Lin Xuan had spent three years playing the role of a normal child.
He spoke little, observed much, and made sure to cry exactly twice a year—once when he fell off a low stool, and once during an unexpected cold bath. The rest of the time, he kept a calm, well-behaved image that made elders smile and servants whisper:
> "The young master is so... mature."
If only they knew.
Behind that soft, round face was the soul of a full-grown man with memories of exams, late-night instant noodles, and three dozen rejected job applications.
His first assumption?
That he'd reincarnated into a peaceful version of feudal time.
> "Perfect," he had thought smugly on his second birthday, sipping soup with both hands.
"All I need to do is plagiarize famous poems. One 'Quiet Night Thought' and I'll be crowned a prodigy. Three verses of Du Fu, and the Emperor himself might ask for a disciple ceremony."
He even practiced reciting them in front of the mirror.
> "The bright moonlight in front of the bed…"
"Could it be frost on the—wait, should I add dramatic pauses?"
That was the plan. Stay quiet. Act clever. Drop plagiarized poetry when he turned five and walk the golden road to fame.
But something had begun gnawing at him.
Odd words whispered by passing elders. Fluctuations in the air during midnight. Cousins leaping absurdly high when playing tag. One even flipped over a wall, then claimed she "just used a touch of spiritual qi."
At first, Lin Xuan assumed it was exaggerated martial arts. Light-body techniques. Acupuncture points. Wuxia stuff.
But then came the sparring match.
He had wandered near the main training courtyard during a rare moment when no one was watching him. What he saw nearly made him forget how to breathe.
Two teenagers—Lin family disciples—stood across from each other, feet rooted into the stone.
One of them slammed his palm forward.
The other caught it with his bare hand.
A shockwave burst out from the clash, cracking the courtyard floor and blasting a breeze that snapped nearby trees like twigs.
Lin Xuan's mouth fell open.
The force had distorted the air.
He looked down at his own pudgy arms. Then back at the two cultivators. Then up at the shattered tiles.
It wasn't martial arts.
It wasn't even human.
His breath quickened. His thoughts swirled.
> "…What the hell?"
> "That's not normal."
> "That's not ancient Earth."
And then, everything connected.
The strange fluctuations he'd felt since birth. The meditation poses his grandfather taught his cousins...
This was not ancient earth.
> This was a cultivation world.
His knees went weak.
He stumbled back to his room, locked the door, climbed into bed, and curled up like a dumpling.
It took him twenty minutes to calm his breathing.
Another ten to sit up again.
And one full hour before he processed what it all meant.
> "I can cultivate."
"I can fly."
"I can live for thousands of years."
"I… I can become a god."
The thoughts hit like thunder.
His face turned red from the pressure of holding it all in. Excitement surged through every nerve. He clenched his jaw, fists trembling. If he opened his mouth now, he'd scream loud enough to wake the entire eastern wing.
So he didn't.
Instead, he shook like a boiling teapot.
—
Outside, in the family hall, Lin Zhenhai suddenly looked up from his tea.
"…Did anyone else notice that?" he asked.
"Notice what?" Jiang Ran asked.
"I think… Xuan'er' is acting weird."
"What?" Su Wenling stood up at once. "He was fine a few hour ago."
"Then why is he shaking like that?" Tianwu asked as he narrowed his eyes toward the room. "His face is red like he's suppressing something."
They started whispering nervously.
"…Is he sick?"
"No way—don't say nonsense—what if he's… constipated?"
The word spread like wildfire.
Su Wenling rushed into the room with a concerned face. "Xuan'er! Are you alright? Do you need… plum blossom syrup?"
Jiang Ran followed with a porcelain spoon and a warm towel. "No, no. Use red ginseng water first."
"I have a cleansing pill!"
"Don't feed him pills! He's three!"
Lin Xuan lay on the bed, red-faced, trembling, tears in the corner of his eyes—not from pain or fear, but from sheer unbearable excitement.
> No! Stop! I'm not sick—I just realized I'm in a damn cultivation world!
But all that escaped his lips was:
"…Uhhghhhh…"
The family collectively panicked.
Lin Tianwu took command.
"Everyone stand back! He may be… passing a stubborn turd. Either way, give him space!"
—
That night, after the chaos had settled, Lin Xuan lay alone in the quiet dark.
His excitement hadn't faded—it had simply refined into something sharper.
No more poetry dreams.
No more noble scholar fantasies.
This world had cultivation.
Which meant this world had immortality, power, laws, and gods.
And he— had a feeling… that his path wouldn't be normal.
He closed his eyes and whispered silently:
> "So this is the truth of the world…"
> "Fine. Let's cultivate."
> "Let's start the legend."
He took a deep breath.
> "No sudden movements. No suspicious questions. No poetry plagiarism for now."
> "Just quietly investigate cultivation and secretly—silently—become the strongest."
Finally, his heartbeat slowed. His lids grew heavy.
He was just beginning to drift into sleep when—
A soft breeze stirred the air.
The world felt like it paused.
And then—
A low, nostalgic voice echoed in his mind.
Quiet. Old. As if remembering something long, long ago.
> "Quite the excitement, isn't it?"
Lin Xuan's eyes snapped open.
His breath caught.
He didn't move. Didn't blink. His entire body went stiff under the blankets.
> Wh-Who?!
The room looked the same. No one had entered. Not even a sound from the courtyard.
But that voice… it didn't come from outside.
It had spoken inside his mind.
Warm. Ancient. Amused.
> "...Is someone inside me?"
"No—no, wait. This can't be a system. There was no welcome screen. No cheat menu. No status window."
The silence stretched.
And then—
Reality tore.
It was as if someone had sliced open the very air itself.
Cracks formed mid-space, jagged like broken glass—only instead of shattering, they peeled away, revealing a darkness so deep it felt bottomless. From that darkness, a figure stepped out.
A young man.
He looked to be in his early twenties, tall and impossibly graceful. His long hair—silver like polished mercury—flowed to his waist, and his robes shimmered faintly like starlight soaked in moonlight. His face was flawless: sculpted features, cool elegance, and light silver eyes that carried amusement and... just the faintest hint of nostalgia.
He looked at Lin Xuan with a tilted head and a smile that said:
> "Ah. Hello."
Lin Xuan stared.
They locked eyes.
And then—
>"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
The scream was so loud it could've shattered porcelain.
Lin Xuan's small lungs gave it everything they had. His voice cracked, face turned red, arms flailed like he was warding off a demon. He scooted back, kicked his blanket away, and rolled off the bed like a terrified dumpling.
The silver-haired youth blinked. His smile froze.
"…?"
He remained silent, just watching with a face that slowly drifted from amused… to confused… to just plain speechless.
Lin Xuan, meanwhile, screamed as if someone was stealing his soul.
When his voice finally died into a dry rasp, he blinked, dazed and sweaty, lying face-down on the cold floor.
Panting.
Trembling.
> "W-Why… why didn't anyone come…?!"
He looked toward the door. No footsteps. No parents barging in. No alarm.
The youth tilted his head again, like a patient zookeeper watching a distressed squirrel.
Just as Lin Xuan calmed enough to think again, he sprinted.
Straight toward the door.
The young man sighed.
He didn't move. Didn't chase. He just turned slowly to watch Lin Xuan scramble barefoot across the room, yank the door open, and—
Freeze.
Lin Xuan stood at the threshold, stunned.
The world outside was still.
Too still.
Trees frozen mid-sway. Curtains stuck mid-flutter. A passing servant girl outside the corridor was mid-step, one leg in the air, tray tilted—yet unmoving. Even the candle flames had stopped flickering, paused mid-dance like someone had hit pause on reality itself.
> "…W-What…"
Lin Xuan stepped out. Looked left. Looked right.
Nothing moved.
Not the wind. Not the leaves. Not even time.
Everyone—everything—was frozen in place.
His heart thumped hard. He tiptoed to the next courtyard and peeked in. His father was mid-conversation with Lin Tianwu—both frozen like statues. His mother in the distance, mid-step with a blanket in hand… unmoving.
Time had stopped.
He walked back to his own courtyard like a panicked cat. No point escaping. No one could hear him. No one could move.
Eventually, he sat down at the stone bench beneath the plum tree, breathing hard.
The youth followed quietly, sat beside him like they were old friends. He didn't speak right away—just watched him.
Lin Xuan rubbed his face with both hands. His throat burned.
> 'Okay. So a space-tearing, time-stopping god-like man just showed up in my bedroom. Sure. Normal.'
The man finally leaned over, placed an elbow on his knee, and looked at Lin Xuan with a straight face.
"…Are you stupid?"
Lin Xuan slowly turned his head.
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
"…Huh?"