The words the woman had spoken still echoed inside his head.
For several long seconds, Zixuan simply stared at the mirror in his trembling hands.
The face looking back at him was unfamiliar.
Younger.
Softer.
The sharp lines that years of battle had carved into his old face were gone. His skin looked smooth, almost delicate. His jaw was narrower. His eyes… they still carried intensity, but the body around them felt weak.
Wrong.
His breathing grew uneven.
His fingers tightened slightly around the mirror as his thoughts spiraled faster and faster.
This isn't my body.
This isn't my face.
Where am I?
His gaze slowly shifted away from the mirror and back toward the woman standing in front of him.
She was still watching him anxiously, her hands clasped together near her chest as if she were trying to hold herself together.
The man beside her—his supposed father—stood stiffly, his brows drawn together in worry.
They were both staring at him like he was someone precious.
Someone they were afraid to lose again.
Then a thought suddenly surfaced inside Zixuan's mind.
Something the woman had said earlier.
A name.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he repeated it in his head.
Chin Xian…
The words felt foreign.
Unfamiliar.
Yet somehow… they clung to the air around him like they belonged here.
Zixuan slowly lifted his head.
"W-wait…" he said, his voice weak but urgent.
Both of them leaned forward immediately.
"Yes?!" the woman said quickly, hope flickering in her eyes.
Zixuan swallowed.
His throat felt dry.
"Chin… Xian?"
The woman nodded immediately.
"Y-yeah," she said softly, relief spreading across her face.
"That's your name."
The words hit him like a hammer.
My name?
Zixuan's mind rejected it instantly.
That wasn't his name.
It couldn't be.
"I'm Zixuan," he muttered under his breath.
But the woman either didn't hear him or didn't understand.
She stepped closer to the bed and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.
Her touch was warm.
Careful.
"My name is Jingyi," she said softly.
"Your mother."
The word hung in the air.
Mother.
Zixuan blinked.
He slowly turned his head toward the man standing beside her.
The man cleared his throat awkwardly and gave a small nod.
"And… that's your father," Jingyi continued.
"Lui Xian."
The man raised a hand slightly in greeting, though the gesture looked uncertain.
Zixuan stared at them.
Mother.
Father.
The concepts felt distant.
Like memories from another lifetime.
Because they were.
His real parents had been gone for decades.
Long before he disappeared into the mountains.
Long before the countless battles.
Long before the monk.
His chest tightened slightly.
The weight of everything that had happened began pressing down on his mind all at once.
The mountain.
The fight.
The monk's calm eyes.
The broken sword.
The cold stone beneath his body.
And those final words.
You were once like me.
Zixuan's breathing became heavier.
His vision started to blur around the edges.
The room suddenly felt too small.
Too bright.
Too real.
Jingyi noticed the change immediately.
Her expression shifted back to worry.
"Chin Xian…?" she asked gently.
"You look pale. Are you feeling dizzy?"
But Zixuan barely heard her.
His thoughts were crashing into each other, forming a chaotic storm inside his mind.
I died.
The realization echoed loudly inside his head.
I died on that mountain.
His eyes widened slightly.
So how…
His gaze dropped to his hands again.
They looked small.
Unfamiliar.
He slowly turned them over, staring at the palms like they belonged to someone else.
How am I here?
His heartbeat suddenly began pounding violently in his chest.
Did I… survive?
No.
That was impossible.
He remembered the feeling clearly.
His breathing had stopped.
His heart had gone silent.
He had felt life leaving his body.
That wasn't survival.
That was death.
A faint ringing began filling his ears.
The room started spinning slightly.
Jingyi's voice sounded distant now.
"Lui… I don't think he's well…"
The man stepped closer quickly.
"Lie down," he said firmly but gently.
"You need to rest."
But Zixuan couldn't respond.
The storm in his mind was growing worse.
The name.
The face in the mirror.
The weakness of this body.
The warmth of the bed.
None of it made sense.
None of it fit.
His vision darkened further.
He felt the mirror slipping from his fingers.
Then suddenly—
His body gave out.
Zixuan collapsed backward onto the bed.
The blankets shifted beneath him as his head fell against the pillow.
"Chin Xian!" Jingyi cried out in panic.
She grabbed his shoulders immediately, shaking him lightly.
But his eyes had already rolled shut.
His breathing became slow and shallow again.
Unconscious.
Lui Xian quickly caught the mirror before it hit the floor and set it aside.
"Easy," he said quietly, placing a steady hand on his wife's arm.
"He just woke up from a serious injury. His body probably can't handle the stress."
But Jingyi's eyes were filled with fear as she looked down at her son.
Her fingers gently brushed Zixuan's hair away from his forehead.
"Something's wrong," she whispered.
"He didn't even recognize us…"
Lui Xian didn't answer right away.
He simply watched the unconscious boy lying in the bed.
Then his gaze slowly drifted toward the mirror resting on the nearby table.
For a brief moment…
A strange expression crossed his face.
But outside the room, the wind moved softly through the trees, carrying with it the quiet sounds of a peaceful village that had no idea a warrior from another life had just awakened within one of its homes.
An unknown amount of time had passed.
The sun had already climbed high into the sky, its light spilling through the open windows and warming the wooden floors of the house.
Zixuan lay quietly on the bed, his chest rising and falling slowly.
The wind drifted through the room in soft breaths, brushing against his skin and cooling the lingering heat from the afternoon sun. The thin curtains by the window moved lazily, swaying back and forth with each gentle breeze.
Then, slowly…
Zixuan's eyelids twitched.
A quiet breath escaped his lips as consciousness began creeping back into his mind.
His eyes opened.
For a moment, everything felt distant and foggy, like he had just woken from a long, heavy dream. His thoughts struggled to gather themselves, slipping through his mind like mist.
The ceiling above him was unfamiliar.
The room was unfamiliar.
Even the body he felt lying on the bed… felt unfamiliar.
His fingers twitched against the blanket.
Then the memories came rushing back.
The mountain.
The fight.
The monk.
The broken sword.
The cold stone beneath his body.
And the final moment when his breathing had stopped.
Zixuan's eyes widened slightly.
"…Right."
His voice was hoarse.
He slowly pushed himself up, sitting at the edge of the bed.
His body immediately protested.
His muscles trembled weakly, and a sharp ache spread through his legs the moment he shifted his weight.
Still, he forced himself forward.
His feet lowered toward the floor.
The instant his toes touched the wooden boards—
His legs buckled.
"—!"
Zixuan caught himself just in time, grabbing the edge of the bedframe before he could collapse completely.
His grip tightened around the wood as he steadied his breathing.
"…Weak."
The word slipped out quietly.
This body was unbelievably weak compared to the one he once had.
The strength he had spent decades forging through battle and training was gone.
Completely gone.
Zixuan exhaled slowly, calming the frustration rising in his chest. Getting angry wouldn't change anything.
He pushed himself upright again, this time moving carefully.
His legs trembled, but they held.
One slow step.
Then another.
The wooden floor creaked faintly beneath his feet.
With one hand gripping the bedframe for support, he slowly made his way toward the door.
Each step felt unsteady, but his balance gradually improved as he moved.
When he finally reached the door, he pushed it open.
A long hallway stretched out before him.
Rows of wooden doors lined both sides, each leading to another room inside the large house.
The floorboards were worn smooth from years of footsteps.
But Zixuan barely paid attention to the hallway itself.
Because something else had already caught his attention.
Sounds.
Loud ones.
From somewhere outside.
The rhythmic clash of wooden sticks striking against each other.
Heavy breathing.
Shouting.
Footsteps scraping across dirt.
The sounds of sparring.
Zixuan's ears sharpened instantly.
His body might have changed, but his senses were still those of a seasoned warrior.
Without realizing it, a faint spark of excitement flickered inside him.
He slowly began walking down the hallway.
His legs still felt weak, so he supported himself against the doorframes as he passed each room.
Step by step.
The sounds outside grew louder.
More distinct.
Wood hitting wood.
Short bursts of laughter.
The occasional frustrated grunt.
By the time he reached the end of the hallway, bright sunlight spilled into his eyes.
He stepped outside.
The sudden brightness forced him to squint slightly.
But once his vision adjusted…
He froze.
A large open training yard stretched out before him.
Dozens of people filled the area.
Teenagers roughly his current age practiced in pairs, clashing wooden practice weapons with each other. Nearby, older adults supervised the training, occasionally stepping in to correct someone's stance or technique.
Dust rose from the ground with every step.
The air carried the smell of sweat and dry earth.
It looked like some kind of martial training ground.
Before Zixuan could observe any further—
Someone noticed him.
"Look!"
A loud voice rang out across the yard.
"It's Chin Xian!"
The boy who shouted pointed directly at him.
Several heads turned immediately.
Then laughter broke out.
Not friendly laughter.
Mocking.
Cruel.
Zixuan's brows furrowed slightly.
He looked toward the boy who had called out his name.
And the moment their eyes met—
Something inside his head exploded.
Memories.
Not his.
Chin Xian's.
Images flashed rapidly through his mind.
Faces.
Arguments.
Pain.
Humiliation.
And the boy standing there…
The one who had called him out…
Zixuan recognized him instantly.
Ling Ao.
The third older brother of the body he now inhabited.
A cold sensation spread through Zixuan's chest.
The memories kept coming.
The bullying.
The beatings.
The constant ridicule.
Ling Ao had made Chin Xian's life miserable for years.
The boy had never fought back.
Never stood up for himself.
Zixuan felt a strange heat rise inside his chest.
It wasn't his own anger.
It belonged to the body he was inhabiting.
Chin Xian's resentment.
His hatred.
Zixuan exhaled slowly.
"…I see."
A quiet thought passed through his mind.
I'm living in this body now.
Then I suppose… I owe him something.
Ling Ao crossed his arms and walked forward, his expression full of amusement.
Meanwhile, Zixuan closed his eyes briefly.
His breathing slowed.
His mind focused.
Even in this weak body…
His knowledge remained.
Tiao Shen.
The discipline of controlling the body.
Zixuan adjusted his breathing slightly, directing what little strength existed in this body through precise muscle control.
To his surprise—
It worked.
His body stabilized.
The trembling in his legs faded.
The weakness didn't disappear completely, but his balance became far steadier.
Zixuan's eyes opened again.
For a moment, he looked down at his hands.
"…Good."
Even in this body…
His techniques still existed.
When he began walking forward again, he no longer limped.
His steps were calm.
Controlled.
Ling Ao frowned slightly as he approached.
"I thought I sprained your ankles yesterday," he said, confusion creeping into his voice.
The training yard grew quieter as more people started watching.
Zixuan stopped a few steps away from him.
Then he lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
Ling Ao stared back with open disgust.
But also confusion.
Something about Chin Xian's gaze felt different today.
Before anyone could say another word—
Ling Ao suddenly stepped forward and threw a punch.
Fast.
Sudden.
He had expected the usual reaction.
Panic.
Flinching.
Fear.
But instead—
Zixuan's body moved smoothly to the side.
The punch passed through empty air.
Effortlessly avoided.
Ling Ao's eyes widened slightly.
He hadn't expected that.