Darkness.
It pressed against Xu Zhou's skin like cold silk, thick and suffocating. He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or shut. There was no light. No ground beneath his feet. No sky above.
Just void.
Then came a sound—soft at first, then growing louder.
Water?
A slow, constant gushing, as if an immense current was passing just beside him. Xu Zhou turned, heart steady but cautious.
Behind him… was a river.
Or something that looked like one.
It stretched endlessly in both directions, its surface rippling like water—but it wasn't water that flowed through it.
No, this river shimmered with light and shadow, like an infinite stream of illusions. And within those shifting currents, Xu Zhou saw images flicker—scenes from a life.
His life.
There was him as a baby, barely swaddled, his mother weeping as she held him for the first time.
There was him learning to walk in the training courtyard.
There was him, alone in his old life, pedaling through rain.
This… is memory?
No, not just his. He began to see faces and scenes he didn't recognize. A farmer planting crops. A cultivator dying in a duel. A girl praying before a shrine. It was as if the river held every memory of every life on the Tianxu Continent.
Then—suddenly—it changed.
The memories faded, and in their place was a strange and vivid vision:
A reclining chair sat at the edge of a courtyard bathed in soft golden light. Upon it rested a silver-haired boy—no older than eighteen—his eyes closed in serene sleep.
Children ran and laughed around him, and the silhouettes of women moved through the haze, smiling and chatting.
But they were blurred.
All of them. Their faces distorted, like unfinished paintings.
Only the boy's face was clear—strikingly so.
The boy was exceptionally handsome, his features sharp yet refined, as if carved from starlight and silence. His silver hair glimmered faintly, and his presence alone seemed to ripple through the strange river.
A strange chill ran through Xu Zhou as he stared.
The boy's face gave him a strange déjà vu—like he'd glimpsed it not just in dreams, but in that liminal space between his old life and this one. A memory that didn't belong, yet still lingered. Had he seen that face before… or was it his own.
Just as Xu Zhou was trying to process this, the boy suddenly opened his eyes.
Light silver eyes. Bright and ancient, like starlight forged into gaze.
And those eyes locked onto him—not through the dream, but through the river, piercing the memory itself.
Xu Zhou felt something shiver deep inside his soul. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
The boy studied him for a moment… and then smiled.
His mouth moved casually, like he was commenting on the weather.
Yet the words echoed directly into Xu Zhou's mind.
> "Didn't expect that."
The moment the words echoed in his mind, the river shattered like a mirror struck by lightning—
And Xu Zhou snapped awake.
His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, but the chill of that silver-haired boy's gaze lingered in his bones. It hadn't felt like a dream. More like… a reality.
---
Morning mist clung to the tiled roofs like lingering dreams, and the golden light of dawn spilled over the Xu Clan estate, painting courtyards in soft amber hues.
Xu Zhou sat quietly beneath the eaves of the eastern veranda, the chill of the dream still clinging faintly to his skin. But the warmth of the sun and the bustling noise around him slowly pulled him back into the waking world.
Today was the Awakening Ceremony.
And the entire clan was preparing like a storm was coming.
Servants rushed back and forth, setting up silk banners embroidered with elemental runes. Elder cousins directed younger ones, lining them up in order of age. Bright robes were unfolded. Incense was lit. Rows of spirit-stone lanterns flickered to life, bathing the ancestral grounds in waves of soft, shifting elemental essence.
Xu Zhou's courtyard had the perfect view of it all—overlooking the central plaza where the ceremony would take place.
He saw elders walking in groups, their expressions solemn and expectant.
Xu Zhou's eyes lingered on one of the tall elders who was inspecting the formation lines being drawn with powdered spirit sand. That was the Awakening Array, the sacred circle that would soon resonate with the bloodlines of the gathered children and call forth their elemental affinity.
Everything was being arranged with methodical precision. No mistakes could be tolerated. Not here. Not today.
His cousins were arriving now—dressed in formal clothes, their faces taut with nerves and quiet excitement. Some looked around in awe. Others tried to mask their fear. Most were between six and eight years old, just like him.
Xu Zhou recognized a few by name. Xu Shen, his older cousin, always boasting about having Fire affinity. Xu Lian, with her cold eyes and sharper tongue. They stood with their parents, receiving final bits of advice.
He caught snippets of conversation.
"Remember to focus your intent when the incense burns."
"Don't resist the array, let it flow through your blood."
"You are a Xu—stand tall, no matter what appears."
Xu Zhou's gaze shifted to a platform above the courtyard, where the high-ranking elders sat in a semicircle.
He caught sight of his father on the main platform, standing not stiffly like the elders beside him, but with a kind of relaxed dominance—like a tiger resting in the sun, claws tucked but never far.
Xu Tiancheng's arms were folded across his chest, his ceremonial robes unfastened at the collar. A faint crackle of lightning danced at his fingertips, more out of boredom than intention. He looked out over the courtyard not with grim formality, but with a faint smirk—as if daring fate to impress him today.
Now and then, he leaned toward an elder to mutter something. One old man gave him a helpless look; another chuckled and shook his head. Even now, surrounded by the clan's most powerful figures, Xu Tiancheng was exactly as Xu Zhou remembered him:
Wild. Proud. Unapologetically loud when he wanted to be—and quiet only when watching something that mattered deeply.
His gaze swept the courtyard—and just for a moment, paused in Xu Zhou's direction.
Xu Zhou didn't flinch. But his lungs locked, as if his body feared a world where that nod never came.
Then Xu Tiancheng gave a tiny nod. Barely noticeable.
Xu Zhou exhaled.
Xu Zhou felt a strange unease twist in his stomach.
He wasn't scared of the awakening. He wanted it. Craved it, even. But a familiar tension coiled in his chest—one he'd known all too well in another life. The quiet, gnawing dread of being left behind. Of watching the world move while he stood still.
A question he couldn't shake:
> "What if I'm the one crack in this perfect sky? The one branch that bears no fruit—just leaves and silence."
--
All around the clan courtyard, children gathered in groups—some whispering excitedly, others showing off imaginary techniques and exaggerated poses. Boys sparred with wooden sticks, girls giggled behind their sleeves, and pride shimmered in the eyes of watching elders.
But Xu Zhou stood quietly near the stone lanterns, watching the others play as if through a pane of glass—close, yet always just apart. He wasn't shy. Just… cautious. As if happiness was something that could vanish if he reached too quickly.
Two small figures clung closely to Xu Zhou's sides.—Xu Yue and Xu Nian.
Xu Yue, with her round cheeks and habit of puffing them like a tiny pufferfish when upset, was the daughter of his second uncle Xu Tianli. Xu Nian, slightly taller and with a pair of always-tilted hair buns, belonged to his third uncle Xu Tianhe. The two were only a year younger than Xu Zhou, and though not sisters, they might as well have been, always appearing together.
They weren't always so clingy.
It was back when they'd barely learned to speak—when they still called thunder "boom boom" and everything sweet was "candy." One lazy spring afternoon, he'd told them a story from his past life. Nothing too strange—just a fairy tale about cars and glowing boxes and giant flying machines. They'd listened wide-eyed, mouths agape, and from that moment on, they'd followed him everywhere.
Since then, they followed him like ducklings.
Wherever he went in the clan estate, they would appear—sometimes hiding behind walls to "ambush" him, sometimes sneaking pastries from the kitchens to share with him beneath the shade trees. On normal days, they were noisy, giggling, always plotting something.
But today…
Today, even the little troublemakers were quiet.
They walked beside him with unusually serious faces, gripping the ends of his robes like they were afraid he'd vanish.
Xu Nian held a soft cloth rabbit to her chest, its ears long from being tugged too often. She peeked up at him, her eyes round.
"Big brother Zhou," she said softly, "don't be scared. We're not scared either."
Xu Yue nodded with the gravity of a tiny elder, her hands balled into fists. "Even if you don't shine… we'll still play with you. Promise."
A faint smile touched Xu Zhou's lips. They meant well—childishly, earnestly. In his old life, no one had ever stood beside him like this. No one had promised to stay if he failed. The warmth of it was so unfamiliar, it almost hurt.
"I'll be fine," he said. "Thanks for staying with me."
They looked up at him with identical grins—quirky and innocent, their round cheeks slightly puffed with pride.
Just as Xu Zhou was exchanging hushed words with Xu Nian and Xu Yue, the sound of footsteps and layered robes brushing stone caught his ear.
Xu Zhou instinctively straightened. Though he had only lived in this world for a few short years, he had come to recognize the weight each person carried in their steps—and these four each carried a different rhythm.
The first was Xu Tianli, his first uncle, robed in deep blue and white. His brows were sharp, and his smile even sharper. He always seemed half a step away from teasing someone. Beside him walked Xu Tianhe, the second uncle, broader in the shoulder, with a quiet, grounded presence like that of a mountain. Though fewer in words, his gaze was gentle when it landed on Xu Zhou.
As they entered, Xu Tianli gave a mock-serious sniff and said with a smirk, "Still breathing, I hope?"
Xu Tianhe chuckled softly. "Back then, you were practically frozen solid. Like a tiny statue glaring at the world. Petrified from birth."
Xu Zhou blinked. He vaguely remembered those voices from the haze of his first day in this world. They hadn't changed much. Still ridiculous.
Trailing just behind were two from his mother's side.
Ji Wenhao, his maternal uncle, had never once entered a room quietly. Even now, his steps were exaggerated, and his arms flung wide as he exclaimed, "Zhou'er, nervous? Nonsense! With that little head of yours, you'll probably shock the heavens."
Beside him was Ji Qinxue, his maternal aunt, her expression calm, lips pressed into a gentle line. But there was warmth behind her gaze, and she reached out to tousle Xu Zhou's hair with a whisper-soft hand.
"You've grown so much already," she said, kneeling beside him. "You don't need to be afraid. Even if your elemental talent is ordinary, your life will still shine."
Xu Zhou blinked at her.
They were all here.
Even in his past life, no one ever gathered like this just for him. The sight made something flutter behind his ribs. He didn't speak—just nodded quietly, feeling an invisible thread tighten in his chest.
Then came the soft footsteps of shoes on stone.
Two older women entered the courtyard.
One, dressed in robes of lavender and moon-white, bore the quiet elegance of aged jade. Her name was Ji Meiling, his grandmother from the Xu Clan. Her silver-streaked hair was done in a simple knot, and her gaze—usually poised and strict—softened just slightly when it landed on him.
"Don't frown like your father," she said with a faint smile. "That same sour face used to scare the chickens when he was your age."
The other, in forest green with hints of gold embroidery at the hem, was Lan Yuying, his grandmother from the Ji Clan. Her aura was gentler, more matronly. She walked straight to him and crouched down, inspecting his cheeks as though judging fruit at a market.
"He hasn't lost weight. That's good. Ruyan raised him well," she nodded with approval, then turned to Xu Tiancheng with a pointed look. "At least you haven't ruined him."
Xu Tiancheng coughed lightly and looked away.
Then came his grandfathers.
Xu Weiren, the patriarch of the Xu Clan, stepped in with slow but steady steps. His presence was silent yet unyielding, like ironwood grown in storm. Though his face held the lines of age, there was a quiet sharpness in his eyes that still hadn't dulled.
He looked at Xu Zhou and gave a single nod.
"Don't fret," he said simply. "If the heavens gave you life, they've already acknowledged your worth."
Right behind him, Ji Haoran, the maternal grandfather, the patriarch of the Ji family, entered with less gravity but no less warmth. His robe had a relaxed drape, and the edge of his mouth held a near-permanent smile.
He crouched low, meeting Xu Zhou at eye level.
"You're the center of all this fuss, little one?" he asked, chuckling. "Don't worry about what happens today. Whether you awaken something grand or not... your journey is yours."
Then came his parents.
Ji Ruyan, graceful even in her simplest robes, wore a faint smile that betrayed her worry. She crouched beside him, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.
Xu Zhou looked up into her face and felt his nerves ease just a little.
Xu Tiancheng, standing beside her, was silent for a long moment.
Then, placing a firm hand on Xu Zhou's shoulder, he said simply, "Talent isn't everything."
And though his voice was low, it held the weight of belief. "No matter what result you get, you are our son."
That warmth returned again—stronger this time. Not loud. Not fiery. But steady. Real.
For a boy who once knew nothing but cold rain and empty streets… this kind of warmth felt almost unreal.
And yet—
He didn't want to lose it.
Not again.