The face in the mirror was pale and gaunt, with high cheekbones and faint hollows under the eyes. The skin was sallow, bruised with the hue of long-term malnutrition. A thin scar traced across the left eyebrow, and the nose had been broken at least once. But the most unsettling part was the expression — not one of fear, but quiet, stubborn resignation.
Lu Shen leaned in. The body he now inhabited looked no older than sixteen or seventeen, but there was a weariness in those eyes that belied any youth.
So this is the real Lu Shen… or was.
How poetic. Same name, same soul?
He turned away from the mirror with a dry breath. His muscles protested every motion, like rusty hinges forced into action after years of disuse.
The room was empty of anything truly useful, but his instincts pulled him toward the broken sword. It was old, the edge nicked and the metal dulled, but the hilt still bore the faded engraving of a thundercloud wrapped around a sword. He reached for it—and paused.
Something shifted in his chest.
Not physically—but something deeper. A faint stirring, like dust in sunlight.
[Technique Fragment Detected]
Initiating Skill Recognition…
"Basic Thundercloud Sword Form" – Level 0/5
This beginner-level technique is the foundation of the Thundercloud Sect's sword arts. It is designed to build internal rhythm, spiritual awareness, and physical balance. Recommended practice duration: 2 hours/day.
Progress to next level: 0/100 EXP
Lu Shen blinked.
He hadn't done anything yet. He was just holding the sword.
It's recognizing potential? Or maybe… memory? Muscle memory?
He took a slow stance, guided more by instinct than thought. His body—this body—knew what to do. Feet shoulder-width apart. Right hand gripping the hilt, left hand extended slightly for balance. The blade trembled in his grip, but he forced his breathing to steady.
He drew the sword across an invisible arc. The form was clumsy. His foot slipped slightly. His back curved wrong. But the flow—the intent—was there.
Again.
And again.
The sword hissed through the stale air. Each swing was slow, deliberate, focused. Not on speed, but on alignment. Breathing with movement. Posture with thought.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
By the time his arms began to quake from fatigue, the panel flickered to life.
[Basic Thundercloud Sword Form: +23 EXP]
Fatigue detected. Recommend rest soon.
Lu Shen lowered the blade. His breath came ragged, his limbs shaking, but for the first time since waking up in this strange world, he felt something grounding him.
This was real.
His sweat was real.
The ache in his arms was real.
And more importantly—progress was real.
He collapsed onto the straw mat, letting the broken sword rest beside him.
...
The knock on the door was tentative. Not aggressive, not rude—timid, like a bird tapping its beak on wood.
He sat up slowly, joints stiff, and called out.
"…Come in."
The door creaked open. A small girl peeked inside, maybe ten or eleven. Her clothes were patched, and her hair was tied in uneven knots. Her eyes were wide with cautious worry.
"Senior Brother…? Master said… you hadn't eaten."
Lu Shen blinked.
"I—uh—thank you."
She stepped inside, holding a small wooden tray with a bowl of thin porridge and two cold buns. She placed it carefully on a low stool, then bowed awkwardly.
"I'm sorry there isn't more. The outer disciples' rations got cut again."
Outer disciples?
His mind spun. More unfamiliar terms.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
She looked up.
"What sect is this?"
She frowned. "You… forgot again?"
Lu Shen gave a weak smile. "Just hit my head real hard yesterday."
"Oh…" Her expression softened. "This is the Thundercloud Sword Sect. We're in the lower east ward, under Elder Ming. You're… um, you used to be one of the promising ones. Before—before the dantian thing."
Dantian?
Right. In cultivation stories, that's the core of a cultivator's spiritual energy…
He nodded slowly, trying to fit pieces together.
"What's your name?"
"Xiao Fan."
"Thank you, Xiao Fan."
She gave him a shy grin, then darted out the door like a startled rabbit.
...
Later that evening, he found a small jade mirror tucked beneath one of the loose floorboards. It was cracked but clean. The back bore the same thundercloud crest. Beneath it, tiny letters had been etched with a shaking hand:
"Even a dying root can sprout again in the spring."
He traced the words, then sat cross-legged on the mat, staring at the panel.
EXP: 23/100
Current Technique: Basic Thundercloud Sword Form (0/5)
Status: Dantian Severed – Spiritual Energy Inactive
System Note: Progress through mundane effort until energy reactivation is possible. Alternate paths may exist.
So I'm crippled.
But not helpless.
If the system rewarded physical practice—even without spiritual energy—then he had a path forward. A long, slow path, yes. But one paved with certainty. No vague insights. No random enlightenment. No need to wait for some heaven-sent opportunity.
Just effort. Sweat. Repetition.
It wasn't glamorous, but it was honest.
He picked up the broken sword again.
And began to move.