At the age of five, he awoke with a start, his small body trembling on the wooden bed. The morning light filtered through the cracked window panes, casting fragmented patterns across his face. Yet, beneath the innocence of youth, there lay a depth of understanding impossible for one so young. A wind whispered through the courtyard, ruffling his oversized robes, carrying with it the scent of dew and decay. Then he laughed—a sound unbefitting a child, resonant with the weight of millennia, echoing across the silent world.
"Hahaha—I have returned!"
The laughter, though uttered from the mouth of a boy, carried the experience of countless cycles, a resonance that seemed to make even the wind and trees pause in recognition.
In his previous life, he had been first among the Ten-Thousand Nations Assassination Rankings. Every sect, every clan, even the Heavens themselves, had regarded him as the ultimate threat. Bounties had been placed on his head, armies sent to hunt him down. He had walked alone through the peaks of the world, conquering countless adversaries, yet finding himself isolated and betrayed. His family, though noble in name, ranked low, and his few allies had been insufficient to preserve him. In the end, he had survived only as a solitary king among corpses, unmatched in strength but bereft of companionship.
"Success and failure, all is emptiness," he whispered, his voice calm, almost serene.
"Ten-thousand years under the stars, I have traversed them all; through endless cycles, I have walked across every realm."
Though only five, his small head tilted slightly, his laughter now tempered with disdain for his past failures and an unshakable resolve for the life to come. He understood clearly that the peaks of his previous life were merely the foundation. This time, he would defy Heaven, reshape destiny, and claim that which was rightfully his.
The courtyard lay silent. Cracked stones, withered trees, and abandoned structures bore witness to the cruelty of time. Memories of his prior existence surged forth: nations pursuing him, sects besieging him, betrayal from those he once trusted, the Heavens themselves casting judgment. Alone, he had conquered the stars, defeated the countless, and seen the demise of kin and love alike. His body had been shattered, his soul cast into the Nine Revolutions Cycle, yet his spirit, unyielding, had returned.
His golden body gleamed faintly, strengthened by supreme cultivation, each movement in harmony with the pulse of the world. Each heartbeat resonated with cosmic rhythm; each breath carried the lessons of millennia. He knew the truth that the weak never see: the weak travel in pairs because they cannot endure alone. And he, having once walked the cosmos in solitude, understood the essence of power, the inevitability of challenge, and the nature of men.
He knelt upon the cracked stone, surveying the courtyard's broken tiles, moss-covered paths, and wild overgrowth. Five years of age, yet carrying memories of countless lives, of triumphs and defeats, victories and betrayals. He clenched his small fists, the resolve to shape the world itself burning within.
"Every path leads eventually to the Dao," he whispered to himself, "yet the Dao is not for me. Who I wish to become—that is not mine. What I wish to achieve—that is not mine. Only the will to act, the choice to endure, defines the self."
The lessons of the past life echoed in his mind, echoing like the aphorisms of sages. Like Confucius had once said, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step"—yet he knew better: the journey begins not merely with action, but with understanding, with grasping the order of the world, and with enduring its harshest lessons. Weakness was never a failing of circumstance; it was a failing to comprehend the essence of challenge. Strength, true strength, was understanding one's place in the cycle, then transcending it.
"Snow tramples the fallen; iron horses crush fruit and bone alike," he muttered, eyes clear as autumn skies, "and yet, my heart remains unclouded. Each life, each death, each victory or defeat is but dust before eternity. I walk not for glory, not for fear, but to see clearly the nature of the world."
The memories of battles returned vividly—the countless armies, the betrayals of allies, the cold logic of enemies who sought his demise. Each encounter, each duel, each stratagem was now part of him, engraved upon his consciousness. He reflected: "Those who have not faced true strength travel blind. Only through struggle, through hardship, through trial and bloodshed, does one see clearly."
He rose to his feet, small body trembling with contained energy. The golden glow of his cultivation shimmered faintly, the Nine Revolutions Cycle flowing within. He felt the pulse of the universe, the rhythm of life and death, the constant interplay of cause and effect. He understood: life is transient, the world mutable, and only the will endures.
"Once, I walked alone through the stars, unchallenged, unmatched," he said, voice firm. "Now, I rise again. The clan will be restored, the heavens defied, the cycle rewritten. If the Heavens dare block me, they shall first witness my laughter. If my family falters, I will strengthen it. If fate binds me, I will break its chains."
He laughed again, a sound both innocent and eternal, echoing through the ruined courtyard. The child of five trembled slightly, yet his spirit shone as a star awakening, illuminating not only the world around him, but the ambitions of countless lifetimes.
The Ten-Thousand Nations Assassination Rankings? Once feared.
The Heavens? Once cautious.
Now, none could stop him.
He—was reborn, and the world would tremble beneath his will.