The morning mist clung to the trees like a ghost, and the wind whistled low through the branches. Adam stood near the edge of the rocky slope, eyes scanning the winding descent that curved down from the peak of the Hantian Mountains.
Below stretched a sea of green and gray—trees, cliffs, shadows—all familiar. All unchanged.
His heart, however, beat with the heavy ache of change.
He took one final breath of the crisp air, tightened the cloth around his waist, and began to descend.
The same path.
The same direction as before.
But this time, everything was different.
His limbs ached with every step. Without any martial cultivation, even a slow descent demanded his full attention. His balance wasn't what it once was, and his body was sore from sleep and cold.
But he didn't stumble. He didn't panic. His eyes flicked from rock to branch to root with the careful awareness of a hunter.
The body was weak, but his mind was sharpened by four lifetimes of struggle.
He moved with the lessons beaten into his bones by Bai Village's survival drills—Old Zhang's long lectures about plant patterns and animal tracks, instructor Lin's warnings about overexertion, Lin Yue's patience when she taught him which roots to chew when exhaustion hit.
Each step was deliberate. Each breath, controlled.
He didn't need power right now.
He needed patience.
And survival.
Time passed slowly as the forest thickened. He walked in silence, broken only by birdsong and the rustle of wind in the trees. But then—faint, distant, familiar—the unmistakable sound of rushing water reached his ears.
His pace quickened, heart beating faster.
He followed the sound, weaving through the dense underbrush until the forest opened up and the silver ribbon of the river came into view—violent, cold, and relentless as he remembered.
Adam crouched low behind a thick root, eyes scanning the river's edge.
It was the same.
Just as violent as before.
And just like in his fourth life, he followed it downstream.
The terrain shifted subtly as he walked. The air warmed slightly, and the canopy above opened in small patches to let in rays of golden sunlight. His boots sank into muddy patches as he moved beside the riverbank. At several points, the water forked and split—one stream bending east, another curling west.
But Adam didn't hesitate.
He had made mistakes in his fourth life—but navigation wasn't one of them.
He remembered the old man who had warned him about the false trails. He remembered the girl in the fields who'd once explained how the mossy stones near the southern stream meant it was safe. He had asked back then, not out of strategy, but out of curiosity.
That knowledge saved him now.
He kept to the correct branch of the river, staying low and quiet. There were no predators in sight, but he didn't trust the forest to stay silent forever. This world had a rhythm. And sometimes that rhythm turned sharp and bloody.
Hours passed. The sun climbed higher. His legs ached but he refused to stop.
Finally, the slope evened out. The oppressive mountain shadows thinned. Trees gave way to sparse undergrowth and soft fields of grass.
He had reached the base of the mountain!
And there, just beyond a bend in the river, lay the edge of what he knew would lead—eventually—to Bai Village.
Adam stopped walking.
He stood on the flat earth, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with silent weight.
Bai Village.
It was so close.
He could just walk straight in.
Pretend this was his first time again. Smile. Offer help and win them over.
But his feet didn't move.
Because deep down… he knew it wouldn't be the same.
They didn't remember him.
Old Bai wouldn't pat his shoulder or share wine on the porch. Zhao Yun wouldn't tease him about his posture or laugh at his slow punches. Old Zhang wouldn't sneak him extra fruit after herb gathering. The bonds he had once worked so hard to build were—gone.
While to him they were more than family. To them, he was a stranger again.
And that crushed him.
His knees buckled slightly, and he sat by the riverbank, watching the water churn and twist. It carried branches, pebbles, broken leaves—always moving forward, never stopping.
Adam's hands curled into fists.
"They don't remember," he murmured to no one. "Of course they don't. That was my fourth life. Not theirs."
He dug his fingers into the soil beside him, as if holding on to something solid could anchor him.
He wanted to scream.
But he didn't.
Instead, he closed his eyes and let the cold breeze dry the sting in them.
This pain—this loss—it wasn't new.
It was the price of knowing more than the world allowed.
And yet…
He wasn't helpless.
Not anymore.
He had memories, knowledge, strategies. And more than that—he had resolve.
No matter how many times he was thrown back, he would keep going forward.
He stood slowly, brushing dirt from his hands.
He could try approaching the village carefully, blending in, earning trust again.
Or—
He looked at the river.
That cursed, rushing stream that had once carried his battered body to the village outskirts. That had nearly killed him with its fury.
Or he could repeat what he'd done before.
Let fate carry him.
Let the river do the talking.
It had brought him to Bai Village before.
Maybe it would again.
He walked to the edge, water licking at his boots.
"Maybe this time," he said softly, "they'll save me again."
He knew how dangerous this was. The river could slam him into a rock, drown him, pull him under. But he remembered the rhythm. The curves. He knew how far to go. Where to let go.
Besides… if he died, he would wake up again.
At the top of that damned mountain.
And next time, he'd try something else.
But for now—this felt right.
Without hesitating further, Adam stepped forward.
The water was ice-cold. It wrapped around his legs, then waist, dragging him slightly. He inhaled sharply, braced himself, and let his body fall forward.
The current seized him.
It roared in his ears, twisting his body, dragging him through rapids and eddies. Stones scraped his back and arms. He coughed and sputtered as water slapped his face.
But he didn't fight it.
He remembered this.
The rush.
The panic.
The sharp bend just ahead.
The place where a tree branch had slowed him enough to be found.
He reached out blindly, and his fingers caught bark.
A gnarled branch.
Exactly like before.
He clung to it weakly as the water tugged at him, threatening to pull him under.
And then—footsteps.
Voices.
A shout.
Figures moving near the edge of his vision.
He let go.
Darkness nibbled at the edge of his sight.
Just like last time.
As his body slipped into unconsciousness, a faint smile curled at the edge of his lips.
Maybe this time, it would be different.