Jian woke up feeling his body extremely relaxed. When he cleared his vision, he noticed he was in a different room from his own—spacious, with strange objects. I've never dreamed of ancient China, he thought as he stretched and observed the things around him. They're like the ones I saw in the Chinese art section at the museum, before... he thought while brushing his hair. What? He thought as he reached his neck and lifted the strand before his eyes. Green?
He touched his face, a shiver running through his body. He looked around the room and immediately stood up to face a full-length mirror in the corner, near a window. This is new, he thought, dropping his jaw as he looked at his reflection. I've never dreamed of such a radical change in appearance.
In the mirror, he saw a young boy no older than 15, with long, straight, green hair. Only the color of his eyes and some facial features were familiar to him.
He turned in front of the mirror and saw the turquoise tunic with decorations he was wearing. Not masculine, he thought, grimacing in disgust, and not comfortable, he added, frowning. Why would I dream of something like this?
He wondered, letting out a long sigh. Suddenly, he felt very tired. He returned to the bed and lay down, looking at the ceiling, which, thankfully, didn't have the excessive decoration that covered all the walls.
After thinking for a while, he concluded that he was experiencing a lucid dream, and maybe his changed appearance had something to do with his visit to the museum.
He recalled his actions after leaving that place, trying to find something strange that might have caused him to dream something so unusual.
Then he remembered the suffocating feeling in his chest, the voice calling him, the river. It can't be.
He tensed up again, feeling dizzy from sitting up too suddenly. This can't be real... The dead don't dream... do they? He spent some time turning this idea over in his mind when a soft knock at the door brought him back to reality.
He looked at his hands in concern, noticing they were trembling, and from his quickened breathing, he feared his nervousness would show when he spoke. He took a deep breath, clenched his jaw and fists, and forced himself to react despite the cold creeping over his body.
I have to escape.
Jian heard the knocking stop, looked around, and with no other way out, headed for the window. The world he saw outside took his breath away.
—Master, you're awake!
He saw narrow streets, distant pagodas, and a bustling crowd speaking a strange but familiar language.
What is this?
—Master… excuse me. Are you alright?
The disciple, seeing no response, approached to touch his arm gently, but jumped back in surprise when his hand was brusquely swatted away by his master, who looked at him as he never had before.
His beautiful green eyes seemed to burn, wanting to incinerate him. The disciple immediately bowed and apologized for his actions.
Jian, overwhelmed by the information and the sense of danger, was slow to react. But the disciple remained in that position for a long time before Jian responded.
—Master? No... I'm not your master. Who are you?
Jian said with a stern voice, looking at the boy, who had raised his head, surprised and pale at his question. The disciple stammered at first but managed to introduce himself. He said his name was Yang, his principal disciple, and suggested Jian rest. He would call for the doctor immediately, and everything would be fine.
Jian wanted to stop him, but the boy was fast, and he couldn't.
I need to get out of here before he returns, he decided, more urgently.
Jian grabbed a staff and left with one goal in mind: to find a safe place to figure out what was going on.
For, remembering his death, he concluded this couldn't be a dream, but neither was it heaven or hell, at least not as he had imagined them. He would have to discover where he was and how he had gotten there.
He wandered through many hallways, and when he noticed that the people, all dressed in strange tunics similar to his, seemed to recognize him, he ran.
He felt trapped in a labyrinth, but somehow, he managed to reach a secluded section near a huge wall, which seemed to surround the entire place. He swallowed hard. As he walked through the alleys and observed the behavior of the people, he was almost certain this place was some kind of ancient China.
Night fell, and Jian, covered with a blanket he had found, sat defeated in a dark alley near a market, which gradually fell silent.
.｡ﾟ+..｡ଘ( ᐛ ) ଓ+..｡*ﾟ+.｡ﾟ+..｡ଘ( ᐛ ) ଓ+..｡*ﾟ+ Meanwhile, the leader of the sect, Master Tian Yu, ordered the search for one of his most talented disciples. Li Jian, the fourth senior disciple, had woken up after being unconscious, but something was terribly wrong: he seemed to have lost his memory.
—How could you leave him alone? —grumbled Wei Rong, the first senior disciple, the most outstanding of the four, and Jian's childhood friend.
The younger disciple, Yang, kept apologizing, bowing repeatedly while his face turned desperate.
Master Tian Yu stroked his long white beard, his eyes shining with a mixture of concern and calculation as he thought about how to proceed with Jian's unexpected relapse. Not only was his mental state uncertain, but time was running out. If they didn't manage to stabilize him, Jian wouldn't be able to attend the Solstice Ceremony, a crucial event for the sect, where he was supposed to demonstrate the greatness of their sect, and where Jian, along with the other senior disciples, played a central role.
—We'll search for him immediately —Tian Yu said, his commanding tone silencing the room. —But until we find him, do not mention his condition to the other disciples. This cannot reach the ears of the rival sects. Understood?
Everyone nodded solemnly, while Wei Rong clenched his fists with a steely gaze.
—I'll handle bringing him back myself —Wei Rong said, determined.
Tian Yu observed him in silence for a moment before nodding.
—Do it quickly, and do it right. If anything happens to Jian, the sect will be affected as well.