The Yoke of Reincarnation (0)

My body was freezing solid while I was still alive.

This sensation was familiar. I had suffered from it my entire life. Now a new feeling was layered on top of it—my skin being torn to shreds, as if needles had been driven through every inch of my body.

It was around this point that I realized I had been reborn. I was being passed from hand to hand among countless strangers, wrapped in swaddling clothes.

"The young master is cold as ice!"

"Quick, light the stove!"

I couldn't understand their words. But I could tell they were trying to save me.

"Healer! What is the healer doing?"

"Colin has gone to see the madam...!"

"The madam is too late! Tell her to come save the living child first!"

Someone bellowed in frustration. Amid the frantic footsteps, a woman's sobbing wove in and out.

My condition was, in a word, catastrophic. My severed meridians were running wild, and I had no Daoist power left to suppress them. I tried to gather what scattered energy remained, but this newborn body hadn't yet formed a dantian capable of serving as a focal point for qi.

"Colin, he's here!"

Through my blurred vision, I could see a white-haired old man rushing toward me. He exchanged urgent words with the middle-aged man standing at my head.

"What in the world has happened here?"

"It's a nature-type Awoken Ability. It seems to be draining every trace of warmth around him, the young master included. But ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠explanations can wait—just keep him breathing!"

"Awoken Abilities are not illnesses. Even holy magic cannot cure what is not an illness."

"Enough! Use whatever means necessary—just save him!"

The old man rolled up his sleeves. I watched the whole spectacle with detached skepticism.

I'm telling you, he can't be saved. Even if the udumbara flower bloomed again, curing Cold Yin Severed Meridian is impossible.

Then it happened. The space above my head seemed to brighten, and a brilliant ray of light struck my forehead.

What kind of technique is this?

My severed meridians hadn't been healed. Nothing about my situation had improved by so much as a hair, yet the pain had subsided to an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠astonishing degree. Moreover, an unidentified power—of a nature distinctly different from Daoist energy—had flowed into my body. Grasping at straws, I guided that power toward my dantian.

"The young master is showing improvement!"

"Quiet. Don't disturb his concentration."

This was delicate work. To put it in perspective, imagine carving letters into thin ice with a hammer and chisel. Normally, creating new qi channels was a process that unfolded slowly over many years. But I needed to accomplish ten years' worth of work right here, right now. Only by establishing a stronghold where qi could gather could I put a leash on my severed meridians.

There were a few reasons for optimism. First, this wasn't my first attempt at something like this. Second, thanks to being newborn, every meridian in my body was taut and supple—establishing a dantian now would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Geez, that startled me.

The old man's chanting was nothing but noise pollution at this point. From here on, this was a matter of finesse, not power.

...Damn it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all. Who knew there'd be a greater menace than severed meridians lurking here.

I had to focus. If I let my concentration slip for even a moment, the opportunity right before my eyes could vanish.

I battled against the old man's noise for several hours. And then, at last, I succeeded in establishing a small stronghold of qi in my middle dantian.

"Bestow your blessing!"

"Colin, I think that's enough now. The young master is glaring at you."

"Well done. Thanks to you, at least the young master was saved."

I was carried to a cradle in the maids' arms. Perhaps trying to raise my body temperature, they wrapped me snugly in layer upon layer of blankets.

Once I caught my breath, memories of my past life suddenly surfaced. The scenes I'd witnessed before dying—the udumbara flower stalk rolling across the ground, and the old man's burial mound overgrown with trees—circled through my mind.

But it wasn't all bad memories.

'A soul that fails to become an immortal must bear the shackles of reincarnation.'

'Who knows? In the next life, I might just become your disciple. Heh heh heh.'

My master had taught me that life was worth living. That the world was far more beautiful than I had imagined.

"You seem to be doing much better."

The red-haired woman looked down at me with a gentle smile.

Could this person be my mother?

If so, I didn't ask for much. Just don't abandon me... give me a roof to shield me from the sun, and a place to lie down.

"Shall I let you sleep?"

My head kept tilting to the side. My immature body was craving rest.

Before losing consciousness, I thought: if I could experience what they call familial love, this life alone would be worth living.

The old man called Colin visited four or five more times after that. Each time, he bellowed at the top of his lungs while casting his techniques, but honestly, I no longer needed his help.

The old man seemed to realize it too. With each visit, there was something deflated about his voice—something perfunctory in his delivery.

On his final visit, the old man had a long conversation with the red-haired woman. I still couldn't understand what they were saying, but I could infer the meaning from context.

"The young master's body is cold. Why isn't holy magic helping at all?"

"Didn't I tell you? Awoken Abilities are not illnesses."

"But that ability is consuming the young master!"

"That's why powerful abilities are double-edged swords. Still, you needn't worry about the young master for the time being."

"Why not?"

"This is merely my speculation, but it seems another kind of Awoken Ability dwells within the young master. One so immensely powerful it might rival even young Chris. Every time I cast holy magic upon him, it felt like dropping a stone into a vast lake. As long as that power protects him, I doubt he'll ever need me."

After finishing his conversation with the woman, the old man never returned. He'd been insufferably loud when he was around, but now that he was gone, I actually missed him. I had more than a few questions about his techniques.

Opening my middle dantian paid off exactly as I'd predicted. My Daoist power accumulated so rapidly that the surrounding qi was nearly depleted.

I had spent just over ten years studying the old man's techniques. In that decade, I reached the Manifestation Realm, the stage directly below the Ascension Realm.

'What did I tell you? Didn't I call you an immortal prodigy?'

My master had called the Manifestation Realm "the highest plane a mortal can reach."

At this rate, I might even cut those ten years down to five.

I couldn't slack off on gathering information either. This place wasn't just unfamiliar in language—everything I laid eyes on was strange to me.

Could this be a nation of the Western Regions?

I'd heard that if you crossed the deserts of Xinjiang and headed west, you'd find lands where people gathered with blue eyes and yellow hair. But the people here weren't just blue-eyed and blond. They came in every color imaginable, garish and vivid.

When I happened to catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror, I hadn't changed at all. The distinctive pallor of a Severed Meridian patient. White hair, white eyebrows, and skin so pale it went ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠beyond pallor into sickly whiteness.

And it wasn't just the color—my skin was actually cold to the touch. Chilling, really.

"The young master has such lovely hair."

"Isn't it? How can it be as white as snowflakes?"

The maids seemed to have a different opinion, though. I'd have to say their aesthetic sense was warped.

When I was three months old, the maids began teaching me to speak. The red-haired woman who had put me to sleep on my first day took charge of my education.

"Young master, my name is Lily. Can you repeat after me? Lily."

"Wiwy."

"Oh my, you're doing so well! Shall we try again?"

"...Wiwy."

"Now it's your turn, young master."

The woman pointed a finger at my chest.

"Iden Esterzy."

"Iden..."

"Esterzy!"

"Eh...eh..."

"Wow, the young master might be a genius!"

Iden Esterzy. So that was my name.

I'd never heard anything like it in either lifetime. The tongue gymnastics required were absurd—I'd need to grease my tongue just to manage it.

"Now, shall we look over here?"

Lily reached out and pointed to a portrait hanging on the wall. It depicted a man with a stern expression and a powerful build.

"Drek Esterzy."

"Dwa..."

"Esterzy. He is your father, young master. The Duke who rules the northern territory of Esterzy."

Pride radiated from her face as she pronounced the word "Duke." I intuited that the man in the portrait was my father, and that "Duke" was his title.

I couldn't gauge exactly how high a rank it was, but considering that a room meant for a single infant was as spacious as a palace hall, and that even the candlesticks and tables were slathered in gold, it was clear this was someone with power rivaling a provincial governor.

"And you, young master..."

She held up three fingers.

"You are the Duke's third son."

I still couldn't understand what she was saying. But three fingers held up straight didn't seem to mean anything good.