Wang Hao's vision wavered, retreating like mist at dawn.
Slowly, the haze lifted.
Shapes took form.
And then—
her.
She stood nearby, outlined by lamplight — a silhouette born from steel and silence.
Her hair, black as spilled ink, shimmered faintly like strands catching the last light of a dying star. Her eyes—
blue.
Icy.
Still.
Like the frozen surface of a lake that had never known the wind.
Her robes were layered, the fabric whispering softly with her movements.
Bracers wrapped her wrists, shoulder guards secured firm.
Strapped belts hugged her waist, and tall, weather-worn boots hinted at long journeys over cruel terrain.
But more than what she wore…
was how she stood.
A stillness that did not waver.
A quiet strength honed by burden — like someone used to standing alone.
The floorboards creaked gently beneath her steps.
She carried a bowl, and from it, thin tendrils of steam curled upward like ghostly fingers reaching for air.
She knelt beside him.
Offered the bowl with both hands.
> "Drink this medicine, brother."
Her voice was calm. Low.
It held an ease shaped by authority, yet laced with quiet care.
Wang Hao blinked.
Brother?
His body hesitated.
The voice sounded… familiar — but the face? A stranger.
Still, there was no threat in her gaze.
Only concern.
Real and unspoken.
Before he could answer, her hand slipped gently behind his head, lifting him as if it cost her nothing.
> "Just a little. You need it."
The bowl touched his lips.
The liquid slid in.
Bitter. Sharp. Earthy.
It clung to his tongue like something alive.
He grimaced.
> "This stuff is awful…"
Her expression didn't change, but a single brow rose — dry humor in her silence.
> "It'll keep you alive. You can complain later."
She set the bowl aside.
Met his gaze again — steady, unreadable.
> "Shi Yao… stay here. I'll return soon."
That name again.
Shi Yao.
It echoed in his skull, soft but heavy, like it had always belonged to him… and yet not.
He wanted to ask —
Where are we?
Why me?
But her tone allowed no debate.
She stood.
Turned.
Gone.
He leaned back, his head pressing against the cold wall.
The chill of the room soaked into his bones.
Outside, the leaves rustled faintly — stirred by a night breeze.
Above, wooden beams groaned like an old house breathing in its sleep.
Then it hit.
Pain.
White-hot.
Sudden.
A spike through both temples.
He gasped — hands flying to his head, trying to trap the agony clawing through his mind.
Memories crashed like a tide.
Shards. Then shapes. Then scenes.
—
A boy, smaller.
Bruised. Powerless.
Meridians — severed.
Alone.
No father's voice.
No mother's hand.
Only a girl standing tall — a sister, fierce, unyielding.
The only light in a collapsing world.
Her face surfaced in his mind — blazing with resolve.
His breath came sharp through clenched teeth.
He endured.
The pain faded, slowly, like retreating thunder.
Wang Hao — no, Shi Yao — rubbed his temples, whispering to himself.
> "So... this place is called Tianlun World."
The name tasted foreign.
Real.
His eyes roamed the room.
Old wood. Damp earth. Shadows hiding in corners like forgotten ghosts.
> "A village… quiet… deep in the forest. Remote. Hidden. Forgotten."
He held up his fingers, counting them slowly.
> "Six continents… Northern, Southern, Central, Eastern, Western… and the Middle Continent."
Each name rang in his mind, more than locations —
They were ideologies.
Divides.
—
The Northern Expanse — cruel, cold, where survival was a creed.
The Southern Kingdoms — lush, rigid, swallowed by traditions and feuding clans.
The Central Dominion — veiled in diplomacy and secrets.
The Eastern Reach — storm-swept, ruled by seers and stars, where omens carved destinies before blades did.
The Western Wastes — scorched lands, broken kingdoms. A place where ambition went to die.
And the Middle Continent — the unknown. A shifting battleground of myths and fate.
His hand lowered.
> "And I'm stuck in the Southern lands…"
The words left his lips bitter, almost mocking.
A hollow laugh followed —
short. Dry. Lifeless.
But under that laugh…
something stirred.
A flicker behind his eyes.
A spark.
Not just confusion.
Not just pain.
But something sharper.
Defiance.
His gaze lifted to the empty doorway — where she had disappeared.
Who was she?
What burden did she carry behind those calm eyes?
And more importantly…
Who was he now?
Wang Hao, who had died?
Or Shi Yao — the broken child with severed meridians and a future buried in silence?
> No.
Not buried.
Not yet.
He pressed his hand to his chest.
His heart still beat — uneven, but steady.
The pain in his limbs wasn't just weakness — it was a reminder.
He was alive.
And if he was alive…
> "Then I'll crawl if I have to…"
His voice came quiet —
but laced with steel.
> "…but I'm not going to die here."
The wind whispered faintly through a crack in the old wood, carrying with it the scent of damp leaves and distant rain.
He pulled the thin blanket tighter over his aching body and let his head rest back against the wall.
He needed strength.
Time.
Information.
And most of all—
a plan.