Everyone believed Wei Xuan was an orphan with no family, yet only she remembered her parents and older brother.
Born frail with signs of early mortality, Wei Xuan had been sent to a temple as an infant. Her parents, Wei Changze and his wife, hoped the sacred incense and Buddha's mercy might prolong her life. Her robust older brother Wei Ying, brimming with vitality, accompanied their parents on night hunts while Wei Xuan remained at the temple. They visited monthly—until the night Wei Ying clutched his chest in anguish during a hunt.
By the time her parents rushed back, the temple lay in smoldering ruins. Acrid smoke choked the air as they collapsed on stone steps, clutching three-year-old Wei Ying who now understood loss. What they didn't know: the inferno's heat had warped reality. In the flames' last gasp, the abbot shoved Wei Xuan through a shimmering portal that sealed behind her with an "Amitabha."
In the modern world, Wei Xuan grew up in an orphanage. Though frail, her sharp mind noted this era's marvels—subways snaking through cities, planes piercing clouds, instant communication. Medical care strengthened her body; university sanda classes revealed her martial genius. Her coach lamented she hadn't trained since childhood—such talent could've birthed a grandmaster.
At eighteen, she received a broadsword from her master. Between classes and blade practice, her monastic routine drew awe from peers. When they tossed her martial arts novels to lighten her intensity, one title froze her blood: Mo Dao Zu Shi. The names matched—Wei Ying, Wei Changze. Here was her brother's tragedy fictionalized, his death by vengeful spirits mirroring her future demise in a zombie apocalypse.
Ten years later, teeth sinking into her throat during the undead siege, Wei Xuan cursed the heavens. Then—water rippled.
She blinked at her thirteen-year-old reflection in a stream. Malnourished but recognizable, back in her original world. The irony struck—Wei Ying devoured by ghosts, herself by zombies. Twin tragedies across realities.
"Damn you, heavens!" she spat, then paused. Had mere blasphemy triggered this return? She almost laughed. Flexing calloused hands that once wielded a zombie-slaying blade, Wei Xuan surveyed the forest. Thirty years compressed into thirteen—a second chance. Somewhere, a brother needed saving. Somewhere, a cultivator's broadsword awaited its true master.