Cold.
Darkness.
And then—
Pain.
A suffocating, burning pain spread through his entire body, as if his veins were filled with molten metal. His chest tightened. His throat felt like it was being crushed.
"—!"
His eyes snapped open.
Air refused to enter his lungs. Every breath was shallow, ragged, incomplete. His limbs trembled uncontrollably, and a wave of nausea rose from his stomach.
Uncomfortable.
No—
This wasn't just discomfort.
This felt like dying.
His vision blurred as he struggled to sit up. The world around him spun violently—silk curtains, dim candlelight, the faint scent of incense.
A room.
Luxurious.
Unfamiliar.
"…Where…"
His voice came out hoarse, barely audible.
Before he could process anything further—
It came.
Memories.
Not his own.
They crashed into his mind like a flood, overwhelming and chaotic.
A vast palace. Rows of kneeling servants.
A life of privilege and power.
A name—
Li Xuan
The Fourth Prince of the Great Li empire
—
After some time he realised he had not died , but transmigrated in a world of cultivation.
He has taken over the body of fourth prince of the Great Li empire
Soon acceptance filled is mind
But-
His pupils shrank.
"What…?"
More memories followed, faster, sharper—
A cup of wine. A quiet night.
A trusting smile.
And then—
Pain.
The same pain.
Poison.
His body froze.
"…Poison?"
The word felt heavy as it left his lips.
His gaze instinctively shifted toward the table beside the bed.
There—
A delicate jade cup.
Half empty.
Realization struck like lightning.
This wasn't just any body.
This was a corpse.
Or at least…
It was supposed to be.
"He died…"
A faint, bitter smile formed on his lips.
"The Fourth Prince… died."
---
The memories settled slowly, forming a clearer picture.
A genius prince.
Talented. Gentle. Kind.
The Fourth Prince was a prodigy in cultivation, his talent far surpassing that of his brothers. Yet, he showed no interest in the ruthless struggle for the throne. Without powerful backing and having never sought to build alliances, he stood alone in the imperial court. His isolation had begun early—his mother passed away when he was only eight, leaving him with neither protection nor support.
And that was exactly why—
He died.
"…Idiot."
The word slipped out without hesitation.
This is a world where power triumph everything.
Born in a place where everyone is a power hungry wolf , he was kind .
Kindness in a royal court?
That wasn't virtue.
That was weakness.
That was an invitation to be killed.
His chest tightened again as another surge of pain coursed through him.
The poison was still active.
Still spreading.
Still killing him.
"So I came back… just to die again?"
A low chuckle escaped his lips, strained and dry.
How ironic.
In his previous life, he had clawed his way through countless dangers, surviving through cold decisions and ruthless choices.
He didn't trust easily.
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't lose.
And now—
He was given a second life.
In the body of someone who died because he was too kind.
"…What a waste."
His fingers dug into the bedsheets as he forced himself upright.
Pain screamed through every inch of his body, but his expression gradually steadied.
He glanced once more at the jade cup.
At the silent room.
At the life that had just ended.
"No one killed him because he was weak."
He exhaled slowly.
"He was killed… because he was kind."
Silence lingered.
Heavy.
Oppressive.
Then—
His eyes darkened.
"Not me."
The trembling in his hands stopped.
The confusion in his gaze vanished.
In its place—
Something far more dangerous took root.
"This life…"
His voice was quiet, almost calm.
"I won't be kind."
Outside the chamber—
Faint footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Approaching.
Slow.
Deliberate.
His lips curved slightly.
Not warmth.
Not kindness.
Something colder.
"Come."
"I'm not done yet."