Xian felt a chill crawl down his throat as the translucent pill slid into his body.
The cold surface began to melt slightly against his body's warmth, its essence leaving a cold trail that snaked through him, making his spine shudder with its passage.
Entering a meditative state, Xian closed his eyes and focused on the movement of the pill, preparing himself to guide and circulate its energy.
Yet, unlike anything he had experienced before, the pill moved with an unnatural sluggishness, as if a block of ice were slowly sinking into the depths of murky waters.
The pill melted away, but its size remained unchanged, moving with the slow, deliberate pace of an endless current. It seeped deeper into his body, its essence spreading like grain of endless waters—expanding and flowing, but never growing larger.
As time stretched on, the cold, soothing essence permeated every inch of him, swelling his body in a comforting chill.
The more it seeped in, the more he felt his vitality return—his pain and weariness slowly ebbing, replaced by a deep, cooling relief.
His breath, shallow and quick, caught in his throat as he tried to guide the pill's energy through his veins.
He could feel it there, moving like ice through his body, yet his will could not bend it. No matter how he concentrated, how he commanded, the energy denied him of any influence.
It was like… trying to mix oil with water. His will was helpless against it, unable to impose control over the pill's silent, relentless journey.
As the seconds turned to minutes, Xian could barely feel his body from the cold.
It was as though his very flesh had become numb, swallowed by the bitter chill that seeped deeper into his bones.
If not for the icy presence within him, Xian might have been drenched in sweat, but instead, the cold stole his warmth, leaving only an endless, gnawing chill that numbed his senses.
The pill, its essence now flowing deeper, seemed to shift its course, moving with a sudden urgency.
For the first time, Xian felt it divert—its slow, deliberate descent now sharp, rapid, as if drawn by some unseen force toward the cracked core, The Center of Body and Spirit.
His Dantian.
A strange, unnatural sensation rushed over him, like a storm gathering on the horizon. The pill blurred toward his Dantian with startling speed.
And then—crack.
A sound, like the shattering of glass, echoed through his body, reverberating against his very bones.
Gasp—!
Xian's mind barely registered the shock before he lost consciousness. But almost immediately, a sharp, excruciating pain erupted from his core, dragging him back to the waking world in violent spasms.
His body convulsed. Every muscle, every tendon, every bone screamed at once as something oppressive and unstoppable stirred within him.
The cold pill, now liquefied and melted complete, into pure, raw energy, surged from his Center of Body and Spirit, with a soundless burst.
A soundless scream tore from his throat as his body began to change.
"Ga—sp!"
Xian could barely gasped in choked voice, his vision dark red.
It was not healing. It was destruction.
His bones cracked and splintered, folding inward. His flesh shrank and tightened, veins and muscles writhing beneath his skin like living things.
His hair, once long and silvered with time, began to thin and fall away, each strand disintegrating into motes of ash.
Years—decades—centuries of life collapsed into moments.
And then—worse. His body time began to regress.
Xian felt his body time fold in upon itself, his limbs growing smaller, his frame shrinking. His skin smoothed, purged of every scar, every mark of hardship and battle.
His organs twisted and shifted, purifying themselves in ways he could neither control nor comprehend!
He could barely feel it—his body growing younger rapidly, his vitality surging wildly, painfully, beyond anything normal. His soul, too, was stripped bare, laid naked before the power working upon him.
From elder… to man… to youth… to child…
His consciousness flickered at the edges, but the agony tethered him to reality, forcing him to endure every second of his undoing.
Xian felt his body grow smaller and smaller, folding inward upon itself, until even the sensation of flesh began to fade.
And only then—did darkness finally take him.
...
Zhou Chen senses were adrift, like a ship lost at sea. He found himself in a place unfamiliar yet familiar, where the air felt thick and foreign. He blinked rapidly, disoriented, the blur of light and shadows around him slowly coalescing into shapes.
The world around him began to solidify into a small, cramped room. It was an apartment, though its details were dim in his mind, like an image faded by the passage of time.
The walls were bare, with only a few pieces of furniture scattered about. An old couch sat in one corner, its cushions worn, the fabric frayed from years of use.
A small coffee table was in front of it, covered in random papers and an old laptop. The low hum of an electric fan filled the silence, the only sound in the room aside from his slow breathing.
As he adjusted, he heard a voice—gentle but firm—calling from the other side of the room.
"Chén'ér," the voice echoed softly, a warmth and familiarity in the tone that tugged at something deep inside him.
The word drew him out of his reverie, and he turned toward the source of the voice.
She stood in the kitchen, her dark hair tied back in a loose bun, with a few strands framing her mature face. Her features were soft yet defined, with warm, dark eyes that carried a sense of wisdom.
She wore a simple blouse and a well-worn apron, her hands moving skillfully as she chopped vegetables. There was a quiet calm about her, as if she was at peace with the world around her, and her presence felt comforting, familiar.
"Chén'ér," she called again, her voice a blend of warmth and worry. "I know you're studying hard for your exams, but even the sharpest mind needs a healthy body to carry it."
"…" Zhou Chen opened his mouth, but no words came out. His throat felt dry.
His hands instinctively brushed over his lap. He glanced down — loose, comfortable clothing, the kind one wear at home. A faint ink stain on his right sleeve.
The woman smiled softly when he didn't answer, her knife never pausing against the cutting board.
"Chén'ér," she said, her voice low but steady. "You don't have to rush, you are still young, alright?"
Listening to her voice, and seeing her figure, Something stirred in Zhou Chen's chest.
"Are you listening?" she asked again, a thread of concern woven into her tone.
Zhou Chen sat silently, his expression blank.
The woman tilted her head slightly, a faint crease of worry forming between her brows. She stepped closer, her hands gently reaching toward his face. "Chén'ér?, are you alright?."
Zhou Chen could feel her touch before it reached him, her presence a warm, familiar anchor in this strange reality. His eyes followed her movements, though his mind was elsewhere — lost in a fog of confusion and blurriness.
His lips parted again, but the words caught in his throat. Slowly, he managed a strained, hoarse whisper.
"… I'm alright, aunt"
The woman's expression softened, a mix of concern and understanding in her gaze. She knelt down beside him, bringing herself to eye level. Her hand rested gently on his arm, grounding him in the moment.
"You've been pushing yourself too hard lately," she said gently. "It's okay to take a break. You've earned it."
Zhou Chen's gaze flickered to the bowl of congee she had placed in front of him. The savory scent of the food filled the room, mingling with the warmth of her presence.
"…Yeah"
...
[COMING NEXT] - CHAPTER 6 - The Mundane I
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