The scent of damp wood and old parchment filled the small, dimly lit cabin, its walls cracked, many different people having lived here. A weak breeze pushed through the cracks in the walls, making the lone candle flicker. The boy on the straw mat stirred, his breath uneven, his mind a swirling storm of fragmented memories.

Then, his eyes snapped open.

"What...?" He barely recognized his own voice—soft, high-pitched, that of a child.

Pain flared through his skull, memories crashing into him like an unstoppable tide. He wasn’t supposed to be here. His name. What was his name? He remembered being someone else, somewhere else. The last thing he recalled was... darkness. And then, he was here.

His small hands trembled as he lifted them before his face. They were thin, slightly calloused from work, but unmistakably young. A sharp pang ran through his chest, and a rush of foreign memories settled into place.

Jiang Chen. Seven years old. An outer disciple of the Falling Star Sect. And somehow, he was now Cheng.

A wave of dizziness struck him, and he gritted his teeth. He knew these memories weren’t entirely his, yet they felt real. His new body’s past. Jiang Chen, Son of Liwei and Minghua Jiang two farmers in the Hongu province, the region the falling star sect among others resided.

Taken in by the sect out of charity, given a place among the outer disciples, not because of talent, but because they needed laborers to clean the halls and till the herb fields. Clearly, they parted with their son not only to give him a better future, but for monetary gain, as Cheng had enough talent to warrant being a outer sect member, valued a silver tael, or two, around months, perhaps even a year of work in their small farm.

He clenched his fists again and again, feeling a sense of wrongness. This wasn't his body. This. was not. his. body. 

Before Cheng could hyperventilate, A knock at the wooden door interrupted his thoughts.

"Jiang Chen! Get up! Morning work is starting!"

The voice was rough but not unfriendly. One of the senior outer disciples, perhaps? Jiang Chen pushed himself up, his legs still weak, his mind still reeling from the weight of his new reality.

Jiang Chen took a deep breath and pulled the wooden door open. Outside stood a tall boy, perhaps thirteen or fourteen, dressed in a simple gray outer disciple’s robe, his sleeves rolled up and his arms crossed. He had the look of someone who had long grown accustomed to hardship.

“You look half-dead.” the boy muttered, then shook his head. “No time for that. Come on, junior. I’m Wu Jinhai. You stick with me today, and for as long as the sect deems it so.”

Jiang Chen followed Wu Jinhai through the narrow dirt paths that wound through the outer sect’s quarters, seeing the same kind of happening around him. Children around his age, led by older outer disciples like this Wu Jinhai.

The buildings were old, patched up with whatever materials were on hand, and the scent of damp earth and smoke filled the air. Other outer disciples were already hard at work—sweeping, chopping wood, carrying buckets of water from a well, and all sorts of menial tasks around the outer sect.

As they walked, Wu Jinhai spoke without looking back. “We outer disciples don’t train much. That’s for the inner sect. Our job is to keep the sect running. Cleaning the halls, maintaining the spirit herb fields, chopping wood for the alchemy furnaces, making coal. Every day, we get assigned different tasks. You’ll do one today, something else tomorrow. Learn fast, or you’ll go hungry.”

Jiang Chen remained silent, still gripping with the fact that he was somehow in a different body, and more importantly, convinced that this was not the world he remembered being in. He barely managed to let out a "yes senior.", making the older disciple let out a satisfied nod.

Though confused at how he thought to do such a thing, one part of him feeling like it was the right call, and the other, more alike to the old Cheng, confused.

It was weird to think about why he felt like he was two people. Cheng really didn't want to think right now. It hurt his head.

Thankfully, not long after, they arrived at a small clearing near the sect’s central hall, where several other outer disciples were already at work. Wu Jinhai pointed at a pile of firewood. “First lesson: chopping wood. We supply the sect’s kitchens and furnaces. Take an axe, chop cleanly, and stack it neatly. Don’t slack off, or Senior Brother Meng will make you regret it.”

Jiang Chen grabbed an axe. It was heavier than he expected, and when he swung it down, the blade barely cut into the wood. Wu Jinhai smirked but didn’t comment. “Keep at it. By noon, we move to coal-making.”

Sweat dripped down Jiang Chen’s back as he forced himself to keep going. Each strike jolted through his small arms, but he clenched his teeth and endured. 

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Anytime he started to slow down, a light slap would land on the back of his head, Wu jinhai watching him, as he cut his own logs, keeping watch of the new disciple, just like many other senior disciples around the place.

Hours passed. The sun climbed higher, and Jiang Chen’s body ached. But for the first time since waking up in this world, his mind was clear, albeit filled with familiar, yet somehow unfamiliar thoughts. Thankfully, the hard labour, worked well enough to keep him from thinking too much.   

Around midday, Wu Jinhai finally called for a break. Jiang Chen, drenched in sweat, dropped the axe and stretched his sore limbs. His small body was still weak, untrained for such labour.

“Here.” Wu Jinhai tossed a small, round pill at him. Jiang Chen caught it instinctively and looked down at the dull brown pellet in his palm.

“What is this thing?” he asked, frowning at its rough texture and uneven shape.

“The Satiation Pill,” Wu Jinhai said, popping one into his own mouth and chewing absentmindedly. “Keeps you full for a whole day. Made from failed pill residue and some mortal ingredients. The alchemy trainees mix up the scraps into something edible, so it doesn’t go to waste.”

Jiang Chen hesitated. The idea of eating pill waste wasn’t exactly appetizing, but his stomach was already twisting with hunger. 

Not only that, he was exited at grasping a piece of cultivation. whatever that thought meant. 

He brought the pill to his mouth and bit down. A bitter, gritty texture spread across his tongue, making him grimace.

Wu Jinhai chuckled. “You’ll get used to it. Be thankful. If you don’t eat, you won’t last the afternoon. And if you don't, senior brother meng will punish me. So eat, like it or not.”

"Yes senior brother Jinhai." Cheng spoke, his squeeky, young voice sounding out of him, prompting another nod from Wu Jinhai.

Swallowing the last of the bitter remnants, Jiang Chen wiped his mouth and took a deep breath. Alchemy… even the scraps of their failures had value. What would a proper pill be like? One refined with skill and actual ingredients?

But there was no time for such thoughts, As Wu Jinhai clapped his hands. “Alright, break’s over! Back to work!”

The rest of the afternoon was spent splitting more wood, carrying logs, and stacking them properly. By the time the sky darkened, Jiang Chen’s arms felt like lead, and every muscle in his body ached.

As night fell over the Falling Star Sect, Jiang Chen stood among the other outer disciples, breath heavy, hands covered in splinters. Today was just the beginning. He had a long road ahead.

The days blended into one another, a relentless cycle of labor and exhaustion. Jiang Chen woke before dawn, the dim glow of candlelight barely enough to see the wooden walls of his cabin. Each morning, Wu Jinhai would be at his door, knocking him awake before dragging him along other outer disciples around his age for the day’s assigned task.

One day, he’d be chopping wood, his small arms trembling as he forced himself to wield the axe with precision. The next, he’d be shoveling coal into sacks, the black dust clinging to his skin and making his throat dry. Another day, he was in the kitchens, cutting vegetables until his hands ached, steam rising from massive cauldrons as older disciples prepared meals for the inner sect.

 He swept the training halls, hauled sacks of rice and carried water from the wells and wiped dust from old scrolls in the library, a time he found out he was illiterate, something that hurt his pride more than he'd like to admit. 

Through it all, he listened.

The outer disciples whispered as they worked—complaints about their endless labor, bitterness at their place in the sect, envy toward the inner disciples who cultivated freely. Others grumbled about how the sect had declined, how it was but a shadow of its former self. But all of them, senior or juniors, were exited about the first of the coming month.

Chen took in every word.

He clenched his fists every time he swallowed a Satiation Pill, the bitter taste a constant reminder of his status. Even in failure, alchemists contributed to the sect. But what about him? What future did an outer disciple like him have?

As the month passed, his body toughened. His swings with the axe became sharper, his hands steadier with a broom, his endurance growing. He was still weak, but no longer helpless.

As he toiled, he felt like always something was slipping from his grasp. like sand between his fingers. and yet, despite that, he found that his improvement was a tad too quick. hell, it had barely been a month, yet he felt like the axe was a bit lighter.

Was this why the senior disciples were able to cut down firewood so fast? 

Was this some kind of cultivation? perhaps a body cultivation? 

Cheng thought of this, and all sorts of other ideas, as he tried to get used to his new life, and the apparent void in his memories. he knew without a doubt this was not his first life. And yet, he knew nothing of it. 

Realistically, the word cultivator should be unknown. to the old jiang chen, cultivators were immortal gods, capable of splitting seas and mountains, tales told by his parents and elders as he played in the village, before taken in the sect. 

And yet, form the moment he woke up as this new version of himself, that thought was way different.

He had no idea why he thought of it this way, but now, cultivators were nothing more than mortals like him, just way more powerful, and long living. True they could split seas and mountains, yet they could also fly in space? what was a space? a planet? he knew what a star was. or so he thought. turns out his Weird new thoughts were convinced that stars were in space, and just like the sun, burned bright, not the candlelights in the night sky he thought they truly ware.

Hell, he seemed to have all sorts of weird ideas in his head, about how to cultivate, realistically impossible, as Cheng had no one close to teach him. but he thought of things like a revolving core. building one's foundation, and all sorts of ideas for techniques he thought he knew, watched them somewhere, and yet could not understand. Nor could he properly remember.

It was like whatever memories he had before, were locked, with nothing but his subconscious able to access parts of them.

Honestly, he had cried quite a bit the first few days, as he grasped the reality that he was no longer.... what he was, but now just a kid, prepubescent at that.

Then, one morning, everything changed.

The outer disciples were gathered in the sect’s main courtyard. Jiang Chen stood at the back, craning his neck to see.

For the first time, he truly understood the scale of the Falling Star Sect’s outer disciples. They stretched out across the stone courtyard in an unending sea of gray robes. The sight made his breath hitch.

Nearly a thousand… and this was supposed to be a weak sect?

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of something shifting in his mind. Just what kind of world had he been reborn into. Or more worrying. How did he even know that he had been reborn?