Lin Fan woke up to the smell of dust.
It was thick, dry, and stale, clinging to the back of his throat with every breath. His eyes remained shut for a moment longer as he tried to piece together where he was. The ground beneath him felt hard—stone, not a bed—and cold enough to seep through his clothes.
His back hurt.
That was the first thing he noticed.
The second was that he could hear the wind.
Not the distant hum of traffic. Not the low buzz of electronics. But a raw, whistling sound, slipping through broken gaps above him.
Lin Fan opened his eyes.
What greeted him was a ceiling on the verge of collapse.
Cracked wooden beams sagged under their own weight, spiderweb fractures running through them. Several roof tiles were missing entirely, allowing thin shafts of pale light to cut through the darkness. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, illuminated for brief moments before vanishing again.
This was not a hospital.
Nor was it his room.
Lin Fan stared silently for several seconds before pushing himself upright. His body responded sluggishly, muscles protesting the movement as if they hadn't been used properly in a long time. A dull ache throbbed in his temples.
He took a slow breath.
The room came into clearer focus.
It was a hall—small, rectangular, and long neglected. Stone pillars lined both sides, their surfaces chipped and eroded. Faded murals clung to the walls, barely visible beneath layers of grime. Weeds had forced their way through cracks in the floor, stubborn green against the gray ruin.
At the far end stood a collapsed altar.
Lin Fan swung his legs off the ground and stood, wobbling slightly before steadying himself. He looked down at his hands.
They weren't his.
The fingers were longer, the skin rougher. Calluses lined the palms, the kind earned from manual labor. He flexed his hand, feeling an unfamiliar lightness in his movements.
Weak.
Not injured—but weak.
Before he could think further, a sharp pain stabbed into his head.
Memories surged forward like a floodgate breaking open.
A village at the edge of the mountains.
A boy hauling firewood for copper coins.
Cold nights. Hunger.
A wandering cultivator passing through, robes clean and aura imposing.
Hope.
Then laughter.
"You don't even have spiritual roots worth mentioning."
Being shoved aside. Mocked.
A test stone that never lit up.
A life sealed before it began.
The memories ended abruptly—with exhaustion, cold, and darkness.
Lin Fan exhaled slowly.
"So… that's how it is."
Transmigration.
The word surfaced naturally, as if he'd rehearsed it before. Perhaps dying once had dulled the shock. Or perhaps stories had prepared him better than reality ever could.
He turned in place, surveying the hall more carefully.
Despite the ruin, the structure had once been precise. The pillars were evenly spaced. The murals—though faded—depicted figures standing in ordered lines, their postures identical. Long robes. Calm expressions.
They weren't warriors.
They were cultivators.
Together.
That detail lingered in Lin Fan's mind.
He walked toward the altar. Up close, it was worse than he'd thought. A large portion had collapsed inward, stone shattered as if something had struck it with force. Yet the center remained intact, marked by a shallow indentation.
Something had once been placed there.
A plaque. A seal. A symbol of authority.
Lin Fan reached out and brushed his fingers across the cold stone.
[Ding.]
The sound rang directly inside his mind.
Lin Fan froze.
It wasn't loud, but it was absolute—clean, mechanical, and unmistakably artificial.
[Scanning host…]
[Scan complete.]
[Host status: Alive.]
Lin Fan's heart skipped a beat.
"…System?" he asked quietly.
For a moment, there was no response.
Then—
[Sect System activated.]
Translucent text appeared before his eyes, hovering in the air. It didn't flicker or distort. It simply existed, as real as the ruined temple around him.
Lin Fan stared at it.
A system wasn't surprising. If anything, it was expected. Almost reassuring.
But the name—
"Sect?" he repeated.
[Yes.]
The text shifted.
[You have been selected as the inheritor of a lost path.]
[Primary Objective: Establish a sect.]
Lin Fan waited for more.
Nothing came.
"That's… vague," he said.
The system responded immediately.
[Establish the first sect of this world.]
Lin Fan blinked.
"The first?" he asked. "You're saying there are none?"
[Correct.]
That single word carried weight.
No sects meant no inheritance.
No shared techniques.
No structured cultivation.
A world of lone cultivators.
Lin Fan laughed under his breath.
"Figures."
He leaned against the cracked altar, mind racing. This wasn't a heroic mission. It wasn't even ambitious.
It was suicidal.
"Why don't sects exist?" he asked. "What happened to them?"
[Information locked.]
[Condition not met.]
Lin Fan clicked his tongue. "Naturally."
He straightened. "And if I refuse?"
There was a pause.
Long enough for unease to creep in.
[Failure condition: Host death.]
Lin Fan closed his eyes.
"…So that's the catch."
He didn't rage. Didn't panic.
He simply nodded.
"Alright," he said. "Let's assume I cooperate."
The air shimmered.
[Initializing sect interface.]
More text appeared.
---
[Sect Name: Unassigned]
[Sect Level: 0]
[Disciples: 0]
[Reputation: 0]
[Sect Facilities: None]
---
Lin Fan stared at the list.
"Empty across the board," he murmured.
[Correct.]
"What about techniques?"
[None available.]
"Resources?"
[None available.]
"Spirit stones?"
[None available.]
Lin Fan sighed. "At least you're consistent."
He hesitated, then asked, "My cultivation?"
The interface updated.
---
[Host Cultivation: Body Refinement, Level 1]
---
Barely above mortal.
Lin Fan felt no disappointment. He'd expected worse.
"So if I build a sect," he said, "I grow stronger."
[Yes.]
"And if I don't?"
[Host may cultivate independently.]
He raised an eyebrow. "That sounds reasonable."
[Progress will be significantly slower.]
There it was.
Lin Fan smiled faintly.
"You want leverage," he said. "Not obedience."
The system did not deny it.
"One last question," Lin Fan said. "Why me?"
This time, the answer came slowly.
[You are expendable.]
Lin Fan laughed quietly.
"That's honest."
[This world does not favor lone cultivators.]
[You are suited to organization.]
Lin Fan looked around the hall again.
Dust-covered floors. Broken pillars. Faded murals of people standing together.
"…Then someone tried this before," he murmured.
He turned and walked toward the exit.
Outside, the world opened up.
Mountains stretched endlessly in all directions, layered upon each other like waves frozen in time. Mist coiled around their bases, obscuring what lay below. The air was cold and sharp, carrying the distant cry of some unknown beast.
Danger.
Everywhere.
Lin Fan stood at the edge of the ruined steps, letting the wind brush against his face.
"I don't need geniuses," he said softly. "I don't need loyalty."
He looked down the narrow mountain path leading away from the temple.
"I just need people with nowhere else to go."
Behind him, unseen, text flickered into existence.
[Hidden condition met.]
[Ruined Sect Site recognized.]
Deep beneath the mountain, something long dormant stirred.
And for the first time in a very long while—
The idea of a sect returned to this world.