The knife whistled past Yang Feng's face, barely missing his cheek by a hair. His pupils dilated, his senses sharp, but there was no malice in the air. He could sense it wasn't an attack, but still, his hand reflexively moved toward his side, where a weapon would have been—had he still been the prince of the Immortal Clan.
Slowly, his eyes moved toward the direction from where the blade had come, only to see the familiar sight of a middle-aged man lounging in a swing chair under the shade of an ancient tree. The man's eyes were half-closed, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he sipped from a bottle of wine that hung loosely from his hand. He looked like he had barely moved, yet the knife had undoubtedly come from him.
The man chuckled softly, his voice gruff from years of drinking, "Go make lunch, kid. I'm hungry." He waved his hand dismissively, already returning to his peaceful nap, as if throwing knives at Yang Feng was as natural as breathing.
Yang Feng, his gaze lowered to the ground,said nothing, only giving a small nod before walking inside the small wooden cabin. The door creaked as he shut it, sealing the room in a warm, amber glow from the sunlight filtering through the windows.
Inside, the small cabin was rustic but cozy. Simple wooden furniture adorned the room—a table, a few chairs, and the stone fireplace that served as both the stove and a source of warmth. The scent of wood and smoke permeated the air, blending with the rich, earthy aroma of freshly hunted game.
Sighing, Yang Feng picked up the small knife that had nearly impaled him and walked toward the antelope he had hunted earlier. Its lifeless body was sprawled across a wooden table, ready to be skinned. The task was tedious, but as he removed the hide and started slicing the meat, his thoughts drifted to his former life, to the events that led him to this obscure cabin in the mountains.
As the knife slid through the tough hide of the antelope, peeling the skin back in clean, precise movements, Yang Feng's thoughts drifted back—back to the Azure Domain. The memories came flooding in uninvited, each one sharper than the blade in his hand. He had once been the prince of the Immortal Clan, a title that now felt so distant it almost seemed like a dream. Yet the betrayal, the pain, and the explosion of the negative Qi were all too real. He could still feel it, the sting of Ling Bing's blade, the searing heat of the Qi as it ravaged his body from the inside out.
Ling Bing… the name alone sent a wave of bitterness through Yang Feng's chest. Of all people, it had to be him. His so-called brother-in-arms, the one who had stood by his side through countless battles, had been the one to plunge the knife into his gut—literally and figuratively.
Yang Feng's gaze became more intense, slicing through the antelope's flesh with a bit more force than necessary. The image of Ling Bing's face, twisted with jealousy and malice, was burned into his mind. Even now, he could hear Ling Bing's voice in his ears, mocking him, telling him how it had always been Yang Feng in the spotlight, how it should have been Ling Bing basking in the glory.
His hands paused, trembling slightly as he recalled the moment the egg—Di Long's egg—had begun to crack. The chaos that ensued, the desperate attempt to contain the energy. He had absorbed almost all of it, but the sheer force of the negative Qi had been too much. Even now, he wasn't sure if he had saved them all, or if the explosion had consumed his mother and Xiao Mei as well.
Xiao Mei… the image of her standing on the cliff, her pink hair dancing in the wind, her eyes sparkling with determination and grace. She had been his equal, his rival, and yet, deep down, there had always been something more. He admired her strength, her resilience. But now, he didn't know if she had survived that fateful day. The thought gnawed at him as he worked, tearing him apart in ways the blade in his stomach never could.
The sound of the knife scraping against the cutting board brought him back to the present. He had finished skinning the antelope and began chopping the meat into smaller pieces, his movements mechanical as his mind remained trapped in the past.
The smell of raw meat filled the cabin as Yang Feng set the pieces aside, wiping his hands on a cloth. He moved toward the stack of firewood by the door, grabbing a log and hefting the axe. His body, once capable of channeling the might of a Qi-God, now strained with the simple task of chopping wood. His breaths came heavier than they should have, each swing of the axe feeling like a weight on his soul. He could barely manage this, let alone summon the powers he once wielded.
The wood split with a satisfying crack, and Yang Feng picked up the pieces, tossing them into the stove. He crouched down, striking two stones together to ignite a flame. Sparks flew, catching the dry wood, and soon the fire was crackling warmly, filling the cabin with light and heat.
Yang Feng stared into the flames, the flickering embers reminding him of the lightning that had once coursed through his veins. He had been the Thunder God's chosen, the one to inherit the Qi of the heavens themselves. Now, he was nothing more than a boy, barely stronger than the wild animals that roamed the forest outside. His power, his earned greatness, had been stripped from him, and he didn't even know where he had been reborn,in this remote place!
He placed the pieces of meat into a pot of water, setting it on the stove to boil. The scent of cooking meat soon filled the cabin, but Yang Feng wasn't paying attention. His thoughts kept drifting back to the Azure Domain, to the battle, to the explosion of Qi. How had he ended up here? Why did he end up here. Where the hell was he?
Yang Feng sat down by the fire, the heat warming his chilled skin. He clenched his fist, frustration boiling inside him. He had once stood on the peak of the world, wielding power that others could only dream of. Now, he could barely chop firewood without gasping for breath.
His gaze fell to the two stones he had used to light the fire, their rough surfaces reminding him of the harshness of his current reality. He had been a prince, a warrior, a wielder of the thunder itself. Now, he was using primitive methods to survive, like a common woodcutter.
Yang Feng sighed, the memories of his past life swirling around him. He remembered the feeling of standing on a cliff in the Azure Domain, his arms outstretched as he commanded the lightning to bend to his will. The sky had been his to control, the clouds his loyal servants. But all of that was gone now, lost in the explosion of negative Qi and Ling Bing's treachery.
The fire crackled, the sound soothing yet bitter. Yang Feng took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of cooking meat, but the heaviness in his chest remained. His current life was a far cry from the glory he had once known.
He stirred the pot absentmindedly, his mind continuing to wander. He had reached the peak of power in his previous life, a Qi-zun and now he wasn't even close to the Qi-Tu level. The contrast was stark, and it gnawed at him, reminding him of everything he had lost.
Finally, Yang Feng sat back and stared at the pot. The fire reflected in his dark purple eyes, his two pupils rotating slightly as if searching for answers. "How did I end up here?" he whispered to himself, the question hanging heavy in the air, unanswered.