The world was dark and silent, save for the distant sound of rain hammering against a fragile roof. Wei Ren’s consciousness stirred, caught in the liminal haze between life and death. His last memory was the cold steel of Xiao Rui’s blade piercing his chest, the smirk of triumph on his disciple’s face seared into his mind. Rage boiled within him, but the feeling was short-lived, replaced by an unfamiliar heaviness. His body felt alien to him, weak, mortal. His eyes flickered open. The ceiling above was rough and cracked, of wetted wooden beams that barely kept out the storm raging outside. Trying to move, he found his limbs weak and slow-acting, as if unused for many years. Briefly there flared panic before the clear, cool mind managed to suppress it.

“I’m alive… no, reincarnated,” Wei Ren muttered, his voice rasping from a throat unused to speaking. His hands trembled as he raised them into view. They were thin, calloused, and covered in scars. He clenched his fists, testing his grip. Weak. Pathetically weak.

His gaze shifted, taking in the room. It was a shack, barely fit for livestock. A single rickety table stood in one corner, laden with a clay bowl of cold porridge and a pile of rotting herbs. A cracked mirror hung crooked on the wall. With great effort, Wei Ren dragged himself out of the straw mat he'd been lying on and stumbled toward it.

The reflection staring back at him was that of a boy, perhaps fifteen years old. Sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, and a pale complexion told the story of one who had known nothing but hardship. His hair was cut unevenly, and tattered clothes hung loosely from his emaciated frame.

"This… is my new vessel?" Wei Ren hissed, his voice low and venomous.

Memories not his own began to flood his mind. Lin Feng. That was the boy's name. A crippled orphan, the last surviving member of the Lin Clan - a once-prominent family destroyed in a sect war. His parents had been powerful cultivators, but their deaths had left Lin Feng penniless and powerless, an easy target for the village's disdain.

A sudden banging on the door shattered his thoughts.

"Lin Feng! You rat! Open this door!"

The voice was thick and cruel. In a few moments, the door broke open and three figures rushed in. They were village rascals and local ruffians that had always oppressed Lin Feng. The leader, a stout fellow named Zhang Bai, stepped forward and sneered.

"You thought you could hide forever, cripple? Your father's debt is still due, and we have come to collect!" Zhang Bai spat, his companions bursting into cruel laughter.

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Wei Ren-or rather Lin Feng-straightened, gaze cold and calculating. The old Lin Feng would cower. This Lin Feng, however, was a different monster altogether.

"I have nothing to give you," Lin Feng said, eerily calm.

Zhang Bai's sneer faltered for a moment before he stepped forward, grabbing Lin Feng by the collar. "Then we'll take it out of your hide! Maybe sell you off to the mines. A cripple like you isn't worth much, but it's better than nothing."

The other two thugs laughed, their voices grating.

A small smile curled up Lin Feng's lips, but his eyes did not gleam with amusement. He was thinking hard. His body was weak, but years of experience as Wei Ren gave him an edge. Fear was a weapon, and he intended to use it.

"Let go," Lin Feng said softly.

Zhang Bai blinked in surprise and clutched him tighter. "What did you say?"

Lin Feng’s gaze locked onto Zhang Bai’s, his eyes like shards of ice. “I said, let go.”

For a brief moment, Zhang Bai hesitated. Something about Lin Feng’s tone, the sheer venom in his words, was unsettling. But pride quickly replaced caution, and Zhang Bai pulled back his fist, ready to strike.

The world slowed. Lin Feng’s instincts took over, memories of countless battles flooding his mind. He twisted his body just as the fist came down, using Zhang Bai’s momentum against him. The larger man stumbled, crashing into the rickety table.

The other two thugs charged forward, but Lin Feng was ready. He snatched a splintered piece of wood from the shattered table and swung it wholeheartedly, catching one thug across the face. Blood sprayed as the man screamed, clutching his eye.

The last thug froze, indecisive about what to do. Lin Feng faced him, the piece of wood in his hand was soaked in blood. "You better leave," he told the thug, his tone colder than ice.

Obviously, the thug had more sense than his two friends; without hearing it a second time, he ran off.

Zhang Bai struggled and groaned in the attempt to rise. Lin Feng came over and knelt beside him, pressed the sharp wood against his throat.

"Listen carefully now, I'm not the Lin Feng you once knew. Nobody dares, nor is anyone allowed to bother me from now on. Do you understand?"

Zhang Bai nodded like a madman as the bravado was shattered. Lin Feng released him, and the thugs scrambled out of the shack, leaving behind blood and broken pride.

The door shut with a loud bang, and Lin Feng let out a long, deep breath; the adrenaline slowly ebbed. His hands slightly shook, not because of fear. A grim smile spread across his face.

"This body may be weak now," he muttered, "but the soul within is strong. I will rise again. Higher than before. Stronger than before. And this time, I will crush anyone who stands in my way."

His eyes fell upon the pile of rotting herbs on the table. Amidst them, a faint sparkle met his eyes. He reached out and picked up an old, tattered book. The cover was faded, but the title was still readable: Soul Devourer Manual.

As he opened the first page, dark energy seeped from the book, wrapping around him like a shroud. He could feel its malevolence, its hunger.

Lin Feng's smile broadened.

"A cursed manual, is it? How fitting."

The storm outside continued to rage, but in the small shack, another tempest was brewing-one much darker, and much more dangerous.