Kevin opened his eyes to darkness, and he found himself floating in an endless void that stretched out in all directions without any signs of light or sound. He was weightless and cold, unable to tell if he was upright or falling, a strange numbness settled over him like a shroud. No sensation existed beyond the faint awareness of his own existence, and he couldn't help but wonder if this was what death truly meant.
Is this death?
The thought came unbidden, and it was followed swiftly by a surge of emotion that burned through the numbness like wildfire. Rage flooded his senses, followed by regret and bitterness so thick it choked him, and he felt the weight of his wasted life pressing down on his consciousness.
He had wasted his life. Twenty-eight years of nothing, of cowering and bending his neck, of accepting abuse from people who had no right to abuse him. His boss, that fat fuck who screamed at him daily, his landlord who raised the rent whenever he felt like it, the world itself which crushed anyone too weak to fight back—all of them had ground him down until he was nothing.
Kevin had been weak, and he'd accepted it. He'd told himself that was just how things were, that struggling was pointless, that keeping his head down was the smart choice, but now, floating in this void, he knew it had all been bullshit.
If there was a God somewhere, if there was any cosmic force listening, Kevin had one wish. Give me another chance, he thought desperately. Give me a second life, and I'll live it differently. I'll get to the top of the food chain. I'll make a change myself. I won't bow my head again.
The memory of his death flashed through his mind, and his anger flared hotter. He'd died saving some girl in the subway, but not even because he was noble or brave—he'd done it because he'd been pissed off. The strong took what they wanted, and that groper had thought he was strong, thought the girl was weak, thought no one would stop him, and it had reminded Kevin of his boss with the same stupid arrogance and entitlement.
So Kevin had done something reckless. He'd stepped in, grabbed the man's wrist, told him to back off, and the fucker had stabbed him. One quick thrust right between the ribs, and Kevin had stumbled and hit the ground while he watched his blood pool on the dirty subway tiles. He'd bled out surrounded by strangers who did nothing, just like they'd done nothing when that girl was being groped.
He wasn't just angry that he'd died. He was angry that he hadn't taken the bastard down with him.
"Hmmmm."
Kevin froze at the sound.
The voice hadn't come from anywhere in particular, and it simply existed while it vibrated through the void like a bell struck in the distance.
What the hell was that?
"Hmmmm," the voice repeated, lower this time and thoughtful. "I was about to lay myself to rest and give up. Yet fate has brought you here at the final moment."
Kevin's confusion turned to suspicion instantly. "Who the hell are you? Where the hell am I? Am I on my way to the underworld or something?" He paused, then added quickly, "If you're sending me off, at least grant me one wish and clear my browser history, because I always use incognito but I didn't use it today, and I just had to die—"
His irritation deepened into fury as he thought about it. Of all the times to forget incognito mode, it had to be today, and thinking about this made him even more pissed.
The voice said nothing to this.
Kevin's temper snapped. "Are you going to talk, or are you just going to keep humming like an idiot?"
Silence stretched out for a long moment.
Then laughter erupted.
It wasn't ordinary laughter, because it shook the void itself with a sound so vast and deep that Kevin felt it in his bones, in the core of whatever he was now. The presence behind the voice pressed down on him like a mountain collapsing, like the weight of the sky itself, and terror flooded his senses until his anger evaporated instantly and was replaced by raw, animal fear.
The laughter faded gradually, and the voice spoke again with a faint note of amusement threading through it. "Tell me, mortal human. Why are you so unwilling to die?"
Kevin's mouth went dry, and he hesitated before he forced the words out. "I have lots of regrets."
He paused, then muttered under his breath without thinking, "And who the fuck wants to die anyway?"
The moment the words left him, he froze and wondered if the voice would get mad, if it would decide to punish him for his disrespect, but the voice ignored his outburst entirely.
"If you had another go at life," it said slowly, "what would you do?"
Kevin scoffed before he could stop himself. "I'd rise to the top of it all, one way or the other. I'd do what the fuck I want and live without any more regrets."
Another laugh shook the void, shorter this time but no less powerful, and Kevin's fear spiked again even as the voice sounded pleased.
"Good. Good." A pause stretched out before the voice continued. "This one finds you suitable for his inheritance."
Kevin's thoughts stuttered at the word. Inheritance?
The term was familiar, and he frowned while he tried to remember where he'd heard it before.
"Go forth, human," the voice said with an air of finality. "Bring glory to this one."
A white light appeared in the distance, small at first before it expanded rapidly and grew brighter with each passing moment. Kevin felt a pull, like an invisible hand grabbing him by the chest and yanking him forward, and the light grew until it engulfed the void and swallowed him whole.
Just before the light consumed him completely, he heard a female voice, younger and sharper than the first, curse loudly. "What the hell, you old geezer—"
Kevin's mind raced as the white light engulfed him while one thought rang in his head. Was this… transmigration?
Then everything went white, and he felt himself being pulled away from the void.
The voice laughed after Kevin was gone, and it sounded faint as if fading away while it spoke even though Kevin could no longer hear it. "Keep on the legacy, and maybe steal some peaches while you are at it."
Kevin opened his eyes to the sky.
It was blue and clear, bright enough to hurt his eyes, and he tried to sit up before pain lanced through his body with sharp immediacy. His ribs ached while his arms burned, and his head throbbed so badly he groaned and let himself fall back against the ground.
Movement caught his eye overhead.
Something large flew across the sky in a smooth arc, and Kevin squinted at it through the pain and blurriness of his vision. Despite his blurry eyes, he could clearly see it—a person in flowing robes riding on what looked like an enormous crane, cutting through the clouds as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Kevin blinked hard, wondering if he was hallucinating from the pain. Was that real? Did someone just fly overhead on a fucking bird?
Kevin stared at the sky for a long moment while his mind tried to process what he'd just seen.
What the fuck did I just see?
"You're alive?"
The voice was startled and high-pitched, and Kevin turned his head to see a figure standing a few meters away. A young man, maybe sixteen or seventeen, dressed in ragged robes that looked like they'd seen better days stood there with a pale face and wide eyes full of shock.
"Pretend to die," the young man hissed as he stepped closer. "Before Wei Shen finds out you're still alive, pretend to die and leave—"
Kevin wasn't listening because memories flooded his mind with sudden and overwhelming force. They weren't his memories, and they belonged to someone else entirely, someone named Xiao Feng who had lived in this body.
Xiao Feng had been brought to the Snow Sect by his village elder who had connections here along with a girl named Lin Yue, and both of them had been orphans who showed talent. But when they arrived at the sect, Xiao Feng had been found to have a damaged dantian, and even though he had a spirit root, the sect had thrown him into the labor disciples while Lin Yue had been discovered to have a rare physique. A female elder had taken her in as a personal disciple, and Xiao Feng had been left to rot.
Kevin's thoughts stuttered as the realization hit him like a sledgehammer. A cultivation world. He was in a fucking cultivation world. Spirit roots, dantians, sects—all the things he'd read about in those novels when he was younger were real, and he was actually here.
For a moment, excitement flared in his chest, hot and fierce, before it died just as quickly when the rest of Xiao Feng's memories settled in his mind.
People compared him to Lin Yue constantly, and the comparisons turned to mockery before the mockery turned to bullying. Wei Shen, another labor disciple who thought himself the top dog among them, had taken it upon himself to make Xiao Feng's life hell. He'd beaten him daily, humiliated him in front of others, pushed him until Xiao Feng finally broke.
And today, Xiao Feng had died from the beating.
Kevin's jaw tightened as he felt a surge of rage that didn't belong to him rush through his body. It was a lingering emotion from the original owner of this body, burning hot and bright before it faded and left only Kevin's own thoughts behind.
Xiao Feng's life had been even shittier than his own previous life, and that was saying something.
Kevin exhaled slowly while he noticed the pain in his body getting slightly duller, and he realized from Xiao Feng's memories that this shouldn't be possible unless—
Kevin's thoughts turned to the voice in the void and the inheritance it had mentioned.
He needed to find out what it was, needed to know if his luck had finally turned around, if he'd actually been given something worth using. No way I transmigrated into a shitty life with shitty luck, he thought bitterly. That would just suck.
"Xiao Feng, are you listening to me?" the young man in ragged robes said urgently. "You need to leave now before Wei Shen returns! Just go, pretend you were never—"
Kevin ignored him while he forced himself to sit up. His body protested but obeyed, and his surroundings came into focus as the pain continued to fade.
He was in an open courtyard with people milling around where stone tiles stretched out in all directions, worn and cracked from age. The air felt thick and stifling, almost suffocating, as if something heavy pressed down on his lungs with every breath. Kevin didn't know what it was, but from Xiao Feng's memories, he knew it was spiritual energy—the very thing that cultivators absorbed and used to grow stronger, yet his damaged dantian couldn't process it properly.
"He's actually still alive?" someone muttered from the crowd.
"Idiot," another voice hissed. "He should have pretended to be dead and escaped somehow."
"Now he's sealed his fate," a third person said with a shake of his head. "Wei Shen will come back and finish what he started."
"What did he expect? A labor disciple with a damaged dantian daring to anger Wei Shen?"
"Poor bastard. He's as good as dead now."
A few whispered among themselves, and from Xiao Feng's memories, Kevin knew none of them cared about him.
They'd watched him get beaten, watched him suffer, watched him nearly die, and they'd done nothing.
The surge of rage came again, sharper this time, and Kevin gritted his teeth while he pushed it down. Those weren't his emotions but Xiao Feng's, lingering in the body like an echo that refused to fade, but Kevin understood them perfectly. He'd felt the same rage in his old life, the same bitterness at being helpless, the same anger at the people who stood by and did nothing.
But a moment later, Kevin forced himself to calm down as more of Xiao Feng's memories settled in. The rules here were different. Labor disciples had no status, no protection, and interfering in another's affairs could bring punishment from the supervisors or worse, attract Wei Shen's attention. These people hadn't done nothing because they were cowards—they'd done nothing because doing something would only get them beaten or killed alongside Xiao Feng.
He stood up slowly and unsteadily while the crowd murmured louder.
"Fool," someone muttered from the back. "He should have stayed down and crawled away when no one was looking."
Kevin ignored them all.
He searched Xiao Feng's memories for the place where the boy had lived—a small shack on the edge of the labor disciples' quarters that was cramped and dirty but at least private.
Kevin started walking while the crowd parted around him, still whispering and staring. He didn't look back at them, and he focused on placing one foot in front of the other while his steps grew firmer with each passing moment.
He had to investigate, had to find out what inheritance the voice had given him, had to know if he'd been given a cheat or if he'd been thrown into another shitty existence. His steps were unsteady as he moved but he forced himself forward anyway.
Kevin's lips twitched into a faint, bitter smile as he felt a burning sensation on his left chest over his heart.
Maybe his luck had finally turned around.