Previous Life Memories

Han Chen's life on Earth? Boring. Every day blurred into the next—wake up, work, sleep, repeat. His only escape? Movies, books, web-novels, comics and pouring out his heart to his wife. He'd lose himself in stories where heroes got magic powers and systems overnight or villains scheming against protagonists. Sometimes, lying in bed, he'd imagine: What if I had a system. What if Yue and I just… vanished somewhere better?

But daydreams don't fix real life. When Han Chen died, it wasn't dramatic. No last words. Just… gone. Forgotten.

Or so he thought.

As his soul floated toward whatever comes next, something yanked him back. A shadowy figure, massive and strange, gripped his spirit like a kid grabbing a pebble from a creek. Its voice buzzed in his head, cold and flat:

"You wanted meaning. A way out. Fine. Try this. Don't expect it to be simple."

No goodbye. No explanations. Just pain—sharp, blinding—and then nothing.

"It's a way out for me too..." the entity murmured after he left.

Rebirth in a Cultivation World

When Han Chen opened his eyes again, the world was different. Vast. The air is so pure that it felt pleasure to breathe in. Alive in a way Earth never was. He had been reborn in a land of cultivators—where gods walked as men, and the very heavens bent to their will.

But fate, ever the cruel joker, hadn't gone easy on him. His new life? A repeat of the old one, only harsher. Born once again into a struggling side branch of a once-proud cultivation family, Han Chen found himself saddled with dismal spiritual roots and a body barely worth cultivating. Even his new name remained Han Chen, as if the universe was mocking him with the past he couldn't escape.

The family took one look at his pitiful aptitude shown at the clan's awakening day and shrugged. Amidst the murmurs, he felt tired again. No expectations. No support. They shipped him off to a grand immortal sect—not as a disciple but as a handyman. A nobody among gods-in-training. His days were filled with drudgery: cleaning, hauling, fixing. No glory. No recognition.

But if life had taught Han Chen anything, it was this: You don't quit just because the odds are bad.

The sect assigned him to the library. It sounded dull—shelves, dust, scrolls. What they didn't mention was that the library was alive. A realm unto itself, sprawling and endless, filled with treasures both mundane and unimaginable. Jade slips glowed faintly in the dim light, ancient scrolls holding secrets older than time, and aura remnants hung like ghosts in the air. Mystical monuments and forgotten artifacts sat untouched, waiting for someone to claim their use.

Han Chen wasn't supposed to touch any of it. Infact, he didn't even know about much of the stuff inside as he is linked to the array of the realm preventing any one without permission from sect to leave the realm nor venture deeper. He was just there to clean, to organize, occasionally help the disciples with their request in there.

But the longer he spent in that vast, mysterious space, the harder it became to ignore its vastness.

And so, quietly, determinedly, he began to reach for knowledge which he could get.

The System Awakens

It wasn't thunderous or dramatic, no blinding light or grand proclamation. Han Chen's so-called "golden finger" activated in the quiet corners of the library, as if it had been watching him struggle and decided it was time.

Heaven-Defying Understanding—it sounded grandiose enough to be out of a wuxia novel, but its function was brutally simple: Han Chen could comprehend anything he observed, no matter how profound, cryptic, or ancient at the expense of his mental power.

There was no ding sound nor any entity asking him to do missions. Nor suddenly spit out profound technique and make him understand everything at a glance, but it was gradual and enlightening.

He was amazed by the gift, and for the first time a smile formed in those dispirited eyes.

Sword qi? A few moments of focus.

Runic laws? A quiet hour.

Talismans, alchemy, heavenly laws themselves? Just give him time.

But nothing came free. Every insight cost him mental effort, leaving him drained and aching after each revelation. And in this world of strict hierarchies, even understanding had its limits. Then the meager time he gets amongst his duties.

The sect wasn't about to hand him treasure troves of knowledge. As a mere handyman, Han Chen was barred from studying anything beyond his rank. Worse, the library's formations held him in place—literally tethered to its domain. He couldn't leave unless the sect elders allowed it.

Han Chen could have sulked, cursed the heavens, or resigned himself to mediocrity. But he didn't.

Instead, he adapted. In the dim light of the endless library, he scoured the most mundane of texts. Manuals meant for beginners, fragments of aura remnants left behind by careless disciples which his system picked up, scraps of formations barely worth a glance—these became his stepping stones. Where others saw garbage, Han Chen saw opportunity.

It wasn't glamorous.

He spent years refining his body and soul, painstakingly cultivating his meridians to push past his innate mediocrity. Ten long years of grueling effort just to claw his way to the Foundation Establishment Realm—a milestone most disciples reached in a fraction of that time.

But slow didn't mean shallow.

Han Chen's Heaven-Defying Understanding turned foundational knowledge into profound mastery. Formations, talismans, weapon refinement, swordsmanship—he studied everything he could get his hands on, wringing every last drop of wisdom from the scraps available to him. In the quiet room left for him he practiced in silence. By the time he reached Foundation Establishment, his understanding of these fields was leagues ahead of his peers.

And yet, for all his progress, the limitations chafed. His insights were like the tip of an iceberg, tantalizingly vast but still submerged. He was a master of the basics, but basics only took you so far. For now, he bided his time. The library's walls felt more like a prison every day, but Han Chen knew this: understanding wasn't just his gift—it was his weapon.

And one day, when the opportunity came, he'd use it to break free.

In the quiet rhythm of his life—cultivating in shadows, deciphering mysteries in the library, and performing menial jobs—Han Chen became a ghost within the sect. Few noticed him, and fewer cared. With his ability he managed to obtain some techniques reserved for privileged ones without anyone knowing.

The sect's prodigies, those dazzling heirs of celestial physiques and divine talent, burned like comets across the sky. Their brilliance inspired awe and envy. To them, someone like Han Chen was invisible, an insignificant speck swept aside by their radiant destinies.

Then there were the others—the dark stars. Future antagonists with sharp ambition and arrogance to match, their relentless thirst for power and revenge made them ticking time bombs waiting for the right spark. Han Chen saw them too. He watched their rises, their schemes, and the cracks forming beneath their golden veneers. He saw them rise and tide.

But Han Chen? He remained a shadow. Never directly involved in the grand stage of conflicts, he was the unseen bystander, weaving himself into the backdrop of this vast cultivation world. The blood feuds, rivalries, and internal politics of the sect played out before his observant eyes, a vivid drama in which he had no part—or so he believed.

Fate, however, rarely leaves anyone untouched.

One day, while going about his unremarkable duties, Han Chen caught the attention of the elder managing the handymen. Despite hiding his realm, the elder was 3 more realms higher than him leaving him no way to hide his brilliance.

The discovery was almost accidental, a moment born of curiosity rather than intent. A question asked, a simple demonstration given, and then silence as the elder's eyes narrowed in recognition of the brilliance Han Chen had so carefully concealed.

The news of his talent spread like wildfire among the sect's elders. Whispers of a "hidden gem" passed from hall to hall, igniting intrigue and debate. Within days, Han Chen found himself standing at the precipice of change. But questions arose why his hiding? Is he a spy? People gradually acquired his information and found no clue. Why talent was hidden before?

He simply responded to them that since his interaction with similar handymen were none, he was clueless, and he showed them his comprehension as a top talent, but they judged it as unworthy due to his low talent. Yet his achievements were good enough to get him entry to outer sect disciple.

He was elevated to the rank of Outer Sect Disciple—a position he had neither sought nor expected. The quiet anonymity he had clung to for years was stripped away, leaving him standing under the scrutiny of countless eyes.

The shift in his fate wasn't a moment of triumph but a threshold. Han Chen knew all too well that with recognition came more opportunities to gain power but at the same time, attention, and with attention, danger. The cultivation world was a realm of power and ambition, and nothing—not even the smallest ember—could burn unnoticed for long.

But for the first time, the library shadow took his first real step into the light.