Hunting milfs in cultivation world
Chapter 57: Waking Up

Chapter 57: Waking Up

A sharp pain throbbed through Meng Hao’s skull as consciousness slowly returned to him.

His head felt as though it had been struck by a heavenly tribulation bolt—numb yet heavy, like something was trying to pull his mind back into unconsciousness. But he resisted. Bit by bit, he forced his eyes open.

Only to find himself surrounded by complete darkness.

No light. No form. No sound. Just an endless void—deep, suffocating, and cold. The kind of darkness that felt ancient, like it had existed since before the stars were born.

His breath caught in his throat as he instinctively tried to scan his surroundings. But there was nothing. No walls. No floor. No sky. He wasn’t even sure if he was standing or floating. The sensation of being disconnected from the physical world was utterly foreign to him.

In both his lives—first as a man from the modern world, born to a world of steel and logic, and now in his second life in this perilous cultivation realm—he had never experienced such an existence. Even in dreams, there had always been something. But here... nothing.

A long sigh escaped his lips, echoing strangely in the formless abyss.

His mind, though still hazy, began to recall what had led him here.

The carriage.

Li Yao.

The road to Blazing Sun City.

And... the woman in green.

Just the memory of her sent a ripple of unease through his chest.

That mysterious woman, whose beauty was only surpassed by the suffocating sense of danger she radiated—he hadn’t even had a chance. No aura, no warning, no explanation. She had smiled, spoken briefly, and then... raised him by the throat like he was no more than a piece of trash.

His expression twisted in a wry, bitter smirk.

"So... is this the afterlife?"

His voice sounded small in the void, like a whisper carried away by wind that didn’t exist.

"I’ve only been in this world for such a short time... and I already died like that? So easily?"

He laughed once—dry, hollow, and full of irony.

"The cultivation world is far crueler than I expected..."

Meng Hao shook his head, sighing deeply as he floated within the emptiness.

"I thought I could rise through this world using charm instead of strength. That my appearance, my charisma... would be enough to let me manipulate the hearts of powerful women and climb my way to the heavens."

"But that woman... that devil in green... proved me wrong."

His jaw tightened as the shame crept into his heart.

"One misstep," he whispered, "just one... and it all ends. No warning, no explanation."

In his mind, he retraced every step of his journey.

If only I had been more cautious...

He frowned, his expression darkening with regret.

"I was selective. Too selective. I relied on high-level dual cultivators, thinking that absorbing their cultivation was the fastest path. But I was wrong. I should’ve focused on quantity—thousands of disciples, even elders, regardless of their level. Slowly but steadily... I could have gained strength without ever needing to leave the sect."

"If I had done that... I wouldn’t have needed to leave with Li Yao. Wouldn’t have taken that carriage... Wouldn’t have met her."

His fists clenched in the air, despite having no ground to stand on.

This is my fault," Meng Hao muttered, his voice echoing faintly in the endless void.

There was no audience to hear his confession—only the boundless darkness that pressed in on him from all sides like a silent witness to his despair.

"I got arrogant... drunk on the attention of beautiful women... intoxicated by the illusion that my charm alone could protect me."

His words were heavy, each syllable tinged with bitterness and self-reproach. Regret coiled in his chest like a venomous serpent, squeezing tighter with every breath he took.

"I let my guard down," he continued, the weight of realization crashing over him like a tidal wave. "I thought... I truly believed... that my luck would shield me, that the heavens favored me."

A humorless chuckle escaped his lips, brittle and hollow, like dry leaves crumbling beneath a cold wind.

"But now look at me... here I am. Dead. Just like that."

He shook his head slowly, eyes half-lidded, staring into the darkness that offered neither solace nor salvation.

"Killed... without reason. Without even the dignity of a proper fight."

His fists trembled as the image surged up unbidden in his mind—the woman in green. The way she had appeared without warning, her movements fluid and flawless, her expression untouched by emotion. Her indifference was colder than any sword, her calm cruelty more terrifying than any demonic beast.

Her smile had been beautiful... and merciless.

Like a goddess of death wrapped in silk, she had reached out and gripped his throat—not in anger, not in vengeance—but with casual disinterest, as if she were silencing a bothersome insect that had buzzed too close to her ear.

He clenched his teeth, jaw tight with frustration and helplessness.

That smile... that calm, unfeeling gaze...

The memory burned into his soul—not just the pain, but the humiliation.

He, Meng Hao, who had manipulated sect beauties, danced on the edge of danger, and charmed his way through obstacles... had been crushed without even being given a reason why.

And that, more than anything, made it unbearable.

"We never had any dispute," he muttered bitterly. "There was no grudge, no vengeance, no misunderstanding. She just... killed me."

His voice fell silent.

A long, empty silence filled the void around him. There was no one to answer. Only darkness... and regret.

"I can only blame myself," he finally said, the bitterness in his voice now dulled by resignation. "I was weak."

He closed his eyes slowly, his breath faint and hollow as it left his lips.

There was nothing left to struggle for. No direction to flee. No one to call upon. Surrounded by absolute stillness, with his regrets echoing endlessly in his mind, Meng Hao allowed his thoughts to quiet. The last remnants of his pride faded into silence.

So this is the end... he thought. Swallowed by the void. Forgotten by the world.

He braced himself for the inevitable—oblivion. Eternal nothingness. The slow dissolution of thought and soul into the darkness.

But then—

Something stirred.

A glimmer.

Just a flicker at first, like the faint twinkle of a star seen through heavy fog.

It was so subtle he almost missed it. Yet in this world of black silence, even the smallest light was a beacon.

Meng Hao’s eyes snapped open, his heart thudding once in confusion.

The darkness wasn’t as complete as before. Off in the distance, barely perceptible, hovered a single speck of light. It shimmered faintly, wavering like a candle in a deathly wind.

And then, another joined it.

And another.

Tiny pinpricks of radiance began to emerge from the endless dark—each one circling slowly, as if being drawn toward him.

They spun lazily at first, then with growing purpose, their movement like drifting stardust dancing around an unseen axis.

Awe crept into Meng Hao’s expression. His body, which moments ago had felt weightless and cold, now felt... anchored, warmed slightly by the presence of the lights.

He reached out instinctively, his hand moving through the void.

One of the lights drifted close and brushed against his fingers. A strange sensation surged into him—not heat, not cold, but a pulse of energy. Ethereal. Pure.

And then the darkness began to crack.

Hairline fractures of silver light split through the endless black like veins of spiritual qi bursting through the void.

Light flooded in.

And in the next instant—

He awoke.

One... two... three...

Then everything vanished.

He was no longer in darkness.

He was lying on a bed. A real one. Soft. Luxurious.

His breathing was ragged, sweat pouring down his brow as he sat upright in panic. His eyes darted wildly around the unfamiliar space, confusion painting every inch of his face.

"What... what is this place?"

The room around him was unlike anything he had ever seen—even in the most prestigious parts of his sect.

Velvet curtains embroidered with golden runes flowed gently in the breeze. The walls were made of some kind of fragrant jade stone, polished to a mirror sheen. Incense wafted through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of spiritual herbs. Decorative lanterns hovered in the corners of the room, glowing softly with spirit light, illuminating every surface with a serene glow.

The bed itself was massive—carved from spiritual sandalwood, layered with silken bedding that shimmered with protective arrays. The mattress felt like clouds wrapped in divine silk.

Meng Hao stared, dazed.

Even Su Lan, the Peak Master of the Sixth Peak and a Nascent Soul cultivator, didn’t have a bedroom this luxurious. Her chambers, while refined, were nowhere near this extravagant.

"This... where am I?"

He looked down at his hands—still intact. His chest—still breathing. No wounds. No marks. No signs of damage from being lifted by the throat and nearly strangled to death.

"I... I’m alive?"

His voice trembled with disbelief. Everything he remembered—the suffocating grip, the foam at his mouth, the fading consciousness... it had all felt so real.

He had been sure he died.

Yet here he was. Alive. Whole. And in a room that seemed fit for royalty.

"How the hell am I still alive?" he muttered, rubbing his temples.

Was it a dream?

An illusion?

Or had someone saved him?

None of it made sense.

The dissonance between what he remembered and what he now saw made his thoughts spiral into chaos. For a moment, he even questioned reality itself.

And then—

Creak...

The sound of a door opening broke the stillness.

His head snapped toward the direction of the sound, heart beginning to pound once more.

The grand jade doors at the far end of the room slowly parted, the polished brass handles glinting in the light. The motion was slow, deliberate, and silent—no footsteps accompanied it.

Meng Hao’s breath caught in his throat.

He didn’t know who—or what—was about to enter.

Was it the same woman?

Had she brought him here?

Was this mercy?

Or something else...?