Shi Yao, the individual formerly known as Wang Hao in a different world, carefully lowered himself to sit on the edge of the rudimentary bed, adopting a traditional lotus position. His legs folded neatly beneath him with practiced ease, and his hands came to rest gently on his knees, palms facing upwards in a gesture of stillness. He drew in a slow, steady breath, the air filling his lungs, and then softly closed his eyes, allowing the quiet of the room to settle over him like a comforting blanket, pushing away the lingering remnants of his earlier turmoil.
The room around him was stark and bare, its walls unadorned and devoid of any personal touches. A single source of dim light cast long, muted shadows across the floor, and a faint, almost imperceptible breeze stirred the thin fabric of the solitary curtain hanging over a window, a subtle reminder of the world outside. He focused his attention inward, gently pulling his awareness away from the external environment, silencing the murmurings of his thoughts and concentrating on the nascent energy he hoped to find within.
Almost immediately, a soft, subtle current of energy began to stir in response to his intent, a faint whisper of power responding to his mental prodding. Faint threads of qi, the fundamental life force of this world, tentatively emerged within him, like wisps of smoke slowly curling and dissipating through his veins.
With painstaking care and focus, he guided these fragile tendrils of energy, gently drawing them towards his core, willing them to circulate and coalesce. In the inner landscape of his mind's eye, the ethereal energy moved with agonizing slowness hesitant, fragile, like water stubbornly trickling through a network of barely visible cracks in parched earth.
The delicate threads of qi drifted closer to the intricate network of meridians within his body, the invisible pathways that were meant to conduct and amplify this spiritual energy.
Then, just as they seemed poised to connect and flow freely, they inexplicably vanished, dissolving into nothingness as if they had never existed at all. His eyes snapped open, the peaceful concentration instantly shattered by the abrupt failure. A sharp, stabbing pulse of pain ran through his chest, a physical manifestation of his body's broken state. Beads of sweat had already formed on his brow, a testament to the effort and the subsequent shock. His breath hitched in his throat, and one hand clutched his ribs instinctively, a primal reaction to the sudden collapse of the fragile energy he had managed to gather.
"Damn... it just vanishes," he muttered under his breath, the raw frustration evident in the tightness of his voice. "So that's what severed meridians do. It gathers for a moment, but then it simply breaks apart and dissipates before it can even properly connect and circulate." He remained sitting still for a long moment, consciously forcing himself to breathe slowly and steadily through the lingering discomfort and the bitter disappointment.
His body felt like a hollow and fragile shell, incapable of sustaining even the most rudimentary flow of energy. Whatever meager amount of natural energy he could manage to stir within himself was clearly insufficient to stabilize or repair anything. He wasn't just physically weakened; he was fundamentally broken at the core of his being.
Just then, the door to the room creaked softly, the hinges groaning in protest at the movement. Shi Yao turned his head, his senses alert despite his weakened state, as a young boy entered the room. He appeared to be around sixteen years of age, perhaps even younger, with pale yellow hair that was neatly tied back. He wore simple servant's robes, and his young face held a calm and impassive expression that revealed nothing of his inner thoughts or feelings.
He moved with quiet, almost silent steps across the worn floor, carefully carrying a small wooden tray in his hands. Upon the tray rested a steaming bowl of thin porridge, a neatly folded cloth, and a small, unadorned cup of clear water. Despite the delicate cargo, the boy's hands were steady, and the tray didn't shake even once as he moved.
The boy reached the small, rough-hewn table situated near the bed and placed the tray down gently, his movements precise and economical. Once the tray was safely set, he straightened up, his gaze still respectfully lowered.
"You're awake," he stated, his voice soft and clear, yet carefully restrained, devoid of any obvious emotion. "That's a relief, Young Master." His tone was polite, acknowledging Shi Yao's status, but also distant, maintaining a professional boundary.
Shi Yao narrowed his eyes slightly, studying the boy's face. There was something vaguely familiar about his features, but they didn't immediately trigger any specific memories from the fragmented recollections of the body he now inhabited. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice still raspy from disuse.
The boy kept his gaze respectfully low, avoiding direct eye contact. "I've been serving here during your recovery, Young Master. You were brought back unconscious. I was assigned to assist you," he explained concisely, offering only the essential information. He didn't volunteer any more details about himself no name, no personal backstory, no explanation of how he came to be in this role. Just the bare minimum of information that was directly relevant to Shi Yao's question.
Shi Yao didn't press for more.
There seemed to be no immediate reason to do so. Whoever this boy was, he was clearly accustomed to following orders and maintaining a subservient role.
"I'll wait outside while you eat," the servant added, his tone still even and neutral. "Please, call if you need anything at all, Young Master." He offered a small, formal bow, turned smoothly, and left the room, closing the door behind him without making a sound, his movements as quiet and efficient as they had been upon entering.
Shi Yao glanced at the tray that now sat on the table. His stomach gave a sudden, painful twist, a stark reminder of his physical weakness. He hadn't fully realized just how empty and depleted he felt until the tempting aroma of the simple food reached him, a primal urge for sustenance stirring within his core.
He carefully reached out and took the bowl of porridge, steadying his trembling hands with a conscious effort. The first bite was slow and cautious, his senses on high alert.
He had expected blandness, perhaps even a slightly unpleasant taste, but the porridge was surprisingly warm, thick, and rich, with a subtle and comforting hint of herbs that danced on his tongue. It was a simple but nourishing meal, and his weakened body welcomed it like dry soil eagerly soaking up a long-awaited rain.
With each spoonful he consumed, he felt something inside him begin to loosen, the tension in his shoulders gradually easing.
His hands, which had been shaking slightly, finally became still. For a few precious minutes, he simply ate in silence, his focus solely on the act of nourishing his starved body, his mind thankfully free from intrusive thoughts or comparisons to his previous life.
When the bowl was finally empty, he wiped his mouth with the folded cloth provided, stood up slowly, and began to dress himself with a deliberate care. The robes laid out for him were a good fit, made of a simple but elegant black fabric accented with subtle gold trim. They were formal enough to suggest a certain status, but not so ostentatious as to draw undue attention.
He strapped a plain leather belt around his waist, secured a set of practical-looking shoulder guards over his thin frame, and adjusted a simple wrist guard over his left hand. A sturdy wooden cane leaned against the wall near the corner of the room. Without hesitation, he reached out and took it, its solid weight feeling surprisingly comforting in his weakened grasp.
Opening the door, he found the young servant waiting just outside, standing silently with his hands folded neatly behind his back, his posture impeccable. Shi Yao offered a curt nod of acknowledgement. "I'm going for a walk," he stated simply, the need to explore his surroundings outweighing his physical discomfort.
The servant offered no verbal response. He simply stepped back slightly and followed Shi Yao, maintaining a respectful distance of two steps behind him as they began to move.
They proceeded through what appeared to be a central courtyard, the cracked stone paths beneath their feet showing signs of age and neglect. Low stone walls demarcated small sections of space, and beyond that, a row of narrow, humble dwellings constructed from pressed mud and topped with faded, uneven tiles came into view.
Villagers moved slowly through the open space, going about their daily routines, carrying bundles of firewood, earthenware water jars, or simple hand tools. He noticed the complete absence of any carts, talismans, or any of the more fantastical elements he might have expected in a world with cultivation. There were no visible flickers of spiritual energy emanating from the villagers, no outward signs of martial prowess.
Shi Yao's gaze swept across everything, taking in the details of this unfamiliar world. He didn't speak, but his thoughts were a whirlwind of observation and analysis. So this is where I've landed, he thought, a sense of both wonder and apprehension settling within him.
A world like this... It starkly reminded him of images he had seen in history textbooks and documentaries depictions of rural villages from centuries ago in his previous life. There was no electricity, no running water, no modern conveniences. And most surprisingly, in stark contrast to the fantasy novels he had read, there was no visible cultivation tech, no immediate traces of the fantastical elements he had expected to encounter.
This was not the glorious and powerful start of a grand cultivation journey that he had often imagined. This felt more like a struggle for basic survival, with a crippled body and severed meridians, in a place that seemed barely ahead of the Stone Age in its technological development.
The paved road they had been walking on gradually narrowed, transitioning into a simple dirt path that was lined with unruly weeds growing along its edges. At the very edge of the village, the dwellings abruptly ceased, and the land gave way to a dense and seemingly untouched forest. Not cultivated farmland, but raw, untamed woodland dense with trees, their leaves a vibrant green.
Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy in dramatic golden shafts, illuminating the forest floor. The gentle wind carried the refreshing scent of wildflowers and damp moss, a natural and untainted fragrance that was a stark contrast to the stale air of his room.
Shi Yao stopped abruptly just where the village ended and the forest began. He stood still for a long moment, his weight resting lightly on the wooden cane planted on the soft earth beside the path.
The young servant behind him also stopped immediately, maintaining his silent vigil, saying nothing and waiting patiently for Shi Yao's next instruction. Shi Yao took in the panoramic view before him, his eyes scanning the towering trees that stretched towards the sky, the vibrant green undergrowth, and the flash of brightly colored wild birds flitting through the branches.
There were no buildings visible in this direction, no walls or signs of civilization. Just open space and a profound silence that was not empty or desolate, but felt somehow alive and teeming with unseen activity. The dull pain in his chest was still present, a persistent reminder of his physical limitations. The nascent energy within him remained stubbornly broken and unusable. His path forward in this strange world felt uncertain and shrouded in mist.
But the warmth of the sunlight on his skin was undeniably real. The ground beneath his feet felt solid and tangible. And his senses, however weakened they might be, still clearly told him that he was, against all odds, still alive. For this brief moment, standing at the edge of the unknown, that simple fact felt like enough.