Wang Hao's vision wavered, retreating like mist at dawn. Slowly, the shapes around him sharpened, revealing a figure standing nearby.
Her hair was black as spilled ink, strands shimmering faintly as if catching the last light of a fading star. Her eyes, a striking blue, held a strange calm — cold and still, like the surface of a frozen lake untouched by wind.
She wore layered robes that shifted softly with her movements. Shoulder guards and wrist bracers hinted at a life hardened by travel and conflict, while belts strapped tightly at her waist and tall, worn boots spoke of long journeys. But it was not just her gear that impressed — it was the quiet strength in the way she stood, as if carrying the weight of some silent burden.
The floorboards creaked beneath her steps, small sounds in the stillness. In her hands, she carried a bowl from which thin wisps of steam curled upward like escaping spirits.
She knelt beside him, offering the bowl with both hands.
"Drink this medicine, brother," her voice came soft but steady, shaped by authority yet laced with care.
Wang Hao hesitated. The tone was calm, almost familiar, but the face was unknown. Still, no hostility resided in her gaze — only concern.
Before he could refuse, her hand slid gently behind his head, lifting him with surprising ease. The bowl was pressed to his lips.
"Just a little. You need it."
The bitter liquid slid down his throat — earthy, sharp, with a stubborn aftertaste clinging to his tongue.
He coughed, grimacing.
"This stuff is awful."
She only tilted her head slightly.
"It'll keep you alive. You can complain later."
Setting the empty bowl aside, she looked at him with steady eyes.
"Shi Yao, stay here. I'll return soon."
Shi Yao. The name echoed faintly inside his mind.
He wanted to ask where she was going, why he was here, but her calm tone left no room for argument. He nodded weakly, sinking back against the cold wall, his thoughts swirling in a fog of confusion.
Silence settled. Outside, leaves rustled faintly in the cool night breeze. The wooden beams groaned as if breathing in the stillness.
Then came the pain.
A sudden lance stabbed through his temples, sharp and unrelenting. His breath hitched, hands trembling as they clasped his head, trying to hold back the storm within.
Memories crashed through the haze — shards at first, then clearer scenes.
A boy, smaller, weaker, huddled in a corner. His meridians severed, leaving him powerless and alone. No parents watched over him, only a sister fiercely protective, refusing to let him fall.
Her face emerged from the darkness — fierce, unyielding, the single light in a world grown cold.
Shi Yao gritted his teeth as the weight of those memories pressed deep inside.
Minutes passed, the pain subsiding slowly. He rubbed his aching temples, whispering to himself as if speaking the chaos into order might calm it.
"So… this place is called Tianlun World."
The words trembled from his lips, uncertain yet real.
His gaze roamed the dim room — shadows pooling in corners, the scent of old wood and damp earth — and pieces began to fall into place.
"A village… remote, hidden deep in the forest. Quiet. Forgotten."
Fingers curling, he counted silently.
"Six continents. Northern, Southern, Central, Eastern, Western… and the Middle Continent."
Each name carried weight — more than geography, a divided world carved by power and fate.
The Northern Expanse, cold and disciplined, where survival was law.
The Southern Kingdoms, lush and ancient — where he now lay — wrapped in traditions that both sustained and suffocated.
The Central Dominion, heart of politics and secrets.
The Eastern Reach, storm-wracked, guided by stars and omens.
The Western Wastes, scorched and broken, a graveyard of ambition.
And the Middle Continent, vast and shadowed — a land of shifting borders and whispered legends, the crossroads where fate often hung in balance.
His hand fell, voice bitter.
"And I'm stuck in the Southern lands."
A hollow laugh escaped him — empty, bitter.
Yet beneath the bitterness, beneath the pain and confusion, a spark remained.
A spark of defiance.
A will to endure.
To rise.
His eyes drifted to the empty doorway where the girl had vanished.
In a world divided by power and mystery, understanding was survival.
And to survive, Shi Yao knew he would have to learn.
— and bend the world to his will.