"Young master! Young master Zhen!"
A soft, urgent young feminine voice called out.
"Are you awake?" her voice carried through the carved corridors, "the master and madam are summoning you."
A groggy voice answered back, rough and sounding lazy, "What? Summoning me so early? Hurrying me again? Fine, fine, I'm coming!"
The rustle of cloth followed as the young man on the bed moved. His navy robe was loosely tied.
He was handsome, his dark brows sharp against his pale skin, his features refined yet softened by the exhaustion on his expression.
He sat up with a thump, eyes snapping open though still heavy with sleep.
"Ugghh…my neck," he muttered with a long sigh, voice drawn out in complaint, yet his legs swung from the bed anyway. His movements were sluggish but determined, as if habit pushed him more than his will.
"Young master!
Shouted the girl outside.
Immediately, the sliding door creaked, and a girl, with her hair tied up in a simple knot, and an expression full of worry on her face, stepped inside with hurried steps. She wore a modest light-blue hanfu, the kind woven for household servants—neither gaudy nor extravagant, but clean and neatly pressed.
"Young master," she said softly, almost like she's pleading, "if you can't get up, if your head still hurts from the training injury yesterday, the master and madam said you may stay in bed. They won't blame you."
Zhen rubbed his temple, feeling a dull ache to it. He let out a small laugh, brushing his hair aside. "I'm fine, Li Rong."
"But—" she began, biting her lip.
His tone sharpened suddenly, not harsh but cutting enough to silence her. "I said I'm fine, Li Rong." His hand lingered at the side of his head before he added more softly, almost offhandedly, "It hurts a little, sure. But not important. Let's go."
He rose, tightening his robe's sash with quick, clumsy movements as he strode past her. His robe loosened as he moved, he looked careless and impatient.
Li Rong straightened herself immediately, bowing her head slightly. "Yes, young master Zhen." Her voice carried both respect and helplessness as she followed quickly behind him.
They stepped out into the corridor, where polished wood gleamed faintly under the filtered morning sunlight pouring through carved lattice windows.
Zhen's pace was steady but his shoulders drooped, betraying the weariness he refused to acknowledge.
"Young master," Li Rong said carefully, her voice low as if afraid of his reaction, "are you truly certain about this? You still look tired."
He gave her a faint, crooked smile, walking with his gaze half unfocused. "I'll be fine. Honestly, though… I feel strange. I could almost swear I remember things that shouldn't exist: Earth, novels, something called the internet… Then there was being stabbed, robbed, and refusing to call the so-called police or ambulance…" He shook his head with a quiet chuckle, more bitter than amused. "What nonsense. Whatever they are, it doesn't matter. Let's go in and greet them."
Li Rong's lips pressed together, but she only nodded.
As they reached the carved doors of the main hall, she stepped forward with a servant's poise, her voice ringing clear as she announced, "Young master Zhen has arrived!"
The heavy doors creaked open.
Zhen pushed them wider with both hands, the sound clack-clack echoing against the high rafters.
The hall opened wide, sunlight spilling across polished floors as incense drifted in the air.
At the far end of the hall, upon a pair of carved seats that resembled thrones more than chairs, sat his father and mother.
His father, Yuan Xuanzhe, wore a dignified robe of deep crimson embroidered with golden threads that shimmered faintly like coiling dragons. He sat upright, looking strong despite the gray at his temples, but his stern brows softened by his fatherly warmth.
Beside him sat Xi Shannguan, his mother, robed in flowing pale lavender silks that shimmered faintly under the morning glow. Her beauty was not sharp but graceful, her expression gentle and bright, though her eyes held the same firmness of will as her husband.
Zhen stopped before them, his face tightening into composure. He brought both hands to his chest, palms pressed together, bowing respectfully. His voice was steady, and sounded formal, "Mother, Father, Zhen is here."
Li Rong followed swiftly, mimicking his gesture as she bowed low. "Master, Madam, this servant has summoned young master Zhen as ordered."
Yuan Xuanzhe's deep voice rumbled like a steady bell, "Both of you may relax."
Both Zhen and Li Rong lowered their hands, standing properly once more.
Xi Shannguan leaned slightly forward, her voice gentle, "How are you, little Zhen? Does your injury still hurt?"
Zhen smiled faintly, shaking his head. "Thank you for worrying, Mother. It's nothing serious. Only a small ache remains. I… felt something like déjà vu earlier, but that's hardly important."
His mother's lips curved into relief, her soft laughter echoing in the hall. "Good, good. I am glad you are not gravely hurt from yesterday's training." Her tone shifted, light yet carrying a hint of meaning. "By the way, today, I want you to meet someone."
Zhen's brow arched slightly. "Someone?"
Xi Shannguan glanced at Li Rong. "Li Rong, call Fang'er."
"Yes, Madam. Master." Li Rong bowed quickly, stepping backward with light feet before turning and hurrying out the door. Her steps faded down the hall with tap tap tap that grew distant.
As the sound disappeared, a peculiar silence fell. Zhen's eyes flickered toward his parents, with a strange unease settling into his chest. "Mother, Father… who is this Fang'er?"
The name sat heavily on his tongue, as if it carried a weight of its own.
The moment it was spoken, a cold shiver trickled down his spine. Something about it rang horribly familiar in his ear, as though it came from another world, no–existence.
Both Yuan Xuanzhe and Xi Shannguan shared a brief smile, their eyes bright as though they enjoyed keeping him in suspense.
"Guess," Xi Shannguan said lightly.
Yuan Xuanzhe's voice was steady, almost amused, "He is from the mortal side of our family. Your younger brother."
The words struck Zhen like a hammer.
Younger brother… from the mortal side… Those who didn't awaken their spiritual roots… Fang'er.
Suddenly, memories surged into him like a flood breaking a dam. Images not of this world but of another. A crowded city bathed in neon lights.
A name: Zhenzhou—that had been him in that world too.
A desperate struggle in a dark alley. A knife flashing. The final moment of pain and disbelief before darkness swallowed his vision whole.
But that wasn't what shook him most.
It was the name.
It wasn't merely a name. It belonged to a nightmare dressed in the shape of a story.
A novel. A brutal one that he had read on Earth: Immortal Blood Reverend.
Soon, his memories clawed their way up to the surface of his understanding, every detail slowly forming themselves in an organized manner.
Fang'er. Or Yuan Fangzhou.
That was the name of the main character but at the same time a villain in the book.
He was introduced as a mortal-born cultivator, weak and low level talent. But later, he transformed into one of the most dreadful beings the immortal world had ever known. His path was drenched in blood, his rise painted with slaughter.
He remembered reading his story clearly—the one who turned skies scarlet and rivers black. A harbinger of calamity, a storm that left only ashes.
And now…
That dreadful name belonged to his younger brother?
Zhen's breath came shallow, his mind spinning. His heart pounded like a drum. Thump. Thump. Thump. His palms grew cold despite the warm sunlight streaming through the hall.
He looked up at his parents. They were smiling warmly, as though this was nothing more than a family reunion.
He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. Fate was playing a cruel joke.
His lips trembled as he forced th
em open, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
"Father, m… moth…" he stuttered, but he managed to continue. "Is it… Yuan Fangzhou?"