *medicine* was the biggest clue.
It had started after his first week here. A steaming cup delivered every morning—bitter, earthy, and "soothing," according to Mammy Fang. At first, it was tolerable. But as time passed, the smell grew stronger, the color darker, and the portion larger.
He didn't need a medical license to realize something was off.
And considering he'd had one in his past life, he trusted his instincts.
These days, he discreetly poured the liquid into an old water pouch hidden under the bed. It was starting to smell... medicinal in the worst possible way.
If they thought they were making him easier to control, they were out of luck.
One evening, with the courtyard soaked in shadows and the wind rattling the paper windows, Lui Ming wandered silently toward the maids' quarters. It wasn't just curiosity. It was survival. Gossip was the only consistent news outlet in this place.
The door was cracked. The lantern inside flickered low. He crouched nearby, feet bare against the cold wood.
"…They say Mu LingFeng's blood turned black," Mammy Lu whispered.
"You know what that means."
Mammy Fang gasped. "Heavenly cultivator? More like demonic snake.
He's being banished in five days."
Lui Ming stiffened.
"He's already locked up," Fang added. "Tianlan Sect leader Elder Zhao said it himself."
Lu scoffed. "All those years acting cold and righteous. Pfft. What a joke."
The name triggered something in Lui Ming's head. Not a memory, exactly, but… a sensation. A familiarity. He frowned, hand resting on the wall to steady himself.
The conversation continued, but his mind had drifted.
Blood. Cultivation stages. Lotus position. Banishment.
A fragmented echo pulsed behind his eyes.
Suddenly, an image surfaced—an old scroll, rough paper under his fingers, diagrams of spiritual points drawn in black ink. A voice—unfamiliar, low—explaining how to draw qi into the dantian.
He blinked, startled.
Where had that come from?
His breathing slowed.
…Could it be?
He hadn't remembered any techniques since arriving here. Not one. But now, a clear sequence of movements and breathing patterns flickered in his mind like a candle flame.
Was this... cultivation?
He stood slowly and tiptoed back to his room, heart beating faster than it should. Sitting cross-legged on the too-thin wooden bed, he closed his eyes and tried to replicate the pattern.
Inhale. Focus. Follow the breath.
He felt… something. Not dramatic. Not lightning or gold light or anything flashy. Just a shift.
A ripple.
The air in his lungs moved differently, deeper, pulling inward instead of just sitting in his chest. It touched something he couldn't name.
He opened his eyes.
"...Nascent stage," he whispered.
That phrase had been tossed around earlier, buried in the maids' gossip. And now it made sense—because it belonged to him.
So this body *could* cultivate. He just hadn't remembered how until now.
The timing was suspicious. Or maybe ironic.
Either way, it was something.
And in a place like this, something was better than nothing.
Lui Ming leaned back on his elbows, exhaling through his nose.
Mammy Qin was leaving in two days due to her unstable condition. His older brother was visiting tomorrow—according to the overheard chatter. Mu LingFeng was imprisoned, and the countdown had started.
The situation was changing.
And this time, he had a sliver of power on his side.
Small. Fragile.
But real.
He stared up at the ceiling, a faint crease between his brows.
Was he hopeful?
"…*shrugged* " Exactly!.
__________
The next day began with thunderclouds and foreboding footsteps. Lui Ming sat on the bed, expression blank as ever, mentally bracing himself for what was to come.
His older brother was coming.
Apparently.
He'd overheard Mammy Fang whispering about it last night while complaining about having to polish shoes and prepare tea that no one ever drank.
The older brother—Lui Ren—was the *first son*, the family's shining star, the one who walked like he owned the sect and breathed like the heavens owed him for existing.
And he hated Lui Ming.
Didn't dislike. *Loathed*. With the sort of disdain people usually reserved for roaches or lukewarm porridge.
The reason? That, Lui Ming had yet to recover from the body's memories. Probably something dramatic. Something involving swords. Maybe a goat.
He heard the gates creak open by mid-morning.
He didn't leave the room.
When the footsteps reached his doorway, he stared at the wall.
A heavy knock. A pause. Then the door opened without permission.
Lui Ren stepped inside, tall and elegant in his sect robes, his spiritual pressure leaking like he didn't care who suffocated. His eyes swept the room with a frown.
"You're still alive," he said, voice as flat as Lui Ming's expression.
Lui Ming blinked. "Good morning."
Lui Ren narrowed his eyes. "Don't get clever. I won't be visiting again."
Lui Ming nodded once. "Sounds like a win-win."
That earned him a dark look before Lui Ren turned and left as abruptly as he'd entered.
That was was too quick for a visit. He guessed he would stay at least five minutes but just a few words were exchanged and he was gone.....guess he only came to check if i was still breathing
Mammy Lu immediately bustled in after him with fake concern and louder-than-necessary scolding. "Young Master, why do you always anger your brother? Do you want to be thrown out of the family completely?"
"Hasn't that already happened?" Lui Ming asked mildly.
She blinked. He stared. She muttered something about 'heavenly punishments' and stormed out.
----------
That night, after enduring a tense dinner and more "medicine" (which was now stored in two water pouches under the bed), Lui Ming sat cross-legged and tried cultivating again.
He had the technique. He remembered the basics. Visualized the lotus, regulated his breath, called on the flow of energy in his dantian.
And then—
Pain.
White-hot and instant.
It felt like every joint in his body had been replaced with burning nails. His chest tightened. His fingers trembled. Something in his abdomen twisted violently, like he was being squeezed from the inside out.
He collapsed sideways with a sharp gasp, vision blurring.
"…Okay," he hissed. "What the fuck!." this time Lui Ming felt annoyed, extremely. but that feeling disappeared instantly leaving him with a blank expression
He lay flat on the wooden floor, staring at the ceiling spider. It stared back, possibly judging.
This was going to be the first and the last time he's gonna try cultivating. The was too much to bear and suddenly felt content with his current stage, and if someone is stronger than him all he had to do was get the hell out of there. it was that simple
Still… it didn't make sense.
He was in the Nascent Soul stage. That meant the foundation was already there. So why did cultivation feel like being run over by a spiritual ox cart?
Maybe it had something to do with the "artificial forces" the memory fragments hinted at. Maybe the original owner had suffered an internal injury. Or—worse—someone had tampered with the foundation altogether.
Either way, if this body kept rejecting cultivation like this, then escaping the courtyard with strength was out of the question.
He'd need a new strategy.
A clever one.
A safe one.
Preferably one that didn't involve pain.
He pulled a blanket over his head and sighed.
If this was a second chance at life, the heavens really needed better quality control.