Hu Yumei had lived two lives before her death—first, as a soldier; second, as a healer.
She had no parents to mourn, no family waiting. An orphan raised by the state, she grew up in military barracks, cradled by the sound of gunfire and the cold clarity of commands.
Discipline shaped her. Combat hardened her. By sixteen, she was already on deployment.
By twenty, she'd survived two wars.
She fought in deserts, in jungles, in cities choked by dust and flame.
She buried comrades whose names she still whispered in dreams. When her final tour ended, she didn't return with medals.
She returned with silence.
Rather than stay in uniform, she chose a different path—one not paved in orders and blood.
She went back to school, studied late into the nights, and became a veterinarian. It surprised people, but not those who knew her heart.
She had always been good with the wounded. Whether human or beast.
Her new life became one of gentle paws, wet noses, and long days tending to the broken and wild.
Rescue missions, shelter work, forest patrols—she traded rifles for syringes, boots for rubber gloves. The world finally softened around her.
Until the day it all went wrong.
The mission was simple: rescue and relocate an endangered snow panther from a remote archipelago.
But no one accounted for pirates.
The ambush was sudden. Explosions rocked their research vessel. Men with guns boarded, taking hostages. Hu Yumei, calm under fire, fought tooth and nail—she was no stranger to death.
But this time, she wasn't wearing armor. Just a blood-stained lab coat.
She saved the young biologist, shielded the ship's cook, bought time for others to escape into the jungle. Then she was shot. Still, she swam.
Bleeding, gasping, crawling toward shore. Toward safety. Toward nothing.
Even as she collapsed in the underbrush, she tended a wounded macaque, shoving aside her pain.
Her last thoughts were not of regret, but of the lives she was leaving behind.
Her six loyal dogs. Her three aloof cats. Her five golden fish—all waiting, unknowing.
Alone.
And Maximus—her golden eagle. Her soulmate. Hatched from a cracked egg in her hands.
Who would feed him now? Her best friend was scared of butterflies. Her husband—no, ex-husband—didn't even like birds.
"Oh dear," she murmured with a fading breath. "Maximus…"
————-
She felt it first: weight. As if her body had been swapped for stone. The air was thick, the sounds near and far, as if underwater.
Rushed voices. Terrified.
She wanted to move. Couldn't.
Then—shaking.
A woman's hands, rough and trembling, yanked her upright.
"Wake up, little darling! We have to leave—now!"
Hu Yumei gasped, coughing, lungs filling with air that wasn't hers. Groggy.
Disoriented. She blinked, then squinted up into a tear-streaked face full of fear. Who…?
Reality began to splinter.
This wasn't the jungle. Not the mission. Not even Earth. The air pulsed with something older, stranger.
Her limbs were… tiny. Her arms, soft and pudgy. Her chest? Flat.
A child's body.
The woman clutched her protectively, grabbing a worn bag and bolting for the door.
As Hu Yumei bounced against her shoulder, fragments of another life crashed into her like shrapnel.
Memories that weren't hers.
A girl named Fan Yumei. Age seven. Kind, curious. Died just last night from a fever after a dangerous attempt to awaken her spiritual root—a mystical rite required for cultivating spiritual power.
The child had ventured two villages away, desperate to unlock her potential.
Inspired by the boasting of a wealthier classmate, she tried to find her own spiritual treasure in the mountains, hoping to change her family's fate.
Instead, she found death.
Now… Hu Yumei was in her body.
They shared a name—Yumei.
But this world was filled with magic and beast raids.
And right now, one of those raids had reached their doorstep.
—————-
The Village Falls
They burst from the house. Her "father" met them halfway, breathless, face pale.
"Go! The beast's too close—I'll hold it back!"
He snatched the bag from his wife's hands, then seized hers, dragging them toward the ancestral hall—the only place in the village with an underground shelter.
The world outside was chaos.
Villagers ran in every direction, some clutching infants, others wielding weapons or dragging carts of hastily packed belongings.
Screams.
Cries.
A mother calling for her child. A bloodied hunter yelling orders.
A group of warriors fighting off strange beasts—scaled foxes with glowing tails, armored wolves with eyes of flame.
Near the temple, the village chief and his wife stood guard, helping people descend into the shelter.
Then the ground shook.
A roar split the air.
From the northern path, a giant black bear, twice the height of a man, barreled toward them. Icy horns spiraled from its head, mist coiling around its form. Its eyes locked on them.
Hu Yumei's father froze, then grabbed her mother's shoulders.
"Take her! Go!"
"No!" Her mother sobbed, clutching Hu Yumei tighter. "Not without you—!"
"NOW!" he roared.
He shoved them toward the ancestral hall. Hu Yumei's small arms reached out.
"I don't want to leave you!" she screamed, voice tiny, body trembling with a child's fear—but a soldier's will rising beneath it.
Fire, Ice, and Instincts
Her small body couldn't keep up with the pace, but Hu Yumei clenched her jaw and forced her legs to run.
The world was chaos: firelight danced across rooftops, smoke curled into the air, and spiritual energy surged in the distance—warriors battling beasts using sword and spell.
But none of it was enough.
The bear was faster.
A beast core surged within it—mid-tier, maybe late.
Too much for mortals.
She wasn't helpless. Not entirely. Her soldier's instincts ticked like a metronome in her skull: exit paths, bottlenecks, terrain. Her spiritual root was dormant, but strategy required no qi.
"Left!" she shouted, wrenching her mother's robes toward a narrow alley lined with broken tiles and half-walls.
Her mother, dazed, obeyed.
Just as the beast lunged—the walls crumbled behind them in a blast of frost and stone.
Her father's voice rose behind the explosion—roaring in defiance, sword drawn, striking at the beast's flank with a glowing blade inscribed with runes.
He fought like a man who had already accepted death.
Hu Yumei knew that stance. She had worn it too many times.
The Shelter and the Promise
The ancestral hall loomed ahead, old wood blackened by incense smoke, history, and grief.
The village chief waved them inside. "GO!"
Stone stairs led down beneath the altar, into a carved underground chamber packed with villagers: children sobbing, elders chanting low prayers, men gripping rusted blades.
Her mother shoved her toward the steps—then turned back. "I have to find him!"
"No!" Hu Yumei grabbed her mother's sleeve. "He said go. That's an order!"
The words came sharp, instinctive.
Her mother froze, stunned by the sudden tone. The girl in her arms was… not the same.
But something in her gaze—steel wrapped in tears—made her obey.
They descended.
Just as the door slammed shut and a sealing talisman ignited behind them, the beast roared again—muffled, distant, but close enough to send dust raining from the stone walls and hearts pounding.
Aftermath: Smoke, Ash… and a Father Returned
When the doors reopened hours later, dawn was only a smudge behind clouds.
The beast was gone. So was the fire. So were a dozen villagers.
Hu Yumei stood at the edge of the ruins, the scent of smoke thick in her nostrils. She didn't cry. Not yet.
Instead, she walked the scorched path back to their small house, where the wooden floor was still intact but the roof was torn. She climbed onto the charred beam with the casual grace of a veteran, sat cross-legged, and began to breathe—slow, even. Centered.
This body was small. Weak. Unawakened. But her mind was older than this sky.
She whispered beneath her breath, "I survived two wars. This isn't the end."
Her hands clenched at her knees.
"Not again. I'll get strong. I'll make sure this never happens again."
Then her mother's footsteps—quick, urgent. Behind her, a stretcher. A groan.
Hu Yumei turned.
It was him.
Her father—bloodied, soot-streaked, his right leg gone below the knee. A bandage covered one eye. But he breathed.
He was alive.
Her throat caught.
Her mother sobbed and fell to her knees.
Hu Yumei only nodded once, firm, like a soldier receiving new orders.
"I'll protect him now," she said softly. "Let him rest."
End of Chapter One Beat: A New Oath
That night, she slept with her back against the wall, a dagger—her father's last blade—tucked beneath her pillow.
She was seven again.
But her soul had already lived a lifetime.
And her war was far from over.