The man in front called Arthur with a voice that carried a weight of familiarity, but Arthur could not place him. If such a one dared to address him in such an endearing tone, he had to be someone close to the person whose body he now possessed.
The man leaned closer, his eyes scanned Arthur from head to toe as though ensuring nothing had shattered beyond repair. His expression was a strange mixture of relief and worry, how a father might look upon a son who had stumbled at the edge of a cliff but somehow returned.
"Ah… you gave me quite the scare, boy," the man said, exhaling heavily as if casting away lingering dread. "One test! Just one measly test, and the elders act like the Heavens have judged you unworthy. Those old bones! So what if your meridians are sealed? So what if you can't draw Qi like the others? You've always been bright, far sharper than those blockheads swinging swords."
Arthur remained silent, observing everything that he could.
I was correct; this was the universe where the five immortals once lived. He came to a realization.
"Think about it," the man continued, his words flowing like a restless brook. The path to greatness isn't only through cultivation. A scholar's pen can command armies. An author's words can stir the hearts of millions. Even without a Dantian fit for channeling Heaven's will, you could still become a trusted aide to His Majesty… or even the right hand of our Sect Master himself."
Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly. Sect Master… so, I am within a sect's walls.
The man's voice softened, a hint of warmth threading through his boisterous tone. "You've been talented all your life, lad. Don't let some nonsense from the Spirit Shrine shatter your spine. Your worth is not so easily measured."
Arthur was silent. The more the man spoke, the more puzzle pieces aligned in his mind. He understood now: this man cared — truly cared — yet beneath that warmth, there was the scent of politics, of hidden currents in the sect's affairs.
Arthur was planning caution. He had experience beforehand in how to swim in dangerous waters.
The man, however, seemed not to notice Arthur's inner disarray.
"One test means nothing, boy, I am telling you again," the man said, his tone was firm and gentle. "One has many paths before. All of them are worth walking."
Before Arthur could reply, the man stepped to the side and lifted a small lacquered tray. A fragrant steam curled into the air — warm broth with tender slices of phoenix root- his body recognized the taste before his mind could.
"Eat this," the man urged, setting the tray in Arthur's lap. "Forget about that cursed evaluation. Your mother has been worried sick since she carried you here. She prayed for nights to the Empress of Dawns… and it seems the goddess has given mercy."
He smiled faintly, then continued, "You're only eleven. You've more years ahead than your old man ever will. Let's work hard, eh? Hard enough to catch the eye of Princess Meiyue. Then, by the grace of His Majesty, King Xuan Jian, you'll be betrothed before the whole court!"
Arthur's spoon halted midway to his lips. His breath slowed. In that moment, he pieced it together — the cadence of the man's voice, the warmth in his eyes, the tenderness beneath his sternness. This was his father… and the voice he'd heard before waking was that of this boy's mother.
The man kept speaking, as if afraid silence would drag Arthur back into the shadows. Arthur began to see the cracks, the faint tremor in his hands, the tightening of his jaw, the way his gaze kept flickering away and back.
Perhaps the boy whose body Arthur now inhabited had done something… final. Something one rarely returned from.
The drowning in the lake. Arthur concluded.
The man's voice wavered. "Don't… don't take such a step again. No matter how dark it gets, you still have us."
Without warning, he leaned forward and wrapped Arthur in a tight embrace. His chest heaved with a mix of relief, grief, and unspoken fear.
Arthur froze, trapped between two worlds, between two lives. Every instinct told him to escape this closeness, but another thought gnawed at him. If he genuinely was here now, understanding his place was the first step to survival. If he wanted to survive. He was not cleansed like he planned. He still had the weight of the past.
Before that, he needed to get out of the disturbing situation he was now in.
He calmed his breath and thought of how to get out of the embrace. He held his breath to speak the first words in the new world, and finally asked, "…Forgive me… but… who are you?"
The man's arms slowly loosened around Arthur. His eyes searched the boy's face for recognition, for the slightest flicker of familiarity.
Silence answered him.
Arthur was now claiming dementia.
The man's brows furrowed. Without a word, he reached for Arthur's wrist, two fingers pressed against the meridian where pulse met spirit. The calloused touch was steady, but Arthur could feel the faint tremor beneath it.
"Hm…" the man's expression darkened. He shifted his hand, pressing against the boy's temples, tracing the faint pathways of Qi. His thumb brushed across Arthur's brow, lingering at the Yintang point before moving behind the ear, where he tested the reflex of muscles and spirit veins.
Arthur sat still, pretending ignorance, though each touch told him more of this world's medical arts than he wished to learn.
The man's frown deepened. "No external injuries remain, meridians are intact… but your gaze…" He tilted Arthur's chin upward, looking directly into his eyes. "The spark is scattered. This… this is the aftermath of a great mental shock. Your soul sea has been shaken, your memories… are clouded."
His voice dropped. "This is the Mind-Fog. I've seen it in soldiers who returned from the brink of death. Sometimes the heavens give them back their life, but take away parts of their mind as the price."
He withdrew his hands, staring into his son's eyes as if sheer will could pull the memories back. The corners of his mouth trembled, but he forced a smile that looked nothing like joy. "It's alright… even if you've forgotten… We'll walk forward together. Let's forget them for now. We will get them back."
Arthur's heart stirred — not from sentiment, but from the growing weight of the role he had unwillingly inherited. He was not this boy. Yet here sat a man who would bleed himself dry to see him whole again.