eleven crossfire

Hu Yumei had lived two lives before she died. The first, as a soldier. The second, as a veterinarian. She grew up in the military—an orphan raised by the state, sleeping in bunks, waking to gunfire, learning to follow orders like they were gospel. Discipline molded her. Combat carved her. By sixteen, she was on the front lines. By twenty, she'd survived two wars. She fought in deserts that baked her lungs dry, jungles that swallowed the sun, cities buried in dust and fire. She held dying friends in her arms and still whispered their names in her sleep. When she finally came home, there were no medals. Just silence. So she walked away from the warpath and started over. No more weapons. No more killing. She studied late, cleaned cages by day, and became a veterinarian. People didn't get it—but the ones who really knew her, did. She'd always been gentle with the wounded, whether they barked, meowed, or bled like her. Her new life was made of fur and feathers, rescue calls and shelter shifts. She swapped rifles for syringes and combat boots for rubber gloves. The world grew quiet around her, finally. Until everything fell apart. The job was supposed to be routine—rescue a snow panther from a remote island and relocate it to a sanctuary. Nothing dangerous. Nothing new. No one said anything about pirates. They came fast, loud, brutal. Explosions rocked the ship. Gunshots tore through the halls. Men with masks and rifles stormed the deck. She didn't panic. She never did. Even in her blood-smeared lab coat, she moved like a soldier. Protected the others. Got the young biologist to safety. Shielded the cook. Held the line. And then she was shot. She hit the water bleeding and gasping, clawing toward land like her body was made of lead. She didn't stop. Not until she collapsed under a tree on the shore, shaking, barely alive. Even then, she tried to help the others—pressing wounds, whispering instructions. Her own pain didn't matter. Her last thoughts weren't about herself. She thought of her six dogs. Her three cats. The five golden fish she fed every morning. Still waiting. Still alive. And Maximus—her golden eagle. Her heartbeat. Hatched from an egg in her palm. Who would feed him now? Her best friend was scared of butterflies. Her ex-husband didn't even like birds. "Oh dear," she murmured, breath fading. "Maximus…" ⸻ The first thing she noticed was the weight. Her limbs felt like stone. The air was heavy, muffled, too thick to breathe. She heard voices. People shouting. Afraid. She tried to move. Couldn't. Then—hands. Shaking her hard. "Wake up, little darling! We have to leave now!" She gasped, coughing. The air hit her lungs like cold water. Not her air. Not her body. She blinked into a tear-streaked face—strange, terrified. She didn't know this woman. Where…? Everything spun. This wasn't the jungle. This wasn't Earth. The air buzzed with something ancient and strange. She looked down. Her arms were tiny. Soft. Her chest—flat. Her voice—missing. A child's body. The woman clutched her close and grabbed a worn bag. They ran. As she was jostled on the woman's back, memories surged like a flood. Memories that didn't belong to her. A girl named Fan Yumei. Seven years old. Kind. Brave. Dead—just last night—from a fever after a night venture for treasure to awaken her core. In this world, there's 5 Culitvation paths and both humans and beasts had ranks. Star-levels from one to seven. Classes from F to SS. Everyone fought to rise higher. Fan Yumei had gone searching—alone—for a miracle. Inspired by a classmate whose brother found rare 3-star core plants near the Dew Springs Mountains, she thought maybe she could find something too. Something that would let her awaken with higher purity. Something that would change her fate. Her family was somewhat poor. Her parents weren't powerful. They only really had the money for tuition and traveling as she couldn't stay in dormitories unless she awakened.