The sun bled out slowly behind the hills, turning the sky into streaks of dying orange and gray. Shadows lengthened over Willowleaf Village, stretching across the packed dirt paths and crawling along the uneven walls of old huts.
By the time the last trace of light faded, Ling Tian's body ached with the weight of the day.
He walked alone down the narrow path leading behind his hut, his steps unsteady. The air was cool, damp with the smell of earth and smoke. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked twice before falling silent. The village, once loud with voices and laughter, had calmed into that uneasy quiet that came after a spectacle.
And he had been the spectacle today.
He could still feel the press of Elder Mo's spiritual pressure crushing him to the stage. Could still hear the whispers. The laughter. The contempt.
No spiritual root.
Useless.
Cripple.
He had thought, after remembering his past life, that words could no longer wound him so deeply. That after dying once, the world couldn't cut him the same way again.
He had been wrong.
The path narrowed between an old grain shed and a leaning fence. The shadows here were deeper, pooling in corners where the moonlight couldn't reach. Ling Tian lowered his gaze and kept walking, mind heavy, heart heavier.
A shiver crawled up his spine.
He stopped.
Something was wrong.
The air felt too still. Too expectant.
He turned his head slightly.
Three shapes detached themselves from the darkness behind the grain shed.
"Going somewhere, cripple?"
Hai Lin stepped forward first, arms folded over his chest. His face was still flushed from the praise he'd received earlier in the day, spiritual root glowing bright, the village's pride.
The boys behind him—one tall and gaunt, the other broad-shouldered but slow-eyed—snickered like dogs that had finally cornered a rat.
Ling Tian's fingers curled at his sides. "What do you want, Hai Lin?"
Hai Lin's smile sharpened. "I just want to talk."
His tone made it clear talking was the last thing on his mind.
Ling Tian glanced past them. The path was blocked. Even if he tried to run, his legs wouldn't carry him far. His body couldn't handle another sprint, not after a day like this.
So he stood there. Waiting.
Hai Lin walked closer, each step deliberate. "You really don't know your place, do you? Today of all days, you climb onto the stage and touch the stone like you're someone worth testing."
Ling Tian's jaw tensed. "Everyone was allowed to test."
"Everyone with potential," Hai Lin snapped. He jabbed a finger into Tian's chest. "You? You're eighteen. You failed at ten. You failed at sixteen. And today? You just embarrassed the entire village."
His lips curled with disgust. "Do you know what Elder Mo said after you left? He said the Lotus Pavilion delegation will think we're nurturing trash. That your existence makes us look weak."
The gaunt boy snorted. "He's not wrong."
The broad one added, "Should've thrown him off the stage."
Ling Tian remained silent.
The words hurt, but he had heard worse. He had endured worse. The problem wasn't their cruelty.
It was the truth buried inside it.
He had no visible root. No cultivation. No strength. All he had was a sealed warmth in his chest that refused to fully awaken.
Hai Lin stepped closer until they were nearly nose to nose. "And then there's Yun Xinya."
A sharp coldness shot through Ling Tian. "Leave her out of this."
"Oh?" Hai Lin's eyes glinted. "Why should I? She's the only reason you dare show your face anywhere. She drags you along, feeds you, protects you, even cries for you." His smile twisted. "I'm tired of watching it."
Ling Tian's breath slowed. His fingers clenched tighter.
"Stay away from her," Hai Lin said. "Don't stand beside her. Don't let her defend you. You're dragging her down. A girl like that… should be with someone who can protect her. Not someone who hides behind her."
Memories flashed through Ling Tian's mind—
Xinya shielding him at ten.
Xinya bringing extra food.
Xinya taking strikes meant for him.
Xinya's voice breaking at the Pavilion.
He's not a burden. You're wrong.
His heart tightened.
"She doesn't need your permission," he said, voice quiet but steady.
Hai Lin's smile vanished.
"What did you say?"
Ling Tian met his gaze. "Xinya can choose who she stands with."
The world seemed to still.
The gaunt boy exhaled sharply. "This cripple's got a mouth."
Hai Lin's hand clenched into a fist.
"You really don't get it." His voice dropped, tone laced with dangerous anger. "You've had years to bow your head. Years to crawl and thank us for letting you breathe our air. But instead? You cling to a girl with talent and let her suffer for you."
His fist moved.
Ling Tian barely saw it before the pain hit.
Hai Lin's punch slammed into his stomach like a stone hammer. Air exploded out of his lungs. He doubled over, a silent gasp tearing from his throat.
The second boy's foot came next—heavy, brutal—kicking his legs out from under him.
He hit the ground.
Rocks bit into his palms. Dirt scratched his cheek. His vision wavered.
Another kick landed against his ribs.
Then another.
And another.
He curled instinctively, trying to protect his head as boots collided with his sides, his back, his legs. Each impact sent fire streaking through his nerves. His frail body couldn't absorb the blows; they sank deep, rattling bone, crushing muscle.
"Pathetic." Hai Lin's voice sounded distant. "This is all it takes to knock you down."
"You should have stayed where you belong," one of the boys muttered, kicking him again. "In the shadows."
"Stay away from Yun Xinya," Hai Lin said, pressing his foot between Tian's shoulder blades and forcing him deeper into the dirt. "If I see you near her again, I'll break something next time. Maybe your arm. Maybe your leg. Maybe…"
He leaned forward, voice a cold whisper by Tian's ear.
"Your spirit."
Rage bubbled up in Ling Tian's chest.
Not for himself.
But for the way Hai Lin said her name.
His fingers dug into the earth. He wanted to stand. To shove that foot off his back. To punch Hai Lin once—just once.
His body did not move.
His chest pulsed suddenly.
A faint, warm throbbing beneath the pain.
Like a heart that wasn't his.
A sealed power that refused to sleep.
For a brief instant, his limbs felt lighter. His senses sharpened. He could almost… almost push himself up—
The warmth vanished.
He collapsed again.
Hai Lin scoffed. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood."
The weight lifted from his back. Footsteps retreated, accompanied by fading laughter.
Then silence.
Ling Tian lay there, face pressed into the ground, tasting dirt and blood. His body throbbed with every breath. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called once, then fell quiet again.
He didn't know how long he stayed like that.
His thoughts drifted hazily.
Past life.
Present life.
The same pattern.
Weakness.
Loneliness.
Uselessness.
Except… this time, something was different.
This time, someone had cried for him.
Someone had screamed his name.
Someone had chosen to stay.
He drew in a slow, shuddering breath and pushed his hands against the ground. His arms trembled violently, muscles protesting, pain flaring in his ribs, but he refused to sink back down.
He forced himself to sit up.
The world tilted. The sky swam.
He grit his teeth and held onto consciousness by will alone.
His chest ached… and yet deep inside, beneath the bruises and the fatigue, that faint warmth lingered. Waiting.
"Not yet…" he whispered hoarsely. "I can't rely on you yet, can I?"
The warmth gave no answer.
A soft crunch sounded nearby.
Ling Tian turned his head slowly.
"Tian?"
The voice that shattered the stillness made his spine stiffen.
Yun Xinya stood at the edge of the path, clutching a small wrapped bundle to her chest. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene—his dirt-stained clothes, the blood at the corner of his lip, his trembling arms barely keeping him upright.
The bundle dropped from her hands, food spilling onto the ground.
"Tian!"
She ran to him, knees hitting the earth with enough force to bruise. Her hands fluttered over him, afraid to touch, afraid not to.
"Who did this?" Her voice shook. "Who hurt you?"
He tried to smile. It came out as a broken twitch of the lips. "Just… some people with too much free time."
"That's not funny." Tears gathered in her eyes, shining in the dim light. "You're bleeding."
"It looks worse than it is."
"Don't lie to me!" she snapped, voice cracking. "You always say that. You always act like it's nothing. Like it doesn't matter. But it does, Tian. It matters to me."
Her hands trembled as they cupped his face. Her thumbs brushed against the streak of blood near his mouth.
"Can you stand?" she whispered.
He hesitated, then nodded.
She slipped under his arm, lifting him gingerly. He tried not to lean too much of his weight on her, but his legs nearly gave out. She tightened her hold, small frame straining under his weight.
They walked slowly into his hut, each step sending sparks of pain through his body.
Inside, she eased him down onto the straw bedding with a gentleness that made his chest ache more than any bruise.
"Stay," she ordered, already moving.
She fetched a basin, filled it with water from the jug in the corner, and tore a strip from her already-patched sleeve to use as a cloth. Her hands were clumsy but careful, dabbing at the cuts on his face, wiping dirt from his skin.
"You're shaking," she whispered.
"So are you," he replied softly.
Her lips pressed together.
Seeing him like this—again—made something ugly coil in her chest. Anger. Helplessness. Fear.
"What did they say?" she asked quietly, unable to stop herself. "When they were hurting you."
He looked away.
"Nothing important."
"That means it hurt," she said, voice thick.
He almost laughed at that, but the attempt turned into a cough.
She flinched.
"Don't move," she scolded. "Just… let me help."
So he did.
He watched her as she cleaned his wounds, every touch a mixture of tenderness and desperation. Her brows were furrowed, her lips set into a determined line, but her eyes…
Her eyes were the worst.
Every time she looked at another bruise, another cut, they filled with tears she refused to let fall.
When she finished cleaning his face, she moved to his arms, then his ribs. Every bruise she uncovered made her jaw tighten more.
"Tian," she whispered. "Please… please, just once, can you get angry?"
He blinked. "Angry?"
"At them. At this place. At… at all of it!" Her voice rose. "You just take it. Again and again. You let them hurt you like you deserve it. Why?"
Because it wasn't new to him.
Because he had spent two lives letting the world do whatever it wanted with him.
Because somewhere in the back of his mind, he still wasn't sure he deserved better.
But none of that could be said.
"I don't want to make it harder on you," he said instead.
Her hands stilled.
She stared at him, eyes wide, throat bobbing. "Harder… on me?"
He offered a faint, tired smile. "They already think you're foolish for staying with me. If I make trouble, they'll take it out on you."
Xinya stared at him as if he had grown a second head.
"You're… you're worried about that?"
"What else should I be worried about?"
Her hands clenched into fists against his chest. He hissed quietly as her knuckles pressed into his bruises, but he didn't push her away.
"Tian," she whispered, voice trembling. "Do you really think I care what they say more than I care about you being beaten on the ground?"
He opened his mouth.
No words came out.
Her eyes glistened now, tears clinging stubbornly to her lashes.
"You're the only one I have," she said, a broken little laugh escaping her. "The only one who looks at me and doesn't see a burden. Or a tool. Or a stray."
Her voice dropped.
"And I can't stand seeing you like this… again and again and again…"
She lowered her head.
A tear fell onto his chest.
It burned hotter than any punch.
Slowly, he lifted his arm and placed his hand on her hair, fingers trembling slightly as they threaded into the strands.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
"You keep saying that…"
"Because I keep making you cry."
She shook her head, her forehead pressing lightly against his chest.
"You don't make me cry," she whispered. "They do. The world does. This stupid village does." Her fingers clutched his shirt. "You just… you just keep taking it alone."
His throat tightened.
He had died alone in his last life.
He had lived alone for so long in this one.
Yet now, there was a girl kneeling by his bed, crying because he was hurt. A girl who saw him as more than a waste.
He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"I don't want to make you sad," he murmured.
"Then get stronger," she whispered back.
The words weren't a demand. Weren't an accusation.
They were a plea.
Her shoulders shook once, then slowly stilled. She drew in a deep breath, then another.
Eventually, she pulled back, wiping her eyes roughly with the back of her hand, forcing her voice to steady.
"I'm going to heat some water. You need something warm to drink."
He nodded.
She stood, moving toward the small clay stove in the corner.
The way she moved now was different.
Less like a child stumbling through survival.
More like someone bracing against the weight of a storm.
He watched her quietly.
Before, his pain had always been his own.
Now… it was hers, too.
And that was something he couldn't accept.
Later that night, after she forced him to drink a thin broth and made him lie down, Xinya finally let herself lean back against the wall.
The hut was dim, lit only by the flickering, dying glow of the small oil lamp. Shadows softened the rough lines of the wooden walls.
Tian lay on the straw pallet, breathing a little easier now, though every inhale still hurt.
"Xinya," he said after a long stretch of silence.
She turned her head slightly. "Hmm?"
"Thank you… for finding me."
She let out a shaky exhale. "I wish I'd found you sooner."
He smiled faintly. "If you'd come earlier, they'd probably have just targeted you too."
"I don't care."
He believed her.
That was the problem.
"Don't ever say that," he murmured. "You should care."
She looked at him, eyes softer now. "Then you should, too."
The hut fell quiet again.
Her head dropped slowly until it rested against her knees. He could tell she was fighting sleep with everything she had.
"You should go home," he said gently. "It's late."
She didn't move.
"Xinya?"
Her response came muffled. "…If I leave and they come back… no one will know."
He froze.
She took a slow breath.
"I'll stay. Just for tonight."
He wanted to argue.
Her hut was barely better than his; she needed rest too. She had worked all day, then defended him, then found him, then cleaned his injuries…
But when he looked at her—sitting there stubbornly, cheeks still faintly stained from earlier tears—he knew she wouldn't listen.
So instead, he shifted slightly and made room on the pallet.
"Lie down," he said quietly. "Or you'll catch a cold."
She hesitated. "But—"
"I'll sleep better knowing you're not freezing on the floor," he said, tone firmer. "And you'll sleep better knowing I'm not dying when you look away for a second."
Her lips twitched. "You're not funny."
He smiled. "Never claimed to be."
She stared at him for a long moment.
Then, cheeks flushing, she slowly lowered herself down beside him, careful not to jostle his bruises. She lay on her side, facing away, hands curled near her chest.
His body felt too aware of her presence—every inch of space between them, every breath she took.
The air seemed warmer.
He closed his eyes.
Time stretched.
He didn't know how long they lay there before he opened his eyes again and saw that Xinya had turned in her sleep, hand resting unconsciously near his.
He stared at her fingers.
Then, very slowly, he turned his palm and let their hands touch.
Her fingers twitched.
He almost pulled back.
But instead, she closed her hand around his in her sleep.
Like a frightened child clinging to something solid in the dark.
Something inside his chest ignited.
Not just warmth this time.
Something sharper. Clearer. Stronger.
He gasped quietly as a soft heat pulsed from the center of his being, radiating through his veins. For a brief second, his limbs felt lighter, his breathing freer. The ache in his ribs lessened.
He could feel it.
Deep inside.
The sealed power stirring in response to her touch.
To their closeness.
Then the sensation faded, the seal pulling tight again.
His heart pounded.
He stared up at the warped ceiling, eyes wide in the dimness.
"Not enough," he whispered silently into the darkness. "But you're there… aren't you?"
The warmth settled again like a slumbering beast that had cracked one eye open before sinking back down.
He glanced at Xinya.
Her eyelashes rested gently against her cheeks, shadows trembling on her skin with each soft breath. Strands of dark hair brushed her forehead. The thin blanket barely covered her shoulders.
He tugged it higher with his free hand.
She made a small sound and tightened her grip on his fingers.
His throat tightened.
He had died with no one holding his hand.
Now, in this small, broken hut, an orphan girl clung to him like he was the only thing keeping her afloat.
"I won't… make you regret it," he murmured.
The words were a vow.
To himself.
To her.
To the sleeping warmth inside his chest.
Outside, the moon climbed high, its pale light seeping through the cracks in the roof, painting faint lines across the floor.
Inside, bruises bloomed along his skin.
But beneath the pain, beneath the scars…
Something else was beginning to bloom, too.
Not power.
Not yet.
But resolve.
He closed his eyes and let sleep finally claim him, their hands still intertwined.
Tomorrow, the world would not become kinder.
The villagers would not change.
Elder Mo would still hate him.
Hai Lin would still look down on him.
But Ling Tian would not remain the same.
He couldn't.
Not while Yun Xinya cried for him beneath the moonlight.
Not while she held his hand like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
He had been given another life.
He would not live it kneeling.