Yang Feng stood motionless in the middle of the jubilant crowd, his vision swirling with the dizzying haze of the villagers' celebration. The sky had darkened fully now, clouds filling against the inky canvas above, but the warmth from the sun in the village square and the energy of the villagers kept the area alive. They danced and cheered, their hands clapping in unison, as if they had forgotten the hardships of life and instead embraced this fleeting moment of joy.
But Yang Feng? He felt nothing of the sort.
His body, though standing firm, was suspended in a strange limbo, as though the world had taken on a strange, detached quality. Every face he saw, every cheer that reached his ears, felt distant—muted, as if he were listening to it all from behind a wall of glass. His heart beat heavily, slowly, in his chest, the reality of the situation crashing down on him like a tidal wave.
**What was this place?**
Yang Feng stared, eyes wide and dazed, at the faces of the villagers around him. Ordinary. So painfully ordinary. These were people who hadn't even begun to grasp the first thread of **Qi**—the life force that flowed through everything in the higher realms. No aura, no energy, nothing. Not even the faintest flicker of cultivation existed in these people. It was as if they had never even heard of Qi, let alone knew how to harness it. How could a village, in any realm, survive like this?
In the upper realms, everyone—**everyone**—had some connection to Qi. Even those who chose not to cultivate were still surrounded by its presence. The very air was alive with it, vibrating with its essence. But here? Here the air felt dead. Stale. **Empty.**
It wasn't just the villagers either. His gaze drifted toward the **Great Counselor**, the man who had commanded such respect earlier. Yang Feng's stomach twisted as he recalled what his double pupils had revealed. The so-called Great Counselor, the man who had arrived on a flying horse, strutting around like a figure of authority, was nothing more than a fraud. He hadn't even established his **Qi Foundation**, the first and most basic step on the road to cultivation. He was no different from the villagers. Yet they treated him as if he were a god among them.
Yang Feng's mind could barely process it.
Was this all some cruel joke? Had he truly been reborn into a world where cultivation was a lost art? A world where people worshipped those who had no power at all? His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, his nails digging into the flesh of his palms, yet he barely felt the pain. His thoughts churned, chaotic and tumultuous, as he tried to grasp the enormity of his situation.
**Where am I?**
His eyes flicked toward the **village elder**, the man who had overseen the test. Another ordinary person. The elder smiled at the crowd, his face lined with years of hardship, but in those eyes was a glimmer of relief, of hope. The old man had no Qi either—just like the rest of them. No power. No strength. No understanding of the world beyond this tiny village.
And yet, here he stood, celebrating Yang Feng as if he were the key to their salvation. It made no sense. None of this made any sense.
Yang Feng's heart sank deeper with each passing second. He looked at the **Great Counselor** again, just in time to see the man bow his head slightly and reach out to take the village elder's hand. The arrogance and pride the counselor had displayed earlier were gone, replaced by a strange sort of subservience. He led the elder toward the visitor's house, their hands clasped as if sealing some unspoken agreement. The Counselor muttered something—an apology, it seemed—but his words were so quiet that only the elder could hear them.
Yang Feng's breath caught in his throat. Apologizing? The man who had stood above them all, acting like he was a mighty figure, was now bowing and whispering apologies to a powerless village elder?
The confusion in Yang Feng's mind only deepened. His heart raced, pounding against his ribs, each beat growing louder in his ears. He felt as though the ground beneath him was shifting, turning his entire world upside down. What kind of place had he been reborn into? What kind of cruel twist of fate had brought him here, to a village where the laws of cultivation seemed nonexistent?
As his thoughts spiraled further into chaos, he barely noticed the figure of **Ms. Xu** approaching him. Her steps were light, yet filled with purpose, and her face bore a gentle smile as she looked at him. She was the only one among the crowd who seemed to notice the growing pallor on Yang Feng's face, the way his eyes had lost their focus, as though he had been struck by some unseen force.
Ms. Xu frowned slightly, concern filling her warm brown eyes. She stepped closer to him, breaking through the throng of villagers who were still cheering and clapping. "Yang Feng," she called softly, her voice like a balm against the chaos in his mind. "Are you alright?"
But Yang Feng didn't respond. His mind was too busy grappling with the disarray of his thoughts. He didn't even register her presence until she was standing directly in front of him, her hand gently resting on his shoulder.
Seeing that Yang Feng was not himself, Ms. Xu turned toward the villagers and raised her voice just enough to be heard over their celebrations. "Alright, everyone, enough for now!" she called out, her tone kind but firm. "We need Yang Feng to help me with the feast preparations, so you'll have to let me take him for now."
The villagers, caught in the throes of their joy, hesitated for a moment, but Ms. Xu's authority won them over quickly. "The feast won't happen if we don't get started," she added with a teasing smile. "No food for anyone unless Yang Feng and I get to work."
Laughter rippled through the crowd, and they parted, making way for Ms. Xu and Yang Feng. She gently took his hand, her touch soft but insistent, and led him away from the bustling square. The villagers continued their celebrations, unaware of the storm brewing within Yang Feng's heart.
As they walked, Yang Feng followed Ms. Xu mechanically, his feet moving, but his mind still trapped in the confusion of what he had just witnessed. He stared ahead, his vision blurring slightly as his thoughts whirled like a storm inside him. **How could this be?** How could the mighty realms he once knew exist in the same universe as this backwater village where even the concept of Qi seemed like a distant memory?
Ms. Xu glanced back at him, her brows furrowing in concern. She could sense that something was troubling Yang Feng deeply, though she couldn't quite place what it was. To her, it must have seemed like the overwhelming weight of the villagers' expectations was crushing him. After all, Yang Feng was still just a child in her eyes.
Finally, they arrived at Ms. Xu's modest home. The structure was simple—wooden walls and a thatched roof—but there was a comforting warmth to the place, a quiet serenity that stood in contrast to the noise and chaos of the village outside. Ms. Xu led him through the front door, down a narrow hallway, and into a small but cozy sitting room.
"Here, sit down," she said softly, guiding Yang Feng toward a chair by the hearth. He sank into it without a word, his body moving as if on autopilot. His face, though composed, bore the weight of a thousand questions, each one gnawing at the edges of his mind. He stared blankly at the wooden floor beneath his feet, the rays from the sun casting dancing shadows on the walls.
Ms. Xu moved about the room quickly and quietly, fetching a pot of tea from the kitchen. She poured the warm liquid into a simple clay cup and brought it over to Yang Feng, placing it gently into his hands.
"Here, drink this. It'll help you relax," she said, her voice soft and soothing.
Yang Feng took the cup, but as he raised it to his lips, he noticed something strange. His hands were trembling. He stared at them, confused. Why were they shaking? He had faced wars, betrayal, and death in his past life. His hands had once wielded the power of lightning, had fought off enemies far more fearsome than anything in this world. And yet, here they were, trembling like leaves in the wind.
Ms. Xu watched him carefully, her brow knitting in concern. "You're afraid, aren't you?" she said quietly, misunderstanding the source of Yang Feng's distress. She smiled gently, her lips curving upward in a way that softened her features. "You're afraid to leave the village, aren't you?"
In her mind, she pictured Yang Feng as a small child, frightened of the unknown world beyond their little village. She imagined a chibi version of Yang Feng, with big, watery eyes and a quivering lip, crying out, "I don't want to leave!" The image made her pout slightly, her cheeks puffing out as she watched him.
Yang Feng, lost in his own thoughts, didn't respond. His mind was a maze, each question leading to more confusion.
Ms. Xu's heart softened further as she looked at Yang Feng, who seemed so lost and distant. The trembling of his hands, the blank stare in his eyes—everything about him screamed vulnerability, though she knew he was trying to put up a brave front. She had never seen him like this before. To her, Yang Feng had always been a quiet but capable boy, mature beyond his years in many ways. But now, he looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his small shoulders.
Her motherly instincts kicked in, and without thinking twice, she knelt beside him. Her gentle hands reached up, brushing through his dark hair, smoothing down the stray locks that had fallen into his face. She could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles were stiff with anxiety, and her heart ached to comfort him.
"There, there," she whispered, pulling him closer. Before Yang Feng could react, she gently guided his head toward her chest, cradling him like a child in need of warmth. His face was pressed against the soft fabric of her dress, and she could feel his hot breath against her skin. Her hands moved rhythmically through his hair, slow and reassuring, as if trying to calm the storm she believed was raging inside of him.
"I don't want you to leave either, Yang Feng," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper. The warmth of her embrace, the softness of her tone—it was all meant to ease his troubles, though she couldn't possibly know the depth of the chaos within him.
For a moment, time seemed to stop. The crackling fire in the hearth was the only sound in the air, its warmth spreading softly around them. Outside, the distant hum of the villagers' festivities continued, but here, in this quiet space, it was just Ms. Xu and Yang Feng.
As she held him, Yang Feng's thoughts continued to whirl. The absurdity of his situation—the broken shards of his former life colliding with the strange new reality he was now a part of—made it difficult to focus. But in Ms. Xu's embrace, there was a strange, unfamiliar comfort. He wasn't used to this kind of warmth. Not in his past life. Not in the cold, ruthless upper realms where power and strength were everything.
Here, though, as Ms. Xu stroked his hair and whispered words of comfort, Yang Feng felt something new. For the first time since his rebirth, the overwhelming confusion began to fade, replaced by a deep, unfamiliar sense of peace.
And though his mind was still a labyrinth of questions, for now, at least, he allowed himself to rest.