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

The sun had not yet risen, but Mo Han was already awake. The first rays still slept behind the mountains when he knelt on the hard stable floor, his body wrapped in a torn blanket, his fingers trembling with anticipation. Today, he would attempt something riskier than anything he had done before. Today, he would activate a composite rune.

For weeks, his body had been the testing ground. Every pain, spasm, and micro-adaptation had been mentally logged. He knew his limits. He knew where his most responsive nerve nodes were. He knew how his breathing affected the tremors and how absolute focus could alter his perception of time.

Now it was time to connect it all.

He inhaled.Visualized the Form: a triangle layered over two intersecting flows.Rhythm: four heartbeats to activate, three to sustain.Intention: endure. But not just endure—persist.

His body convulsed. A wave of heat surged through his chest. A ringing echoed in his ears. For a moment, his muscles responded like never before: precise, reactive, alive. The chronic tremor in his left hand vanished. He raised his arm—steady. Steady. For the first time.

Time seemed to slow. He could feel his internal flow with clarity. Every nerve, every pressure point, every muscular contraction. All of it was under control.

Blood trickled from his nose. His veins throbbed. His body screamed in protest against using such intense patterns in such a weakened state. Mo Han collapsed sideways, gasping, his heart racing.

It was real. Not a dream. Not just theory. For the first time, his body had responded to simulation. For the first time, he had truly cultivated—even if not in the way others understood cultivation.

He needed rest. Repetition. Refinement.But it was done.The seed had sprouted.

He didn't notice the shadow watching from outside.

A young man in dark robes had seen it. His eyes were wide. That trash... had done something strange. Something he didn't understand—but it triggered a gnawing instinct of danger.

Hours later, in the clan's pavilion, the information reached the ears of one of the elders.

— "He's still alive? Still wasting food?"

— "Worse. He... did something odd. A kind of... bodily ritual. It looked... focused. Almost like cultivation."

The elder snorted. Closed his eyes.

— "Remove him from the stable. No noise. We can't risk a larger problem. No one will miss him."

— "He won't. And if he's smart... he'll die quickly."

That night, while Mo Han slept for the first time with the feeling of victory, men approached through the darkness. Silent. With clear orders.

The First Repetition