Chapter 1:Reincarnation
First person POV
My name is Tian Hun, twenty-five years old, unemployed, and—according to society—a complete failure. If laziness were a crime, I would have been sentenced to life long ago.
I wasn't always like this. Or maybe I was, and I just refused to admit it.
Ever since graduating from college, I drifted from interview to interview like a ghost haunting office buildings. I would prepare for a few days, attend the interview with false confidence, get rejected, feel indignant for exactly one night… and then sink back into my bed, drowning myself in cultivation novels, supernatural manhua, and fanfictions until dawn.
I loved those worlds—where effort led to power, where destiny could be overturned, where even trash characters could rise and slap the heavens in the face. Unlike reality.
Reality didn't care how much potential you thought you had.
My mother died shortly after giving birth to me. I don't remember her face—only an old photo my grandmother kept wrapped in cloth, like a sacred relic. From then on, I was raised by my grandmother, my father's mother.
She doted on me excessively.
Too much...
She fed me, defended me, excused me, and protected me from every harsh word the world tried to throw at me. Whenever I failed, she would smile and say, "It's alright, Hun'er. Take your time."
And I took that time. Again and again. Taking too much advantage of it till it's too late to change.
My father, on the other hand, was a stranger wearing the title of "parent." After my mother died, he grew distant, cold, and eventually shameless. He brought another woman into his life—not caring whether I saw, whether I understood, or whether it hurt.
That was when my respect for him died.
I never confronted him. I simply stopped caring.
Perhaps that was the start of my downfall.
---
Today's interview was no different.
A medium-sized company. A boring office. A polite HR manager with eyes that had already decided my worth before I opened my mouth.
"You lack initiative," she said gently.
"You don't seem motivated."
"You feign being confident. "
"We'll contact you later."
I nodded, bowed, thanked her, and walked out.
"We will never contact you later. " That's what she will be thinking and I already know that after her remarks about my performance.
I exited the building and stepped onto the pavement, the city buzzing around me—cars, horns, people rushing somewhere important. I shoved my hands into my pockets and stared at the ground as I walked.
"Another rejection."
"Another useless day."
I wondered how I would face my grandmother tonight. She was sick now—her body frail, her breathing shallow. Yet she still waited for me every evening, pretending not to worry.
The thought tightened my chest.
Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice where I was going.
A sudden crashing sound snapped me awake.
I looked up just in time to see part of a construction site wall—easily five meters tall—collapse forward with a deafening sound. Dust exploded into the air, concrete chunks scattering like shrapnel.
My Instinct kicked in quickly.
I jumped back without thinking, adrenaline raising immediately because of fear of injury and my heart started pounding fast, not daring to turn around, afraid another section might fall.
I had just taken two steps back when—
HOOOOONK!
A deafening car horn screamed behind me.
My blood froze.
I turned my head slightly, and my eyes met the front of a speeding car rushing straight toward me. It was too close. Too fast. My legs refused to move.
I'm going to die.
That thought was strangely calm.
In the split second before impact, I curled my body and jumped upward instinctively, protecting my head and vital organs—something I'd once read in an article and watched in youtube, I have never expected to use it.
The world exploded.
The windshield shattered with a sharp crack, glass spraying everywhere. Pain erupted across my skin as shards pierced my arms, neck, and chest. My body slammed down hard onto the road, the air knocked violently from my lungs.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't scream.
Everything rang.
For a brief moment, I thought I survived.
"Did I… live?" I muttered slowly.
My vision blurred, and dizziness washed over me like a tide. Something warm soaked through my shirt, spreading rapidly.
Warm… and sticky.
Confused, I lowered my trembling gaze.
A long, jagged shard of glass—at least seventeen, maybe twenty centimeters—was buried deep in my chest, piercing straight through my sternum. Blood gushed around it, staining my clothes dark red.
AHHHHHHH....!!!
A lady's loud scream came from backseat of the car.
The pain arrived a second later.
It was heart wrenching.
My mind went completely blank from the pain, like someone had smashed my head with a brick. I couldn't even scream; all that escaped was a broken, hoarse gasp.
"So this is death…"
My limbs grew cold. The sounds around me faded—shouting, footsteps, panic—becoming distant echoes. My vision darkened from the edges inward.
As consciousness slipped away, my final thought wasn't regret for wasted years.
It wasn't anger toward my father.
It was my grandmother.
Her wrinkled hands.
Her tired smile.
The way she would be waiting by the door now, asking softly, "Hun'er, are you back?"
"Grandma… I'm sorry."
"I didn't become anything."
"I wouldn't be able to take care of you anymore...."
With this heart wrenching thought.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
---
I thought death would be endless emptiness.
Darkness without any light.
But instead, I felt… warmth.
Gentle. Warm heat enveloping me.
As if I were floating in a sea of warm water.
"What…?" I thought.
Confusion surged through me. I tried to move, but I couldn't. I tried to open my eyes, but there was nothing to open.
"Am I… still alive?"
Just as this thought crossed my mind, I instantly thought about my grandmother.
I imagine her sitting on the old wooden chair near the window, knitting slowly despite her trembling hands. Her hair was completely white now, thinner than before. Every few moments, she would pause and cough softly, then look toward the door.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
I wanted to call out to her.
To tell her I was sorry.
Sorry for being useless. Sorry for wasting years she would never get back. Sorry for promising her I would "do better next time" and never meaning it enough.
"Grandma…"
My throat tightened, even though I no longer had a body to cry with.
"Please don't wait for me today."
The thought hurt more than that glass shard piercing me ever did.
I wondered who would bring her medicine. Who would cook her meals. Who would listen to her stories about the past that no one else cared about.
Regret gnawed at me endlessly.
If I had one more chance… just one…
My consciousness drifted again, sinking deeper into the void, clinging to that fragile wish like a dying ember.
---
Then—
Brightess.
It burst through the darkness suddenly, sharp and blinding. I felt pressure all around me, crushing yet strangely rhythmic. Sound returned in fragments—muffled voices, hurried footsteps, the metallic clatter of tools.
I wanted to scream.
And I did.
A sharp, piercing cry tore from my throat—but it wasn't the voice of a grown man.
It was thin.
Weak.
New.
The world spun violently, cold air rushing over my skin. My limbs flailed uncontrollably, refusing to obey me. Panic surged.
"Why can't I move properly?"
Before I could understand anything, warmth wrapped around me again. Soft fabric. Gentle hands. Someone held me carefully, as if I were something fragile beyond measure.
My vision was blurry, colors bleeding into one another, but I could make out shapes—white walls, bright lights, and unfamiliar faces wearing masks.
A hospital?
The realization was slow, unreal.
"Did I… survive?"
My thoughts were interrupted when my gaze drifted upward.
I saw her.
A woman stood beside the bed, her face pale with exhaustion, yet breathtakingly beautiful. Her hair was a deep dark red, flowing loosely around her shoulders, glowing faintly under the hospital lights like burning embers.
Even through blurred vision, I could tell—
She was stunning.
The kind of beauty that would turn heads anywhere on Earth. If she stood on a runway, cameras would follow her without question. Yet there was nothing artificial about her—only natural elegance mixed with raw emotion.
Her eyes were red—not from makeup, but from crying.
When our gazes met, her expression shattered.
Tears spilled freely as she smiled through them, trembling as she leaned closer.
"My child…" she whispered, her voice shaking.
Her fingers brushed my cheek, gentle beyond belief, as if afraid I might disappear if she touched me too firmly.
Something stirred deep inside my chest.
Confusion.
Warmth.
A strange sense of belonging.
"Who… are you?"
Before I could think further, exhaustion crashed over me like a wave. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy. The sounds around me faded again, turning distant and soft.
As my consciousness slipped away, the last thing I saw was her smiling face—painful, depresiatio, tired.
And the last thought that crossed my mind before sleep claimed me was simple and bewildered.
"I think… I was born again."
To be continued