Xiao Yan

Elara Vance believed her world was solid: a devoted Lumin wife to Damien, and a proud mother to Kaelen, her son whose powerful Tier 7 Aura brought her immense joy. But that foundation crumbled when, in a horrifying display of ambition, Damien and Kaelen, with chilling indifference, betrayed her, brutally extracting her Lumin Core and leaving her for dead. She gasped awake, not in the afterlife, but back in opulent Lumin society, at the very Concord Gala where, in her past life, Damien had chosen her as his bride. This time, however, utter public humiliation awaited as Damien heartlessly announced his choice of her cousin, Selena Vance-a supposed rising Lumina Scion-and dismissed Elara as nothing but "Tier 1 weakness." The degradation deepened when community patriarch Alistair Thorne, driven by family "pacts," condemned Elara to a forced marriage with Rhys Ashworth, a man suffering from a fatal Aura Drain, a cruel ploy by Damien to ensure her quiet, swift end. The raw, burning questions of her agonizing death tangled with the fresh pain of public scorn: Why did they crave her demise so deeply, despising her very being as an insurmountable obstacle? Yet, armed with the vivid nightmares of betrayal and the shocking truth she now held-that Selena' s dazzling Tier 6 Aura was a dangerous lie, fueled by illicit serums-Elara stood firm. Her seemingly helpless acceptance of the doomed marriage concealed a quiet storm: she carried the forgotten ancestral secrets of her Vance lineage, ancient healing arts like "Aura Weaving." This forced union, intended as her grave, was now her unlikely battleground, her chance to not only survive but to uncover the insidious rot beneath their community's shining facade and unleash a power they never dreamed she possessed.

I saved a man bleeding out in the snow. He had no memory, so I called him Ben. We lived in a cabin, fell in love, and married by firelight with no witnesses but the ghosts of my parents. Then one day, he disappeared. Two years later, he returned. Not as my husband, but as Bernard Logan, the ruthless Underboss of the city's most dangerous crime family. And he didn't remember me. He brought his cruel new fiancée to my clinic and treated me like a stranger. When she threw my father’s antique music box into a cactus display, he watched as I tore my hands apart trying to save it. He called our past a "drug-induced hallucination" and threatened to destroy me if I spoke up. Worst of all, I found out I was pregnant. He cornered me in the hospital room, his eyes cold and devoid of the warmth I used to know. "Is it mine?" I knew if I said yes, he would turn my child into a killer like him. Or his fiancée would ensure we never survived. So I looked the love of my life in the eye and lied. "No," I said. "It's not yours." I signed his NDA, took his hush money, and vanished to Europe to raise my twins alone. I thought I was free. I found a good man who actually loved me. But three years later, at an art gallery in Zurich, the crowd parted. Bernard was standing there, staring at me with a terrifying hunger. He had found out the truth. And he was ready to burn the world down to get us back.

My fiancé Brett and I were building a design empire. When he broke his leg, he hired a temporary housekeeper, Glenda, while I was away on business. I thought she was there to help; I didn't realize she was there to replace me. She systematically took over my home, turning Brett against me piece by piece. The final straw was finding my cat, Apollo, locked in a cage, bruised and starving. When I confronted them, Brett defended her. He called me a monster and told me to get rid of my cat for the sake of the baby I was secretly carrying. The shock of his betrayal was so profound that I miscarried that night. He never knew. He just screamed that I was a cold, calculating bitch and that Glenda was a "good woman" who truly loved him. So I left. I took my cat, liquidated my half of our company, and disappeared. Three years later, I walked into an industry gala and saw him across the room-a broken man. He looked at me with desperate regret, but I just smiled. My revenge wouldn't be loud; it would be my success.

My marriage ended with a phone call while I was bleeding out on the bathroom floor, seven months pregnant. My husband chose to comfort his intern over a stray cat instead of saving me and our baby. He told me I was strong enough to handle it alone. He then stood by as his mistress tried to murder our newborn son, forcing me to kneel and apologize to protect his political career. He called me unstable, a bad mother, while she wore my clothes and lived in my home. The hero I married was a lie. When he gave my son her family name, I knew leaving wasn't enough. I had to burn his world to the ground.

I came home from a business trip, and my husband told me our six-year-old son was dead. He showed me the dashcam footage of Leo dying of heatstroke, left alone in the car by his young nanny, Kendall. But instead of seeking justice, my husband locked me in the car and turned the heat on full blast, recreating our son's final moments. He demanded the password to my phone to delete the footage, snarling that we couldn't ruin a twenty-year-old's future over a "mistake." To force my hand, he had thugs break into my elderly father's nursing home room, threatening him on a live video call. Later, at our son's memorial, he defended Kendall as she took selfies with the casket and played pop music. He helped her show a manipulated video to the crowd, painting me as a negligent, career-obsessed mother. The mourners threw drinks at me while my husband protected his lover. The next day, I learned the truth. My father, after being blackmailed by those same thugs, had taken his own life to protect me. My husband hadn't just covered up a murder; he had caused another. He thought he had won, that he had destroyed all the evidence and broken me completely. But he forgot one thing. The GPS smartwatch on our son's wrist. It recorded everything—not just his death, but every cruel, taunting word Kendall whispered as she let him die.

The cold, damp air clung to me as I stood on the porch of the Hayes family home. It was late, the kind of late where the world feels heavy and silent. I swallowed hard and asked Mrs. Hayes, "Is it true? That Liam... that he's been in love with me? His whole life?" Her brilliant smile was the answer, confirming a devotion I hadn't recognized. For years, I had held a secret, hopeless love for my adoptive brother, Ethan Miller, who had practically raised me. Sketchbooks filled with his face were my hidden treasure-until he found them. His face wasn' t just shocked; it was filled with pure disgust. "This is sick, Chloe," he spat, throwing the sketchbook at my feet. From that day, my life became a living hell. His new girlfriend, Madison Lee, my college roommate, systematically framed me for everything. Ethan, my Ethan, believed her every time, his cold, disappointed eyes killing a piece of me with every glance. The final blow came when he announced their wedding, then threw me out of the house. The Chloe who loved Ethan Miller died that night. Tonight, a new Chloe was born, one who would sever every tie and burn every bridge. I doused my sketchbooks in lighter fluid and watched them burn, his smile turning to ash. I texted Liam Hayes one word: Yes. He immediately replied, I'm on the first flight back. Don't go anywhere. I'm coming home. Ethan stood, his eyes wild with confusion, as he stared at the burning remains of my past. "Why?" he demanded, as I quoted him, "Because they're disgusting. You said so yourself." I announced my engagement to Liam, on the exact same date as his wedding. My parents nodded, relieved, but Mrs. Miller's smile faltered. "But... Chloe, that's Ethan and Madison's wedding day." "I know," I replied. "It's a good day to start a new life."

The scent of wet concrete used to be the perfume of my dreams, the promise of my architectural masterpiece taking shape. Until I stood on the muddy ground of my construction site and saw it: a clumsy, awkward box, nothing like the light-filled space I' d designed. My ex-boyfriend, Mark Davis, had offered to handle the plan submissions as a "parting gift." It turns out, his gift was a betrayal. He' d swapped my intricate blueprints for cheap, generic plans bought online. My dream home was being built into a monstrosity, a monument to his fraud. When I confronted him, Mark' s voice dripped with condescension. He' d made "practical tweaks" to make it "more sellable," he claimed. Then he blocked me, leaving me with a sabotaged project, mounting fees, and a crumbling reputation. My attempts to find justice through official channels were met with bureaucratic indifference. They saw a "messy breakup," a "disgruntled ex-girlfriend," not a professional crime. They even suggested I compromise, perhaps "compensate" the man destroying my career. But I wouldn' t compromise. I would fight. My last, desperate hope lay with Arthur Vance, my formidable former mentor, who had given me a sculpture years ago as a mark of his personal favor. I knew it was my only leverage. I had to get to him, no matter the cost. My next move would be a gamble, a desperate attempt to reclaim my truth.

My life was perfect. I was an event coordinator, planning my Maui honeymoon with Ethan, my fiancé of five years. What he didn't know was I was quietly living like this on purpose, proving myself before revealing I was the heiress to a massive hospitality empire. Then, my world imploded. My job termination letter landed on the same day Ethan confessed his boss, Victoria, was pregnant with his baby. And he admitted he'd orchestrated my firing, claiming it was a "strategic move" for his career and "our" future. He then kicked me out of our apartment after Victoria, his baby mama, vomited on my shoes right in front of him. I tried to escape to Maui, our supposed honeymoon destination, only to find them there. Ethan, unashamed, humiliated me on the beach, accusing me of stalking him. But it got worse. Victoria and he decided to make a public spectacle, branding me as an unstable harasser at a company mixer. Standing there, about to be shamed into silence, I wondered how five years of my life, built on a lie for his sake, could end in such utter public degradation and betrayal. Was I truly going to lose everything for a man who couldn't see past his ambition and an underhanded boss? Just as I thought I'd hit rock bottom, the doors swung open. My billionaire father, Mr. Miller, walked in with Liam, my childhood friend. And that' s when everything changed.

My husband, Ethan Hayes, was a powerful, arrogant man, openly flaunting his mistress, Chloe Vance. Everyone pitied me, the quiet, obedient wife, living in his shadow. But they had no idea. Every humiliation, every cruel dismissal, every moment of neglect was a calculated step in my secret, desperate plan. I married Ethan for one reason: to have a child. Not his child, but Caleb's. Caleb, his identical twin, the man I loved more than life itself, tragically taken too soon. Ethan was merely a vessel, a living replica of my soulmate. When that pregnancy test turned positive, my mission was complete. I filed for divorce, expecting his usual dismissiveness. He waved me off, telling me to "handle it," too consumed with Chloe's trivial demands. He even pushed me down the stairs when Chloe falsely accused me, leaving me bleeding, gasping for our baby. But the final straw came when Chloe, with Ethan' s blessing, shattered a small, invaluable snow globe-Caleb's last, unfulfilled gift to me. He thought my tears, my quiet "devotion," my carefully curated items were for him. He never saw the truth, never understood his own arrogance blinded him to the woman he truly possessed. How could he? His ego was too vast. So, when the divorce was finalized, I called him. "I never loved you, Ethan," I told him, each word a shard of ice. "You were just a means to an end. The child I carry is Caleb's legacy, not yours." I walked away, leaving him and his empty world behind, to start anew in San Francisco, with Caleb's child, and finally, my own freedom.

My life was perfectly on track. I was Ashley, the daughter of Katherine, heir to the "Katherine's Kitchen" bakery empire, and I was about to ace my SATs and get into my dream Ivy League school. Everything was normal. Until Spirit Week. A viral video exploded through the school, showing my foster sister, Brittany, tear-streaked, claiming our mother had stolen her. That I was the imposter, the switched baby, and the entire family fortune was rightfully hers. Her biological mother, Brenda, was right there, nodding grimly. Suddenly, I was public enemy number one. Whispers followed me, my locker was vandalized, and the bullying became relentless. My college art project, weeks of work, was smashed. Brittany even faked bruises and got me suspended, shattering my academic future. Then a "leaked" DNA test, clearly fake, confirmed their lies, making even me question everything. How could my life be stolen by a baseless lie? Why did my own foster sister resent me so deeply, and why would her mother unleash such a venomous campaign? The injustice burned, leaving me reeling, wondering who I even was anymore. But my mother fought back, proving the first DNA test was fake. Yet, Brittany's malice didn't die – she tried to drug me. And Brenda, consumed by delusion, escalated to setting fire to my house! I wouldn't run. The battle for my life, my name, and my future had only just begun. And I was going to win.

Ethan Vanderbilt, heir to a colossal fortune, was set to make the biggest announcement of his life: his engagement at the annual Vanderbilt Legacy Ball. But waking that morning, a tidal wave of *past life* memories crashed over him: his ruthless wife, Chloe Ashton's, affair with Marcus Thorne, her blatant pursuit of his fortune, the chilling truth that her child wasn't his, and the cold steel of the knife she plunged into him. He remembered the quiet, unwavering love of Olivia Hayes, his guardian, a devotion he callously ignored, leading to her heartbroken death not long after his own murder. The raw fury of betrayal, the agony of his death, and the profound guilt for Olivia's unrequited devotion consumed him. How could he have been so incredibly blind to the viper beside him and the angel who truly cared? Now, back on the very morning of his original fate, Ethan knew one thing with absolute certainty: this time, he would rewrite his past, dismantle his enemies, and choose the woman who deserved his love—Olivia.

I used to be Sarah Jensen, a driven investigative journalist, before David’s political ambition consumed my life. I became the perfect political wife, hosting lavish events and silently managing our home. My own dreams dwindled, replaced by his towering aspirations. The façade finally shattered during a bitter confrontation about his blatant affair with Victoria, my own cousin and his Chief of Staff. In a terrifying moment, my son, Ethan, loyal to his father, physically pushed me. I hit the cold marble floor, a searing pain blooming in my side. David, Victoria, and Ethan simply stepped over me, their faces utterly devoid of concern, as they left for a celebratory dinner. Hours later, at the hospital, I learned the horrifying truth: I’d lost the baby I never knew I was carrying. This savage act, this callous abandonment by my husband, my son, and my family, left me in a state of icy clarity. They chose their image and ambition over my life, over our child. My own parents later dismissed my pain, ready to side with David, even threatening to institutionalize me. How could the people I sacrificed everything for betray me so absolutely? But in that raw, profound despair, something forged within me. Not a collapse, but an unbreakable resolve. They believed I was fractured, powerless. They were gravely mistaken. I harbored years of meticulous records on David’s illicit dealings, a hidden dossier. He’d taught me the game; now, as a journalist reborn, I would play for keeps, exposing every lie and reclaiming my life.

Yana thought her first time was with the man who owned her heart. When morning came, her eyes opened to meet the gaze of a handsome stranger. She shared her bed with a remorseless devil. Not only did he destroy her wedding, but he also stepped on her dignity and clipped her wings. Indifference and cruelty covered his heart like armor, but he trapped her soul and dared to call it love. Instead of a sweet wedding day, all Yana received was suffering.

Elara Vance believed her world was solid: a devoted Lumin wife to Damien, and a proud mother to Kaelen, her son whose powerful Tier 7 Aura brought her immense joy. But that foundation crumbled when, in a horrifying display of ambition, Damien and Kaelen, with chilling indifference, betrayed her, brutally extracting her Lumin Core and leaving her for dead. She gasped awake, not in the afterlife, but back in opulent Lumin society, at the very Concord Gala where, in her past life, Damien had chosen her as his bride. This time, however, utter public humiliation awaited as Damien heartlessly announced his choice of her cousin, Selena Vance-a supposed rising Lumina Scion-and dismissed Elara as nothing but "Tier 1 weakness." The degradation deepened when community patriarch Alistair Thorne, driven by family "pacts," condemned Elara to a forced marriage with Rhys Ashworth, a man suffering from a fatal Aura Drain, a cruel ploy by Damien to ensure her quiet, swift end. The raw, burning questions of her agonizing death tangled with the fresh pain of public scorn: Why did they crave her demise so deeply, despising her very being as an insurmountable obstacle? Yet, armed with the vivid nightmares of betrayal and the shocking truth she now held-that Selena' s dazzling Tier 6 Aura was a dangerous lie, fueled by illicit serums-Elara stood firm. Her seemingly helpless acceptance of the doomed marriage concealed a quiet storm: she carried the forgotten ancestral secrets of her Vance lineage, ancient healing arts like "Aura Weaving." This forced union, intended as her grave, was now her unlikely battleground, her chance to not only survive but to uncover the insidious rot beneath their community's shining facade and unleash a power they never dreamed she possessed.

I woke up back in my old novitiate room. The sunlight was weak, my head ached, but it wasn't physical pain. It was the crushing weight of a whole life, stolen, crashing back into me. Years of sacrifice, of pouring my heart into others-Ethan, Maya, Mr. Henderson-all ripped away. My deepest devotions, twisted by a dark ritual, a "Charm of Transference," meant to siphon my spiritual credit to my sister, Seraphina. She was lauded for my true work, celebrated for my love, while I was publicly shamed, exiled, and left to die, broken and alone. Now, I' m back, and the game is already in motion. Alistair is setting the stage for Seraphina's rise, forcing me down familiar paths of betrayal. I tried to change things, to build something real with Kai, to honor Mr. Henderson. But again, Seraphina claimed every ounce of my effort, my love, my sacrifice as her own, leaving me stripped bare, exiled, deemed "unworthy." Each repeated betrayal, a fresh cut, compounded the rage that had settled deep within me. How could they keep stealing my life, my essence, transforming my pure intentions into their glittering lies? The injustice was a living thing, purer and more potent than any "Grace" they pretended to embody. It burned away the last vestiges of the hopeful girl I once was. No more. I died once, broken and alone, with anger as my only companion. This time, my pain is my power, my rage a crucible. On the eve of Seraphina' s coronation, I won' t just endure. I will shatter their illusion, severing the very source of their stolen power, even if it means destroying myself in the process. The game has changed. I am back, and this time, I play to win.

The antiseptic smell of the hospital and the relentless rain were the last things I remembered from my past life. That' s where it ended-my body hollowed by grief, my spirit eroded by depression after losing my baby in a hurricane. But on my deathbed, a final, cruel truth echoed from outside my room: my husband, Mark, and his childhood sweetheart, Lisa, conspired to destroy me. They admitted using their own daughter, Chloe, as bait in the storm, knowing my "bleeding heart" would save her, ensuring I' d miscarry and become a "barren mule." They rejoiced in how I' d raised Chloe, their daughter, completely oblivious to their monstrous scheme. I died with their laughter ringing in my ears, my last breath a ragged gasp of pure, undiluted hatred. Then, I gasped again, a deep, full breath. My eyes snapped open. I wasn' t dying. I was in my living room, the wind howling, a news anchor warning of a Category 8 hurricane. My hand flew to my stomach-a faint, familiar warmth. My baby was still there. I was still pregnant. I was alive, reborn to the day it all began. The trap was being set again. I knew who was out there, waiting to be "saved." My nine-year-old son, Ethan, tugged my sleeve, pointing with manufactured fear. "Mom, look! There's a little girl out there! In the water! She's going to drown!"

After ten thousand years of cultivation, he reached the pinnacle of the universe, and now he is reborn in a bustling city with thousands of years of memory. In this life, I just want to do what I want, protect the one I love, and make up for the regrets of the previous life. Twenty years after I rebuild, I can let the gods go to hell!

My soul floated above the cold asphalt, watching my own naked body lying lifelessly on the street. I was 30, a successful architect, but all I heard were whispers of judgment-that I' d thrown my life away for Olivia. Everyone knew she never loved me, that she was always with Daniel. To die like this, discarded and forgotten, was nothing short of a pathetic waste. Then, a strange, swirling pain, and I woke up not dead, but screaming, my left hand wrapped in a bloody rag. A finger was freshly severed. Before me, tied to a chair, was Daniel. And holding a bloody knife, cold and impatient, stood Olivia. My mind reeled: this was ten years ago, the very day my life began its downward spiral. The kidnapping, the torture, the moment Olivia chose Daniel over me, leaving me for dead. The memory of my actual death, the whispers of strangers judging my wasted life, burned clearer than any past pain. I watched her look at Daniel, her choice already made in her eyes, just like before. I was nothing to her. I had always been nothing. The desperate love, the years of pining-it all turned to ashes. Why was I back? Why was I forced to relive this cruel charade, knowing the tragic end it led to? The injustice, the utter pointlessness of my devotion, fueled a cold, hard fury I' d never known. This time, something inside me snapped. This time, I wouldn' t beg. This time, I' d escape. I' d use every shred of memory I had from the future I' d just left, every bitter lesson learned, to break free and forge a life entirely my own, a life where Olivia had no place.

The scent of gasoline and burning metal, the agonizing twisting of the car around me-that was my last memory. My sister Bella' s triumphant smile, seared into my mind as flames consumed me. Then, a blinding flash, and I was back. Not in a hospital, but in my old bedroom, years younger, my hands smooth and unscarred. The shock of rebirth warred with a fierce, tiny spark of hope. A second chance. A chance to do it right. But the past wasn't content to stay buried. The memories flooded back: my father, framed and driven to suicide; his legacy left in ruins; my life single-mindedly devoted to clearing his name. And Bella, my own sister, orchestrating my downfall, poisoning my family and reputation for her frivolous desires, egged on by her manipulative lover, Leo. The car accident wasn' t an accident. It was a calculated murder, a final betrayal. They left me for dead, my life' s work shattered, my body broken. The raw pain of that memory still gnawed at me, the bitter taste of betrayal fresh on my tongue. Why had they done this? How could a sister be so cruel? Then, the creak of a door. Bella walked in, dressed in a brand new designer dress, her face a mask of practiced sweetness. "Chloe," she cooed, "I need to talk to you about something." It was the exact same scene. The same beginning. But this time, she wouldn' t find a victim. This time, I knew the game, and I was ready to play.

Jiang Hao, a migrant worker, was betrayed by his girlfriend and seriously injured by a rich man. He accidentally obtained the inheritance of cultivation. Therefore his life had changed. He began to use medicine to save people, open the farm, make medicinal food, slap the second generation of rich and beat the bully. After the winning over the western medicine, he won glory for the country.

A grim news report flashed on screen: "Catastrophic lab explosion at Innovatech Robotics." Then came the update that made my blood run cold: "CEO Mark Reinhart critically injured but alive. His twin brother, David Reinhart, tragically declared dead." My husband. Alive. But a chilling memory slammed into me. Because this wasn't the first time this tragedy played out, just with the names reversed. In my first life, Mark died, and David appeared, claiming amnesia. But I knew it was Mark, changed and cruel. He, along with his venomous mother and David's manipulative wife, gaslighted me, painting me as delusional. They neglected my sweet Emily. They smeared my name, turning the community against me. It ended in fire and screams. Emily and I didn't escape that guest house. That nightmare of betrayal and agony was my first life. Now, the roles were switched, but the lie was the same. A cold wave of recognition, brutal and sharp, washed over me. How could this be happening again? No. This time, Emily needed me. I wouldn't be the victim. I would write a new ending. Let Mark have his stolen life with Jessica; he would lose absolutely everything else. My resolve hardened, sharp as steel.

The fluorescent hum of the county clerk's office was the soundtrack to my defiance. I clutched the pen, ready to marry Liam Thorne, a man I' d run seven days and suppressed a blood-bound token for, all to rewrite a past that still haunted my reborn soul. Before the ink could touch the paper, Liam snatched the license. Rip. My heart stopped. "I have to marry Chloe first," he said, his words echoing the betrayal I remembered from a lifetime ago. He spoke of a week, of saving Chloe' s reputation, but I remembered years in a damp root cellar, the loss of our children. My blood-bound token throbbed as his guards abducted me, dragging me to his coastal estate. There, Chloe, the cousin whose manipulations haunted my first life, paraded in my wedding gown, her triumph chilling. With a staged cry and a splash of fake blood, she framed me. Liam, blinded by her fake tears, roared, "Take her to the old root cellar!" My nightmare was real again. The sting of his slap echoed the cruelty of a past he seemed to have forgotten, but I hadn't. Had he learned nothing? Did he truly believe a week could erase my agony, our lost children, the years in that dark cellar? The blood-bound token, suppressed for so long, now pulsed with a furious, undeniable call. As the heavy door of that dreaded root cellar slammed shut, I finally let go. No more running. No more pretending. My forced apology was a lie, a means to an end. It was time for my people to find me. It was time to go home. And this time, I wouldn't be marrying him. I was going home to Elijah.

People in the myriad realms began cultivation by opening their spirit meridians and condensing a Qi sea in their daitian through the absorption of the essence of heaven and earth. "All living things are not born equal under the Heavens, yet the Great Dao is fair as far as one is willing there is a way " Zhan Shenwei was not useless, although he had crippled meridians, he was born with " Innate Divine Strength " and was known for his humongous appetite and battle strength, even among his generation none could defeat him. Of course since he couldn't cultivate, with time the gap between him and his peers would only get wider . Only he knew his strength wasn't as simple as just " Innate Divine Strength ". .....