Feng Liang's eyes slowly opened, his head throbbing with an intense, dull pain that felt as if it had burrowed into his skull. Each throb pulsed through him, almost making him feel nauseous. He groaned and pressed a hand to his temple, as if trying to push the pain away through sheer willpower.
"Urgh... my head..." he muttered weakly, blinking to adjust his vision. As his eyes began to focus, the hazy blur of his surroundings became clearer, and he slowly sat up.
The space around him felt... familiar, too familiar. He found himself in a small, cramped room with walls made of worn, splintered wood, the ceiling sagging dangerously low, and the faint scent of damp rot clinging to the air.
The sparse furniture, the uneven floor, the rough mat beneath him... it was almost identical to the decrepit cottage he had lived in during his time in the Heavenly Demon Sect as Cheon Meng.
Feng Liang rubbed his eyes, squinting to take it all in. The room was so similar, but something was different. It had the same oppressive loneliness, the same neglected, cold feeling... but the atmosphere felt heavier here. Like the room carried with it the weight of far more years, and a past much darker than his own.
"Where... am I?" he muttered, his voice hoarse and disoriented. His head swam with confusion as he tried to piece together what had happened.
Suddenly, the soft, distant sound of footsteps echoed from outside the cottage. Heavy, deliberate steps, growing louder and closer with each passing second.
Feng Liang's body stiffened, every muscle tensing instinctively. He tried to gather his Qi, to prepare himself for whoever was approaching, but... nothing. His Qi felt distant, like a receding wave, entirely out of his reach.
His heart skipped a beat.
"What's going on?" he whispered, his voice shaky with disbelief. He couldn't even feel the usual warmth of his Qi pulsing through his meridians. It was as if it had vanished entirely.
The footsteps continued, now just outside the door, which slid open with a loud, agonizing creak, as though the wood had been left to rot for years. Feng Liang braced himself, but what appeared in the doorway was not what he expected.
A boy... no older than ten... stepped into the room. His clothes were ragged, his hair a messy mop of black strands that hung loosely over his face, which was swollen with bruises.
The purple splotches and small cuts told a story of someone who had been through a recent beating. His dark eyes, while gleaming with a faint resilience, were filled with the kind of sorrow that no child should ever have to carry.
The boy, hunched and tired, trudged into the room and sat down in the far corner, curling his small frame into himself. He didn't acknowledge Feng Liang, didn't even glance in his direction.
Instead, he wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face between them, like someone who had grown accustomed to suffering.
Feng Liang watched in stunned silence.
"Hey," he called softly, his voice tentative.
"Who are you?"
The boy remained unresponsive, his face hidden, his body still as a stone. It was as if he hadn't heard Feng Liang at all.
"Hey," Feng Liang tried again, a little louder this time, moving toward him.
"Can you hear me?"
No reaction. The boy continued to sit in silence, his shoulders trembling ever so slightly as he clutched his knees tighter.
Feng Liang felt a wave of frustration rise within him. He took a step forward, reaching out to place a hand on the boy's shoulder.
But his fingers never made contact.
The moment his hand should have touched the boy, it passed right through him, like he was trying to touch nothing more than air.
"What the...?" Feng Liang jerked back, staring at his hand in disbelief. He clenched his fist, his fingers trembling. His body felt solid... he felt real... but somehow, he couldn't interact with anything or anyone. It was as if he had become a ghost, an invisible observer in a world he didn't belong to.
His heart raced. Panic swirled in his chest.
"What is going on here?!" he thought, his mind screaming with questions.
The boy remained still, his silent suffering continuing. But before Feng Liang could try to comprehend the strange situation further, the sound of voices erupted from outside the cottage. Angry, malicious voices that rang out like an impending storm.
The boy tensed visibly, his body going rigid as he lifted his head slightly from between his knees. Outside, the footsteps and voices drew closer, cruel laughter mingling with shouts as they neared the dilapidated cottage.
"Cheon Dan!" a voice roared from outside, filled with contempt and arrogance.
Feng Liang's eyes widened in shock. Cheon Dan?! He whipped his head around, staring at the boy in the corner with growing realization. No... it can't be...
The name rang through his mind like a bell. Cheon Dan. The name of his ancestor, the man he had spoken with in the cave not long ago. The founder of the Heavenly Demon Sect.
Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The overwhelming Qi he had sensed earlier, the familiarity of this place... it all made sense now.
I'm inside my ancestor's memories. The realization hit Feng Liang like a bolt of lightning. The knowledge that the ancestor had passed onto him before fading... it wasn't just knowledge. He had been transported into the past, reliving the most painful and formative moments of his ancestor's life.
His gaze shifted back to the boy... Cheon Dan as a child. His black hair hung over his bruised face, his eyes gleaming with unspoken rage and sorrow. He was sturdy for a child, his frame resilient despite the bruises and cuts covering his skin. He had no Qi, no strength, but there was a silent defiance about him, even as he sat there, trembling.
Feng Liang's heart twisted in his chest. He remembered reading about this moment in the ancient scriptures of the Heavenly Demon Sect. Cheon Dan's parents had been falsely accused of robbery, and the village had dragged them away in front of him.
Feng Liang's chest tightened as the memory flooded his mind, the words from the Records that he had read in the Heavenly Demon Sect echoed in his thoughts...
"Cheon Dan watched as his parents were cut into pieces, slowly, alive... and forced to endure the sight of their screams. The village made sure that he saw everything, powerless to stop it."
Outside, the voices grew louder, more menacing. Laughter echoed through the door, and Feng Liang could feel the seething hatred in their words.
The boy, Cheon Dan, sat there quietly, his fists clenched behind his back, but his eyes... his eyes carried the weight of the rage brewing within him. The fury, the grief, the helplessness... it was all there, burning behind his dark, tear-filled gaze.
The door was suddenly kicked open with a loud bang, and a group of men poured into the small cottage. Their grins were wide and malicious, their laughter echoing through the cramped space as they surrounded the boy. They towered over him, their eyes filled with cruel amusement.
"Well, well," the leader of the group sneered, stepping forward.
"If it isn't little Cheon Dan. How's it feel to be all alone now, boy? Did you enjoy the show we put on for you?" He let out a bark of laughter, his teeth bared in a predatory grin.
Cheon Dan lifted his head slightly, his eyes filled with quiet fury. His lips were pressed together tightly, but he said nothing. His small body shook with the effort to contain the rage and grief boiling inside him.
The leader leaned down, his face inches from Cheon Dan's.
"What? No smart remarks? No cries for mercy?" He laughed again, his voice thick with mockery.
"You watched your parents die like dogs, and now you're just going to sit there and take it?"