With a hint of incredulity, a voice softly uttered, "This is... strange."
Kyorin, now four years old, sat cross-legged under the warm, golden rays of the mid-morning sun. His young frame was lean and sturdy, carrying the echoes of his past strength despite his current frailty.
He clenched his small fists, channelling his focus inward, seeking the core of energy he once knew so intimately in his past life. 'The Dantian... it should be here,' he thought, a faint hint of unease creeping into his otherwise calm demeanour.
"Where is it?" Kyorin muttered, his brows knitting in frustration.
Time passed in silence, the occasional breeze rustling the leaves around him. He probed further, scouring every corner of his internal essence for the faintest trace of energy or resonance. Nothing.
Only emptiness greeted him—a void where his spiritual core, the foundation of his immense power as a Wraithblade Sentinel, should have been.
"There's no Dantian," he murmured, the weight of the realization settling over him like a heavy shroud.
His young face hardened, an expression far too mature for a child, as he wrestled with the implications. The Dantian—the reservoir of energy that formed the cornerstone of cultivation and power—was utterly absent. Not dormant, not damaged—just absent, as though it had never existed in this body.
A chill ran down his spine. Without a Dantian, the path to reclaiming his strength, to protecting those around him, seemed impossibly distant. His mind raced through possibilities, desperately trying to understand this anomaly.
'Was it this body?' he wondered, gazing at his small hands. They were delicate and soft, a stark contrast to the calloused, blood-stained hands he once wielded in battle. 'Or is it... something deeper?'
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice calling from the distance. "Kyorin, it's time to eat!"
It was his mother, Dan Xia. Her voice carried a warmth that tugged at the edges of his frustration, grounding him in the present. He glanced toward the modest house, its silhouette framed by the bright sunlight.
Sighing, Kyorin stood up and brushed off the dust from his clothes. As he turned to head towards the dining, a cold flicker of determination sparked in his eyes. 'For now... I need to accumulate knowledge about this world and also discover the reason behind the absence of the Dantian.'
'Perhaps I should undertake some external training to fortify myself,' Kyorin mused, folding his arms and closing his eyes in contemplation, a frown creasing his forehead. Lost in thought, he abruptly collided with someone, his head only coming up to their waist.
"Careful there, little one," a warm voice said. Kyorin looked up to see Dan Xia smiling down at him, her eyes filled with affection. "So, what does my baby want today?"
Though he still bristled at being called a "baby," Kyorin let it slide. 'If it's her, I can tolerate it... barely,' he thought. His gaze darted to the ground, then back to her, before he replied, "Some boiled potatoes and salt, please."
Dan Xia's smile faltered slightly as her brow furrowed. "Again? Why do you want the same thing for a whole month?" she asked, a mix of curiosity and concern in her voice.
Kyorin froze for a moment. He couldn't tell her the real reason—that potatoes were all they could afford. Despite his limited experience in this world, he understood enough about their circumstances to know that money was scarce. It was better to save than to spend, especially on unnecessary luxuries.
"I... just like them," he said, his voice carrying the perfect blend of innocence and determination.
Dan Xia squatted down, levelling her gaze with his. Her expression softened as she reached out to gently brush his messy hair aside. "You're such a strange child sometimes," she said with a chuckle. "But if it's boiled potatoes you want, boiled potatoes it is."
[A/N: I am also eating boiled potatoes and spice rn since I am too lazy to cook anything.]
After some time, a plate of steaming, peeled potatoes sat before Kyorin on the table. He took small, deliberate bites, savouring the simplicity of the meal. Though the taste was plain, he didn't mind. Afterall, one of his mottos from his past life was: "As long as you're fed, you're pretty blessed."
Just as he was about to finish his last bite, the door swung open with a creak, letting in a gust of cool air. Standing in the doorway was none other than Grandma Tang. Her entrance was sudden, but her presence exuded the calm authority she was known for.
Dan Xia immediately stood and greeted her. "Greetings, Elder Tang."
Grandma Tang offered her a warm smile before her sharp eyes turned toward Kyorin. The toddler stilled under her gaze, the half-eaten potato in his hand momentarily forgotten. Though her expression was gentle, her gaze carried something enigmatic, a weight that seemed to press on him.
'What is it with this old woman?' Kyorin wondered, carefully avoiding her piercing eyes and resuming his meal. 'What game is she playing?'
Grandma Tang finally broke the silence. Turning to Dan Xia, she said, "It's time."
Dan Xia hesitated for a moment, surprise flickering across her face, but then she nodded in understanding. "Right," she replied, her voice steady though her hands fidgeted slightly.
Kyorin's brow furrowed as he caught the exchange. 'So it's today,' he thought, recalling the whispered conversations he'd overheard in the past few weeks. Today was the day of the Constellatory Affinity Ceremony.
This tradition, deeply rooted in Yang Niu village, was said to reveal a person's innate potential by deciphering their alignment with the celestial constellations. The villagers believed it provided insight into their future path, strengths, and weaknesses.
For Kyorin, this was more than just a quaint ritual—it was an opportunity. 'I wonder what my Constellatory Affinities will reveal about me?' he mused, his curiosity mixing with cautious optimism.
Grandma Tang gestured toward the door, her meaning clear. "Come," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Dan Xia gently patted Kyorin on the shoulder. "It's an important day, my little one. Finish up and let's go."
With one last bite, Kyorin stood, his small frame straightened with a quiet determination. Though outwardly calm, his thoughts raced. This ceremony might finally offer him a glimpse of his potential—or perhaps a clue about reclaiming his powers. 'Let's see what the stars have in store for me.'
Under the muted glow of a dying sun, Grandma Tang led Dan Xia and Kyorin toward the heart of Yang Niu village. Their destination was an ancient, withered tree perched on a tiny island in the middle of a tranquil pond.
To reach it, they boarded a creaking wooden boat that glided silently across the glassy water, the village's reflection rippling in their wake.
When they arrived, Kyorin surveyed the gathering. Around him, children shuffled and whispered, their voices weaving a tapestry of nervous excitement. They were a kaleidoscope of emotions, each face reflecting the weight of this pivotal day.
Boys and Girls tugged at the hems of their tunics, and girls fiddled with ribbons in their hair. The air buzzed with something intangible like a storm waiting to break.
At the centre of the island stood a circular stone platform, its surface worn smooth by time and ceremony. Surrounding it, ancient pillars rose like solemn sentinels, etched with constellations that seemed to flicker faintly in the dappled sunlight.
Kyorin's sharp gaze darted between the carvings and the children, assessing, calculating. His inner thoughts churned beneath his calm exterior. 'That boy's shaking. That one looks ready to bolt. And that girl...'
His eyes landed on someone—a girl with braided pigtails, cross-legged on the ground, her lips moving in a silent rehearsal. She was unlike the others.
While some clung to their parents and others tried to mask their unease with forced bravado, this one exuded a quiet focus. For a fleeting moment, Kyorin allowed himself to wonder, 'Could she be one too?'
The notion wasn't far-fetched. Reincarnation with past life memories wasn't as rare as the unknowing might believe, and Kyorin, in his brief but turbulent existence, had encountered—and ended—his share of them.
Yet this wasn't the time for suspicion or schemes. Not yet. He shifted his gaze quickly, feigning nervousness as he clung to Dan Xia's side. 'Blend in, don't stand out. Not now.'
Dan Xia knelt beside him, her fingers smoothing his hair with practised tenderness. "Don't worry, my little one," she murmured, though her tone betrayed the faintest tremor. "Whatever the stars reveal, you'll always be my Kyorin."
Her words struck a chord, a fleeting pang of something Kyorin couldn't name. He merely nodded, his face a mask of calm. If there was one thing he had learned through lifetimes, it was how to conceal the storms within.
As the buzz intensified, a sharp voice cut through the murmurs. "Silence!" Grandma Tang commanded her presence as unyielding as the stone platform itself. The crowd hushed instantly, their collective attention snapping toward her. The ceremony was about to begin.
One by one, children were summoned to the platform. An elder stood at the centre, chanting an ancient incantation as he scattered a shimmering powder into the air. The dust twisted and coiled, forming constellations above each child's head.
For some, the stars burned brightly, radiant and whole. For others, the patterns flickered or fractured, dimly illuminating their futures.
Kyorin watched from the edges, his interest veiled but undeniable. Delight lit up some faces, tears streaked others. Each step onto the platform was a gamble, a revelation that could inspire pride or shame. The tension in the air thickened with every turn.
Then it came. "Kyorin," Grandma Tang called, her voice clear and unyielding.
Dan Xia's hand tightened around his. "It's your turn, my baby," she said softly, her voice a blend of pride and dread.
Kyorin released a slow, steadying breath. With deliberate steps, he crossed to the platform, his small frame straight despite the weight of the moment. The eyes of the village bore into him, expectant and curious.
'Let's see what the stars hold for me this time,' he thought, climbing onto the stone stage that had witnessed the destinies of countless generations before him.
Time seemed to slow as Kyorin's body began to glow. A weightless sensation enveloped him as if he were suspended in a void untouched by gravity or sound. Above him, his star appeared—a single, delicate twinkle that shimmered with an almost otherworldly glow.
But it was faint. So faint that it barely pierced the shadows. To the onlookers, it was more a suggestion of light than a proclamation, as though it teetered on the very edge of existence. A fragile thing, trembling against the vast expanse of sky.
Scoffs rippled through the gathering like a low tide. Muffled laughter followed sharp and biting. Parents exchanged uneasy glances, and children whispered behind cupped hands.
Near the platform, Grandma Tang's jaw tightened. Her fists curled at her sides, the knuckles paling against the strain. 'Was I mistaken about this child?' she wondered, doubt clawing at the edges of her thoughts.
The crowd's murmurs blurred into an indistinct hum for Kyorin, their voices melting into the air as his focus zeroed in. He wasn't looking at the star itself—that bright, solitary beacon suspended above the platform—but at the faint particles of dust that swirled around it.
These shimmering specks danced in a delicate orbit, glimmering briefly before vanishing into nothingness. Yet, as soon as one particle disappeared, another took its place, as if the universe itself refused to let the cycle falter.
'Interesting...' Kyorin's thoughts stirred, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. He leaned forward imperceptibly, his sharp gaze honing in on the delicate interplay of light and motion. 'These specks of dust... such intensity. They're not ordinary.'
A faint smile tugged at his lips, the kind that spoke of discovery rather than amusement. It wasn't the star's brilliance that intrigued him but the fragments of potential orbiting it—each one fleeting, yet seemingly endless. He saw something within them, something that went unnoticed by the others.
Perhaps it was his unwavering attention or some unseen resonance, but the faint light of his star began to tremble. It didn't falter, nor did it fade. Instead, it held its ground against the oppressive void surrounding it, its glow everlasting.
"Hey! Your turn is over. Get down!" a voice bellowed, snapping Kyorin from his thoughts. He cast a glance toward the speaker, unbothered, and stepped down from the platform.
His movements were shaky, as though the moment had weighed on him, though it was but an act. Returning to Dan Xia's side, he felt the warmth of her hand as she immediately squeezed his.
Her voice was soft but carried an undercurrent of sorrow. "Don't feel dejected. You still have your mother, even if fate abandons you."
Kyorin didn't respond, yet her words struck a chord deep within him.
"A tranquil life, free from conflict and desire, and only contentment." The phrase echoed in his mind, like the refrain of a song he couldn't escape. It wasn't new to him—this notion of peace—but it felt foreign in a way that made him uncomfortable.
He had no Dantian, either due to this world's physiology or some defect at birth. The idea of being born talentless seemed laughable to him, considering how intimately he understood the stars.
And yet, here, in this moment, he saw a different path before him: one where he could stop chasing strength. One where he could live a simple, quiet life in this village, away from the shadows of conflict and ambition.
A life where he could care for his mother Dan Xia, and where they both could find peace in each other's company. Living, a contentful life.
The thought was tempting. So tempting that he almost allowed himself to consider it, to let the idea settle into his bones like a warm, familiar blanket. 'Perhaps... perhaps this could be enough.'
But then, the air shattered with an excited cry.
"WHOA!"
Kyorin's head snapped up, his sharp eyes immediately locking onto the commotion. The crowd stirred, murmurs rising like an incoming tide.
All eyes were fixed on the platform, where the girl with braided pigtails now stood. Around her, five glowing stars had appeared, orbiting her like celestial guardians.
Grandma Tang's voice carried over the buzz, tinged with shock. "Five Interstices... Heavens, a true Five Interstice!"
The words sent a ripple of awe and disbelief through the crowd. Someone whispered, "Could she be the reincarnation of the Mysterious Immortal of Qian Kun?"
"!!?" Kyorin's thoughts raced at the word: Immortal. It resonated within him like a bell, filling his mind with possibilities. 'So, there are cultivators here—or beings akin to them. This world may be more similar to my old ones than I thought.'
Beside him, Dan Xia gasped, her hand tightening around his. Her astonishment was clear, though Kyorin decided it would be better to ask her about it later. For now, his gaze remained fixed on the girl.
She stood there, her five stars blazing brightly, unaware of the intensity with which Kyorin watched her. Yet his attention shifted when he noticed Grandma Tang's expression.
The old woman's gaze wasn't one of pride or wonder; it was calculating. The way her eyes lingered on the girl, they were the same predatory glint Kyorin had kept experiencing over these past three years when she would look at him.
'I suppose... Besides being mysterious, my constellation is also quite lucky.' Kyorin inwardly remarked.
The faint smile that had played on Kyorin's lips moments ago faded completely. His sharp mind turned the pieces over, aligning them into a grim grand picture.
Regardless of the meaning behind the Five Interstices, it altered the dynamics to his advantage, as he was no longer the primary target for the old woman who—despite her calm exterior—was already plotting something.
To be continued...