The river had a name.
Old villagers called it Memory Current.
No one remembered why.
Lin Chen always thought that was stupid.
If you don't remember, then what's the point of the name?
That's what he used to think. The elders loved scaring kids with nonsense stories.
Still… he avoided the river at night.
Not because he believed them.
Just because the river felt like it was watching.
Rain fell without clouds.
Lin Chen stopped at Silent Crossing, staring up at the empty sky.
Great. Even the weather's messing with me now.
He tightened the rope around his bundle of herbs. The apothecary would scold him if these got wet again. He'd already been paid half this month's wage in thin soup and excuses.
I should hurry back. The elders hate it when I'm late. As if I asked to be born useful but poor.
The river surface rippled.
The ripples moved the wrong way.
Lin Chen frowned.
That's… not right. Rivers don't do that.
Then he saw it.
A shadow beneath the water.
Long. Rectangular.
A coffin.
His heart skipped.
I'm tired. I'm seeing things. That's all this is. Coffins don't float in rivers. Coffins are for dead people. I'm not dead yet. Probably.
The river slowed.
Then stopped.
The night grew unnaturally quiet.
Lin Chen's palms were damp.
I should leave. I should definitely leave. So why aren't my legs moving?
His foot slipped.
Cold water swallowed him.
Panic burst through his chest.
No—no no no—this is stupid—this is how people die in stories—
The river dragged him down far deeper than it should have been. His lungs burned. His vision darkened.
His fingers struck something solid.
Metal.
Warm.
That's not a rock. Rocks aren't warm.
The moment he touched it, his mind flooded with things he had never lived.
A city burning beneath a red sky.
Mountains bending as if kneeling.
A sky that felt closer… heavier.
His head felt like it was splitting open.
These aren't memories. These can't be mine. I've never left this village—!
The symbols on the coffin shimmered faintly.
Pain stabbed through his chest.
Then—
The river released him.
Lin Chen collapsed onto the bank, coughing, gasping, clawing at the ground.
The rain was gone.
The river flowed gently.
Peaceful.
As if it had never tried to drown him.
He stared at the water, breathing hard.
So… either I nearly died… or I'm already dead and this is the afterlife.
He looked down.
There was a mark on his chest.
A broken crown wrapped by a three-eyed star.
His breath caught.
This wasn't here before. This wasn't here before. This definitely wasn't here before.
The mark didn't glow. It didn't move.
But the river beside him curved slightly away from his body.
Lin Chen noticed.
His throat went dry.
…Did the river just avoid me?
That night, sleep came in pieces.
When he closed his eyes, he saw places he had never been:
A forest where stones sang softly in the wind.
A frozen city with no people inside.
An empty hall guarded by cultivators who bowed to nothing.
And above them all—
A book bound in pale light, floating in a cracked sky.
The pages turned on their own.
Not commanding him.
Not speaking to him.
Just… recording him.
Lin Chen reached for it in the dream.
Why am I here? Why am I seeing this? I didn't ask for this. I just wanted to sell herbs and eat something warm…
The book turned another page.
Deep beneath the Central Heavenly Domain, ancient mechanisms stirred.
Dust fell from murals bearing the image of a broken crown.
An old man whose eyes had been sealed for centuries opened them slowly.
"The river remembers again," he whispered.
From the darkness, another voice laughed quietly.
"So the world has made a mistake."
Lin Chen woke before dawn, heart pounding.
He stared at the ceiling of his small, broken room.
The mark on his chest was still there.
…Whatever I touched last night… my life isn't going to be normal anymore, is it?
Outside, the river flowed silently.
But Lin Chen had the strange feeling—
It was no longer watching him.
It was waiting