Warmth.
Not the cruel, indifferent warmth of the sun beating down on wet clothes, nor the fevered heat of battle or flame.
This was gentle warmth.
Blankets accompanied with the subtle scent of herbs.
Adam's senses returned slowly, reluctantly, as though his soul wasn't quite ready to return to his body. But pain tugged at his skin—scratches, bruises, the dull ache of half-healed wounds—and that warmth whispered you're alive.
His eyes opened to a dim ceiling of wooden beams.
He blinked. The sound of a crackling fire reached his ears, mingling with the soft rustle of wind outside.
For a moment, he didn't move.
This was familiar.
The air, the scent of warm grain and old wood, the faint ache in his limbs—it all whispered of his past life experiences.
Footsteps echoed beyond the wooden door.
The door creaked open.
A broad-shouldered man stepped inside, carrying a wooden tray.
It wasn't Old Bai like last time.
It was old Zhang.
Adam's breath caught.
His heart raced as he pushed himself upright, joints protesting and dizziness blooming behind his eyes.
He was here.
Again.
And the cycle had brought him back to this place—this moment—once more.
The man hadn't changed. His broad frame, calloused hands, and weather-worn face still bore the look of someone who spent his life working the land. A streak of gray touched his short beard now, but his movements were steady, purposeful.
The same man who had once taught Adam how to till soil, how to recognize crop disease, and how to tell a fake smile from a real one.
But now—he looked at Adam like a stranger.
"Ah. You're awake," Old Zhang said, voice gruff but not unkind. He placed the tray down on a nearby stool, gesturing to a bowl of steaming broth and flatbread. "Don't sit up too fast. You were half-drowned when they pulled you out."
Adam stared, lips parting, then closing again.
This was it.
The reset.
To Old Zhang, this was their first meeting.
To Adam, it was reunion.
A reunion where only one side remembered anything at all.
"I…" Adam began, but his voice cracked. He swallowed. "Thank you. For saving me."
Old Zhang waved a hand. "Don't thank me. Thank the girl who saw your body float by. Lucky you didn't crack your head open. River this time of year's not forgiving."
Adam nodded and tried to offer a weak smile.
He felt hollow.
The last time this had happened, he had been confused, scared, overwhelmed by a world of martial artists and unfamiliar customs. Old Bai's quiet guidance had helped him adjust.
Now, Adam knew this world too well. And he didn't belong in this moment.
Still, he reached for the bowl and drank carefully. The broth was rich—bone, root vegetables and medicinal herbs.
Exactly the same.
"Did anyone… say anything?" Adam asked slowly. "About who I am?"
Old Zhang squinted. "Not a word. No belongings, no ID token, no badge. You were unconscious and soaked through. But your bones seem strong, at least. Might be from one of the northern villages. Or a runaway."
He paused.
"You remember your name?"
Adam nodded. "Adam."
"Just Adam?"
Adam nodded again. "That's all I remember."
It was a lie he'd used before. And it worked.
Old Zhang didn't press. "Well, Adam. You're in Bai Village. Not a bad place, all things considered. We don't turn away the injured. But if you plan to stay, you'll need to earn your keep once you're well enough to walk."
"I understand," Adam said quietly.
Old Zhang grunted. "Get some rest. We'll talk more later."
With that, he left, and the door closed behind him.
Adam sat alone in silence, the flickering fire casting dancing shadows across the wooden walls.
Bai Village.
He was here again.
His emotions twisted in knots—relief, sorrow, nostalgia, guilt.
The people he had fought for, trained with, laughed with… they were just outside these walls.
And they didn't know him.
To them, he was a stranger—just as he had been in his first life here.
But he was no longer the same Adam they once knew.
He was a man carved by pain. Hardened by fire and failure. Burdened by memory.
Still… being here again…
It felt like breathing after drowning.
---
He spent the rest of the day resting.
By sunset, Old Zhang returned with fresh bandages and asked him basic questions—where he'd come from, how he'd ended up in the river. Adam gave vague, familiar answers. Lost traveler. Didn't remember much. A haze of wilderness and cold.
They bought it.
Just like before.
Later that evening, Adam was helped out of the hut, his legs still shaky, but he managed. The outside world greeted him with golden twilight and the subtle sounds of village life—laughter, metal striking metal, the crackle of fires.
He turned slowly.
And there it was.
Bai Village.
Exactly as he remembered.
Wooden houses stacked close together, thin trails of smoke curling into the sky. Children running barefoot, women washing clothes by the well. Martial artists in training robes practicing in the open square, their punches timed to a rhythm set by a strict voice.
Adam's heart clenched when he saw him.
Instructor Lin.
Still barking orders with his arms behind his back, face stern but eyes alert.
And beside him—
Zhao Yun.
Younger, his face untouched by the scars that came later. Laughing as he sparred with another student, spinning with wild precision.
He could also see a figure in the distance swinging a blade with fierce momentum, her movements didn't look like the attaks of a warrior, but more like the dance of a beautiful fairy.
It was Lin Yao.
Adam froze.
He wanted to run to them.
To grab them by the shoulders, to say, You were my first real friends. You died saving me.
But he couldn't.
Be it Zhao Yun or lin Yao, they wouldn't understand.
To them, Adam was just a half-drowned stranger from the woods.
Instead, Adam turned away and sat quietly by the well, watching from a distance.
---
The next morning, the village chief summoned him.
Old Bai.
Adam stood at the edge of the wooden pavilion that served as the village's central meeting hall. Inside, Old Bai sat calmly with a scroll in hand, dressed in the same plain white robes he always wore.
His presence hadn't changed at all.
Still regal. Still composed.
Still holding power like it was part of his blood.
"Come," Old Bai said without looking up.
Adam obeyed.
"You are the river child, yes?" the elder asked after a long silence. "The one they pulled out yesterday."
Adam nodded. "Yes, Elder."
"What do you remember?"
Adam repeated the same lie: vague flashes, no clear identity, only his name.
Old Bai looked at him long and hard, as if trying to peer into his soul.
Adam met his gaze without flinching.
He knew the weight of that stare. He had once feared it. Now, he understood it.
"You have strong eyes," Old Bai said at last. "Not the eyes of a weak man. It seems you've endured your share of hardships."
"I have," Adam said softly.
"I see."
Another silence passed.
Then: "You may stay in the village. For now. You will live under Old Zhang's care until you recover. After that, you will work. Help where needed. Is that acceptable?"
Adam bowed his head. "Yes, Elder. I'm grateful."
Old Bai nodded once. "Then go. And remember—Bai Village protects its own. But we also demand respect in return."
---
The following days blurred into a strange rhythm.
Adam kept his head down, just like before. He helped Old Zhang gather herbs and water plants. Repaired fences. Cleaned tools.
He watched from a distance as the others trained.
Sometimes Zhao Yun would glance his way. Their eyes would meet briefly. Then Zhao would turn back to his sparring partner, laughing, unaware that the man watching him had once wept over his broken body in a burning village.
Adam's chest ached every time.
The pain of being forgotten ran deeper than any blade.
But he bore it.
Because this was his second chance.
No—his fifth.
He wouldn't waste it.
Each night, he lay on his cot staring at the ceiling, replaying the faces and the screams from his fourth life. He remembered the battle. The destruction. The fire. The way Old Bai had fought like a god before being consumed.
This time, Adam thought, I will be ready.
He had already begun meditating again, though his body was too weak to circulate energy.
The darkness in his chest still slept—but he could feel it faintly when he focused. It pulsed like a distant heartbeat, cold and patient.
It had come with him.
And he would learn to wield it.
Not to mention the hardest part about starting his journey as a martial artist was to sense and absorb dark matter, something he had already done in his previous life.
The only obstacle blocking him from becoming a martial artist right at this moment was his weak body. He needed a stronger body to be able to withstand the impact of absorbing dark matter into his meridians.
---
On the seventh day, Instructor Lin summoned him.
"You're the river drifter," he said, arms crossed as Adam approached the training square. "Let me see what you can do."
Adam blinked. "I… I don't have any martial training."
That was technically true.
He had no cultivation—but he had knowledge, technique and reaction.
Lin tossed him a wooden staff. "Show me what you do have."
Adam took it, adjusted his grip, and stood still.
The others gathered to watch.
Zhao Yun among them.
Adam hesitated only a moment.
Then he moved.
Slow, measured strikes. Defensive posture. Footwork that came from muscle memory and repetition. He didn't try to impress—he tried to survive.
Instructor Lin narrowed his eyes. "Where did you learn that?"
Adam lowered the staff. "I… don't know. It just comes naturally."
That was enough to make the instructor frown.
Zhao Yun stepped forward with a grin. "Let me spar him."
Adam's heart leapt.
But he nodded calmly.
Their staves clacked, and the spar began.