Rebirth of the Celestial Swordmaster

Lin Xiao sat cross-legged inside the ruined hut, his mind a storm of emotions. He had lived two lives—one as a revered genius of the Celestial Sword Sect, and now as Luo Qing, an orphan with no talent.

"No," he corrected himself. "I am not Luo Qing. I am Lin Xiao."

But this body was frail, weak, and devoid of cultivation. To reclaim his former strength, he had to start from the very bottom.

The first step? Awakening his spiritual meridians.

Lin Xiao placed his hand on his chest, sensing the flow of energy within. His heart sank.  

His meridians were damaged.

Luo Qing had attempted cultivation before, but due to improper techniques and lack of resources, his meridians had suffered severe blockages. Normal methods would take years—if not a lifetime—to restore them.  

But Lin Xiao was no ordinary cultivator.  

He had once walked the highest path of cultivation, and with his past knowledge, he knew a forbidden method: The Soul Refining Cycle.

The Soul Refining Cycle was a brutal technique, meant only for those who had nothing to lose. It involved forcefully shattering the damaged meridians before rebuilding them anew—an excruciating process that could kill even the strongest of wills.

"I have no choice."

Sitting in the lotus position, Lin Xiao guided the remnants of spiritual energy from his recovered soul fragment and directed it toward his meridians.

Pain. Searing, unbearable pain.

It felt as if molten steel was coursing through his veins. His muscles spasmed, and his vision darkened, but he clenched his teeth. He had suffered death before—this was nothing.

Minutes turned to hours. His body trembled violently, sweat soaking his ragged clothes.

Then—a crackling sound.

A sudden burst of energy surged through him. The old, damaged pathways shattered completely, and in their place, new meridians began to take form—stronger, purer.

Then came the second wave of pain.

By the time the process ended, Lin Xiao collapsed onto the wooden floor, his breath shallow. His body was drained, but something had changed.  

When he closed his eyes and focused inward, he saw it: A faint golden core forming in his dantian.

He had done it.  

His cultivation had officially begun.

Just as he was about to rest, the sound of shouting reached his ears. His eyes snapped open.

Outside, the village square was in chaos. A group of armed men in tattered robes stood in the center, their leader—a burly man with a cruel smirk—holding a wooden club.

"You useless worms," the leader spat. "The Iron Fang Bandits own this village! Hand over your food and valuables, or we'll take them ourselves!"

The villagers trembled in fear. Some of them whispered in despair.

Lin Xiao narrowed his eyes. Bandits?

In his previous life, such pests wouldn’t have been worth a second glance. But in his current state, he was still weak. Facing them head-on would be foolish.

But that didn’t mean he would do nothing.

Silently, Lin Xiao moved toward the village square, blending into the crowd. His sharp gaze analyzed the bandits' movements, their weapons, their weaknesses.  

Then, his eyes landed on a frail old woman—the same one who had once given Luo Qing food when he was starving. A bandit grabbed her by the hair, yanking her forward.  

"You old hag, stop hiding food!" The bandit raised his fist.  

Something in Lin Xiao snapped.  

Before he even realized it, his body had already moved.  

With newfound agility, he grabbed a loose wooden staff from the ground and swung it forward.  

Crack!

The bandit's wrist snapped, his scream echoing through the village.  

For a brief moment, there was silence.  

Then—chaos erupted.

Lin Xiao didn’t wait for them to recover. He spun the staff in his hands and struck the leader's knee. The man howled in pain, collapsing to the ground.

The other bandits rushed at him. Lin Xiao exhaled, feeling the faint stirrings of his newly awakened energy. His movements became sharper, faster—his instincts honed from a lifetime of battle guiding him.

He dodged a wild swing and struck another bandit in the ribs. One down.

He parried a dagger thrust, spinning to sweep another’s legs. Two down.

Though his body was still weak, his technique was flawless. He was no ordinary villager.

The remaining bandits hesitated. Their leader, clutching his knee, glared at Lin Xiao.

"Who… who the hell are you?!"

Lin Xiao straightened, his grip tightening around the staff.

"Just a nobody," he said coldly. "But if you value your lives, leave now."

The bandits exchanged glances. Their leader gritted his teeth, but the fear in his eyes was clear. He knew—if they stayed, they would die.

With a frustrated snarl, he signaled his men to retreat.

As the bandits disappeared into the forest, the villagers stared at Lin Xiao in stunned silence.  

Then, whispers began.  

"Did you see that?"

"Luo Qing… no, he’s different."

"He fought like a real warrior!"

An old man stepped forward, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Young man, you saved us."

Lin Xiao simply nodded. He had no interest in fame or recognition.  

But deep inside, he realized something.  

"Even if I am weak now… I am still a cultivator."

And cultivators did not bow to mere bandits.

That night, Lin Xiao sat under the stars, gazing at the distant mountains.

This village was too small. If he wanted to regain his strength, he needed resources, techniques, and challenges worthy of his skills.

His path lay beyond this place.

With his newfound meridians and a mind full of knowledge, he was ready.

Tomorrow, he would leave the village.

And the world would soon remember the name Lin Xiao.