Warmth.
Not gentle warmth, but heavy, sticky, suffocating, like he was wrapped in wet cloth. His body felt tiny… soft… weak.
He frowned instinctively.
"…Why do I feel like a steamed dumpling filling?"
No sound came out—only faint gurgles.
Opening his eyes revealed a blur of red and gold, shadows shifting, muffled voices.
Then a sudden squeeze of pressure forced air into his lungs.
WAAA—!
"…"
His mind froze. "…Did I just scream? Wait—did I scream?"
No matter how he tried, only infant cries escaped. His brain slowly pieced the situation together:
Tiny body
Uncontrollable voice
Wrapped in cloth
People shouting around him
View level with someone's arms
"…You're kidding me. Did I—seriously—get reborn?"
A calm settled over him—not shock, not fear. Just… adaptation.
He remembered his past life clearly. Twenty-two years of striving for strength, pouring hours into training, imagining he could reach heights no one dared. He had failed—but never stopped. He had dreamed of surpassing limits, of standing above the ordinary. And then… everything ended.
Death had come quietly, like it always did. But this time, he felt a strange pull—a thread of consciousness stretching beyond the final moment. He had clung to it, a desperate spark of hope, and then… light. Warmth. And here he was.
He wasn't chosen. He hadn't earned this. It wasn't fate or destiny. It was… a chance. A second life.
A soft, trembling voice spoke above him:
"It's a boy… a strong cry. Heaven has blessed us."
Another voice, deeper, weary but relieved:
"Good… good… Lian'er finally brought us a child."
Lian'er?
A pair of warm hands lifted him. The blurry shapes sharpened just enough for him to see a woman lying on a bed—pale, sweat-soaked, eyes soft as she looked at him. The world around her smelled of incense, the room bathed in soft candlelight—ancient, quiet, alive.
"Give… give him the name. His father should," she whispered weakly.
The man holding him gently touched his cheek.
"Li Tianlian."
Li — surname
Tian — heaven
Lian — stubborn, persistent, continuous refinement
"…Heaven's stubborn lotus," he thought. "…Not bad."
Only a faint "guu—" left his tiny mouth.
His father chuckled. "See? He likes it."
His mother's eyes fluttered, lips moving without sound. A final whisper reached him:
"…Live… well…"
Then her hand fell. Still. Silent. Gone.
Pain gripped him—not from his small body, but from understanding. He had known loss before. In this new life, he would be careful… stronger… wiser.
Time passed. Slow and steady. Infancy came without miracles. No extraordinary talent stirred. No mysterious treasure appeared. Nothing, except the quiet, careful observation of life itself.
And Tianlian had that—observation. Patience. Insight.
Every day, he watched. Every night, he listened. Stories of wandering swordsmen, distant sects, and hidden beasts. Patterns, rhythms, timing. Everything became part of him.
He didn't rush. Didn't hope for instant power. Growth, he knew, came from careful steps, repetition, and understanding.
A lifetime of seeing the cruelty of both real and fictional worlds gave him a sharp edge. He would not walk blindly. This time, he would live, he would train, and he would survive.
And somewhere deep inside, a small, stubborn spark flared. He would be strong. Strong enough to face whatever this vast, unforgiving world had to offer.
"…Alright," he whispered to himself. "This is my second chance. I'll make it count."