Volume One: What Is Swordsmanship

Chapter 1: Rebirth

"Beep beep beep～～～～～"

A brief, piercing alarm suddenly broke the silence.

In the darkness, Grace Miller's consciousness slowly awakened from deathly stillness and despair.

He abruptly opened his eyes.

This was a cramped bedroom. On the right was a two-tiered bookshelf, densely packed with books. On the left was a desk with a black lamp; a math book lay open and scattered on the tidy surface, next to it a workbook with some assignments already written. Bright, dazzling sunlight streamed in from outside above the desk, shining onto his face. A wave of warmth from the sunlit skin was transmitted to Grace Miller's brain.

His somewhat dazed eyes became a little clearer, and he reached out, still groggy, to block the blinding sunlight.

"I... wasn't I... dead?" he murmured. The last lingering memory in his mind was still that infernal moment with countless flames dancing.

His father and mother lay silently in a pool of blood in the kitchen. Besides them, many corpses in strange clothing were scattered in the living room. His sister and two strangers, covered in wounds, were confronting a man with fiery red hair. The man wore a black trench coat, its hem fluttering slightly amid the countless flames.

He had just gotten off work and returned home, only to find the house on fire. Rushing into the flames, the first thing he saw was this scene.

"What is this? Filming a movie?" The previous moment in his mind was disbelief. But in the next instant, the red-haired man suddenly turned and vanished, followed by a familiar scream—Grace Miller could tell it was his sister Henry Miller. Then came endless darkness.

Throwing off the covers, Grace Miller sat up from bed, drenched in sweat. At the moment of being killed, there was only shock—no pain, no sorrow, just complete and utter shock.

"Pa." He pressed the still-ringing alarm clock. Grace Miller wiped his forehead, his hand covered in sweat. Suddenly, he noticed something was off—when had his hand become so fair? After graduating college, he had often traveled outdoors, and his once fair skin had long since turned wheat-colored. And...

Grace Miller picked up the silenced alarm clock again—a round white shell, with a Doraemon cartoon sticker on it. Some of the white paint was peeling from long use.

"This is the alarm clock I used in high school?" Grace Miller stared at this familiar object, then looked around at his surroundings. He was stunned.

"What is this? Time travel? Rebirth?" He suddenly felt his mind in chaos. The memory of death was still vivid, and now he was reborn?

Grace Miller hurriedly stood up and walked to the desk. On it was his high school math textbook, and the notebook beside it was full of blacked-out marks—evidence of high school Grace Miller scribbling over mistakes and starting over.

He opened the door in confusion. Familiar scenes greeted his eyes. The narrow living room was empty, the floor still paved with pebble-patterned tiles, common in that era. There was a cluster of brown sofas, some leather peeling off to reveal the fabric underneath. Opposite the sofa was a black TV, turned on, playing familiar scenes, but muted.

Xu Xian and Bai Suzhen, dressed in ancient costumes, stood together on the Broken Bridge under an oil-paper umbrella. It was the ending scene.

From the direction of the kitchen came the faint sound of chopping vegetables. The warm air carried the aroma of fried eggs.

"It's Xiao Fei, finally up. Go wash up, breakfast is almost ready." His mother Sarah Carter's voice sounded young and energetic, nothing like the weary tone of a woman nearing fifty in his memory.

Grace Miller felt as if everything was a dream. He pinched the flesh on his thigh hard—a sharp pain shot to his brain.

"So it's not a dream! Calm down! Calm down! Getting emotional won't solve anything!! First, I need to figure out what's going on." Grace Miller repeated this to himself over and over. His excitement gradually settled.

He quickly glanced at the calendar on the side: May 13, 2004. Below the bold black characters was a line of small print: Complimentary gift from Agricultural Bank of China.

"First, confirm—if this is real, I should be back to just starting my second year of high school." Responding to his mother's call, Grace Miller walked into his parents' bedroom and stood before the only full-length mirror in the house.

Reflected in the mirror was an ordinary boy with a buzz cut, tall and skinny like a bamboo pole, bright eyes, pillowcase patterns still faintly imprinted on his face. There was already a hint of stubble at the corners of his mouth. He wore a milky white vest and a pair of boxer shorts.