A cracked clay bowl, a drift of steam, and the last coin in the world—that's how my second life began.
The bowl sat in my palms like a warm moon, noodles sliding in bone broth touched with scallion and pepper. Ember Street was a narrow vein in the heart of Cinderfall County, and this early, the city still pretended to be quiet. Fog threadbare over roof tiles. A hawker clearing his throat like thunder deciding whether to happen. The world holding one last breath.
I had died.
Not heroically. A wet road, a squeal of brakes, a child who tripped, a cat that panicked, and then glass and rain. Someone out there might have called it noble. To me it felt like a sentence that forgot its verb.
Then I blinked, and I was twenty again, wearing a body like a borrowed shirt, with a name that tasted both new and inevitable: Mo Liang.
"Eat, kid." Granny Willow's hand, all maple bark and stubborn warmth, pressed my shoulder. She was not my grandmother. She was the keeper of Willow House, the sort of place where strays with two legs learned which end of a broom was honest. "Don't let your soup turn into a mirror. You'll start thinking, and nothing good comes of that before dawn."
"I like mirrors," I said, blowing on the broth. "They make such trustworthy liars."
She made a sound that might have been a laugh or a structural complaint. "You've got exams next month. Azure Cauldron Sect doesn't take boys who starve because they were philosophizing."
I lifted the spoon. The warmth went down like patience. Something else slipped in with it—cool, precise, attentive, a breath that wasn't air.
Hongmeng Alchemy System installing… 12%… 67%… 100%.
Host identified: Mo Liang, 20 years.
Constitution detected: Variant Hongmeng Body (Dormant). Awakening threshold: 1.0%.
Starter mission available.
The spoon clinked against the bowl. I looked very carefully at the steam. Granny Willow tried not to look like she was trying not to look at me.
"Hot?" she asked, pretending the cold morning wasn't chewing on our ears.
"Existence," I said. "Scalding, today."
She patted me again and went inside, the door creaking like an opinionated hinge. Alone in the alley, I let my face remember how to be surprised. A system. Hongmeng. Alchemy. I'd read enough stories in a life that ended with sirens to know the type. Helpful, bothersome, probably judgmental.
Starter mission: Acquire a cauldron resonant with host's fate thread.
Time limit: 3 days.
Reward: Basic Pill Flame (Sub-Red Grade), Hongmeng Breathing Method (First Movement).
Hidden reward: Unknown.
Penalty for failure: Reduced spiritual perception (-30%) for 10 days.
I glanced at my cracked clay bowl. "We're not there yet."
The system did not dignify that with a reply.
I finished the soup, wiped my mouth, and stepped into a market waking up. Stalls yawned open. A blacksmith married hammer to anvil and made a song of sparks. The west end of the square was where junk was too proud to admit it. Pans that had met too much salt. Knives with opinions. Vases with dragons that had never seen a dragon. And sometimes, if fate felt flirtatious, a cauldron.
The stall had no sign, which was the sort of sign one learned to read. The woman behind it wore a veil and eyes sharp enough to peel excuses. A thin scar traced her jaw like a lost roadfinding its way home.
"Looking," she said. A statement that peered like a question.
"Browsing," I replied. "Which is looking with the pocket turned inside out."
The veil bent with almost a smile. "Honest eyes."
"Is that praise or a diagnosis?"
"Both." Her fingers, elegant and unornamented, lifted the corner of a worn cloth. "What do you need?"
A quiet bell rang where my spine met superstition. The air over her table smelled faintly of pine resin and the first breath after rain.
"A cauldron," I said. "One that won't mock me when I talk to it."
"Then it had better be ugly," she murmured, and reached under the table.
When she set it down, the wood complained. It was ugly in the promising way old things are ugly: iron-black, waist-high to me, talismans sanded nearly smooth around the lip, and nine hairline cracks as pale as lightning stitched across its body. I touched the metal. It bit and then warmed.
The nine cracks sang to bone and breath.
Hongmeng resonance detected.
Hidden condition fulfilled: Ninefold Fracture aligns with host's fate thread (Orphan's Nine-Lives Aspect).
New hidden reward available upon acquisition.
"How much?" My voice sounded like it had climbed a hill too fast.
"Three silver," she said.
I arranged three copper coins on the table like soldiers willing to die for a cause none of them entirely understood. "I have enthusiasm, a flexible back, and the kind of debt to the universe that gives me interesting luck."
She studied me, and I felt counted. Her gaze paused at the neat stitches on my sleeve and the callus on my forefinger that said I learned my own hands before asking for help. "Who taught you to sew?"
"Granny Willow."
"Wise woman." She tapped the cauldron. "Three copper coins and one favor, owing."
"Define favor," I said quickly. "No assassinations, no betrayals, and I only dance in public if there's choreography."
"No crimes," she said. "No betrayals. One day, in daylight, where people can see, you do for me what I can fairly ask."
The oath was odd in the way honest things are odd. I nodded. "Deal."
Metal burned my palms and tucked the sting away as a promise. The system purred.
Mission complete. Reward dispensed.
Basic Pill Flame (Sub-Red) unlocked.
Hongmeng Breathing Method (First Movement) unlocked.
Hidden reward: Cauldron Spirit—Nine-Crack Resonance (Dormant).
Note: Dormant spirit will awaken upon first successful refinement performed under starlight.
The woman's eyes flickered like she had guessed the shape of a secret. "If you set fire to your room, do it on purpose."
"That's the goal." I hesitated. "I'm Mo Liang."
"Names are knives," she said. "Keep yours sharp." A beat. "Call me Shao."
"Thank you, Shao."
"Don't thank me yet," she said dryly. "Carry carefully."
Carefully, then. I dragged the cauldron by its ear-like handles through the market's noise, down Ember Street, into Willow House's courtyard where one old tree refused to accept the season. I set it down and learned which muscles in my arms had been lying to me for years. I leaned on the iron and laughed until the morning air warmed to accommodate my mood.
Granny Willow limped out, knuckles rapping the rim. The sound was low and honest, like a promise signed in ink. "Hah. It looks like it exploded and didn't apologize. Good. Cauldrons that have never failed are dangerous."
"We're going to be great friends," I told the iron. "We're both cracked in stylish ways."
"Light it, watch it," Granny said. She tapped my forehead. "Burn this, I can't fix it."
"Yes, ma'am."
When she went back inside, leaving the door cracked as though supervision worked better unannounced, I sat cross-legged before iron and tree and an afternoon with too much potential. I let my breath find its own edges.
Hongmeng Breathing Method (First Movement): Gather, Settle, Unfurl.
The instructions unfolded in my mind like silk taking air. Nose, belly, spine. Let thoughts rise and pop like bubbles without chasing them. Let the world be big and yourself be convincingly small inside it. On the third breath, something cool brushed the inside of my chest like fingers counting ribs. Qi came shyly and then—deciding I was either harmless or interesting—poured.
Bones hummed a note I had never heard them sing. Muscles whispered curses in languages older than my knees. In my mind, the cauldron was a dark moon. The nine cracks were rivers. I stood at the convergence and there, where the lines met, a small, steady flame waited as if I had been late to a long-planned appointment.
Hongmeng Body awakening: 0.3%… 0.7%… 1.1%.
Constitution confirmed: Hongmeng Body (Awakened 1.1%).
Passive effect: Primal Resonance—slight increase in harmony with elemental flows and fate-touched artifacts.
Caution: Rapid awakening may cause meridian stress. Practice moderation, Host.
"Moderation," I said out loud. "I've heard rumors."
The afternoon barreled toward night because days in Cinderfall learned early to run. The system nudged again, polite as a stranger offering a hand up a steep stair.
Optional mission: First Refinement—Coagulating Spirit Powder (Mortal-Grade).
Requirement: Refine under open sky by night to awaken cauldron spirit.
Time limit: 24 hours (nightfall).
Reward: Appraisal Sight (Copper Grade), +0.5% Hongmeng Body awakening.
Penalty for failure: Minor backlash—coughing up soot for 3 days.
"Chic," I said. "I've always wanted to look like a chimney."
I made a list. Coagulating Spirit Powder was useful as luck: skin-mending, qi-steadying, mess-forgiving. Dried hare's tail grass, ground willow bark, a pinch of pearl powder if I could beg or bargain it, and something humble to bind without biting. I flattered Granny's tree for bark and she rolled her leaves like an old friend caught smiling. I traded my last copper for pearl dust from a vendor whose eyebrows met like lovers and whose pricing matched the exact weight of hope left in a customer's pocket.
On the way back, light slanted gold across a wall, and a girl balanced on a downspout like a thought refusing to fall. She wore a paper mask with a painted calm smile—not fashion, function; talisman dust clung to the edges. A loop of hair escaped behind her ear and she blew it back with a brief puff. Her eyes were the clear brown of tea that had been made by someone who believed in warmth.
"You're the boy from Shao's stall," she said.
"You're the paper mask," I said, because my mouth enjoys testing the edge of embarrassment.
Her real smile tilted under the painted one. "Xu Yanhua. Shao's apprentice."
"Shao has apprentices," I said. "Shocking."
"People collect more than debts," she said. She hopped down, landing lightly in the day's last patch of sun. "If you're going to light a cauldron tonight, don't let the stars think they were invited for nothing."
"Are stars petty?"
"They're witnesses," she said. "Witnesses have long memories and longer tongues." She tapped the rim of her mask. "Take care. Starlight can open doors that don't close the way they opened."
"That's either advice or poetry."
"Both," she said, and left with the quiet that talented people wear like a second skin.
Evening traveled down the alley like a careful animal. I set the cauldron in the courtyard under a sky unsnapped of cloud. Granny Willow stood in the doorway, quietly invested. The old tree was a dark embroidery on the night. The stars pricked holes in the velvet and let something older breathe through.
I tied my hair back with a strip of older cloth. I lit the fire.
The Basic Pill Flame arrived like a newborn fox—unsteady, blinking milk-white. I cupped it until it learned me and it leveled into a soft red. The cauldron warmed. The nine cracks glowed, a slow intake of breath across old scars.
I ground willow bark until the sound was rain on a patient roof. I pinched pearl dust with fingers that counted consequences and added hare's tail grass in a sprinkle that looked like farewell. I let the paste learn heat and the heat learn me.
Then there's that moment every alchemist speaks about in looks more than words. The mixture swirled, hesitant, opinionated. The world tested whether I meant it.
"Mean it," I told iron and night and the part of myself that had learned to start again. "Mean it and I'll sing."
A tiny hurricane formed in the heart of the pot. The scent shifted from bitter to green. The swirl faltered. I, a reasonable human being with admirable restraint, did the unreasonable thing.
I sang.
Not well. I carried the tune like a drunk carries a tray: bravely, with collateral damage. But it was the song Granny Willow hummed for cough medicine nights. It knew where to put its feet. It coaxed the flame into listening instead of lunging.
The swirl sighed. The powder came together and settled like new snow.
Coagulating Spirit Powder: Successful refinement (Mortal-Grade, High Quality).
Appraisal Sight (Copper Grade) unlocked.
Hongmeng Body awakening +0.5% (Total 1.6%).
Cauldron Spirit: Awakened (Weak). Name: Nine-Crack. Affinity: Endurance, Honesty, Second Chances.
A voice spoke in my head, the texture of old iron and a patience that had been dented many times and never discarded. Hmph. If you're going to sing, sing in tune.
I started, then grinned so hard the night had to lean back and make room. "Hello, Nine-Crack."
Granny Willow's nose appeared around the door like a bird scouting seed. She sniffed, then—despite herself—smiled. "Smells like a day that tomorrow will be jealous of."
"That's a very specific blessing," I said.
"It's the best kind." She withdrew, leaving me with iron, powder, and stars that had decided to stay a little longer.
I divided the powder into small paper packets and set them to dry on a tray, the kind you could pretend was silver if you were far enough away and very forgiving. The pill flame withdrew, content. The old tree rustled. The nine cracks pulsed in a rhythm that made a fact whisper itself: this cauldron had belonged to someone who had refused to stop trying.
Nine-Crack cleared an imaginary throat. You're late, the spirit said, not unkindly.
"For what?"
Nine things. Nine chances. Nine ends. Nine beginnings. The spirit sounded tired, but beneath that weariness lay something rough and shining. We were supposed to fail eight and learn to be careful. We did the first part. You are… different than last time.
A prickle ran the length of my back. "Last time?"
Before I could ask more, the night shifted. The sky felt closer, as if it had leaned down to read the small print. A thin thread of starlight lowered—no thicker than a hair—and touched my wrist. For a heartbeat, a cold brand flared, then faded, like a secret handshake I hadn't learned yet.
System: Minor omen detected—Starlight Thread (Uncatalogued). Logging for future appraisal.
Nine-Crack's voice dropped. Don't follow that thread. Not yet.
I opened my mouth to ask the obvious and was interrupted by the small, precise sound of something sliding beneath the courtyard gate. A bamboo tube, lacquered black, kissed the flagstones and came to rest against my foot as if it had found the right address by smell.
No footsteps retreated. No shadows invented themselves. The street was an empty stage and the night was very interested in my lines.
I picked up the tube. It was colder than it should have been. The seal was Azure blue with a knot stamped in wax that I had only ever seen twice—once on a debt notice, once at a funeral.
Granny Willow's door didn't creak; she was behind it, listening with her breath caught like a child's. The old tree held very still.
I broke the seal. A single sheet of paper slid out, fibers fine enough to whisper when they brushed my skin.
To: Mo Liang of Ember Street.
By the will of Azure Cauldron Sect:
We regret to inform you that you died three days ago on Azure Peak during an alchemical trial. As next of kin and named beneficiary, report to the mountain at first light to claim the late Mo Liang's effects.
Cause of death: Cauldron rupture.
Beneath, pressed faintly into the paper, a second line revealed itself to Appraisal Sight like ink deciding to arrive late:
Witnessed by starlight. Do not bring the Nine-Crack.
Nine-Crack went very quiet in my head.
The starlight thread around my wrist pulsed once—cold, curious, patient.
System: New mission available—Paradox at Azure Peak.
Accept? Y/N
Time limit for acceptance: 1 hour until dawn.
On the other side of the gate, a knuckle rapped once. Not loud. Not urgent. Just a single, exact knock, like someone measuring a life.
I lifted my eyes from the letter. The night held its breath, waiting to see what I would call myself.