As fire broke out behind her, she ran as fast as her legs took her.

Bullets flew past her ears. Smoke clouded her vision. Her black uniform clung to her bloodied skin. She didn’t know whose blood it was — hers, or her enemies'. She had no time to check.

The metal rooftop door slammed open as she burst through.

There he stood.

Lin Jie.

Her best friend. Her most trusted partner. His hands were steady. A gun aimed straight at her.

She halted in her tracks. Confused. Hurt.

“Jie?” she whispered.

His eyes were cold.

" You always had to be the perfect one. Always faster.smarter.the perfect one. But you're not the only one. Feng wu"

He pulled the trigger.

The bullet pierced her chest. The pain was instant — searing and deep.

Her breath caught.

She stumbled. The world spun. Her knees hit the ground.

Darkness began to close in, but before her consciousness faded completely…

A warm light spread from her right shoulder.

Her birthmark — the dragon wrapped around the phoenix — glowed with a soft, golden shimmer.

Time seemed to pause.

Her body collapsed.

Her soul… drifted.

In another world… far, far away...

A thin girl’s body lay still on a worn-out straw mat.

Suddenly — her eyes snapped open.

She gasped for breath, heart racing.

Her hands were small, frail. Her arms bruised. She tried to sit up, but her body trembled under its own weight.

Suddenly, the door slammed open.

A woman rushed in, carrying a wooden bowl of water. Her sleeves were rolled up, her hair a little messy, as if she had been up all night.

When she saw the girl sitting up, her eyes widened in disbelief. The bowl clattered to the floor, water spilling everywhere.

She rushed to her side and dropped to her knees.

"Young Miss, are you awake?!" she cried, voice shaking with emotion. Tears welled in her eyes and fell freely. "Heavens have mercy... I thought we lost you!"

Feng Wu blinked.

Her chest ached. Her limbs trembled. But her instincts stayed sharp.

This woman… was not familiar.

This place… wasn't any hospital, lab, or safe house.

Everything smelled of herbs, dust, and something old. Like a forgotten past.

"Who... are you?" Feng Wu asked hoarsely.

The woman gasped. "Young Miss, it’s me! Wuxin. Your maidservant since you were little!"

Memories not her own stirred in her mind — dim flashes of a gentle maid, loyal and kind. The original owner of this body had known her. Trusted her.

Feng Wu gritted her teeth.

She wasn’t just in another body.

She was in someone else’s life.

And that someone… was also named Feng Wu.

Wuxin clutched her hand tightly, weeping. “The clan said you wouldn’t survive the night. Second miss and her underlings—what they did to you—”

Feng Wu’s eyes darkened.

So this body had been beaten nearly to death? Left to die?

She looked down at her weak, trembling hands.

They might think she was still that helpless girl.

But they were wrong.

She was back from the dead.

And this time…

She would write her own fate.

Feng Wu's voice was soft but steady.

"Can you fetch me some more water, Wuxin?"

Wuxin quickly wiped her tears and nodded, scrambling to her feet. "Y-Yes, Young Miss!"

As she turned to leave, Feng Wu’s voice called her back, firmer this time.

"Don’t call me ‘Young Miss’. Call my name."

Wuxin paused mid-step, glancing back in surprise. “Huh?”

Feng Wu’s eyes, once dulled by illness, now carried a quiet strength that hadn't been there before.

"Call me Feng Wu." Her gaze didn’t waver. “Not because of status. Because that’s who I am.”

Wuxin blinked, startled by the tone, the sudden shift in presence — but somehow, it felt… right.

“…Alright. Feng Wu,” she said quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll go get the water.”

She turned and dashed out of the room.

As the door creaked shut behind her, Feng Wu leaned back against the straw pillow, closing her eyes briefly.

The weakness in her body was real.

But her soul…

Was unshakable.

So, this was a world of cultivation — where the strong commanded the heavens, and the weak were left to rot.

The air around her felt different, thicker. Not with pollution like the cities she used to run through, but with something ancient… spiritual energy. It prickled at her skin like static, yet this body couldn’t draw in even a drop of it.

This world was merciless.

Power wasn’t just wealth. It was survival.

And she… was at the bottom of the food chain.

Through scattered memories that weren’t her own, she pieced together the basics. This land was vast, divided by clans, sects, and empires. And the place she now lived in — the place where this fragile girl was born and nearly left to die — was called:

Zhenlan Country (真澜国)

A mid-tier cultivation nation, known for its ancient spirit forests, beast mountains, and internal clan rivalries. On the surface, it was peaceful and elegant — ruled by powerful noble families, scholars, and sects.

But beneath that grace was a cruel hierarchy.

The water splashed softly into the basin. Wuxin, hands trembling, dipped a cloth into it and turned back to the bed. She couldn’t stop smiling. Feng Wu — her Feng Wu — was awake. Alive.

Feng Wu watched her quietly, leaning back against the thin pillows. Her body was still weak, bones like brittle wood. But her mind… her soul had never been sharper.

This world… wasn’t hers.

But it was now.

And this body — the old Feng Wu — had been cast aside, beaten, and nearly killed. Why?

Because she was weak in a place where weakness meant death.

Because in this world… power reigned.

This was Zhenlan Country, a vast nation ruled not by politics, but by cultivation. Here, strength carved paths. Sects raised mountains. Clans shaped empires.

At the peak of it all stood the Ye Clan (夜氏) — the ruling family, known as the Shadow Sovereigns. Born from a bloodline whispered to carry the power of celestial darkness, the Ye reigned supreme. Their command reached every sect, every noble house, every battlefield.

Their name alone could silence a city.

The monarch, Ye Qingxian, rarely showed himself, but his shadow was always present. Behind veils of night and spirit mist, he ruled Zhenlan without challenge.

Below the Ye were the pillars of nobility — the three great clans:

Qin Clan: Masters of the sword, loyal warriors who served as generals and executioners for the royal family.

Mu Clan: Alchemists and healers, known for their spiritual insight and terrifying ability to heal... or poison.

Lan Clan: Manipulators of illusions and spirit force, silent schemers cloaked in beauty and danger.

And beneath them, scattered like stones beneath a palace, were dozens of lesser clans.

The Feng Clan was one of them.

Once respected, now disgraced. Once said to carry phoenix blood, now dismissed as a failed line.

The original Feng Wu was weak — talentless, mocked, and eventually abandoned by her own kin. Her body had been discarded like trash in the medicine yard, bleeding from a wound she never even saw coming.

But now...

That body housed someone else.

A soul from another world. A warrior. An agent betrayed and shot in the back.

As Feng Wu gently touched the faint mark glowing beneath her collar — the phoenix-dragon birthmark — her eyes narrowed. Her power was sealed, her body broken, but her spirit burned fiercer than ever.

She wasn’t going to just survive.

She was going to climb — claw her way from the ashes, tear through every limit, and reclaim what the heavens had denied her.

The sunlight spilled in through the cracked wooden window, tracing golden lines across the dusty floorboards. It had been years since anyone cleaned this courtyard properly.

Feng Wu sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her calloused hands.

This body... this girl... was also Feng Wu.

fifteen years old. The ninth young miss of the once-proud Feng Clan.

A child born without spirit roots, in a world where cultivation was life.

Her parents had died young — ambushed by beasts during a winter journey. There were whispers, of course, that it hadn’t been beasts at all. But no one dared investigate. No one dared question the outcome.

She should have been discarded.

But her grandfather, Feng Xiaoyuan, had loved her deeply. He'd trained her with simple body-forging exercises, given her clean clothes, even placed her in a quiet courtyard of her own. His affection had been like a flickering lantern in the dark.

And then... he vanished.

No message. No clue. No search parties.

With his disappearance, power shifted. The clan throne fell into the hands of her First Uncle, Feng Zhihao, a cold, calculating man who believed in strength over sentiment. He stripped Feng Wu of her privileges, cut off her resources, and allowed the other branch families to mock her freely.

Still, her Fifth Uncle, gentle-hearted Feng Lianshan, never abandoned her. Nor did his wife and their quiet son. But kindness came at a price. As they sheltered the “good-for-nothing ninth miss,” they too were silenced and punished—given low-level chores, forced into outer residence quarters, forgotten by the clan.

Feng Wu rose slowly to her feet, muscles stiff but stable.

This body was weak, yes.

But she had survived worse.

“I owe you,” she whispered, touching the side of her neck where the phoenix-dragon birthmark still faintly shimmered. “I’ll live for the both of us now.”

She stepped out into the courtyard for the first time since awakening.

The wind carried the faint sound of laughter — the other clan members training, chatting, living their bright lives.

She closed her eyes and inhaled.

Let them laugh.

They would kneel later.