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.
—————-
As Hu Yumei adjusted to her new body—small, weak, trembling—she barely had time to grieve or question the impossibility of her transmigration. The sky overhead had turned a stormy silver, thick with smoke and ash. Panic surged around them like a tidal wave. Villagers screamed, dragging crying children and precious items toward a looming structure ahead: the ancestral hall.
The woman carrying her—Fan Yumei's mother—was not strong. She was sweating and panting, her grip slipping as she weaved between neighbors. Hu Yumei's adult instincts flared. She scanned her surroundings, catalogued escape routes, and searched for signs of threat. Then she heard it—low growls, thudding earth, the unmistakable rhythm of incoming predators.
A beast raid.
Unlike the secure cities with fortified walls, this poor outer village had no such protections. When spiritual beasts—mutated, semi-sentient monsters—attacked, the villagers had only one option: flee to the underground shelter beneath the ancestral hall.
Her father, a rugged man in his thirties with a scarred face and strong arms, burst through the smoke. From the girl's inherited memories, Yumei recognized him—Fan Yangwei, a woodcutter and part-time hunter known for his stubborn pride and quiet strength. He didn't hesitate. He ripped their travel bags from his wife's hands, grabbed both of them, and ran. "Move faster!" he barked. "They're coming from the south slope!"
Around them was utter chaos. Screaming, crying, the smell of blood. Men ran with pitchforks, axes, and bows. Others helped neighbors. Some carried bleeding bodies. A few led combat beasts—massive tigers with glowing fur, armored lizards, and hawks with three eyes.
And above it all, the looming threat became visible.
A Frost-Horned Berserker Bear, a D-Class beast with black fur like midnight and twin glowing ice horns on its head, charged down the village path, trampling homes and trees. It was at least four meters tall. Its breath fogged the air. Death followed its wake.
Fan Yangwei turned pale. He handed her to her mother and drew a short sword, his knuckles white. "Go! Run!"
"No! Papa—!" Yumei's voice cracked. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to fight. She wanted to—
"Go!" he roared, shoving them toward the entrance as the village chief and several men rushed to intercept the beast.
Inside the ancestral hall, chaos reigned. Villagers piled through a trapdoor under the altar, descending into the cavernous tunnels that served as a last-resort shelter. Fan Yumei's mother clutched her tighter, but the woman's strength was failing.
Yumei bit her lip. Hard. Focus, soldier.
Though trapped in a child's body, Hu Yumei's soul remained a trained veteran. Her instincts kicked in. She barked orders at other children, organizing them to the side of the hall, away from the broken windows. She found loose planks and wedged them to slow the beast's approach.
Her clarity in chaos startled others. Some obeyed without thinking, moved by the firm confidence in her voice.
Just before they descended into the underground tunnels, the ceiling rattled. A man—bloodied, shirtless, screaming—stumbled into the hall before being swiped out by an unseen claw. Blood sprayed the altar.
Hu Yumei trembled but held firm.
As the trapdoor slammed shut behind them, the last thing she heard was Fan Yangwei's battle cry and the roar of the Frost-Horned Bear
————-
The Shelter and the Promise
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.
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.
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.