DaoistaZyurL

In a world where brute strength and divine bloodlines determine destiny, Mo Han is reborn in a frail body—without Qi, with a shattered dantian, and a social status lower than trash.

Humiliated by his own clan, tortured by cruel traditions, and discarded as a genetic mistake, Mo Han seems doomed to insignificance.
But what no one expected was that he wouldn’t seek power through fists.
He would seek patterns.

With the mind of a scientist and the traumas of a survivor, Mo Han discovers that cultivation can be rewritten—not through energy, but through logic.
Pain becomes data. Failure, a formula.
And every defeat... a simulation.

On his solitary and ruthless path, he will face arrogant prodigies, dogmatic sects, and even the very limits of sanity.
Because when everything is taken from you, only one thing remains:

"Calculate. And survive."

The Engineer of Broken Souls

Pain was no longer an enemy. It had become a silent companion, constant, like the ticking of an old clock. To Mo Han, it had stopped being mere sensation and transformed into a language. And now, he was learning to listen.

The body spoke. Not with words, but through pulses, tremors, spasms, and internal barks. And if there was a language, it could be decoded.

That night, beneath the cold straw and the bitter stench of decay, Mo Han decided he would conduct his first real experiment.

He inhaled deeply. Counted the time between the pulses of pain in his chest. Four seconds. Then three. Then five. The variation wasn't random. It was a cycle.

Pattern: 4-3-5. Repeats every 12 seconds. Increasing intensity.

In his previous world, this kind of variation would indicate something—inflammation, infection, rupture. But what if, here, it also indicated adaptive resistance?

"If I can predict the pain… maybe I can model it."

He moved his fingers with difficulty. Then his forearm. Each movement provoked a different response. The pain intensity followed a curve. It started mild, peaked, and faded. Three seconds.

He spent the night mapping mental graphs. Creating simple schemes. Trying to recall how his scientist mind once structured bodily reactions. He began to imagine each muscle group as a flow channel—not of Qi, but of neurological energy. And maybe… maybe that could be a substitute for meridians.

In practice, it was insane. But it was the only thing he had.

He clenched his teeth and forced a sequence of contractions in the fingers of his right hand. One, two, three, pause. One, two, three. Repeat. Each cycle brought less pain. Less tremor.

"Adaptation… through rhythm," he whispered, drenched in cold sweat.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot down his spine. Intense. Nearly knocked him unconscious. But he held on. And when it passed, his body felt… lighter. Not less injured. But less reactive.

This is real.I'm redrawing my body.Pain isn't punishment. It's feedback.

He fell asleep there, fingers still twitching involuntarily. A thin trail of saliva down his cheek. And a faint smile.

The next morning, for the first time, he stood up without help.

When the Body Speaks