Free Web NovelChapter 1: Chapter 1—Lei Cheng
Chapter 1—Lei Cheng
In a quiet room lit by lanterns, polished rosewood pillars stood tall, holding up the ceiling. The wooden floor beneath was immaculate, and over it lay a smooth silk carpet. Curtains hung along the walls, swaying gently as a breeze drifted in through the windows.
At the right corner of the room sat a moderately sized bed. The mattress was smooth, a red phoenix embroidered upon it, and a broad bedsheet inscribed with a golden dragon was spread across, half covering the phoenix symbol beneath.
A seventeen-year-old boy lay on it, seemingly asleep.
His pose was unusual. The bedsheet had been kicked halfway down, his legs tangled free of it. His body was skeletal—nothing but a thin layer of skin stretched over bone. His cheeks were sunken. The shape of the skull was visible beneath. His eyes were open, dim and blank. His chest was still. Completely still. Not even the faintest rise.
He was dead.
Clad in a purple silk robe, the front untied and fallen open, his upper body lay exposed. His ribs pressed visibly against the skin. A black aura seeped from his body, curling toward dried leaves laid beside the bed atop a wooden casket. The burning sandalwood incense stick had long since gone cold. A stinking, nauseous smell filled the entire room.
The corpse had been dead, at least for a few hours. The dim eyes suddenly moved upward.
Then—after a few still minutes—his fingers moved.
A twitch. From his fingers to his arms. Then his shoulders. Then his head.
The corpse sat bolt upright.
"...What—?"
A raspy, dry voice.
"What... is that smell?" He held his nose, clamping it shut. "It smells like rotten fish."
He paused.
His vision gradually returned to normal. He looked down, pulled his trembling blackened palms close to his face—the skin dark, ashen, almost black. He touched his cheek. Cold. Wrong, without any warmth.
His breath hitched. No air moved.
His chest didn’t rise.
"...Why am I not breathing?"
A chill clawed up his spine. He took a deep breath as his lungs kicked back to action.
"And... these are my hands?" He then noticed his palms.
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He glanced around the room. The smell hit him again. He sniffed at his own body.
"...It’s me." His fingers tightened slightly.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. His legs gave out immediately, and he fell straight back onto the mattress. He gripped the edges, forced himself upright, and spotted a full-length mirror at the center of the room—only a few steps away. He shuffled toward it on shaking legs.
Before he reached it, he fell.
Thud!
He tried to push himself up. His arms trembled and gave out. His head cracked hard against the wooden floor.
Bang!
"Ah—"
He winced—and then golden light erupted across his body. The ache vanished in an instant. Warmth flooded through him—too fast, too sudden—strength forcing itself back into his limbs. He rose to his feet and walked the rest of the way to the mirror.
The skeletal figure staring back at him glowed with golden light. Flesh grew back in real time—muscles rebuilding, visible to the naked eye. The sunken hollows of his cheeks filled out. The blackened skin faded to pale. His gray hair darkened, turning jet black.
As his body recovered, his thoughts turned inward.
’I am Silva... I remember—I died in a car accident.’
An ordinary university student. Just like any other day, he had woken up late and rushed to the station, trying not to miss his train. A drunk rich kid had driven recklessly and smashed straight into him, killing him on the spot. The last thing he remembered was flying through the air and hitting the ground.
His body finished recovering as he walked through those final moments, and the golden light faded.
’This golden light—was it the benefit granted upon transmigration?’
He paused.
’A car crash death also leads to rebirth?’
He raised his brows. Then it came back to him—in those spinning, fading moments before death, he had glimpsed a cunning golden eye in the sky. Brilliant gold, yet cold. Almost a tenth the size of the sun.
It hadn’t just been shining. It was also watching.
And for a moment, he had been certain it saw him.
He clapped his palms together slowly. ’That thing brought me here. But why me?’
He tilted his head slightly. His breathing turned uneven—he still felt cold just recalling that eye.
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He shook his head, a faint unease lingering. ’...Deal with it later.’
He was powerless, so he handed it to his future self.
He turned back to the mirror.
"This face..." He rubbed his cheeks—soft. "It isn’t mine." He stared at it for a long moment. "It’s perfect."
His lips were a vivid pink-red; his skin porcelain-smooth—the kind that would make even noblewomen jealous. His face was square-jawed with a faint masculine edge, softened by gentle black eyes and eyebrows shaped like sharp sword blades. His hair hung all the way down his back to his waist.
’Handsome? Or beautiful?’
He pressed a palm flat against the mirror’s surface, studying himself. ’If not for the shape of my face, I’d be considered a beauty outright. Even my frame is slender rather than muscular.’
He lowered his gaze.
A small, shining fox mark had manifested on his chest.
Before he could process it, searing heat erupted from the mark and tore through his entire body. He twitched violently and dropped straight onto his backside.
"What is this—?!"
He bit his lip, face clenched tight. The fox mark pulsed and spread—expanding across his whole chest. Sweat soaked through him, and a puddle formed beneath him on the floor. Streaks ran from his brow and stung his eyes. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, panting hard as the pain stopped.
He quickly went memories of his body.
’I am Lei Cheng—this body’s name. Or was it... Silva?’
He couldn’t sort it out. ’These memories feel like my own.’
Technically, Lei Cheng had been dead—his soul already departed. But at that same moment, a streak of golden light had carried Silva’s soul into the void, and Lei Cheng’s departing soul had rushed toward it under the pull of the golden light. The two had merged.
Silva stood on top—but Lei Cheng’s feelings hadn’t disappeared. They clung to him, and he had to carry them whether he wanted to or not. In a simple sense, he is Lei Cheng as well.
’Whatever... from this moment—
I am Lei Cheng.
Silva... is gone.’
He settled it quietly within himself and began sorting through his inherited memories. They weren’t all there yet—still slowly fusing, arriving in pieces.
Many memories didn’t feel like memories. They felt... lived.
But not by him.
Lei Cheng—the only son of Lei Feng and the sole male heir of the family. He skimmed through the flood of recollections.
’I’ll go through them properly later.’
His expression darkened.
’But... how did I die?’
His head throbbed. He pressed both hands to his temples and pushed through the pain, pulling at the memory.
Going out, then nothing.
’That’s all. I can’t remember. How did I die? Who killed... me?’
Just then, the fox mark on his chest flared—grey light blooming from it, bright enough to illuminate the entire room. A night breeze drifted in through the window.
The light didn’t feel warm. And it wasn’t just ordinary light.
It was taking something.
Goosebumps spread across his skin.
