Gu Hao woke up with the strange certainty that he hadn't rested at all.
It felt like he had simply… opened his eyes again.
The ceiling above him was unfamiliar. Dark wood. Old beams. Smoke stains that hadn't been cleaned in years. For a brief, stupid moment, he wondered why the police station had wooden ceilings.
Then the smell reached him.
Dried herbs.
Dust.
Something faintly metallic.
Not disinfectant.
His chest tightened.
He breathed in again, slower this time.
Pain answered.
Not the sharp pain of injury.
The dull, exhausted ache of a body that had been pushed too long and forgotten afterward.
Gu Hao sat up.
His body moved carefully, before he told it to. Like it already knew what would hurt. His hands rested on the edge of the bed, rougher than he expected. The skin didn't feel like his.
When his feet touched the floor, the world felt heavier.
Not figuratively.
Physically.
As if gravity here pressed a little harder.
He stood and nearly lost his balance.
"…Right," he muttered, voice hoarse.
The mirror on the wall was bronze, warped just enough to be unkind.
The man staring back at him looked older than he felt. Not aged by time, but by responsibility. Sharp features worn smooth by repetition. Eyes that didn't expect help.
Gu Hao stared longer than was comfortable.
Then the memories arrived.
Not as a flood.
As pressure.
Names. Places. Faces that felt intimate and distant at the same time. The Gu Clan. The Outer Fringe. A family that had been shrinking for years without anyone daring to say the word decline out loud.
And him.
Patriarch Gu Hao.
The title settled into place with a dull weight.
He didn't panic.
That surprised him.
After dying alone in a small room because everyone had decided it was safer not to stay, panic felt… inefficient. Almost childish.
Instead, he did what he had always done.
He checked what he had.
Inside him, something stirred.
Warmth. Weak, but real. It moved slowly, like water through cracks in stone. It didn't feel powerful. It felt… tired.
Qi.
The word came without explanation.
Enough to scare ordinary people.
Enough to command obedience.
Not enough to keep anyone truly safe.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Patriarch."
The voice was respectful. Careful.
"The elders are waiting."
Gu Hao closed his eyes.
On Earth, people had relied on his kindness and walked away.
Here, they would rely on his authority and stay.
He wasn't sure which was worse.
The council hall felt wrong the moment he entered.
Too large.
Too quiet.
Five elders sat around a long stone table built for more than double that number. The empty seats weren't symbolic. No one looked at them anymore.
They stood when Gu Hao approached.
Not because he was strong.
Because there was no one else.
As he walked to the head of the table, he felt it clearly — the pressure in the room. Measured glances. Subtle evaluations. Men who could defeat him individually, waiting for him to speak first.
"What do we have left?" Gu Hao asked.
The question came out flatter than he intended.
An elder answered. Numbers. Resources. Time limits. Winter.
Gu Hao listened.
What stayed with him wasn't the figures.
It was the pauses.
The way no one argued.
The way no one interrupted.
The way everyone already knew how close they were to disappearing.
Then it came.
Not a sound.
Not a vision.
Something opening quietly inside his awareness.
[Legacy Simulation Available]
Activation requires payment.
Gu Hao's breath caught.
The words didn't rush him.
Didn't tempt him.
They waited.
Like a document placed on a table.
Unsigned.
He understood immediately that this wasn't help.
It was responsibility, sharpened.
Once he saw the future, he would never be able to pretend he didn't know.
Gu Hao pushed the presence away.
Not yet.
The elders were watching him.
Waiting for reassurance.
Waiting for leadership.
Waiting for something solid in a world that had been thinning for years.
"We're not dissolving the clan," Gu Hao said.
The relief in the room was immediate. Uncontrolled.
"But listen carefully," he continued, quieter now. "Survival won't come from comfort. Or tradition. Or hoping our neighbors stay disinterested."
No one spoke.
"I need tonight," Gu Hao said. "Tomorrow, we change how we live."
They nodded.
Because there was nothing else left to agree to.
Gu Hao remained seated after they left, alone at the head of an oversized table.
For the first time since waking up, his chest tightened again.
Not from fear.
From the realization that this time, when people relied on him—
There would be no one else to step forward.