Chapter 2: The Awakening
Chapter 2: The Awakening
Wuyao Shengjun's breath came in sharp gasps as he clutched his chest. His heart pounded steady, strong, alive.
The sensation was overwhelming. Just moments ago, he had embraced death, suffocated by the weight of his own frail body. Now, his limbs pulsed with vitality, muscles coiled with an unfamiliar strength. He flexed his fingers, watching how the sunlight danced across his skin his hands were smaller, smoother, unscarred by the hardships of his past life.
A gust of wind rustled through the trees, carrying the distant cries of birds and the scent of damp earth. He was no longer in the cold, desolate city of his old world.
He was somewhere else.
The realization sent a shiver down his spine.
I… reincarnated?
His mind reeled as fragmented memories surfaced scenes of a life both foreign and intimate. A warm voice calling his name. The feeling of strong hands resting on his shoulders. A small mountain sect, its stone paths winding through the cliffs like veins of an ancient beast. And at the heart of it all, a man with graying hair and steady eyes, looking down at him with fatherly pride.
"My son, the future of the Shengquan Sect rests in your hands."
The memories struck like thunder.
He was no longer Wuyao Shengjun, the nameless orphan who died alone in a cramped apartment.
He was Wuyao Shengjun, the son of a sect leader.
A branch snapped behind him.
Wuyao spun around, instincts sharper than he expected. His body shifted into a balanced stances his stance though he had no recollection of training in martial arts. Yet, it felt as natural as breathing.
A boy stood at the edge of the clearing, dressed in light blue robes embroidered with cloud-like patterns. His face, though youthful, held a cautious intensity, his dark eyes scanning Wuyao as if searching for an answer.
"Senior Brother Wuyao?" the boy hesitated, his voice uncertain. "You… you collapsed during morning practice. Are you… alright?"
Morning practice? Wuyao's mind raced. The memories of his past life were still settling, but this body had its own habits, its own routine. If he had truly reincarnated, then his sudden collapse must have been caused by the transfer the merging of two souls into one.
He quickly masked his confusion, straightening his posture. "I'm fine," he said, testing his voice. It was lighter, younger, but still carried a trace of the weight he had borne in his previous life.
The boy sighed in relief. "You scared us, Senior Brother. Master Sheng was about to send someone to fetch a physician."
Master Sheng. His father.
A strange feeling swelled in Wuyao's chest at the thought. The word father had never meant anything to him before only an empty concept, a title without substance. But now…
"I should return," he murmured, glancing at the dirt path winding through the trees.
The boy nodded, then hesitated. "Senior Brother… did something happen? You seem… different."
Wuyao met his gaze. He had spent a lifetime hiding his emotions, masking his suffering behind a forced smile. But now, for the first time, he had something to lose.
"I just had a strange dream," he said finally. "One that felt too real."
The boy looked as if he wanted to ask more, but he only nodded. "Master Sheng will want to see you. Let's go."
Wuyao followed him down the path, each step echoing with the weight of a past that no longer belonged to him.
The Shengquan Sect was small, nestled within the folds of a mountain valley. Stone buildings carved into the cliffs stood as silent witnesses to decades of tradition. Compared to the towering sects of legends, it was nothing a mere speck in the grand scheme of the martial world. But to the disciples who lived within its walls, it was home.
As they crossed the training grounds, young disciples sparred with wooden swords, their shouts ringing through the air. Elders stood by, correcting their stances, their eyes filled with patience and quiet wisdom. Wuyao watched them with an unreadable expression.
This was his world now.
At the sect's main hall, an older man stood waiting. His robes were simple yet carried an air of quiet authority. Streaks of gray ran through his hair, but his posture was strong, his sharp gaze softened only by the sight of Wuyao.
Master Sheng. His father.
Wuyao slowed, staring at the man before him. There was no contempt, no scorn, no distant coldness only concern.
"Yao'er," his father said, his voice steady. "Are you alright?"
The warmth in those words caught Wuyao off guard. He had never heard anyone speak to him like that in his past life.
For a moment, he didn't know how to respond. But then, something deep inside him, something long buried, stirred.
"…I'm fine, Father."
The words felt foreign on his tongue. And yet, they filled a hollow space within him.
Master Sheng's gaze lingered on him for a moment, as if sensing something had changed. But he said nothing, only nodding.
"Good. Then let us talk."
Wuyao stepped inside, knowing that his new life had only just begun.