Cultivation is Creation

You know what's funny? Death wasn't anything like I expected. No tunnel of light, no past memories flashing before my eyes, no choir of angels—just the abrupt sensation of my face meeting concrete at terminal velocity after tripping on my own shoelaces.

Yeah, I know. A pathetic way to go.

I'd always imagined my death would be more... dignified. Maybe heroically saving someone from a burning building, or peacefully passing away in my sleep after living a full life. Instead, I died because I couldn't be bothered to tie my shoes properly while rushing to my morning classes. The last thing I heard was the screech of brakes and someone yelling "Oh shit!" before everything went black.

Then came the void.

I floated in absolute nothingness for what felt like both an eternity and a mere instant. No sight, no sound, no sensation—just the awareness of my own consciousness suspended in infinite darkness. It was peaceful in a terrifying sort of way, like being wrapped in a blanket of existential horror.

"Well," I remember thinking, "this is anticlimactic."

But then something changed. A gentle tugging sensation, as if someone had tied a string to my soul and decided to go fishing. The void began to spin, or maybe I was the one spinning—it's hard to tell when you're just a disembodied consciousness. The peaceful horror transformed into what I can only describe as cosmic vertigo.

And then, without warning or fanfare, I was breathing again.

The first breath felt like inhaling fire. My lungs expanded painfully, and my entire body tingled as if I'd been hit by lightning. My face was pressed against something gritty and warm—dirt? I could feel it against my cheeks, taste it on my lips. For a moment, I thought I was back at the scene of my accident, face-down on the sidewalk.