Harsh reality

The knocking grew louder.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Long Jian! Don't make me come in there!"

The voice was sharp, impatient. Chen Mu. The name surfaced in my mind, pulled from the scattered fragments of this body's past. A familiar presence—though not one I would call friendly.

I forced my sluggish body to move, swinging my legs off the bed. The wooden frame beneath me creaked under my weight. My limbs were stiff, every muscle aching as if I had been through a beating.

The memories were still settling, but one thing was clear—Long Jian was at the bottom of the pecking order in this place.

I took a slow, steadying breath before standing. My balance wavered for a brief moment, but I steadied myself against the wall. My clothes were wrinkled, my sleeves torn at the edges, and the bruises on my arms hinted at a struggle. What exactly had happened before I woke up?

Another knock—louder this time.

"Oi! Are you dead in there?!"

I reached the door, fingers hesitating on the worn handle. Then, with a quiet exhale, I pulled it open.

The harsh morning light spilled into the dimly lit room, momentarily making me squint. Outside stood Chen Mu, a young man around my age, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes scanned me from head to toe before his lips curled into a smirk.

"Finally awake, huh?" His tone was mocking, laced with amusement. "I thought you were going to sleep forever after yesterday."

Yesterday?

I didn't respond immediately, sifting through the newly inherited memories. A fight. A group of boys. Jeering voices. A sharp blow to the ribs. And then… nothing.

So that's how it was.

"Did you already forget?" Chen Mu snickered, clearly enjoying my confusion. "You made a fool of yourself in front of everyone. Again."

I stared at him, my expression unreadable.

The old Long Jian would have flinched, stammered out an excuse, or shrunk under Chen Mu's words. But I wasn't him.

Chen Mu's smirk faltered slightly under my unwavering gaze. He expected weakness. He expected the same timid reaction.

I gave him nothing.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue, shifting his weight. "Whatever. The instructor's expecting you at the training grounds. You're already late, so I'd get moving if I were you."

Training grounds? More memories surfaced. The outer disciples' morning drills. Even someone like Long Jian—weak, talentless—was required to attend.

I exhaled through my nose, giving a slight nod. "Understood."

Chen Mu raised a brow at my unusually calm response but didn't linger. "Hurry up, or you'll regret it." With that, he turned on his heel and walked off.

I watched him go before shutting the door, leaning against it for a moment.

So, I wasn't just in a random village. This was a sect. One of many in this world, where the strong reigned and the weak were nothing more than stepping stones.

And Long Jian—this body's original owner—had been at the very bottom.

I clicked my tongue. That explained a lot. No resources, no respect, no talent. He had been nothing but a punching bag for the stronger disciples, stuck in a cycle of failure.

But things were different now.

I wasn't Long Jian.

The blood running through my veins, the soul inhabiting this body—it was no longer the same.

I turned to the cracked mirror on the desk, taking a long look at my reflection for the first time.

A young man stared back. Dark hair, slightly messy. Sharp features, though dulled by exhaustion and past injuries. His—my—eyes were a deep shade of black, but there was something different about them now. A clarity. A sharpness that hadn't been there before.

This body was weak. But it wouldn't stay that way for long.

I straightened, rolling my shoulders. The soreness remained, but I ignored it. There was no time to waste. If I was going to survive in this world, I had to adapt—and fast.

With one last glance around the shabby room, I stepped outside.

A new life had begun, and I will make sure it won't end the same way as the last.