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

That day, the silence of the stable was broken by heavy footsteps. Different from all the others. A steady rhythm, like a war drum. No hesitation, no compassion. Mo Han knew who it was before he even saw the shadow.

The Clan's Disciplinarian. The living embodiment of sanctioned brutality. He didn't need reasons to hit—only orders. And even when he had none, he invented them.

— "You think you can sit here, wasting away and drawing in the straw like it's some kind of sacred meditation?"

Mo Han didn't answer. He was seated, back against the wall, hands folded in his lap. He hadn't slept much. But he'd been awake long enough to notice that the morning pains had started spacing out. The cycle of muscle contractions had changed. He was progressing.

But Mo Jian didn't see progress. He saw defiance.

— "Get up," he said, stepping forward. "Let's see if that brilliant mind of yours can handle a bit of reality."

Mo Jian lifted his leg and kicked him square in the chest. The impact hurled him into a pile of hay. The air was ripped from his lungs like it had been vacuumed out.

He tried to stand. Once. Twice. Failed.

The second blow landed dry and sharp—a direct punch to the face. The sound of his nose breaking echoed louder than the pain itself.

Lateral entry. Downward force. Target: zygomatic bone. Reaction time: 1.3 seconds.

Angular force. Target: abdomen. Result: involuntary vomiting. Recovery time: 4 seconds.

The world spun. But at the center of the chaos, there was a fixed point: Mo Han's mind.

Mo Jian crouched. Grabbed him by the collar.

— "Don't pretend you understand this world. You'll never cultivate. You'll never rise. Got that?"

Blood trickled from Mo Han's mouth. But he kept his gaze locked on the Disciplinarian's eyes.

— "I understand… more than you think."

It was a whisper. Barely audible. But not unnoticed.

Mo Jian narrowed his eyes. Released him with contempt and walked out, slamming the door.

But something sparked in his mind. An insight.

Every strike followed a pattern. An emotional sequence.Anger. Pride. Contempt. Force.If I can predict the emotion… I can predict the action.

And if I can predict… I can simulate.

There, in the middle of straw and blood, he saw it. Not just the pain—but the code behind violence. The architecture of behavior.

Mo Han's mind processed, mapped, adapted.Pain was just the path.

Mo Jian’s Hand