The scent of dry hay and old wood filled his nose before his eyes opened.
Qin Yu blinked slowly, vision blurred, lids dragging with unfamiliar weight. The ceiling above him was thatched, unevenly packed with straw, cracked beams, and cobwebs swaying gently in the dim light. The air was warm but faintly sour. A rat rustled somewhere behind a barrel.
His limbs felt wrong—shorter, softer. His breath caught.
He sat up too fast and nearly tumbled from the straw bed, only managing to catch himself on a splintered post. His hands—small, childlike—trembled slightly as they gripped the rough edge.
It took three full heartbeats for the knowledge to hit.
He was alive.
He was... here.
"This… no way." His voice came out as a boyish whisper.
The room was crude: four wooden walls, a small square window without glass, and a slanted roof with patches of mold. A wooden bowl with dried rice sat in one corner beside a crude spoon.
Outside, distant voices of villagers carried through the thin walls—talk of fields, firewood, and something about "the awakening ceremony" coming in two days.
Then came the rush. A tide of memory, detailed and terrifying. Spirit beasts. Spirit rings. Douluo Continent. Tang San. Shrek Academy. Spirit Hall.
Douluo Dalu.
He drew a breath and let it out slowly, fingers pressing into the worn straw beneath him. This wasn't a dream. He had read the novels. He knew this world. He knew it too well.
He was in that world—and he remembered everything.
Qin Yu didn't panic.
He closed his eyes instead. Not to sleep, but to listen. To calibrate.
Sounds: wind against the boards, a rooster's cry, someone dragging a pail of water.
Scents: hay, sweat, dried rice, mildew.
Touch: the throb of an uninjured but tender body—likely five or six years old, no older. Callouses beginning on the hands. Malnourished but alive.
He shifted his breathing to a martial rhythm, sensing for internal energy. A dull hum responded. No spirit power yet. Not awakened.
Good, he thought.
It meant no attention.
He stood carefully, tested balance, then began inspecting the room methodically. Noticed a broken comb, a folded piece of linen cloth, and a hidden coin tucked under a floorboard—barely enough for bread.
His mind moved fast.
If he remembered correctly, this was likely the Shanhe Village mentioned once in canon—a minor spot used by Spirit Hall to sweep up late bloomers. Remote enough for secrecy. Small enough for unnoticed moves.
Which meant he had time. He could hide, build strength, and prepare.
And that's when it happened.
The world blinked.
A faint, artificial chime echoed in his ears—not from the world, but within.
> [System detected: initializing…]
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