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Zhou Fan drifted in the endless void, a silent expanse where time and sensation seemed to cease. Then, a flicker of warmth, a sensation of being, pulled him back from the brink. He was no longer adrift. He was… somewhere. He couldn't open his eyes, couldn't move his limbs, but he could feel. A soft pressure, the faint scent of unfamiliar herbs – pungent and earthy, unlike anything he'd ever smelled on Earth – the rhythmic sound of a heartbeat – not his own. It was a slow, steady pulse, a comforting rhythm in the otherwise silent void.
He was… reborn? The thought was absurd, impossible. Yet, the sensations were undeniable. He was a newborn, helpless and utterly dependent. He strained to open his eyes, but they remained stubbornly sealed. He tried to cry out, but only a weak whimper escaped his throat. His skin felt clammy, the air around him thick and humid. He could feel the rough texture of a woven blanket against his cheek.
Where was he? What had happened to his classmates, to his teacher, Su Lanyue? The last thing he remembered was the explosion… the shattering classroom… Had he died? Was this some kind of afterlife? The memories flashed through his mind – Lin Xue's focused expression, Liu Chen's teasing grin, Zhao Rui's sneer… Are they… are they here too? he wondered, a tiny seed of hope sprouting in his infant mind.
A gentle voice, young and tinged with a hint of sadness, broke through his confusion. "My little Zhou Fan," she cooed, her tone filled with a tenderness that warmed him even in his helpless state. "You are a gift from the heavens."
Zhou Fan? His own name? The familiar sound grounded him, even in this strange new reality. He tried to focus on her voice, to glean some information about his surroundings, but his newborn mind was too clouded, too overwhelmed by the sheer act of existing. He could feel the warmth of her arms, the soft fabric of her clothing – homespun and rough – against his skin. The scent of herbs was strong, pungent, unlike anything he had ever smelled before. Mixed with the herbs was the faint aroma of woodsmoke and something sweet, like wildflowers.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Zhou Fan began to slowly make sense of his new reality. He was living in a simple, yet comfortable, house nestled amongst lush green hills. The house was made of wood and thatch, with a small courtyard in the center. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the wooden shutters, casting dancing patterns on the earthen floor. The air was filled with the sounds of nature – the chirping of unseen birds, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the distant bleating of goats.
His mother, a young woman who couldn't have been much older than nineteen, was a kind and gentle soul with warm, loving eyes, though a shadow of sadness often lingered in their depths. Her face was delicate, with high cheekbones and long, dark hair that she usually kept braided. She wore simple, practical clothing – often a long, cotton dress and a woven sash around her waist. He sensed a quiet strength in her, a resilience that belied her youth. He soon understood that she was a widow, his father having passed away before he was born. He saw the strain in her eyes, the weariness in her movements, as she worked tirelessly in the small rice paddy field behind their house. She rarely spoke of his father, but Zhou Fan sensed a deep love and respect in her silence.
This world was different. He sensed it in the very air he breathed, in the hushed whispers of his mother, in the strange symbols carved into the wooden beams of their house. The symbols were intricate and unfamiliar, unlike any writing he had ever seen. There was a magic here, an undercurrent of power that he couldn't quite comprehend. He noticed his mother occasionally performing strange movements, like slow, graceful dances, her hands moving in intricate patterns. As she moved, a faint glow seemed to emanate from her body, a subtle shimmer in the air around her. She would often close her eyes and murmur words he didn't understand, her voice soft and melodic. He often saw her tending a small herb garden, carefully mixing different leaves and roots. He suspected these herbs were used not only for cooking but also for some other, more mysterious purpose.
One day, as his mother held him in her arms, she pointed to the sky, where a streak of light was falling rapidly towards the earth. "Look, Zhou Fan," she said, her voice filled with awe. "A shooting star."
But it wasn't just a shooting star. As it fell closer, Zhou Fan could see that it was a person, soaring through the air with incredible speed. The figure was clad in flowing robes of shimmering blue, their long black hair trailing behind them like a streamer. They seemed to glow with an inner light, an aura of power that radiated outwards. They flew with effortless grace, their movements defying gravity. They were heading towards the distant mountains, their flight path leaving a trail of shimmering light in the sky. He gasped, his infant eyes wide with wonder. His mother smiled, a hint of wistfulness in her eyes. "That is an Immortal," she whispered. "They possess incredible power."
Immortal? The word echoed in Zhou Fan's mind. This was no ordinary world. This was a world of magic, of cultivation, of Immortals. A world completely different from the one he had left behind.
The realization struck him with the force of a physical blow. He was no longer Zhou Fan, the physics student from Earth. He was Zhou Fan, a newborn in a world of magic and mystery. What did it mean? Why was he here? And what had happened to his classmates, to his teacher? Were they also… reborn?
The questions swirled in his mind, unanswered, as he drifted off to sleep, the image of the flying Immortal burned into his memory. His new life had begun, a life filled with uncertainty, but also with the promise of extraordinary possibilities. He looked at his young mother, her face etched with a weariness that seemed beyond her years. He felt a surge of protectiveness towards her, a desire to shield her from the hardships of this world. He didn't yet understand the full extent of his new reality, but one thing was certain: he was no longer just Zhou Fan, the student. He was Zhou Fan, the son of a young widow, in a world where magic was real, and Immortals soared through the sky. He closed his eyes, a silent vow forming in his heart. I will protect her, he thought. I will become strong.
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-Once again thanks for reading my novel.