After what felt like drifting in a void for eons—weightless, silent, and lost—warmth pulled at his consciousness like a thread of light.
'I have a body again…?'
Awareness crept in. He couldn't see. Couldn't speak. Couldn't even lift a finger. But he could feel. The sensation of being held. The faint scent of forest earth. The hush of panicked voices. A cold breeze brushing against what now felt like his entire world.
'Everything's… so big. Or… am I small?'
His mind stirred, though the haze of rebirth dulled its edge. Fragments of memory drifted across his thoughts—corporate negotiations, betrayal, death. His name had been Ren Zhaoyang. On Earth, he was cold, composed, brilliant. But now?
Now, he didn't even know what he was.
'I… don't even know my own body. Am I…?'
He couldn't finish the thought. Gender, identity—none of it made sense. His new body was too unfamiliar, too frail to provide answers.
And worse—there was pain.
Not sharp, not overwhelming. But deep. Subtle. A mismatch between soul and body. His soul had grown strong—too strong—during its long drift across the cosmos. The newborn flesh, despite its unusual power, could barely contain it. If not for the mysterious energy within this body, he would've died the moment he was born.
It sustained him, but not without consequence. He looked like a child born terminally ill: skin ghost-pale, lips faintly blue, limbs weak and trembling.
Two figures carried him through the trees. Their pace urgent, their silence heavy. One glowed with a golden, flame-like hue, the other shone with a bluish-white light, soft and ethereal. Eventually, they reached a small cave concealed behind moss and stone. As they entered, a faint ripple shimmered in the air.
A formation. Subtle. Not meant to defend, only to conceal. It blurred sounds, masked presence—just enough to avoid the notice of wandering mortals.
The golden figure adjusted the edges of the array with practiced hands. The bluish-white one knelt, brushing her fingers over his cheek with trembling gentleness, her gaze filled with a sorrow that needed no translation.
'Parents… they're my parents.'
Ren Zhaoyang's analytical mind, dulled though it was, still recognized the emotion in their eyes: sorrow, urgency, unwilling parting. He didn't understand the words they whispered—
"She'll be safe here."
—but he understood the moment.
And then they left.
The silence that followed was complete. The world stilled.
He remained in the cave, untouched by hunger or thirst. He couldn't move. Could barely breathe. Yet he didn't die.
Something in this body—the physique he had unknowingly been reborn with—nurtured him passively. Sustaining him without food or care. At the same time, it gave off a strange, faint charm. An invisible pull, like the soft scent of a blooming flower in spring. Instinctive. Unintentional.
It reached out.
---
A hunter wandered the woods. Not in search of prey, just following routine paths etched into habit.
But today, something tugged at him. A shift in the breeze. A warmth in the chest. He veered off his trail.
Unknowingly, he walked straight into the cave.
The concealment formation flickered as he approached. It didn't stop him. It didn't need to.
Inside, a child lay—still, silent, frail.
Her presence struck something inside him. Not fear. Not alarm. But a strange, tender protectiveness.
He should have questioned it. He didn't.
He picked her up. Held her close.
And walked away.
---
Weeks passed.
The cave stirred again.
The same two figures returned.
This time, their clothing was finer. Faces brighter. Their steps no longer burdened by fear, but shadowed by restlessness. Something about them had changed. The air around them no longer carried panic but anticipation—perhaps the weight of choices they no longer had to run from.
They entered.
It was empty.
The concealment formation still glimmered faintly—its task fulfilled.
They searched without speaking. Looked in every crevice. Ran trembling fingers over stone and moss.
But the child was gone.
The bluish-white figure's lips trembled. Emotions warred behind their silence—regret, fear, and a flickering hope.
Elsewhere, in a small hut at the edge of a mortal village, a hunter watched over a sleeping child.
Pale. Delicate. Breathing softly as moonlight washed over her fragile form.
Unaware of what she was. Unaware of what she had already survived.
And within that body, Ren Zhaoyang's mind stirred.
'Where… am I?'
Panic clawed at the edge of his thoughts. The familiar logic he once wielded like a sword now dulled against the chaos.
But even in
the confusion, one truth remained.
He was alive.
And life meant only one thing.
Survival had begun.