The world around Xiang Ling was a hazy blur, indistinguishable shapes and muffled sounds floating through her senses. She lay still, her body heavy and unresponsive, as if she was submerged in a thick, suffocating fog. Gradually, the fog began to lift, and she became aware of a persistent throbbing in her temples, a dull ache that pulsed with each heartbeat.
The first sensation she recognized was the cool, slightly rough texture of the ground beneath her. Her fingers twitched, brushing against the coarse surface, and she realized she was lying on the hard and cold floor. Slowly, she opened her eyes, blinking against the brightness that seemed to pierce through her skull.
Sounds started to filter through the haze. The distant murmur of voices, the rustling of metals, and the soft sound of someone breathing reached her ears. She focused on these sounds, grounding herself in their familiarity.
