The vast ocean stretched endlessly beneath an ominous sky. Ink-black clouds loomed, oppressive and terrifying, as deafening thunder roared through the air. Lightning tore apart the night, illuminating the tumultuous sea where a solitary, decrepit fishing boat struggled against the storm.
Rain lashed down in torrents like piercing arrows, while the wind howled mercilessly. Waves as tall as ten meters rose and fell like the arms of mythological titans, lifting the fishing boat high before slamming it back down with a vengeance.
"Damn this storm! And damn this worthless radio!"
The captain spat his cheap cigarette into the raging sea, snapping at his crew—lean and haggard men who clung desperately to the ship's railings and thick ropes. Retreat was not an option.
This was a smuggling ship, departing from Malaysia and bound for Gotham City on the American West Coast. Its passengers were desperate souls, impoverished individuals chasing the elusive American Dream. Each had paid their life savings to snakeheads, boarding this fragile vessel with a mix of anxiety and hope, crammed into the dark, damp hold below deck.
Suddenly, a blinding bolt of lightning struck the mast. The metallic skeleton of the ship glowed momentarily, brilliant patterns of energy coursing down into the hold.
In a shadowy corner of the cabin, a 16-year-old boy, Li Ang, furrowed his brow as an inexplicable resonance echoed in his mind.
Li Ang hailed from a once-prosperous family in southern China. His ancestors, escaping famine and chaos, had settled in Southeast Asia, amassing wealth through rubber plantations. But by his father's generation, their fortune had dwindled due to gambling and mismanagement. Left with nothing but debt, Li Ang's father lost the last of their property in a casino. His mother, overwhelmed by poverty, passed away in grief, and his father met a grim end at the hands of loan sharks.
With the shadow of debt looming, Li Ang pawned his late mother's jade bracelets and scraped together enough money to flee aboard this smuggling ship.
However, unlike his fellow passengers, Li Ang wasn't just a poor boy running from his past. That lightning strike awakened a profound memory buried deep within him—memories of a past life as a Taoist cultivator during the Han Dynasty.
"A thousand years have passed in the blink of an eye..."
The timid boy rose, his posture suddenly confident and deliberate. He strode to a porthole and stared at the turbulent waves outside.
The childish naivety in his face was gone, replaced by eyes that gleamed with a depth as vast as the sea. In his past life, Li Ang had been a reclusive Taoist adept in ancient arts, transforming into mythical beasts such as the Qilin and the Taotie. Though he had reached the formidable Primordial Spirit stage, he perished attempting to ascend further. Before his demise, he had cast his soul into the cycle of reincarnation, hoping one day to regain his memories and continue his path.
Staring at his reflection, Li Ang murmured in the archaic dialect of Han Dynasty Luoyang, "The world has changed beyond recognition. From now on, I will forsake my former name and live as Li Ang."
Returning to his spot, he sat cross-legged, attempting to sense the spiritual energy (Qi) in the storm. Yet, to his dismay, the world was barren of it. Only faint traces of energy flickered momentarily with each lightning strike.
He searched his memories and recalled a grim truth: humanity's expansion and technological progress had drained the earth of its natural vitality. The once-abundant Qi of ancient times had dwindled, leaving even storms nearly devoid of energy.
With a sigh, Li Ang formed intricate hand seals, gathering the fleeting strands of Qi to store in his mind's core. His vast knowledge of Taoist and Buddhist practices, as well as esoteric arts from remote lands, made him a walking encyclopedia of cultivation. But without spiritual energy, his path forward was bleak.
As dawn approached, the violent storm subsided, and the ocean returned to an eerie calm. In the distance, the glittering lights of Gotham City emerged like a beacon. The captain, rejuvenated by the sight, quickly radioed his contact at the port.
The smugglers skillfully avoided the coast guard and docked in a shadowy corner of the harbor. The ship's hatch creaked open, and a drenched sailor barked at the passengers, "We're here. Keep quiet when you disembark!"
One by one, the passengers clambered out, their eyes filled with a mixture of trepidation and hope. A mid-sized refrigerated truck marked "Mein Corporation" pulled up to the dock. A burly man with a menacing expression emerged from the cab and exchanged brief words with the captain before motioning the passengers into the truck's cramped interior.
Li Ang blended seamlessly into the crowd. To pursue his cultivation, he needed a foothold in this foreign land. For now, that meant following the flow and biding his time.
Inside the stifling truck, the stowaways whispered about the lives they hoped to build in America. To them, this land promised wealth, opportunity, and freedom—everything their homelands lacked.
Li Ang sat silently among them, enduring the unwashed stench of his fellow travelers. A wry smile tugged at his lips.
"Gotham," he thought, "here I come."