Chronicles of the Forsaken Soul

Chapter 1

The first sensation he truly recognized was warmth. The tiny body he now inhabited squirmed in the embrace of a woman who cooed softly, her words blending into soothing tones he couldn’t yet understand. His mind was a storm of confusion. Memories of his past life clashed with this surreal present, flashing in fragmented bursts like the flicker of a flame on the verge of extinguishing. He remembered death, he remembered chaos, and now—this.

He couldn’t cry, though his body wanted to. His thoughts swirled too deeply. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

The woman holding him smiled weakly, her face pale with exhaustion. Her fingers brushed his tiny forehead. He recognized the weight of her gaze—it was the look of someone who wanted to protect, even while carrying burdens too heavy to bear. The weight of responsibility hung in the air around her like an invisible shroud.

The surroundings were meager, though the room carried a rustic charm. Wooden beams sagged slightly under the weight of age, and faint traces of spiritual energy hung in the air like remnants of a song long forgotten. This wasn’t an ordinary place. He could sense it. His instincts, though untrained, hummed with awareness.

Days blended into weeks, and he learned more about his new existence. The woman, who he came to understand was his mother in this life, called him "Ling Feng." The name resonated faintly within him—like a distant bell tolling through mist. His mother was gentle, nurturing, but there was a sadness to her every movement. He often heard her murmuring at night about his father, gone to join a sect and leaving her behind in what seemed like self-imposed exile.

Their village, nestled in a remote valley, was unremarkable compared to the greater world he suspected lay beyond. Its inhabitants were ordinary, tending to their crops and livestock, though he could sense faint traces of qi in their labor. Cultivation was not unknown here, though it was the realm of the privileged and the powerful. In this village, the strong remained in sects or ventured into the wider world, leaving behind the weak.

But there was one figure in the village who stood apart.

His mother often took him to visit an elderly man known only as "Grandfather Wei." A retired cultivator, the elder lived a solitary life at the village edge, shrouded in an air of quiet authority. Though his cultivation base was crippled in his twilight years, the wisdom of his past remained etched in the lines of his face.

On the first visit, Grandfather Wei’s cloudy eyes narrowed the moment he laid them on Ling Feng. He said nothing, but his gaze lingered, as though peering into the depths of the boy’s very soul. Ling Feng felt the scrutiny keenly. Even as a baby, his soul stirred with unease—a reaction he couldn’t control.

“The child,” Wei muttered to Ling Feng’s mother, “he carries… something unusual. A presence far beyond my comprehension, I don’t know what it is, but mark my words, his path will not be ordinary.”

His mother dismissed the remark with a tired smile, though a flicker of worry passed through her expression. She didn’t visit Wei again for several weeks after that.

As Ling Feng grew, he began to notice changes within himself. He was still a child, bound to the limits of his small frame, but his mind was sharp—far too sharp for someone his age. He remembered more fragments of his previous life, though the memories felt distant, like echoes reverberating through time.

And then there was the chaotic energy. It flickered faintly within him, like an ember refusing to die. At night, as he drifted into sleep, he could feel it stirring, pulling at something deep within his soul. Sometimes, it felt like an invisible hand, prodding and testing him. Other times, it was a roaring storm, threatening to consume him from the inside.

He didn’t understand it yet, but he knew it was a part of him now. Whatever had happened in the Reincarnation Realm—whatever malfunction or accident had brought him here—it had left its mark.

One afternoon, as Ling Feng’s mother gathered herbs in the forest, he sat quietly beneath a tree, lost in thought. Though still a toddler, he had learned to keep his strange awareness hidden, acting as any child might. But the tranquility of the moment was shattered by a low growl.

From the shadows emerged a wolf, its eyes glowing faintly. Ling Feng felt his heart pound in his chest. This wasn’t an ordinary animal—it was a wild beast, albeit a weak one. Even so, in his tiny body, he was helpless against it.

His mother screamed, rushing to shield him with her body. But the wolf lunged, fangs bared.

At that moment, something within Ling Feng snapped. The chaos energy surged, flooding his small frame with a searing heat. His vision blurred as the power erupted uncontrollably, lashing out in all directions. The wolf yelped, struck by an invisible force, and fled into the forest, its tail tucked between its legs.

Why his mother was safe he didn’t know… maybe the energy subconsciously follows his will, maybe…

When Ling Feng’s vision cleared, his mother was staring at him, her face pale with shock. She didn’t say anything, but he could see the question in her eyes: What are you?

Word of the incident spread quickly through the village. Though his mother tried to downplay it, whispers began to circulate. Some called the child blessed, while others murmured of curses and omens. Grandfather Wei was one of the few who spoke with certainty.

“The boy has potential,” he told Ling Feng’s mother. “But such power comes with danger. You must teach him to control it, or it will destroy him—and possibly us all.”

Ling Feng didn’t understand everything at the time, but he knew one thing: he was different. And in a world where strength ruled all, difference was both a blessing and a curse.

Ling Feng staring at the horizon beyond the village, feeling the stirrings of destiny within him. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but he knew one thing: the path of cultivation awaited him, and it was a path that would challenge him in ways he couldn’t yet imagine.

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