Reincarnated in Douluo: A Million‑Year Samsara

The last of his would-be assailants hit the ground with a dull thud, the fight over before it had truly begun. With barely a flicker of effort, Qian Yu stood alone in the silence that followed—calm, composed, and already moving forward. He brushed a speck of dirt from his sleeve, as though the scuffle had been no more inconvenient than brushing aside a leaf.

The Spirit-Hunting Forest spread out before him, cloaked in twilight mist and the subtle rustle of hidden life. This was not just a journey—it was a rite of passage. Qian Yu had come in search of a spirit beast worthy of becoming his first soul ring. Nothing less than a millennia-old beast would suffice.

After all, he wasn't just any young cultivator—he was a soul reborn, the once godly Qian Yu of nine lifetimes. And in this life, he intended to reclaim his divinity. That meant starting strong. The older and more powerful the beast, the better.

The problem was, this forest—once wild and revered—had long since been turned into a semi-domesticated hunting ground. Most spirit beasts here were bred in captivity, their strength diluted by generations of confinement. Still, with some patience, he should be able to locate a suitable target.

As Qian Yu wandered deeper into the wooded expanse, the shadows began to stir.

He felt them before he saw them—the pricking of unseen eyes, the soft shuffling of padded paws. When he turned, they emerged one by one from the darkness: Nether fang Wolves, sleek and hungry, their eyes gleaming like embers.

They couldn't sense his power, and to them, Qian Yu looked like easy prey—a lone child, ripe for the picking. They licked their muzzles and began to circle, anticipation thick in the air.

Then, with a sudden, feral snarl, the pack lunged.

Qian Yu didn't flinch. His gaze chilled like frost sweeping across a lake, and with a whisper of breath, his soul energy surged outward.

With a sound like stone shearing through flesh—shhhkk!—spires of earth erupted from the forest floor. Each spike was honed to a deadly point, rising like fangs from the underworld itself. The wolves were impaled mid-leap, their howls silenced in an instant.

The earth stilled.

This was the power of Qian Yu's rare soul spirit: Refined Earth. A martial soul born of elemental stone, it could take shape at his will—walls, blades, spears, shields—each formed with lethal precision. It was similar in nature to his Ice Soul Spirit, but where ice thrived near water, Refined Earth was sovereign wherever soil lay thick beneath his feet.

He stood amidst the skewered wolves, untouched and silent, as dusk settled over the forest like a velvet shroud.

As night approached, Qian Yu sought a quiet clearing and began to set up camp. He struck flint to firewood and conjured a modest flame. From the spatial ring on his finger, he retrieved a small canvas tent, a few basic supplies… and one of the Nether fang corpses.

Dinner.

The wolf was expertly skinned and cleaned, its meat skewered and set over the crackling fire. A faint sizzle rose as fat met flame, releasing a savory scent into the darkening air.

Strength required nourishment, and while Qian Yu's power had long surpassed most, his body still obeyed mortal needs.

He smiled faintly, almost mischievously. "A roast under the stars… Let's see who else shows up for dinner."

Of course, the scent would draw attention. But that was the point.

A feast beneath the stars was more than a comfort—it was a lure. Qian Yu didn't mind the danger. If anything, he welcomed it. A worthy spirit beast might wander under the cover of night, drawn by hunger and unwittingly offering itself as tribute.

He seasoned the meat methodically—salt, crimson pepper, numbing flower spice, and a delicate dusting of cumin. The forest is filled with rich aromas, wild and intoxicating.

Sure enough, movement stirred in the shadows.

Eyes gleamed from the underbrush. Spirit beasts—silent and watchful—circled just beyond the firelight. Qian Yu ignored them.

Instead, he pulled out a bottle of vintage spirit wine—aged for hundreds of thousands of years, each drop the essence of heaven's nectar—and took a slow, satisfied sip.

"Perfect pairing," he murmured to himself.

Then—crash!

A sudden burst of motion. A tiger, large and sinewy, sprang from the trees with murderous intent. But Qian Yu didn't even blink.

With a lazy flick, he tossed the half-gnawed bone in his hand. It spun through the air like a comet—and struck with explosive force.

Thund.

The tiger dropped, a clean hole pierced straight through its skull.

The surrounding beasts froze. Even the dullest among them understood now: this human was no prey. He was the predator.

Qian Yu tore another piece of meat from the skewer, humming an old tune under his breath. The fire flickered, casting soft amber light across his features. He looked perfectly at ease, as though this were just another quiet evening alone.

But the forest had other plans.

From behind him, another Netherfang Wolf leapt—a four-hundred-year-old one, larger and red-eyed with rage. Perhaps it had come for revenge.

Qian Yu sighed. "A mere century-class spirit beast? Not even worth the effort."

Without lifting a finger, a wind blade sliced cleanly through the air—shing!—and the wolf vanished in a burst of mist and blood.

The others got the message. Slowly, they began to retreat, slinking back into the dark from whence they came.

Not all left, though.

Some lingered—hidden, curious, reckless.

Then came the sound: a strange, chittering trill.

"Rolo, rolo, rolo…"

The forest hushed. Qian Yu's sharp ears caught a soft rustle and the faintest whiff of blood in the air—tinged oddly with sweetness and the earthy scent of dried tea leaves.

A shape slithered into view. Sleek and sinuous. A serpent—its scales glossy and dark as ink.

A Mandrake Snake. Four hundred years old.

It rose before him, forked tongue tasting the night. Qian Yu cocked his head, amused.

"Little snake," he said softly, "do you plan to eat me?"

The snake launched.

Its jaws parted wide, fangs gleaming.

But before they could close, Qian Yu's gaze sharpened—cold as midwinter.

The air condensed. Moisture froze into jagged spires, a flurry of ice spears materializing mid-air. With a gesture, they launched like missiles.

Chkkk! Chkkk! Chkkk!

Each shard struck true, burying deep into the snake's body. The creature shrieked, thrashed, and finally slithered off into the underbrush, mortally wounded.

He had hit its heart.

Qian Yu made no move to pursue. "It won't last the night," he muttered.

As silence returned, he summoned his third martial soul—Begonia.

A pale mist blossomed around him, its hue deceptively gentle. But the poison in it was potent. Even the smallest touch would mean instant death to any intruder.

Wrapped in this silent shield, Qian Yu ducked into his tent, undisturbed by the threat of danger. He lay down, exhaled, and drifted into sleep—his face peaceful beneath the faint glow of the stars.

Elsewhere in the forest, things were far from serene.

Tang San and his teacher stumbled through a bramble and brush, battered and exhausted. The master's robes were torn, his face lined with frustration and fatigue.

"Damn it," the older man cursed. "Who knew even a century-old beast could be this fierce?"

Tang San, though faring slightly better, was still clearly drained. "It's okay, Teacher," he said gently. "Let's rest for now. We can try again tomorrow."

But guilt twisted the master's face.

"I'm sorry, Xiao San. I'm too weak. I can't help you get the spirit ring you deserve. Maybe… tomorrow we can try looking for a ten-year soul ring instead."

Tang San didn't speak right away. He just looked at his teacher—and understood.

He finally saw the truth in Qian Yu's words. A mentor strong in theory could be powerless when it came to true battle. Yet...

A teacher for a day, a father for life.

So he nodded. "I believe in you, Teacher."

Then—hissssssss.

A colossal serpent head emerged from the brush.

The master's eyes widened in horror. "Run, Xiao San! It's a Mandrake Snake—we're no match for it!"

But Tang San blinked. The snake was already on the ground, writhing… dying.

"Wait, Teacher. I think it's already mortally wounded!"

The master stopped in his tracks, then burst into laughter.

"Xiao San! Your luck is divine! Quick, finish it off! That spirit ring—it's perfect for you!"

And just like that, fate turned on its heel.

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