Liang Yue's eyes opened to a soft haze of sunlight. The room smelled faintly of incense, mixed with the sweet fragrance of morning dew that drifted through a half-open window. He blinked, adjusting to the brightness, and felt an odd lightness, almost as if his body wasn't fully his own.
A mirror on the wall caught his gaze. Long, straight black hair cascaded past his shoulders, shimmering in the sunlight. Eyelashes curved delicately, long and soft, giving his eyes an almost feminine grace. Slender limbs, a flat chest, a frame that could have belonged to a woman—yet he felt distinctly male inside. He ran his fingers along his arms, tracing the subtle curves of his body. The reflection staring back at him was delicate, fragile—but it felt foreign, unfamiliar, and yet… right in a way he couldn't explain.
"Liang Yue…" A soft voice interrupted his thoughts. At the doorway stood a man and woman, middle-aged, faces lined with careful smiles. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"
His mind spun. Names, faces, memories—all blank. A hollow emptiness clawed at him.
"We've been worried," the woman said, stepping closer, her hands clasped nervously. "You suffered… severe amnesia. But it's alright now. You're safe. Come, you need to get ready. Today is important."
Liang Yue's throat felt dry. "Important…?" His voice was soft, uncertain, hesitant. Something stirred deep inside—a vague, unplaceable echo of recognition—but he could not name it.
"The registration ceremony," the man explained. "You'll be officially registered into the sect today. Your cultivation path begins."
Sect. Cultivation. The words struck something buried within him, like a faint spark igniting in the dark. Strange, yet familiar. Something tugged at him—a shadow of a memory he couldn't recall fully.
He nodded and let them guide him. Their home was small, neat, and quiet, filled with warmth he didn't recognize but that felt… comforting. He dressed in the simple robes laid out for him. They fit snugly, following the delicate lines of his body. He moved slowly, deliberately, noticing how this slender form, unassuming and easy to overlook, could become an advantage if he played it right.
Breakfast was a quiet affair. His "parents" chatted softly, offering him advice, encouragement, and smiles that seemed practiced. Liang Yue listened, barely speaking, letting their words wash over him like a river whose current he was yet learning to navigate. He felt a small stirring in his chest—a faint sense that this life, unlike the one he could barely remember, might be… different.
The walk to the sect was alive with morning energy. Birds called from the trees lining the cobblestone path. The wind carried the faint hum of spiritual energy, something Liang Yue couldn't fully sense yet, but instinctively felt. When the sect came into view, a crowd of young disciples had already gathered. The polished courtyard shimmered in the sunlight, reflecting the disciplined order of the sect. Excited chatter, laughter, and the occasional scolding filled the air.
And then he saw him.
A tall, poised young man stood in the courtyard, radiating a calm dominance that drew every eye toward him. Shen Jin. The name felt like a weight pressing on Liang Yue's chest. A flash of instinct—recognition without reason—stirred deep in him. There was something in this man, something he had always noticed, always remembered, and now he felt it tugging at him once more.
The registration ceremony began. One by one, disciples were called forward. They bowed before the sect master, received their robes, and pledged their devotion to cultivation. Whispers trailed Liang Yue as he moved toward the front: so delicate… so weak…he won't survive…useless…
He lowered his head and bowed deeply. Let them whisper. Let them underestimate him. Let them laugh at the body they thought was fragile. Let them see the small, unremarkable boy they assumed he was. Inside, a spark of determination ignited—a flame born of vague recollections, of a life wasted, of mistakes made and lessons learned. He would not fail this time.
Returning to his assigned quarters, Liang Yue found a small, neat room: a thin bed, bare walls, and a small writing desk. He sank onto the bed and closed his eyes, focusing inward. His meridians were sluggish, almost stagnant, the body's energy weak. Yet it responded to his will, faintly, patiently. Each breath was a small victory, each pulse a step toward awakening the hidden potential within him.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the delicate, slender form beneath him. It was not strong, not yet—but underestimated forms could hide dangerous strength. He imagined the lessons of a past he could barely recall, storing them carefully in his mind. Every failure had been a teacher; every betrayal, a stepping stone.
As evening fell, the courtyard quieted. Moonlight spilled through the window, casting silver light over his hair, over his delicate features. He allowed himself a small, subtle smile. Shen Jin. The name came to him again, with a weight he could not yet name. In this life, perhaps he could change the balance between them. Perhaps he could rise, unnoticed and underestimated, until the time came to reveal what he had learned, what he had remembered.
He lay back, letting the cool night air brush his skin, long black hair spread like a dark river around him. Pain, humiliation, betrayal—they lingered at the edges of his mind, sharp and cutting, but they were now tools, not chains. He memorized them, studied them, and let them harden his resolve.
The first day had ended, but tomorrow, the journey would truly begin. Cultivation, learning, and survival awaited him. In this slender, delicate body, underestimated and unnoticed, Liang Yue felt the awakening of determination. He would endure. He would grow. He would not fail.
And when the world finally noticed him, it would be too late.