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 prison breathed differently that night.

It wasn't the sound of rats slipping between the stones.Nor the whispers of prisoners dreaming of escape or revenge.It was something older.Something that moved beneath sound.A frequency only a few could sense—and even fewer could understand.

Mo Han walked the stone corridors like a shadow with form.His body still ached from the Resonance.His steps left invisible trails in the air—subtle paths of stabilized energy that dissipated like dust.

He hadn't eaten.Hadn't slept.But his eyes were clear.

The pain had faded.But it wasn't relief.

It was adaptation.

At the top of the winding stairs, where the torchlight couldn't fully reach,a figure watched him.

Sitting on a cracked wooden beam, legs dangling like a mischievous child,was Old Shu.The informal guardian of the prison's northern wing—no one knew how long he'd been there.Only that the guards never confronted him,and the prisoners never dared to meet his gaze.

But he was looking at Mo Han.

With eyes too old for a body still alive.

— "So it's you," he said, unmoving.

Shu smiled.He was missing teeth,but not lucidity.

— "I know the scent. The silence. That weight in the air…You walked where only the desperate tread.And you came back."

He dropped from the beam with the lightness of an insect.There was no sound upon landing.

— "I've seen that silence once before.Just once.The day this prison swallowed a god."

— "You seem to know too much for someone who shouldn't be alive."

— "And you seem to know too little for someone who came back."

They stared at each other for several long seconds.Then, Shu approached slowly.

— "Have questions? Ask.But know this: every answer will cost you a piece of yourself."

And then, surprisingly, shook his head.

Shu laughed.It was a dry, worn sound—like leather scraping stone.

— "Good choice.The prison speaks, boy.But only to those who don't make noise."

Mo Han nodded slightly.He was about to turn when Shu whispered:

— "They'll start to follow you.One by one.First with eyes.Then with faith.Then with knives."

Mo Han stopped.His voice came low, but firm:

— "I don't want followers.No prophecies.No religion."

— "Too late," Shu replied,his eyes seeming to see through time.— "The prison has chosen you.Now we wait to learn… why."

In the days that followed,the whispers grew.

Eyes in the dark corners of the prison began to follow him.Not out of curiosity—but out of need.

Men once violent now waited for him to pass before they ate.Guards paused when they saw him—without knowing why.The walls stopped echoing where he walked.

Some called him "the one who returned."Others, "he who does not tremble."

But one name began to rise more frequently:

The Weight of the Gaze