Morning light washed across Lingyao Planet, gilding mountains and rivers in gold. This world had seen empires rise and fall, sects flare brightly and vanish, and clans endure across the endless river of time. Each pursued the same dream—strength, longevity, immortality—yet few endured beyond the turning of an age.
And still, one manor stood. Its banners carried the weight of centuries. Its halls echoed with whispers of ancestors. Beneath its roof, amidst silence and shadow, new life began.
A cry broke the stillness.
Li Heng opened his eyes.
The world came to him as haze: colors bleeding together, voices without shape, sensations raw and overwhelming. His body was weak, but within it stirred a mind older than this life.
He remembered Earth.
A city of steel and glass.
Lecture halls filled with restless students.
The ceaseless hum of machines.
And then—death, sudden and final.
Now, life once more.
Warmth enveloped him. The air smelled of blood and herbs. Fabric brushed against his skin, and voices rose and fell like muffled waves. He could not yet understand them, but fragments lodged in his memory.
Then something else touched him.
Not sound. Not sight. Not touch. A current, faint yet undeniable. It threaded through walls and air, seeping through the bodies around him. Invisible, but real.
He could not grasp it. He could not shape it. Yet he felt it, as though a curtain hid the source of light, allowing only the faintest glow to slip through. Stronger in some, weaker in others. Meaningless now, yet impossible to ignore.
The midwife wrapped him in silk, smiling softly. To her, he was nothing more than a child. But behind his gaze lingered the weight of another life, quietly storing every sound and sensation.
From beyond the chamber came a voice. Deep. Ancient. Heavy with authority. Its words were blurred, their meaning out of reach, but fragments pressed themselves into memory. Ancestors. Power. Worlds.
Noise to others. A seed to him.
This world was greater than this room. Greater than the fragile body in which he lived.
He could not act. Not yet. But he could feel. He could remember. He could wait.
The cries faded. Silence returned.
And in that silence, a thought stirred, calm and unyielding:
This world hides truths I will uncover.
That morning, on Lingyao Planet, Li Heng was born.
Not a hero. Not a genius. Not yet.
But a seed had been planted, and in time, it would weave laws no one else could see.