Note: Timeline correction - Moxuan lived for approximately 50 years total in his previous life, dying at around age 47. He has been sent back 30 years to his 17-year-old self, giving him roughly 30 years of advanced knowledge and experience.
The hallway stretched before him exactly as he remembered—polished wooden floors that creaked in familiar patterns, hanging scrolls depicting the Lin family's modest cultivation heritage, and the faint scent of jasmine incense drifting from the ancestral shrine. Every detail was precisely as it had been thirty years ago, down to the small crack in the wall where his brother Shaoheng had once thrown a practice sword in frustration.
Lin Moxuan moved slowly, his steps careful and measured. His body felt strange—not just young, but innocent. No calluses from handling cursed artifacts. No spiritual scars from forbidden techniques. No permanent chill in his bones from decades of absorbing death energy. This flesh had never been tainted by the darkness he would eventually embrace.
The voices grew clearer as he approached the main hall, and with them came a flood of memories he had thought buried forever.
"—heard that the Zhao family's eldest son broke through to Foundation Establishment last week," his father's voice carried the measured tone of someone discussing sect politics. "At only nineteen years old. Quite remarkable progress."
"Natural talent shows itself early," came an unfamiliar voice—likely one of the visiting elders his father often entertained. "Though I've heard whispers that young Master Zhao has been experimenting with... questionable cultivation aids."
Lin Moxuan paused just outside the doorway, his enhanced hearing picking up nuances that his younger self had missed. In his previous life, he had paid no attention to such conversations, dismissing them as boring adult gossip. Now, he recognized the subtle implications—accusations of pill dependency or worse, the kind of information that could be used to destroy a rival family's reputation if properly leveraged.
"Troubling, if true," his father replied diplomatically. "Though we should be cautious about spreading unverified claims."
How naive you were, father, Moxuan thought with a mixture of affection and exasperation. In the cultivation world, unverified claims become verified truths if repeated by the right people. Your honorable nature was always both your greatest strength and your most dangerous weakness.
"Young Master Moxuan!" His sister's bright voice cut through his contemplation. "Finally awake! Mother was beginning to worry you'd cultivated yourself into a coma again."
Yuehua bounded toward him with the unconscious grace of someone whose sword cultivation was beginning to show results. Fifteen years old, with their mother's delicate features and their father's steady gaze, she radiated the kind of innocent joy that Moxuan had forgotten existed in the world.
In his previous life, he had barely noticed her beyond acknowledging her existence as his younger sister. She had been background noise in his obsession with cultivation advancement. Now, seeing her with the perspective of someone who had witnessed the full scope of cultivation world cruelty, he found himself momentarily speechless.
She died at twenty-three, the memory surfaced unbidden. The Crimson Moon Sect's raid on the outer territories. I was already deep into demonic cultivation by then, too consumed with my own advancement to protect anyone. Her final letter begged me to come home, to help defend the family. I never even replied.
"Brother?" Yuehua's expression shifted from cheerful to concerned. "Are you feeling alright? You look... different somehow."
Dangerous. If his own sister could detect changes in his demeanor after mere minutes, he needed to be far more careful about maintaining his facade. Moxuan forced his features into a sheepish smile—an expression he remembered practicing in mirrors during his awkward teenage years.
"Just tired," he said, his voice carrying the right note of embarrassment. "I may have pushed myself too hard during meditation yesterday. You know how I get when I'm trying to make progress."
It was a perfect excuse, playing into his established pattern of occasional bursts of intense cultivation followed by days of laziness and disappointment. Yuehua's concern immediately shifted to sympathetic understanding.
"Father always says that cultivation is like tending a garden—steady care yields better results than desperate watering," she said, unconsciously echoing one of Lin Tianming's favorite philosophical sayings. "Come on, everyone's waiting for you."
She took his arm with familiar sisterly affection, and Moxuan found himself genuinely startled by the physical contact. In his later years as the Demon Emperor, no one had touched him casually. Every interaction had been calculated, formal, or violent. The simple warmth of his sister's hand on his sleeve was almost overwhelming.
The main hall opened before them, and Moxuan's breath caught despite his preparations. His family was gathered around the low breakfast table exactly as he remembered from countless mornings in his youth, yet seeing them now felt like witnessing ghosts made flesh.
His mother, Chen Meiling, looked up from arranging dishes with the kind of gentle smile that had always made their modest home feel like a sanctuary. Her cultivation was limited—only the peak of Qi Condensation—but her mastery of household formations and spiritual cooking techniques made her invaluable to the family's daily operations. More importantly, she possessed an emotional intelligence that had kept the Lin family unified through many challenges.
"Moxuan, dear," she said warmly, "I was beginning to think you'd decided to skip meals entirely in favor of cultivation. Come, sit. Old Chen prepared your favorite congee."
His father, Lin Tianming, sat at the head of the table with two visitors—both Golden Core elders from allied families, judging by their spiritual pressure and formal robes. Lin Tianming himself was an impressive figure even in casual morning dress, his Golden Core cultivation lending him an aura of quiet authority. His hair was still mostly black with only threads of silver, his face unlined by the worries that would come later.
You age twenty years in the next decade, Moxuan thought sadly. The political pressures, the decisions you'll be forced to make, the loss of your children—it breaks something inside you that never quite heals.
"Ah, the youngest awakens," Lin Tianming said with paternal fondness. "Gentlemen, my son Moxuan. He's been showing renewed dedication to his cultivation lately, though I fear his enthusiasm occasionally exceeds his caution."
The visiting elders nodded politely. Elder Xu, from the Iron Mountain family, studied Moxuan with the assessing gaze of someone evaluating potential talent. Elder Feng, representing a minor sect allied with the Jade Mountain Sect, seemed more interested in his breakfast than the family dynamics.
But it was the third figure at the table who drew Moxuan's most careful attention—his older brother, Lin Shaoheng.
Nineteen years old, handsome in the classical scholarly way, with their father's strong jaw and an air of quiet competence. To outside observers, Shaoheng represented everything a eldest son should be: dutiful, talented, respectful to elders, and protective of his younger siblings.
Moxuan now saw what his younger self had missed—the subtle tensions in Shaoheng's posture, the way his eyes lingered too long on the family's cultivation resources, the barely perceptible frustration that flickered across his features when their father praised other young cultivators' achievements.
Five years, he recalled with crystal clarity. Five years from now, you'll make contact with the Crimson Moon Sect's recruiters. Six years from now, you'll begin selling family secrets to fund your own advancement. Seven years from now, you'll lead them directly to our compound during the Spring Festival massacre.
The knowledge sat like poison in his chest. In his previous life, Shaoheng's betrayal had been a complete shock—the beloved older brother revealing himself as a traitor in the cruelest possible way. Now, with the wisdom of hindsight and decades of experience reading people's true natures, the warning signs were glaringly obvious.
"Brother looks tired," Shaoheng observed, his tone carrying exactly the right note of brotherly concern. "Perhaps you should ease back on your cultivation intensity. There's no shame in steady, measured progress."
And there it is, Moxuan thought grimly. The subtle discouragement disguised as caring advice. You're already working to keep me weak and complacent, aren't you? Even now, before you've made conscious contact with our enemies, you're instinctively sabotaging potential rivals.
"Shaoheng raises a good point," their father agreed. "Moxuan, you've been pushing yourself quite hard recently. Balance is essential in all aspects of cultivation."
"Yes, father," Moxuan replied dutifully, taking his seat at the table. "I suppose I got carried away with enthusiasm."
The breakfast proceeded with familiar rhythms—gentle family conversation interspersed with discussions of sect politics and local cultivation news. Moxuan participated minimally, offering appropriate responses while internally cataloging every detail for future reference.
His mother's congee was exactly as he remembered—perfectly seasoned, infused with just enough spiritual energy to aid digestion and circulation. His father's discussion of regional political tensions revealed information that would prove crucial in coming conflicts. His sister's excited chatter about her recent breakthrough to the third level of Qi Condensation demonstrated progress that would make her a target for marriage alliances within two years.
And through it all, Shaoheng played the perfect older brother—attentive, supportive, subtly positioning himself as the family's most reliable member while undermining confidence in anyone who might challenge his position.
"Elder Xu was just telling us about the upcoming regional tournament," Lin Tianming said, drawing Moxuan's attention back to the conversation. "The Jade Mountain Sect will be selecting promising young disciples for additional training opportunities."
"An excellent chance for talented youth to distinguish themselves," Elder Xu agreed. "Though I understand the competition will be fierce this year. Many families have been preparing their children specifically for this opportunity."
The tournament, Moxuan's memory supplied immediately. I didn't participate in my previous life—I was convinced I wasn't ready, that my cultivation was too weak. But I remember the results. Third place goes to a young woman named Wei Lian, who will eventually build a merchant empire. Second place goes to Liu Feng, who becomes a major righteous sect leader. First place goes to someone I never met personally, but who dies in a cultivation accident two years later.
An opportunity. If he could perform well in the tournament without seeming suspiciously skilled, he could establish connections with future power players while building his own reputation for steady progress rather than sudden brilliance.
"When is the registration deadline?" he asked, trying to sound casually interested rather than calculating.
"Three weeks from today," his father replied, a note of surprise in his voice. "Are you considering participating? The cultivation requirements are quite demanding—peak Qi Condensation at minimum."
"I've been making good progress lately," Moxuan said carefully. "It might be worth attempting, even if I'm not likely to advance far."
Shaoheng's expression flickered almost imperceptibly—a micro-expression of annoyance quickly covered by brotherly encouragement. "That's ambitious of you, little brother. Though perhaps you should focus on solidifying your current level before attempting such a challenging competition?"
There it is again, Moxuan noted. Always steering me away from opportunities that might raise my profile or advance my cultivation. How did I never notice this pattern before?
"The attempt itself has value," Elder Feng observed unexpectedly. "Even if young Master Moxuan doesn't place highly, the experience will provide valuable insights into his peers' capabilities and techniques."
"A wise perspective," Lin Tianming agreed. "Very well, Moxuan. If you can demonstrate sufficient progress over the next two weeks, I'll support your participation."
The conversation moved on to other topics, but Moxuan's mind was already racing ahead, calculating possibilities and requirements. He had three weeks to advance from the third level of Qi Condensation to the peak—a progression that should normally take months of steady cultivation.
In his previous life, such rapid advancement would have been impossible with his limited understanding and poor spiritual root quality. Now, with thirty years of accumulated knowledge and understanding of advanced cultivation principles, it was merely challenging rather than impossible.
The question was how to accomplish this advancement without revealing the true extent of his capabilities or knowledge. Too fast would invite suspicion and investigation. Too slow would waste this precious opportunity to establish early connections with future power players.
As breakfast concluded and the family began dispersing to their daily activities, Moxuan found himself lingering at the table, lost in strategic contemplation. So many variables to consider, so many potential paths forward, so many ways his advanced knowledge could be leveraged without exposing his true nature.
"Brother?" Yuehua's voice brought him back to the present. "You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"That intense thinking expression. You've been doing it a lot lately—like you're trying to solve some incredibly complex problem that only you can see."
Another warning. His behavioral changes were becoming noticeable to the people who knew him best. He needed to develop better emotional control, better facades, better ways of appearing normal while planning extraordinary actions.
"Just thinking about the tournament," he said with a self-deprecating laugh. "Trying to figure out if I'm being foolishly ambitious or appropriately challenging myself."
"Why not both?" she replied with a grin. "Father always says that the line between courage and foolishness is usually determined by the results."
She's right, Moxuan realized. And more perceptive than I ever gave her credit for. In this life, I need to pay attention to what the people around me are actually capable of, rather than dismissing them as irrelevant to my goals.
As he rose from the table and headed back toward his room to begin planning his cultivation schedule, Lin Moxuan reflected on the strange duality of his situation. He possessed the memories and knowledge of someone who had achieved terrible power through terrible means, yet he was surrounded by people who loved him unconditionally and believed in his potential for good.
The question that would define his second life was becoming increasingly clear: Could he use his knowledge to protect and advance his family's interests while still pursuing his own transcendence? Or would the pursuit of ultimate power inevitably require sacrificing the very people whose love made his existence meaningful?
Time will tell, he decided as he closed his bedroom door behind him. But this time, I'll make sure I have enough power to protect what matters while I pursue what I need.
For the first time since his rebirth, Lin Moxuan allowed himself a genuine smile—not the predatory expression of the Demon Emperor, but the determined grin of someone who had been given a second chance and intended to make the most of it.
The tournament was three weeks away. His cultivation advancement would begin immediately. And somewhere in the balance between his family's expectations and his own ambitions, he would forge a path that honored both his memories and his hopes.
The game was beginning again. This time, he intended to win—but on his own terms, and without losing what truly mattered in the process.