Lu Yan's last thought was not profound.
It wasn't about family. Or regrets. Or the meaning of life.
It was: I should really stop drinking this office coffee.
The spreadsheet glowed back at him, stubborn and unblinking, cells packed tight with numbers that refused to become meaningful no matter how long he stared. The clock in the corner of his monitor read 11:47 p.m. It had read that for a while now. Time did strange things when you were alone with fluorescent lights and a cooling cup of regret.
The coffee beside his keyboard had gone untouched. Bitter smell. Burnt. He'd microwaved it twice already. It tasted like punishment.
Lu Yan leaned back in his chair, spine cracking softly. Twenty-eight years old. Good attendance record. Average performance reviews. Zero emails marked "urgent" that actually meant something.
His phone buzzed.
A group chat. Muted. He didn't open it.
He stared at the screen again and, for no reason at all, felt something inside him go still.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Just… quiet.
The kind of quiet that made him suddenly, inexplicably aware of his own breathing.
This can't be it, he thought.
Not angrily. Not dramatically. Just confused.
His chest tightened, like a hand turning a dial somewhere deep inside him. Gently. Firmly. As if someone had decided he'd run long enough.
Lu Yan frowned. "Huh."
That was it.
No flash. No sirens. No meaningful last words.
Just a man, alone with a spreadsheet, realizing too late that he had postponed his life until it expired.
He woke up choking.
Air tore into his lungs, cold and sharp, scraping his throat raw. He rolled instinctively, palms slapping against something solid, uneven, definitely not laminate flooring.
He sucked in another breath. Then another.
The air smelled wrong.
Too clean. Pine resin. Wet earth. Something metallic underneath, faint but present, like blood or rain on stone.
Lu Yan gagged and retched, bile burning up his throat as his stomach violently rejected… something. He braced himself on his hands, fingers digging into coarse fabric and soil.
Fabric?
His hair fell forward, brushing his cheek.
That froze him.
Hair didn't do that. Not his hair.
He stared at it. Black. Long. Too long. It tangled between his fingers when he lifted his hand, heavy and real.
"No," he croaked.
His voice sounded wrong too. Younger. Rough with disuse rather than exhaustion.
The sky above him was an impossible blue. Deep. Clean. Like someone had scrubbed pollution out of existence. White clouds drifted lazily, unconcerned with him or his rapidly unraveling understanding of reality.
Lu Yan pushed himself upright.
The world tilted. Then… settled.
No knee pain. No stiffness in his back. His body responded instantly, smoothly, like it actually wanted to be used. His vision was sharp enough to catch individual leaves trembling in the breeze, the subtle shift of shadows as clouds moved overhead.
He looked down.
Thin cloth shoes. Dust-stained robe. Sleeves too long. Hands leaner than he remembered, calluses in unfamiliar places.
A body that was not his.
"No," he said again, more firmly this time. "No, no, no."
Memories slammed into him.
Not gently. Not politely.
A mountain path at dawn.
Cold water biting numb fingers as he hauled buckets uphill.
A senior disciple's voice snapping at him for being slow.
Being overlooked. Forgotten. Useful only when something needed carrying.
Two lives collided inside his skull, overlapping like misaligned pages.
Lu Yan staggered, pressing his palms to his temples. The truth settled with humiliating clarity.
"I reincarnated," he said aloud.
The forest did not laugh with him.
He did, though. Once. Short. Disbelieving. "You've got to be kidding me."
Azure Heaven Continent.
The name surfaced effortlessly, dragging context with it. Cultivators. Sects. Immortals who pretended desire didn't move them while hoarding power like dragons.
And this body?
Outer disciple. Lowest rung. Eighteen years old. Parents dead. No backing. No notable talent. Assigned to a minor righteous sect that barely registered on anyone important's map.
If this were a story, he'd be a background casualty.
A breeze passed through the trees, carrying distant voices—laughter, light footsteps. Other disciples, heading back from morning training.
He was late.
Again.
Lu Yan stood slowly, brushing dirt from his robe. His heart pounded—not with fear, but something sharper. Cleaner.
Anticipation.
The weight that had lived on his chest for years was gone. No unread emails. No performance metrics. No quiet dread of tomorrow being identical to today.
He was alive.
Actually alive.
Something stirred inside him.
Warm.
Amused.
Oh?
The voice didn't travel through the air. It bloomed directly in his thoughts, smooth and unhurried, like it had been waiting for him to catch up.
Lu Yan stiffened. "Who's there?"
A pause. Deliberate. Enjoying itself.
Correction, the voice replied. What's here.
Heat flared behind his sternum, spreading outward in slow, intimate waves. Not painful. Almost… familiar. Like someone leaning in too close, just enough to make you aware of the space between bodies.
Golden light flickered before his eyes.
Text formed, crisp and undeniable.
—
[Heavenly Desire Manual initializing…]
Host compatibility: 99.8%
Emotional Resonance: Exceptional
—
Lu Yan stared.
"…A system," he murmured.
Of course.
Because apparently dying quietly wasn't enough. The universe needed irony.
I prefer "Manual," the voice said lightly. System sounds so rigid.
The text shifted.
—
[Welcome, Lu Yan.]
Reincarnation confirmed.
Desire Path: Unlocked.
—
"Desire Path?" He frowned. "That sounds like trouble."
Everything interesting is, the Manual replied. Relax. I don't bite. Unless invited.
He snorted before he could stop himself. "You're joking."
Occasionally. Mostly not.
More text appeared, slower now. He felt each line rather than read it.
—
[Heavenly Desire Manual]
Function: Convert desire, emotional bonds, longing, jealousy, and romantic resonance into cultivation power.
Warning: Suppression of desire results in stagnation.
Note: Consent is mandatory. Force triggers backlash. Severe backlash.
—
Lu Yan blinked.
Then blinked again.
"…You're telling me," he said carefully, "that my cultivation depends on feelings?"
On connection, the Manual corrected. On tension. On closeness that hasn't yet tipped into indulgence.
The warmth pulsed, sharper this time. His breath hitched, traitorously.
"This is dual cultivation," he said. "Those techniques are forbidden."
Crude dual cultivation is.
A pause.
I'm refined.
Another pause, distinctly smug.
Though I won't complain if things get messy.
Lu Yan laughed under his breath. "You're trouble."
Oh, absolutely.
Metrics unfolded in his mind. Desire Levels. Bond Ranks. Yin Resonance. None of it felt obscene. It felt… honest.
"This world is going to hate me," he murmured.
Only the hypocrites, the Manual replied. You're refreshingly sincere.
Footsteps crunched nearby.
Lu Yan looked up.
A young woman stepped into the clearing, pale blue robes catching the light. Frost-cloud insignia at her sleeve. Basket tucked at her hip. Her posture was straight, controlled. Her gaze cool.
Beautiful, but distant. Like snow you knew better than to touch.
She stopped when she saw him.
Their eyes met.
Something tightened in his chest. Not heat. Not lust.
Awareness.
Golden text exploded across his vision.
—
[Yin Resonance Detected]
Target: Lin Yue
Status: Stranger
Compatibility: High
—
The warmth surged, pleased.
Lin Yue frowned faintly, gaze lingering a heartbeat too long before she masked it. "You're late," she said.
Not sharp. Just factual.
Lu Yan opened his mouth—
A bell rang out across the mountains. Loud. Urgent.
Alarm.
Her expression shifted instantly. "That's the inner grounds signal."
Shouts echoed. Cultivators moving. Tension snapping tight.
Lin Yue turned toward the sound, then back to him. Her eyes searched his face, something unsettled flickering beneath the calm.
"Don't stand there," she said. "If you value your life—move."
Then she was gone, frost-blue robes vanishing into the trees.
Lu Yan remained where he was, heart pounding, golden text fading.
Well, the Manual purred. That was fast.
He swallowed. "What just happened?"
Interruption, it replied cheerfully. My favorite.
Somewhere deep within the sect, something had gone wrong.
And Lu Yan—newly reborn, newly bound to desire itself—took his first step toward it, unaware that he had already become the quiet center of something irreversible.
Above the path, hidden by branches, someone paused.
Watched him go.
And felt an unfamiliar, unwelcome twist of jealousy tighten in her chest.