The light was not right. It was not very wrong a little off. Like when someone else's humming a song you know. The way it came through the curtain the color it all felt a bit strange. The ceiling was too close and too white. It smelled like instant noodles.
He lay there. Breathed. Outside he could hear the sounds of the city. A vendor was probably there getting ready for the day. He could hear motorbikes and a truck reversing somewhere. It all sounded very normal.
He had forgotten what normal life feels like. His hand. He felt the mattress beside him. It was made of foam and had a cotton sheet that was a bit worn. His hand was eighteen years old. It did not feel like it belonged to him.
He stared at the ceiling. Thought about nine thousand years. What do you do with that time? He did not try to answer that question. He just let the years sit inside him like water at the bottom of a well.
There was a ring on the bedside table. He had known it was there before he turned his head. It felt warm like it was waiting for him. He looked at it. Saw that it was a simple black band. It did not look like much. He knew it was very powerful.
He reached for the ring. It felt warm against his skin. He put it on his finger. It felt quiet like it was waiting for something. He sat up. His body did not like it. Every muscle felt like it was pushing back against him.
He looked inside himself. Felt his spiritual veins. They were narrow and not very strong.. He could feel something else something waiting patiently. He had been here before a time ago. He had learned about Body Tempering, realm, First layer.
He would not rush this time. He would build everything properly. He would start again from the beginning.
Then he heard his sisters voice. "Tian-ge " she said. "Mom left congee. So you know. I'm not saying I'll eat it. I'm also not saying I will not eat it." He had governed courts. Stood in front of powerful beings but he was not prepared for his sisters voice.
It sounded ordinary so casual.. It felt like it was coming from somewhere deep inside him. He cleared his throat. Said, "I'm awake." His sister said, "You sound weird." He said, "I'm fine."
She said, "No, like, formal weird. Why are you being formal? It's like 6:45 am." He did not know what to say. He said, "Go and eat. Before it gets cold." She said, "It's already cold." He said, " go eat cold congee."
She went to the kitchen. He sat with the quiet for a moment. The ring was warm on his finger. He looked at a photograph on the bedside table. It was a picture of him his sister and his mother in a park. His father had taken the picture. He was not in it.
On the frame there was a note with a shopping list. His father had written it. His mother still bought that brand of soy sauce. He sat with that thought for a moment. Did not do anything.
Then he stood up. Straightened his body. He ran a hand through his hair. Took a breath. He went to have breakfast with his sister. Behind him the room was quiet. The curtain moved a bit. The photograph sat on the bedside table. The ring was not warm anymore.
His sister was saying something about the congee in the kitchen. He went to join her. On the shelf, above his desk there were three books. They were his fathers books. Nobody had touched them in a long time. The middle one had not been touched since the funeral. Its spine was facing outward. It had not been that way the night before.