He thought he had died… yet how much time had passed, he couldn't tell.
When his awareness slowly returned, like dragging himself out of a dense fog, his vision settled on an unfamiliar scene.
This was not the dark void where he had been stabbed.
Nor the guest room.
And certainly not his old world.
Instead, he stood in a vast garden.
Towering adults in elegant robes surrounded him, laughing and conversing among themselves. From time to time, they glanced down at him with warm, affectionate smiles. Some even reached out, patting his head as though he were a small child.
'What's going on…?'
He tried to move, but a wave of disorientation washed over him. Everything felt off—the size, the scale, the way the world seemed to loom over him.
Lowering his gaze, he finally understood why.
His hands were small, tiny even, like those of a child.
Before he could even process this, the scene blurred. The world warping and shifting around him. Suddenly, an unseen force yanked his hand, pulling his small body forward.
The world around him gradually became clear, and before he knew it, he was being dragged through a bustling street by a young girl with bright eyes and a cheerful laugh.
She seemed to be talking to him, her lips moving animatedly—but her voice sounded distant and muffled, as though he were hearing it through water.
Just as he began piecing things together, the scene flickered once again.
Everything transformed.
And now, he stood in a grand stadium.
Before him rested a small, cubical glass object placed atop a pedestal. Its surface reflected a young boy's face—a familiar face.
And in that moment, he finally understood.
'These are Yang Huo's childhood memories.'
Why he was experiencing them, he didn't know. Even now, the sensation felt unreal, as though he were drifting between dreams. His thoughts were sluggish, emotions distant—like a spectator trapped within another person's body.
Then he felt it.
The weight of countless gazes pressed down upon him.
The audience surrounding the stadium stared with suffocating intensity, their collective breath held in anticipation of what he was about to do.
And almost on instinct, his small hand lifted and pressed against the cool surface of the glass.
In an instant, a brilliant light burst forth, illuminating the entire stadium like a pillar reaching toward the heavens. The roar of the crowd struck him like a physical wave, vibrating through his small chest as thunderous cheers nearly drowned out his senses.
The air itself buzzed with emotion—excitement, envy, awe, hope, disbelief—as the beam fractured into a radiant aurora that spread across the heavens.
Yet amidst all of it, he felt nothing.
No joy.
No excitement.
As the spectacle continued, his eyes drifted away, settling on a familiar figure standing far within the crowd.
A young girl.
Despite being surrounded by people, she seemed utterly alone. Others subtly avoided her, and even those who appeared to be her family looked at her… with contempt.
The expression on her face felt familiar—yet unreachable, like a word on the tip of his tongue.
Awe?
Confusion?
Sadness?
Before he could dwell on it further, the world dissolved once more.
This time, darkness swallowed him whole.
But unlike the previous scenes, this one felt painfully real. His senses, once dull and distant, snapped into sharp clarity.
He was cramped inside a narrow space. The stench of herbs and aged wood assaulted his nose. Moist air clung to his skin as he realized he was trapped—inside what felt like a barrel.
Outside, muffled screams echoed alongside the clash of steel, chaotic and desperate.
Once again, his body moved on its own.
He pushed the wooden lid open just enough to peer the world outside.
Flames devoured the night sky. Corpses littered the ground. In the distance, a lone figure dressed in white fought against multiple assassins, moving with deadly grace and overwhelming power.
'So this is how the Yang family fell…'
His gaze drifted over pools of blood reflecting the moonlight, over collapsing beams as fire consumed the estate.
'Quite ordinary,' he muttered to himself
Still, he etched the assassins' features into his mind—just in case.
But then, a chill crept down his spine.
His eyes shifted on their own, drawn toward something amidst the flames.
A small, shadowy figure stood there, as if born from the fire of malevolence itself.
A young boy.
Identical to him—to Yang Huo, the match broken only by eyes that gleamed with terrifying malice.
But before he could react, the world cracked.
Not faded.
Cracked.
Like a fragile mirror struck by a hammer.
The sound of shattering glass echoed as reality fragmented around him. Within the shards, countless memories flashed past—
a young Yang Huo training relentlessly—
or him bleeding alone in an unknown cavern—
or a red-masked man whispering into his ears—
or him lying amidst corpses, his face drenched in blood.
As he tried to make sense of these fragments, some of them drifted toward him, diffusing into his body. Brief flashes of knowledge, sensations, and emotions seeped into his mind, blurring the line between what was foreign and familiar.
When the final fragment dissolved, he awoke, as though from a long, dreamless sleep.
DING!
[Body and Soul synchronization has reached 20%!]