Rain seeped in through the rusty window frames and formed a murky puddle on the floor.
When Lin Feng opened his eyes, the first thing he smelled was the familiar musty smell - a mixture of overnight instant noodles, cheap cigarettes and damp walls. He lay on a single bed in a rental house of less than ten square meters, staring at the water-stained mold spots on the ceiling, and was stunned for five minutes.
Memories came flooding back.
A second ago, he was still in front of the mountain gate of Qingyun Sect, and Lin Feng's sword penetrated his chest. The cold touch that the spiritual sword named "Qingyun" brought when it passed through the body still remains in the bone marrow. As a genius within the Qingyun Sect, Lin Feng looked down at him as he fell, as if looking at an ant that was accidentally stepped on.
"Does a delivery boy deserve to be a cultivator?"
Those words stabbed into my heart like a poisonous thorn.
And now...
Lin Feng slowly raised his right hand. The skin is rough, the knuckles are somewhat deformed from carrying takeout boxes all the time, and there is a fresh burn scar on the tiger's mouth - it was caused by the soup splashing when delivering spicy hotpot last night.
He was born again.
Back to ten years ago, when he was an ordinary delivery boy.
