Jian opened his eyes slowly and, stretching, sat up on the bed where he had once rested. A faint scent of incense lingered in the air, mingling with the dampness of the wood. Confused at the unfamiliar surroundings, he looked around.
"This is the first time I've dreamt of ancient China," he thought curiously, scratching his head.
"What…?" he wondered, noticing a long lock of hair—green.
He touched his face and immediately walked toward a full-length mirror near a window. In the reflection, he saw a boy no older than sixteen, with long, straight green hair. Only the color of his eyes and some facial features felt familiar.
He turned to inspect his clothing: a turquoise robe adorned with intricate decorations.
"Not masculine," he grimaced, "and not comfortable," he added, frowning further.
After a moment, he concluded he was experiencing a lucid dream. Trying to remember what he had been doing before sleep, the sensation of suffocation and chest pain came to mind.
Tension gripped him. This isn't real… I'm dead.
He pondered the thought for a long while until a soft knock on the door brought him back to reality.
He examined his hands anxiously—they were trembling—and feared that his ragged breathing would betray him if he spoke. He took a deep breath, clenched his jaw and fists, and forced himself to act despite the cold creeping through his body.
"I have to get out of here."
The knocking stopped. Jian looked around and, finding no other exit, approached the window. The world outside stole his breath.
"Master, you're awake!"
Jian saw narrow streets, distant pagodas, and the bustle of a strange yet familiar language.
"What is this?"
"Master… are you alright?"
The servant, receiving no response, moved to lightly touch his arm—but jumped in surprise as Jian sharply pulled away, his gaze blazing like never before. His beautiful brown eyes seemed to burn and strike fear. Immediately, the servant bowed.
"Forgive me, Master, it was presumptuous of me."
Overwhelmed and sensing danger, Jian hesitated. The servant remained bowed for a long while before Jian finally spoke.
"Master? No… I'm not your master. Who are you?"
Jian's voice was sharp, directed at the boy who had raised his head, startled and pale. The disciple stammered at first, then introduced himself as Yang, his chamber aide, and suggested Jian rest while he summoned the doctor.
Jian tried to stop him, but when he regained his senses, the boy had already gone.
I need to leave before anyone else arrives, he decided urgently. He aimed to find a safe place to understand this world—he had a bad feeling.
He wandered through corridors. The people—dressed in strange robes similar to his, though simpler—seemed to recognize him, and he tried to avoid them.
It felt like a maze; as he walked, the crowd thickened. Somehow, he reached a remote area near an immense wall that seemed to enclose the entire place. Swallowing hard, he realized that judging by the narrow alleys and the locals' behavior, he was in some version of ancient China.
Night fell. Jian slumped in a dark alley near a market that gradually quieted. He replayed his final moments, seeking answers he couldn't find. He was convinced he had committed suicide. The night's chill reminded him of fleeing his parents' home.
As dawn began to light the sky, Jian leaned against the alley wall and closed his eyes.
"None of this matters. Nothing," he thought, feeling the emptiness in his chest deepen. His stomach growled from hunger, and though sleepy, his mind spun, struggling to stay awake.
"Found you!"
Jian jolted awake. He looked around, still alone. Silence reigned. After a few seconds, he cautiously rose, scanning the alley. Nothing seemed out of place. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes, convincing himself his alertness was playing tricks.
Suddenly, something embraced him: warm, comforting. His body responded in gratitude, and he was startled. Pulling back, he saw the person had purple hair tied in a ponytail.
Those colors… he thought, slightly disdainful.
He wanted to push them away, but something stopped him.
"Finally, I found you," said a soft, emotional voice.
Jian turned, releasing the embrace. Deep purple eyes met his, gleaming intensely. He regarded the stranger with suspicion.
"Who are you?"
"Oh, poor one… don't fear. Your memories will return," replied the figure, gently taking his hand.
Jian pulled back, thinking of escape. The street was deserted, only a few distant pedestrians, but none approached. The man seemed strong, carrying a sword.
"I don't know who you are," Jian said, keeping his distance. "And I don't want you to touch me."
Wei Rong did not move. His expression was serious, tinged with disappointment.
"You… don't remember me."
Jian focused, analyzing his options. Running wasn't safe; fleeing in his current state was pointless.
"Memories?" he said skeptically, buying time. "Who am I supposed to be?"
Wei took a breath, jaw tense. He seemed ready to answer, then stopped. After a pause, he said:
"Your name is Quan Jian. You are my best friend. That is enough for now. I'll tell you more when we reach the sect."
Jian… That was his name, but he couldn't be referring to him. Still, the name felt familiar: Jian… Quan Jian… He lingered on it a moment, eyes fixed on the man who seemed to silently plead for his cooperation.
"You still haven't told me who you are," he decided, playing along. No matter what happened, he didn't plan to stay long. The man introduced himself as Wei Rong and insisted Jian not fear, claiming they were friends.
"Well… where are we going?"
Without waiting for a response, they began walking cautiously. Though early and near a market, the streets were calm. Wei Rong watched silently, increasing Jian's distrust.
Finally, they reached an imposing gate with intricate carvings.
"We're here," Wei Rong said proudly.
Jian wiped sweat from his brow. They entered a hallway where curious eyes followed silently; no one approached. Wei Rong invited him into a nearby room.
"Here we can talk."
Inside, the room was adorned with strange symbols, and the air felt dense, as if something important was about to happen. Wei Rong closed the door and faced him, expression wavering between concern and impatience.
"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked.
Wei Rong watched silently. The sadness in his eyes deepened with Jian's silence. He sighed and sank onto a nearby divan.
Jian heard the guards murmuring outside. Wei seemed to gather himself, stood, and stared, trying to read him.
"You are Jian, firstborn of the Quan family, one of the pillars of the Tian Yu sect… my best friend."
The name "Tian Yu" echoed in Jian's mind. Something stirred within, though he still didn't fully understand. The wind rattling the window drew his gaze outward. The city, with its empty streets and ancient architecture, seemed familiar yet strange. He felt like he was piecing together a puzzle—until Wei interrupted:
"You suffered a terrible blow in the river. You were close to death."
"I remember that," Jian said automatically, more to himself.
Wei seemed slightly relieved, seeing his thoughtful expression. He called a servant, arranging for Jian to be taken to his room, promising to visit later. Jian ignored it, absorbed in the puzzle and the memory of his suicide.
He stared at the cityscape from his window. The sun setting made the buildings glow. He looked at his hands, reminding himself who he was: Jian, son of monsters shielded by the detestable system of the 21st century. He estimated he was on the third floor.
Not enough, he thought.
The door opened, and a tall older woman entered, wrapping him in her arms. Jian was too shocked to move. She spoke rapidly, examining him.
"I knew you'd be fine. My little one is blessed by the gods. But why did you leave without seeing your poor mother?"
"Mother?"
The woman waited, but Wei rushed in a second later.
"Madame Quan, as I said…" —he closed the door— "Jian has some memories missing. I suggest we proceed gently."
"Gently? My son would never forget his mother," she said, seeking Jian's confirmation.
Disoriented, Jian nodded automatically. The woman shot Wei a triumphant look and, after his insistence, left, promising to personally prepare his favorite foods and activities to celebrate his health.
Wei remained silent, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times. Jian interrupted:
"I want to go there," he said, pointing to a pagoda visible from the window.
Wei smiled and nodded. They walked toward it. Wei told him about the sect, pointing out buildings and structures, sharing their history or childhood memories—how they grew up there, how his uncle adopted him because of Wei, and how they used to sneak away from their masters, upsetting the servants.
Hearing him so animated, Jian felt a pang of guilt but ignored it. He wanted to reach the highest floor, and so they did. From there, Jian was stunned by the beauty of the view.
After a long silence, Jian looked at Wei and said:
"It's nothing personal," and leapt out the window.
.｡ﾟ+..｡ଘ( ᐛ ) ଓ+..｡*ﾟ+.｡ﾟ+..｡ଘ( ᐛ ) ଓ+..｡*ﾟ+
I wish I could escape my problems that fast XD
Have you ever witnessed a suicide?