Back then... when Wu Zhu had his heart ripped out by Zheng Xie—
His body had crumpled like a puppet with its strings severed.
He didn't scream.
Didn't gasp.
Just collapsed into the field of bloodied flora, like a lifeless offering to the earth.
But beneath the cold, beneath the stillness, beneath even the twitch of death—something stirred.
In the deepest recess of his mind, where light did not reach and silence had reigned eternal—a voice ruptured through the void like a divine decree cleaving Heaven's firmament.
«WAKE UP, CHILD OF HEAVEN.»
The voice was ancient.
Rough, hoarse, and deeply irritated—like it had been shouting through endless eras and was tired of doing so.
But it was not terrifying in the way monsters were terrifying.
No. Its weight was divine. Crushing. Revered.
Its mere presence demanded submission, not out of fear—but reverence.
«A little dislocation of your heart and you lie there like a broken doll? How utterly pathetic.»
«If this is all you amount to, then you are a stain. A smudge on the legacy of the heavens. A damned embarrassment.»
«Wake up.»
Wu Zhu's consciousness, drifting like ashes on the wind, tried to respond.
Tried to hold on.
But it was slipping.
He could feel death. Could taste the bitter numbness crawling into every cell of his dissolving soul. Whatever spark he had left was waning. Gone, almost.
And yet…
The voice did not rage this time. It sighed.
Softly.
With disappointment. And pity.
«...Tch. What a waste.»
«[Phoenix Resurrection].»
In that moment—
Everything ignited.
Wu Zhu's lifeless body, lying amid the flowerbed, suddenly burst into blinding flames.
But it wasn't fire as the world knew it. It was a celestial inferno—crimson and golden, so bright it could blind immortals and incinerate devils.
His robe caught first, then his skin, then his entire form.
But there was no pain.
Only… rejuvenation.
Warmth surged into his hollow chest. His bones reknit, not like bones, but like molten divine metal being hammered into form. His tendons stretched like spirit-forged strings being tuned for war. His nerves pulsed with electricity, his flesh reformed not as what it was—but as something else.
Something ancient.
Time seemed irrelevant. What felt like an eternal cycle of rebirth was, in truth, two days. Just two days.
But to Wu Zhu—those two days were decades of agony and enlightenment. Burning. Reforming. Evolving.
And then—
Thump.
His heart beat again.
Thump. Thump.
His eyes opened. The world flooded back. Wind. Light. The soft rustle of trees.
And silence.
He was alive.
Utterly whole.
Utterly confused.
"…Huh?"
Wu Zhu sat up slowly. His hand instinctively went to his chest—and yes, there it was.
A pulse.
A beat.
His heart… was back.
But that didn't make sense. He had felt it. The moment his body collapsed. The precise, surgical pain of his chest being pierced—his heart being ripped out.
He wasn't dreaming. He was sure he had died.
"…What the actual fuck…?"
His voice was hoarse. Dry. But undeniably his.
His eyes scanned the flowerbed—searching, hoping, dreading. Then—
He saw it.
There.
Nestled among the scarlet petals like a grotesque tribute to nature.
His heart.
Still. Cold. Slightly shriveled now, but unmistakable.
Wu Zhu's breath hitched.
His body trembled.
'...That really… happened.'
He crouched low, one trembling hand pressed against the still-beating heart in his chest. The other hovered above the one on the ground. His robes were still torn, soaked in blood that had dried into flakes, but the hole where his heart had once been was now closed—as if nothing had ever happened.
But it had.
He reached down, barely managing not to gag, and gently touched the severed heart.
It was stiff. The texture made his stomach churn. Cold and organic and disturbingly real.
The revolting sensation crawled under his skin.
A few months ago, he would've fainted.
Wu Zhu was not the "I-drink-blood-for-breakfast" kind of person. No. He was the "Please-don't-describe-gore-in-detail" type.
He was the kind of guy who used to cover his eyes during gore movie trailers. The kind who scrolled past war clips on the internet in half a second. The kind who refused to kill bugs because the crunch and the smell disgusted him.
And yet—
Now?
He was… looking at his own heart.
Touching it.
And what disturbed him the most—
Was how little it disturbed him.
He blinked, wide-eyed, frozen in place. His fingers trembled, but his mind wasn't screaming. No overwhelming nausea. No instant shutdown.
Just…
Mild discomfort.
'...I don't like this,' he thought, voice echoing inside the back of his head like a whisper in an empty temple. 'I should be freaking out more.'
But he wasn't.
He pulled his hand back and looked at his palm. Stained in old blood. His own.
Wu Zhu took a deep breath and stood.
His knees ached as if he'd been meditating under a waterfall for days. His internal energy felt wild, unrefined—like it had been remolded in a forge made of divine fire. And his senses?
Sharper.
He could hear ants crawling. See dust swirling in sunlight. Smell the iron in old blood from meters away.
He was changed.
Remade.
But by what?
And more importantly…
Why?
But now wasn't the time for existential brooding or post-mortem mystery unraveling.
He had one thing in mind.
Survival.
This mountain—Serene Flora Mountain—was private territory. The neatly arranged flowerbeds, the trimmed hedges, the absurdly perfect harmony of nature and cultivation—
All of it belonged to Zheng Xie.
That guy definitely treated this place like his backyard. Or maybe like his hidden murder garden.
Wu Zhu's eye twitched.
'He's going to come back. He's definitely going to come back. What if he tries to kill me again? What if I die for real next time? What if he goes for my kidneys?!'
The thought sent shivers down his spine. He clenched his teeth, taking quick, light steps backward.
'No way was that guy love-struck. Don't gaslight me, Heaven! That guy straight up ripped my heart out. That's not how people act when they're jealous lovers!'
His mind returned to the words Zheng Xie had muttered back then—"Sorry, Wu Zhu. You were just a little too honest"
The audacity.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
'Was that emotional damage? Was that supposed to haunt me as I died? Some kind of evil villain monologue? Fuck that guy!!'
No, he refused to believe Zheng Xie had tried to kill him because of some petty crush. There was more to it. The way he said "useless"…
'He doesn't love Ling Xue. He's using her. I don't know for what, but there's definitely a scheme there.'
And if she was useful to Zheng Xie, then maybe—just maybe—he could flip the board.
If he could win Ling Xue to his side, then she could be his shield. His protector. His plot armor. Zheng Xie may have been trash-tier in cultivation, but even garbage can fly if tied to a missile.
While his background? A joke.
His talent? Top notch.
His luck? Burnt to ashes by the first villain he met. But should be considered good as he basically resurrected.
But Ling Xue had value.
And she had connections.
Zheng Xie may be a monster, but even monsters can't go around slaughtering their allies. Especially not if they're watched by people of influence.
'If I can get her to like me, protect me, or even just tolerate me, then I have a fighting chance. A counterweight. An insurance policy.'
He clicked his tongue in frustration and glanced over his shoulder.
'No point standing here waiting to get murdered again. Time to get the hell off this death-mountain.'
He tugged his half-torn robe into some semblance of decency and began making his way downhill, weaving through the narrow paths carved into the cliffs.
But just as he reached the next slope, he stopped.
His eyes fell on the thing wrapped in cloth under his arm.
His old heart.
Still.
Cold.
Creepy.
It throbbed faintly. Not because it was alive—it was just unsettling. Wu Zhu felt as if it throbbed—placebo.
A bad omen in organ form.
'Wait… what if Zheng Xie left it here for a reason?'
His brain turned dark.
'What if… he's planning something demonic with it?'
Images rushed into his head: Zheng Xie using it in some blood ritual. Planting it inside a corpse puppet. Using it to track his movements. Or worse, binding his soul to it.
'Nope. Nope. Nope.'
He wasn't taking chances.
If he left this thing behind and something cursed crawled out of it in the future, he'd never forgive himself.
Decision made, Wu Zhu tightened his grip on the heart and quickened his pace. As he walked, he let his mind dig through the memories he'd inherited.
Memories of the original Wu Zhu.
He had vague understandings of how to circulate Qi. How to draw it from the dantian, how to channel it through his meridians, and release it as a basic strike.
It was like a manual downloaded into his brain.
He closed his eyes.
Took a breath.
Felt the pull of energy from deep within his dantian, from the new something that pulsed in his core.
Blue light ignited in his palm.
It crackled faintly, soft yet pure, focused and potent.
'Okay… here goes.'
He raised the heart in his glowing hand—and with a burst of Qi—obliterated it.
The heart shattered into crimson pieces, like crystalized blood-glass. The fragments sizzled briefly, and then… nothing.
Gone.
Just silence.
Wu Zhu blinked, then let out a breath. A bit of childish glee sparked inside him.
'Holy shit! I really did that. I used Qi! I attacked! I didn't blow myself up!'
His grin widened.
'Heh…I am the protagonist. Screw that villain role everyone assigns transmigrators. I'm the damn MC.'
He allowed himself a moment to gloat—but then something else hit him.
Something far more important.
He closed his eyes again, this time diving deeper into his dantian to check his realm—
And his breath hitched.
Where once there were eight tiny revolving cores—the sign of 8th Layer Qi Condensation—there was now only one.
But it was no ordinary core.
It was crystallized.
Dense. Perfect. Refined beyond anything he remembered from the original body.
It gleamed like sapphire flame. It didn't pulse erratically like an amateur's—it breathed, smoothly, like a dragon in deep slumber.
And then it clicked.
"…Foundation Establishment," he whispered.
His eyes widened, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.
'I broke through. I ascended. Just like that?'
The only logical explanation was that his death—and rebirth—was the catalyst. That something… the power that resurrected him… it hadn't just stitched his body back together.
It had rebuilt him. From the core outward.
His Qi, his essence, his potential—all refined.
His laughter came unbidden. Soft at first, then louder, until it echoed through the cliffside trail.
"Ha… ha… hahaha!!"
Birds scattered from nearby trees. Leaves trembled.
He clutched his sides, his voice breathless.
"Who's the tool now, huh?! Who's the stepping stone now?! You thought you killed me, Zheng Xie—but you were the stepping stone! A tool! A hammer the heavens used to mold me into something greater!"
He grinned madly.
"Maybe getting my heart ripped out was the best thing that ever happened to me."
He raised his hands to the sky and basked in the sun's warmth, now more invigorating than ever.
This was his second life.
His second chance.
And he wasn't going to waste it. Maybe.
…
After sprinting all the way down Serene Flora Mountain, Wu Zhu didn't stop for a breath. He didn't dare. His legs ached, his lungs burned, and his clothes were still crusted with dry blood—but he kept moving.
There was only one place he could run to.
The Seven Strike Martial Sect.
Where else could he go? He had no clan backing him. No mysterious senior waiting to scoop him up. If he was going to survive in this world of blades and beasts, he'd need to be clever—desperately clever.
And right now, cleverness meant finding a shield.
A thick one.
A pretty one.
A politically powerful one.
Ling Xue.
Even as the name floated through his head, he felt his stomach twist. From the original's memories, he knew she wasn't some warm-hearted girl-next-door.
No. Ling Xue was cold, elegant, and emotionally distant—a proper cold beauty template. A woman others admired from afar but didn't dare approach.
The old Wu Zhu had latched onto her like a barnacle on a ship. He was a useful tool—a buffer. A wall she used to keep another monster at bay.
Zheng Xie.
That alone told him enough. She must have had some discomfort toward Zheng Xie. Maybe not hate, but some level of distaste at least. Otherwise, why bother keeping Wu Zhu around as her pseudo-fiance stand-in?
That was his opening. His foothold.
His leverage.
He knew where she lived. Every elite disciple had a personal cottage on the western ridge of the sect, tucked behind the bamboo forest. Dormitories, technically.
Since he was technically still registered as an elite disciple himself, he could go there.
In theory.
'Alright. Step one: talk to her. Step two: guilt-trip her into protecting me. Step three: survive long enough to become powerful and smug.'
He nodded to himself with misplaced confidence.
But even as he walked through the moonlit paths, paranoia snuck in like a thief.
What exactly could he say to get her on his side?
He wasn't delusional. Okay—he was—but not that delusional.
The memories were clear: she didn't like the original Wu Zhu. She tolerated him. Used him. Manipulated him with the subtlety of a true noblewoman. If he ran in crying and bleeding, would she even blink?
'Maybe… maybe I could play the pity card. Tell her Zheng Xie kidnapped me, tortured me, tried to kill me. All because she used me as a shield. Maybe guilt will soften her icy heart.'
Then again…
He shook his head. Ling Xue wasn't the type to feel guilt. She'd probably nod and say something cold like "You should have run faster."
'Dammit. Why are you so beautiful and emotionally constipated?'
Still, he had to try. He needed an angle. A hook. Some thread of information she couldn't ignore.
And then… he remembered something.
That garden.
Zheng Xie had called the Serene Flora Mountain a haven for soul cultivators. Said those flowers had soul-soothing properties. Mentioned it so casually, but it stood out now. Soul Path.
'Zheng Xie… is he cultivating the soul path in secret?'
The realization hit like thunder.
Soul cultivation was one of the unorthodox ways of cultivation, it was considered as bad as Demonic cultivation. Mainly the reason was because the beasts, either demonic or soul. Cultivated this path as such any person who did the same was treated as a beast. Ready to be butchered.
It was basically racism.
If he could hint to Ling Xue that Zheng Xie was hiding something this big…
'She'd have to listen. Even if she doesn't believe me right away, she'd at least be wary of him.'
And in war, hesitation was all you needed.
Wu Zhu grinned. Wide and unfiltered.
'Yes! That's my card! My golden key! She doesn't need to believe me outright. Just the doubt is enough!'
He practically skipped down the path, slapping his forehead as he laughed in his head.
'I'm so smart. Fucking genius. I should have transmigrated earlier. This is great!'
Though his giddiness faltered slightly as another thought came to him.
'…And even if she doesn't believe me—which is very possible—I shouldn't be that disappointed. She's a cold beauty archetype. Of course, she's going to take months, maybe even years to thaw. Standard tsundere nonsense. I'll endure. I'm used to rejection.'
The path twisted again, and the shadows deepened.
He crept along the ridgeline, sticking to the trees as he approached the elite disciples' housing area.
Tall, elegant buildings lined the side of the cliff. Lanterns glowed faintly from the porches. The scent of spirit incense hung in the air.
Just as he neared the bamboo fence surrounding Ling Xue's area, he froze.
A group of female disciples strolled past the path ahead, chatting loudly.
Wu Zhu's body moved before his brain did.
He dove into a bush.
Scratchy leaves stabbed his face, and twigs jabbed into his ribs, but he stayed put, holding his breath like a professional stalker.
Getting caught here?
Instant death.
He wasn't dumb enough to trespass bluntly in the women's zone in the middle of the night. One scream, and he'd be labelled a degenerate pervert for life. Even if he tried to explain he was just going to "talk to someone," no one would believe him.
'This world is cruel to good men like me.'
He kept quiet and listened as the girls walked past.
To his horror, their topic of conversation?
Zheng Xie.
"Oh my gods, he's so dreamy."
"Have you seen his face? He is like an immortal from the heavens!"
"I heard he has his heart set on Sister Ling, such a pity she doesn't reciprocate his feelings. If it were me, I wouldn't let him go!"
"I'd abandon our sect for one smile from him."
Wu Zhu grit his teeth so hard he nearly cracked a molar.
'Off-charts face card and average cultivation?! Why is that attractive?!'
He wanted to scream. Or cry. Or vomit.
'I'm definitely not jealous. Totally not. Nope. Not me. Not even a bit. I'm just… aggressively indifferent. Yup… Fuck I'm jealous.'
He waited until the group vanished around the bend, then slowly peeled himself from the bush.
With a growl low in his throat, he fixed his tattered robe, wiped a leaf from his face, and resumed his silent march.
The gate to Ling Xue's cottage gleamed under the moonlight.
He took a breath.
This was it.
His first move.
His first gamble.
'Let's see if my protagonist aura is real—or if I'm about to get frozen solid by the Ice Queen herself.'
And with that, he stepped forward.
Toward his fate.