Darkness.
Through the boundless void, scattered fragments of a forgotten existence drifted like dying stars.
A majestic landscape emerged from the mist.
Towering mountains rose infinitely beyond the clouds, their jagged stone peaks piercing the very heavens. Ancient pavilions and grand temples rested upon their summits, carved from immortal jade that gleamed under an eternal sky.
Below them, golden sunlight illuminated endless, sprawling valleys rich with spiritual energy.
"Xingchen... you must bring glory to the sect!"
"Haha... a dragon among men indeed!"
Countless figures gathered upon a vast stone plaza that stretched as far as the eye could see. Their voices rose in a deafening roar—a unified shout that literally shook the heavens and made the earth tremble.
Their presence radiated an overwhelming power, yet their faces remained blurred.
No matter how hard he strained his eyes, no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't see them clearly. They were nothing but shadows in a fading dream.
Suddenly, the golden light fractured. The scene shattered like brittle glass.
Blood stained the sacred ground. A bitter, cold wind swept across a ruined, desolate land.
The sky tore apart as rainbow sword lights cascaded through the heavens. Some descended from above like falling stars, screaming with lethal intent. Others streaked wildly across the horizon, tearing the atmosphere to shreds.
Their brilliant, blinding illumination cast harsh shadows over a horrific sight: mountains of cold corpses and rivers of deep crimson blood stretching to the edge of the world.
"No!"
"Please... don't leave!"
"You... must never..."
A voice trembled with agonizing grief, cutting through the chaos. It pressed against him, heavy and suffocating.
His chest tightened violently, filled with a sudden, crushing despair that didn't belong to a mortal. But before he could turn his head, before he could see who spoke through the blood and smoke, the world broke apart once more.
The air grew freezing cold. Shadows lengthened, swallowing the light.
"You think you're invincible?"
"What a fool."
"Sigh... a pity indeed."
"A hundred years... and it ends like this."
Thick, pitch-black chains wrapped tightly around his body, their iron links cold against his skin. Every single movement felt impossibly heavy, as if the weight of an entire world was pressing down on his shoulders—sealing his strength, locking his meridians, and forcing him to his knees.
Above him hung a colossal sword.
Its sheer size was terrifying, a monolithic blade whose shadow completely swallowed the sky, blotting out the stars.
The blade descended,cutting through the void.
Slowly. Unyieldingly.
Closer.
Closer—
"Huh!"
Xingchen's eyes snapped open.
The colossal sword vanished. In its place was a white ceiling.
His chest rose and fell violently. For a brief moment, the two worlds overlapped.
The scent of blood lingered in the air. Rainbow sword lights flashed at the edge of his vision. A distant mountain peak pierced the clouds beyond the ceiling above him.
Then it was gone. Only white walls remained.
Silence.
The rhythmic beeping of a machine reached his ears. His gaze shifted slowly.
Sunlight spilled through a nearby window. Warm. Gentle. Unfamiliar.
A sharp pain suddenly shot through his ribs. His body stiffened.
Reality became a little clearer. The mountains disappeared. The battlefield vanished.
Only the lingering grief remained—a strange sense of loss settled in his chest, as though he had forgotten something important. Someone important.
Fragments continued to drift through his mind. A voice filled with pride. A voice filled with sorrow. A colossal sword descending from the heavens.
None of it made sense. His head throbbed.
The memories felt real. Too real. Yet no matter how hard he reached for them, they slipped away like water through his fingers.
He lowered his gaze, staring blankly at his own hands resting over the thin hospital blanket. They were pale, thin, and completely devoid of calluses.
These were not the hands of a warrior who had grasped the hilt of a divine blade for a hundred years. They were the hands of an ordinary teenager.
Just as he forced himself upright—
"Brother!"
The word struck like lightning.
"Brother!"
It wasn't just a sound—it tore through the silence of the room, slicing through the rhythmic beeping of the machine, through the haze of drifting mountains, and through the lingering scent of phantom blood.
Xingchen's body froze mid-motion. His breath caught in his throat.
The fog in his mind split wide open. He didn't have amnesia; the memories of his current life didn't vanish—they crashed back into alignment alongside the ancient ones.
He knew this voice. He knew the heavy, uneven step outside the door.
His head turned slowly toward the entrance.
Standing in the doorway was a young man. Tired eyes, messy hair, and a look of sheer relief that almost broke into disbelief. He stood there as if he had been running for a long time… or waiting for a lifetime.
"Brother…" the young man said again, softer this time, his voice trembling slightly.
Xingchen's lips parted, but no sound came out. The confusion melted away, replaced by a sudden, fierce tightening in his chest.
Looking at the young man, the name locked into place, completely real and close to his heart.
Haoran.
This was his family in this world.
But seeing him now, right after experiencing the vivid nightmare of encirclement and cold-blooded betrayal, made the sight of his brother hit with a staggering weight.
In his past life, he had stood alone against countless enemies, falling into darkness with nothing but bitter regret. Yet here, the very first thing waiting for him upon waking up from death was someone looking at him with absolute devotion.
The machine beside the bed beeped rapidly, mirroring his spiking heart rate.
The young man stepped forward quickly, his hands slightly raised in panic. "Don't move! You're still injured."
Injured.
The words grounded Xingchen completely. He looked down, his gaze dropping to his own body.
Bandages were wrapped tightly around his torso, the skin bruised dark beneath medical tape. A faint metallic smell of medicine and dried blood hung in the air.
The last thing he remembered was the blinding headlights rushing toward him, drawing closer and closer until the pain swallowed his consciousness.
It was undeniably real. He was no longer the invincible prodigy surrounded by rainbow sword lights. He was in a weak, mortal body that had been thoroughly broken.
And yet, the memory of those phantom black chains tightened again in his mind.
"You think you're invincible?"
A voice that wasn't here. A sky that wasn't this sky.
Xingchen's fingers curled into the hospital bedsheet, tightening until his knuckles turned white.
The vulnerability of his current state didn't make him panic; instead, a cold, dormant instinct began to simmer beneath his skin.
Xingchen looked at his brother's pale, trembling hands. The overlap of the two lives was dizzying, but looking at his family, the lingering panic from the nightmare slowly receded, leaving behind a cold, quiet clarity.
He knew who he was. He knew what had happened to his past life, and he knew exactly who was standing in front of him right now.
He forced his breathing to slow down, the machine beside him finally settling into a steady rhythm.
"…I'm fine," Xingchen said, his voice coming out hoarse and scraped raw. He forced a small, reassuring nod, though every breath made his broken ribs ache. "I'm right here."