In his past life, ■■■■ had been nothing more than an ordinary twenty-year-old college dropout.
He had no grand ambitions. No friends. No reason to keep living beyond his asinine hobbies, reading webnovel slop and watching the occasional anime. A bum in every conceivable sense of the word.
One fateful day, after a particularly draining shift at his 9–5, he returned to his shabby apartment. He showered, sighed at the futility of his miserable existence, and threw himself onto his bed.
And then
A violent loud tremor.
The shelves above him, proudly displaying his collection of lewd anime figures, shook. The cheap screws embedded in brittle drywall failed spectacularly. Several pounds of wood, resin, and vinyl collapsed downward.
And just like that.
He died.
Crushed by anime figurines.
Truly a pitiful way to go.
But…
His soul refused to pass on.
It drifted beyond the veil of life and death, slipping through unseen borders, traversing worlds in search of a vessel. By chance...or perhaps by something far more deliberate,it found one.
A recently deceased newborn infant.
His soul merged seamlessly into the tiny, limp body. Not forced. Not resisted.
Guided.
As if the Heavens themselves had given their silent approval.
And little did he know...
Things were about to get much, much freakier.
"Where am I?! What the hell happened? Why am I so warm? Am I actually dead? Shit!"
He couldn't help but curse internally at the frankly stupid way he'd died. Of all things...figurines? Seriously!?
Before he could spiral into further doom and gloom, soft feminine hands lifted his small, chubby body and pressed him against a warm chest.
He froze.
He was a baby.
His soul had not given up. It had chosen survival.
Just as he attempted to look at his "mother," a gentle voice echoed beside him, soothing and melodic.
"My sweet little baby… welcome to your new home. I—I think I'll name you… John?"
John Li.
His new mother was breathtaking,skin like flawless white jade, cherry-red lips, raven-black hair cascading over silk sheets. And her eyes…
Large.
Round.
Crimson.
Deep as pools of blood. Dark. Abyssal.
She was pale and exhausted from childbirth, reclining atop a lavish silk-covered bed, yet she held him as if he were the most precious treasure in existence.
John's golden eyes flickered as he observed the room.
The old nurse who had delivered the previously thought stillborn child stood nearby.
Her expression was professional.
But not flawless.
Beneath her composure lay unmistakable shock. And fear or perhaps worry?.
It did not escape John's notice but he had bigger fish to fry.
(What kind of moron names their child John?)
He glared up at his mother, hoping his golden eyes conveyed his displeasure.
She merely smiled softly, swaddled him tighter, and placed him before a polished bronze mirror.
John sighed internally and committed to the act, making convincing cooing noises like a proper infant instead of a grown man trapped in a newborn's body.
(As basic as they come… dark brown hair, jade-white skin, golden eyes. At least I'm not ugly. If I was, I might've given reincarnation another shot.)
As his mother bathed him, he noticed something strange.
No electricity.
No plastic.
No modern furniture.
Everything was silk. Wood. Bronze.
Ancient.
His heart sank.
(I'm stuck in a cultivation world, aren't I?)
…Crap.