The fluorescent lights buzzed above me, reflecting off the plastic-wrapped junk food lining the shelves. I tossed a pack of instant ramen and a bag of chips onto the counter, the cashier barely glancing up from her phone as she scanned them.
Stuffing the change and my meager dinner into my backpack, I pushed open the glass door and stepped out into the night. The cool air hit my face as a welcome change from the stale warmth of the store. As I exited the store, I closed my eyes to blink and–
----------------------------------------
Opening my eyes, I found myself staring up at a bright blue sky, unmarred by light pollution- or even the fact that it was supposed to be night time. My gaze swept across the unfamiliar landscape – rolling hills, a dense forest in the distance, and not a single skyscraper in sight. Instead, multiple small and quaint villages dotted the landscape, their rooftops tiled in jade green and crimson red, curling upwards at the eaves in that distinct ancient Chinese style.
I stood up, my heart pounding against my ribs. Panic clawed its way up my throat as I resisted the urge to scream. Where was I?! My eyes darted around, searching for anything familiar, a landmark, a street sign, anything.
Nothing.
Just endless green and the red of the nearby village homes.
Why couldn’t they just merge the villages, they clearly had enough buildings to-
My panicked thoughts were interrupted as I stumbled forward, the uneven ground making it difficult to keep my balance. My stomach growled as a reminder of the food I hadn’t eaten yet- which was just a meager meal of chips and boiled noodles. I'd planned for dinner, not a survival situation in isekai-land! I reached into my backpack, hoping the chips and ramen had somehow survived the trip to- wherever I was.
I picked up the bag I had dropped and reached inside.
My fingers brushed against something cold and scaled. I froze, slowly pulling my hand back. A snake, emerald green and thick as my wrist, was coiled inside my bag, its tongue flicking in and out. Its eyes, black and emotionless, locked onto mine.
A sharp pain lanced through my hand. I cried out, yanking my arm back as the snake struck again, fangs sinking into my flesh. I stumbled backward, tripping over a rock and falling hard onto the ground.
My vision blurred, the pain spread through my body like wildfire as I watched green veins of glowing gunk spread from where I was bitten. The snake slithered away, leaving me alone under the vast, indifferent sky. My eyelids grew heavy –
[You have survived 37 seconds in the Heaven Spark Continent of the
Red Dragon Plane]
[you gain 0 talent points.]
[Insufficient points to redirect to a different continent. Randomizing rebirth location…]
A disembodied voice echoed in my head, the words strange yet somehow understandable. Before I could ponder its meaning, a piercing wail filled my ears.
----------------------------------------
My eyes fluttered open, the world a blurry, blotchy mess of light and shadow. I tried to speak, but only a gurgle escaped my lips. I was lying on my back, wrapped in a rough cloth. A woman's face swam into view, her features etched with concern.
"There, there, little one," she cooed, her voice gentle. "Don't cry, you are going to be the most talented cultivator of the Havenrun clan."
What!? Those words don't even make sense! What language is that? I tried to raise my hand to ward off this insane giant woman, but it was small and chubby, barely able to grasp the air. Panic surged through me again, a terrifying realization dawning.
I was a baby.
I fainted.
----------------------------------------
This was the definition of “life sucks.”
Being reborn as a baby was like being trapped in a fleshy prison.
My mind, still that of a jaded college student from a world where the best I could do after graduating was to live paycheck to paycheck, screamed in frustration at the limitations of my infant body and the fact that medieval societies didn’t even have that!
Every action, from grabbing a toy- which if I didn’t play with was considered terrifying to everyone around me- was a task like pushing a boulder up a wall.
I was a baby version of Sisyphus.
Great.
The endless cycle of feeding, sleeping, and soiling myself while trying to get control of the weak sack of meat that was my new body was a mind-numbingly dull task.
The other servants, with their cooing voices and patronizing smiles, grated on my nerves.
My mother seemed oblivious to my internal turmoil, treating me as if I had to be the best thing ever.
----------------------------------------
Surprisingly after a few months I realized I was slower than the other brats who learned how to read everything like lightning and moved like the impossible gods of toddlerhood.
The language, with its ridiculously complex characters, was the only thing that kept me somewhat engaged.
I absorbed it through sheer force of will, listening to conversations and mimicking the sounds I heard.
----------------------------------------
By the end of the year, I could definitely understand what was being said around me, but reading was still a struggle- and concepts like ‘face’ and other societal nonsense made my head hurt in a way so profound that I literally couldn’t comprehend them.
This was humiliating.
I was Surrounded by super-babies who were practically sprinting by the age of three months.
I felt like I was a snail trying to compete in a horse race.
My eight-month-old self had just mastered crawling and had begun trying to stand.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
Which was a feat that elicited concerned looks and hushed whispers from the other servants because this world was insane.
"Is the boy- slow?" I overheard one whisper to another, their voices laced with false worry.
Slow? In my previous life, I would have been considered well above average.
Now, I was practically considered a disabled child in this Chi-fueled world where babies developed at an alarming rate.
The frustration gnawed at me as I watched one of the clan children, even younger than me practicing calligraphy while running in place. a ridiculous display of balance and cardio that reminded me of my apparent inadequacy.
The ever-present Qi was a subtle energy that permeated the air and flowed through all living things in this world.
It seemed to accelerate growth and development in everyone but me.
While other children were reciting poetry and practicing calligraphy and jogging, I was struggling to string together basic sentences.
My jaws and mouth refused to cooperate, I knew what to say but my mouth refused to make the proper shape and when the air left my mouth to make a voice, garbage came out despite my efforts.
This body was 8 months old, damn it!
My mother remained optimistic, continuing to demand the maids who left the servant quarters with her to stop calling me worthless or a waste.
But I knew there was something wrong with this body, especially looking at all the other children who were already balancing pots on their heads while reading books.
----------------------------------------
By the end of my first year, I had finally achieved the milestones of walking and reading, albeit months behind my peers. The sense of shame and frustration was a heavy burden, but it also fueled a stubborn determination to prove myself.
What was the point of a second life if I couldn’t excel in a damn medieval world that looked like ancient china?
----------------------------------------
My second year brought a newfound freedom of movement, I was finally allowed outside of the clans set of nursery buildings.
But that new freedom and my lack of understanding of the world also led to a disastrous encounter that would change the course of my early childhood and introduced me to the incredibly stupid, petty, and evil nature of people born into clans.
Also the concept of ‘face.’
One of the the worst things in the world.
----------------------------------------
Exploring the clan compound, I stumbled upon a secluded garden, its serenity broken only by the chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves. An old man with a flowing white beard sat on a stone bench, his eyes closed in meditation.
The air around him crackled with energy, and I instinctively knew he was a powerful cultivator, someone of high standing within the clan. Curiosity, mixed with a touch of defiance, got the better of me.
"Hey, gramps," I called out, not knowing how much of a mistake I was about to make. "Do you know where the library is?"
The old man's eyes snapped open, his gaze sharp and piercing.
His face contorted in a mixture of rage and disgust.
Without a word, he flicked his wrist, and a wave of invisible force sent me flying backward, slamming me against a nearby tree. Pain exploded in my back, stealing the air from my lungs.
I was two years old! How could this guy think this was okay?!
I was also sure he just used enough force to kill me a hundred times over and yet I was still alive.
Before I could even cry out, two guards appeared, their faces grim and impassive.
They lifted me up by my underarms and carried me away, ignoring my protests and pleas for explanation.
I was confined to a small, windowless room, its bare walls offering no comfort or distraction. Days turned into nights, and nights back into days.
No one came to explain my transgression or offer any hope of release.
The isolation was agonizing, amplifying the feelings of shame and inadequacy that had plagued me since birth. I was alone, ostracized, and utterly powerless.
The isolation lasted for what felt like an eternity marked only by meals I was sure was someone else's leftovers.
When I was finally released, I was a changed individual.
Changed in the sense that I would pay more attention to what face was and use it to my own ends- somehow.
The defiant spark I had would outwardly seem to have been extinguished, replaced by a forced obedience and a deep-seated fear of old assholes.
But internally I would find a way to smash that bastard in the face.
I had to spend a lot of time in there, so after going over the few books I could remember reading in my mind I came to the conclusion that the societal norms of this world were at fault.
So I went over them in my head with an actual example in my head and realized that asking for the library from someone above my station like that was somehow spitting on him.
I didn’t really get how that worked but I would figure it out.
I returned to my lessons and training with a newfound hatred diligence, determined to prove myself worthy and avoid any further punishment from irrational old men.
I became a model student, always respectful, always compliant while cursing these people internally.
Beneath the mask of obedience, a simmering resentment burned.
I hated the elders for their arrogance and their arbitrary use of power.
I hated the clan children, who mocked the servant children and were praised for their effortless talent and their condescending pity.
Pity that was a manufactured lie that they only pretended to feel to look like they had a ridiculous approximation of benevolence.
They called it ‘face’ and it was utter nonsense.
Most of all, I hated myself for my weakness, for being unable to stand up to those who had wronged me.
The Talent Awakening Ceremony was approaching, and I knew that it was my only chance to escape the life of a lowly servant or, worse, exile from the clan.
I poured all my energy into my training, pushing myself to the limits of my endurance.
I had to succeed, not just for myself, but to prove them all wrong.
The impending Talent Awakening Ceremony cast a long shadow over everything I did, fueled both by my anxiety and determination.
My days were filled with a grueling schedule of physical training, language lessons, and meditation exercises. The clan instructors, impressed by my newfound diligence, pushed me harder than ever before.
I ran until my lungs burned, practiced sword forms until my arms ached, and meditated until my mind went still. While I still lagged behind my peers in terms of raw talent, my perseverance and discipline began to earn me a grudging respect.
But beneath the surface of obedience, my hate for the elders grew.
I spent hours in the basic servant section of the clan library, devouring every scrap of information I could find on the history of the world.
Which, to be honest, was almost nothing!
As the son of a servant, my access to the clan library was severely limited. The grand halls filled with ancient scrolls and precious texts remained out of reach, a tantalizing glimpse of a world I could only dream of exploring.
Instead, I was relegated to a small, dusty corner of the library annex, a repository for discarded books and damaged scrolls deemed unworthy of the main collection. It was a humbling experience, sifting through piles of moldy paper and faded ink, searching for anything of value.
One evening, while exploring a secluded section of the library, I stumbled upon a hidden alcove. Tucked away behind a row of dusty scrolls was a small, leather-bound book.
Its cover was worn, the title faded beyond recognition.
Curiosity overcoming caution, I opened the book.
The pages were filled with handwritten text and intricate diagrams, detailing a series of breathing exercises and visualization techniques.
The language was archaic, but I managed to decipher the key concepts.
This, I realized with a jolt of excitement, was a cultivation manual.
It wasn’t a formal technique passed down through generations, but a personal record of someone's experiments and insights.
I spent the following weeks studying the manual in secret, practicing the breathing exercises and visualizations whenever I had a moment to myself.
The Talent Awakening Ceremony was only a few months away, and I knew that I had a fighting chance.
----------------------------------------
The weeks leading up to the Talent Awakening Ceremony were a blur of anticipation and apprehension.
I continued my physical training, going through the motions with a sense of duty to myself rather than the clan.
The exercises felt increasingly pointless, a charade meant to maintain the illusion of progress that I forced myself to see.
As my true focus remained on the mysterious cultivation manual, I noted that nothing worked.
I spent every spare moment studying its pages, memorizing the intricate diagrams and deciphering the archaic language.
The text described a series of breathing exercises and visualizations designed to awaken and circulate Qi within the body.
However, despite my best efforts, the manual remained opaque.
I followed the instructions meticulously, contorting my body into awkward positions and focusing my mind with unwavering concentration.
But nothing happened. No surge of energy, no tingling sensation, no sign of Qi whatsoever.
Frustration gnawed at me, threatening to consume my fragile hopes.
Was the manual simply a fraud, a collection of nonsensical ramblings?
Or was I the one at fault, lacking the innate talent or understanding to unlock its secrets?
The doubts burned at my insides, whispering insidious suggestions of failure and inadequacy.
I tried to push them aside, to maintain a façade of optimism, but the fear of the impending ceremony loomed ever larger.
As the days dwindle down to a precious few, I found myself drawn back to the library annex, seeking solace amongst the discarded books and forgotten scrolls. It was a place I stood in out of quiet desperation.
I wandered aimlessly through the stacks, my fingers trailing across worn spines and brittle pages. A sense of futility washed over me.
What was the point of all this knowledge, all this effort, if I was destined to fail?
----------------------------------------
"Spiritward, No surname! No martial talent, No Cultivation talent. Red Grade scholar talent. Exile."