The taste of blood was the last thing Lin Xuan knew.
Warm. Metallic. His own.
Snow fell lazily from the black sky, smothering the world in white silence. Beneath him, the ground was already stained red, the heat of his body bleeding into the cold. He could barely move. His fingers twitched uselessly against the frozen earth. The sword wound in his side burned like molten iron. Every shallow breath drove knives through his lungs.
And yet, what hurt most wasn't the pain.
It was the sight before him.
Through the haze of his failing vision, he saw him — his sworn brother. The man he had saved countless times, the one he had trusted more than anyone else. Lin Zhen stood over him now, black robes snapping in the wind, his expression calm, almost pitying.
"Loyalty," Lin Zhen said softly, "is a fool's chain. Forgive me, Brother... but you were too dangerous to keep alive."
Lin Xuan wanted to laugh. Dangerous? No. The truth was far simpler.
Lin Zhen wanted what he had.
His cultivation. His techniques. His treasures.
In this world, strength was everything but strength also invited envy.
He tried to speak, but blood flooded his throat. The only sound that escaped was a wet, broken gurgle.
Lin Zhen did not flinch. He did not gloat. He simply raised his sword and brought it down in one smooth motion.
Steel tore through flesh, bone, and the final thread binding Lin Xuan to life.
Death.
***
Cold returned first.
Not the clean, biting cold of snow, but the damp chill of stagnant air trapped in a poorly ventilated room.
Lin Xuan's eyes flew open.
Wooden beams stretched overhead. The air reeked of smoke and mildew. His hands... wrong. Too small. Too unscarred. Calloused in the rough, shallow way of a street rat rather than the hardened hands of a martial master.
He sat up sharply. The movement was light, effortless. There was no agony in his ribs, no tearing pain in his chest.
His body was young again.
No... not just young.
His gaze swept the cramped room. A rotting wooden table stood in the center, and atop it lay a rusted dagger.
His breath caught.
It was the same dagger he had bought for two copper coins when he was fifteen and That was twenty years ago.
The realization struck like a hammer. His pulse thundered in his ears.
This was the year he had first joined the Red Fang gang. The year he had stepped onto the blood-soaked path that would lead to his rise and his betrayal.
Somehow, impossibly, he had returned to the beginning.
Lin Xuan sat motionless, gripping the dagger as his thoughts raced. His first instinct was to rejoice, to see this as a blessing.
But that was foolish.
No god had granted him mercy. No heaven had taken pity on him.
The world of murim was a beast. one of sects and clans, assassins and traitors, wandering masters and hidden monsters. The weak were devoured. The strong were feared, until someone stronger appeared.
If fate had truly returned him here, it was not to save him.
It was to test him.
And if he repeated his old mistakes, he would die again just as meaninglessly.
Not this time.
This time, he would think further ahead.
He would move slower—but cut deeper.
Every step would serve a purpose.
Every friendship would be a transaction.
Every enemy would be useful before they were dead.
The boy he had once been was reckless, desperate for approval, starving to prove himself.
That boy had died in the snow.
***
Lin Xuan rose to his feet. The table creaked softly. The dagger felt heavier in his grip than it should have.
His gaze drifted to the wooden door, its hinges rusted, its frame warped. He remembered this place well, the cheapest lodging in the rat district. Outside lay a maze of narrow alleys, gang markings smeared on the walls, and the stench of unwashed bodies hanging in the air.
This was where he had met Bao Liang, the man who had drawn him into the Red Fang.
In his first life, he had been grateful. The gang had given him food, shelter, and crude martial training.
But the Red Fang were scavengers, loyal only as long as someone remained useful.
Bao Liang would later sell him out to the Black Tiger gang for a pouch of silver. That betrayal had cost Lin Xuan an eye in his previous life.
This time, it would cost Bao Liang his life.
First, though, he needed information. Twenty years was a long time, and even small deviations could shatter carefully laid plans.
He knelt and checked the loose floorboard beneath the table.
Still there.
A hidden compartment – empty for now, but useful later.
He slid the dagger into his belt and stepped outside.
The alley greeted him with its familiar stench of piss and rot. Crooked balconies loomed overhead. Dirty snow lay in gray heaps along the walls. Barefoot children darted past despite the cold. A drunk slumped against the bricks, snoring into his threadbare coat.
This was home.
And like any home, it was built on the bones of the weak.
***
Bao Liang found him before midday.
"Xuan!" he called, grinning with practiced warmth. His rat-like face was half-hidden behind a ragged scarf, narrow eyes gleaming with calculation.
In his first life, Lin Xuan had thought him a friend.
Now he saw him for what he truly was... an opportunist.
"Bao," Lin Xuan replied evenly, giving nothing away. "You're looking well."
Bao laughed and slapped his shoulder. "The Red Fang could use another blade. You still quick with that dagger of yours?"
Quick. That was the lie his early reputation had been built on. Back then, his skill had been mediocre at best.
But this time, he carried twenty years of experience killing men.
"Quick enough," Lin Xuan said.
Bao leaned in. "There's work tonight. Merchant caravan coming through the east gate. Easy pickings. You in?"
In his previous life, Lin Xuan had agreed. The job had gone poorly, the rewards had been meager, and it had landed him on the city watch's blacklist for years.
This time, he smiled.
"I have a better idea."
Bao's eyebrows lifted. Greed flickered instantly in his eyes.
Lin Xuan lowered his voice. "There's a spice shipment arriving tomorrow. Unguarded. Worth ten times what a caravan carries. But I can't move it alone."
It was a lie. There was no spice shipment.
What he needed was an excuse, one that would get him introduced to the Red Fang's leader earlier than before. Information was the real prize. And Old Jin knew more about the city's undercurrents than anyone in the slums.
Bao bit immediately. "Spices? That's noble-market stuff. How do you know this?"
Lin Xuan smiled faintly. "I have my ways. But if you're not interested..."
"No, no," Bao said quickly, waving his hands. "I'll take you to Old Jin tonight. He'll want to hear this."
Perfect.
***
As evening bled into bruised twilight, Lin Xuan returned to his room. He sat in the dark with the dagger resting across his knees, running through his plan again and again.
Step one: gain Old Jin's trust, not through loyalty, but through value. Feed him just enough truth to keep him curious.
Step two: learn the Red Fang's operations, routes, and rivalries. Map every gang's territory using memory and observation.
Step three: identify the future threats – the gangs and sects that would rise in the coming decade – and begin undermining them now, before they ever knew his name.
It would take years.
But he had years.
The boy who once scrambled for scraps was gone.
The man who had died in the snow now wore his skin.