Pain.
That was the first thing Jiang Chen felt when he woke up. It wasn't sharp. It wasn't sudden. It was just… constant. A dull ache that sank deep into his bones, weighing him down like chains.
He opened his eyes slowly. The sky overhead was gray. The alley walls around him were cracked and filthy. The ground under his back felt like cold, damp stone.
He didn't move. His body didn't want to cooperate anyway.
When he finally tried, his arms barely lifted off the ground. His legs? Useless. His chest burned with every shallow breath he took.
It didn't make sense.
He was supposed to be dead. Or at least, that's what he thought after taking that flower.
A few images floated up in his head.
A crowded street market.
An old man sitting behind a worn stall.
A strange flower glowing faintly in his hand.
"One bite, and the one you desire will crave your scent."
He remembered scoffing at the man's words. What did a cultivator like him have to fear from some street merchant and his tricks?
And yet… here he was.
Jiang Chen sucked in a thin breath, dragging his arm under him until he managed to push himself upright. His body shook like a leaf in the wind.
He looked down at his hands.
Thin. Pale. No calluses.
Not his hands.
That was when it hit him.
The memories.
He wasn't Jiang Chen the Sovereign anymore.
He was Jiang Chen, third son of a minor noble family in some backwater town. Born weak. Called useless. Beaten by his brothers. Mocked by the servants.
Yesterday, this body had been left to die in this alley after one of those so-called brothers decided to remind him of his place.
He let out a short, humorless laugh.
"So this is me now…"
He wasn't sure if he wanted to curse or laugh again.
The once-proud cultivator reborn into a sickly boy with no future.
His gaze dropped to his clothes — torn, dirty, half-soaked from the muddy street.
He looked like someone who'd already given up on life.
But he hadn't.
Jiang Chen sat still for a moment, breathing slowly. His heart pounded in his chest, not with fear, but with a strange calm.
He wasn't dead.
And that meant this wasn't over.
He wiped a bit of dirt off his face with a shaky hand and pushed himself to his feet.
The world spun. His legs buckled.
But he didn't fall.
He leaned against the alley wall, gritting his teeth until the spinning stopped.
So this is what it feels like to start over from nothing…
He smirked.
Fine.
If fate wanted him to start as a cripple, he'd crawl his way back.
He took a slow step forward. His legs felt like they belonged to someone else, but they moved. That was enough.
As the breeze stirred, a soft scent drifted past his nose.
He paused.
It was faint. Sweet. Almost floral.
He sniffed his sleeve.
The scent was coming from him.
His smirk faded.
> "But those fated to crave your scent… beasts, bloodlines, rare physiques… they will be drawn to you."
The old man's words echoed in his head.
He had thought it was a joke.
Apparently not.
He shook his head.
He wasn't sure if this was a curse or a blessing. Probably both.
Either way, it didn't change a thing.
He was alive.
And that meant there was work to do.
Jiang Chen took another step, then another.
The alley behind him stayed quiet — the place where the old Jiang Chen had been left to rot.
He wasn't going to rot.
He was going to rise