"Young master, here is your tea."
A middle-aged, bald man, carrying a tray in one hand and placing the other behind his back, bowed slightly before a young man seated beside him on a bamboo chair, eyes closed.
Hearing the voice, the young man opened his eyelids and gave a faint smile. In the next moment, he raised his hand and took the cup.
The liquid inside was still hot, releasing wisps of steam into the air.
Seeing the state of the tea, the young man blew on it, then brought the cup to his lips.
"This tastes like nothing… it's awful." He thought about spitting it out, but considering his situation, he kept drinking, unwilling to waste even a single sip.
When he finished, he placed the cup back onto the tray.
"Thank you for your trouble, Uncle Zhao," the young man said in gratitude.
"You're welcome," replied the butler, Fang Zhao, with a smile, though his eyes betrayed guilt. He felt terrible that he could not offer his young master a better drink.
Noticing this, Fang Yun sighed.
His clan, once among the wealthiest in Blue Star City, was now in ruins. Only two remained: himself and Fang Zhao, who, despite everything, had stayed loyal, continuing to fulfill his duties and helping with whatever was needed.
"Haaa… why did I have to start on hard mode?" Fang Yun thought, sighing.
Once a promising young man of the 21st century and a rising star in basketball, he had died in an accident, struck by a truck loaded with circus equipment on his way home.
By luck—or misfortune—he was reborn in this world, where people could cultivate and pursue immortality.
But that was still far away. For now, he didn't even have money to live on, much less to begin cultivating immortality.
"That has to wait for now. First, I need to make money! Only then can I step onto the cultivation path."
Fang Yun set this goal in his heart and sighed. Yet, he had no idea how.
Make something, like soap? Write poems? Paint?
"I don't know any of that! Damn it…" Fang Yun cursed himself for never taking his studies seriously, having been only average in theory classes.
"This is crap…" he kept muttering until, after a while, he calmed down, closed his eyes, and entered a peaceful state, not allowing himself to be disturbed.
Even then, his mind did not stop spinning with ideas on how to earn money. Suddenly, he felt a searing pain in his head.
"Huh?"
His eyes flew open, wide and trembling.
"Why does my head hurt?"
He was stunned, feeling a numbness on his forehead, as if someone were hammering his skull with full force.
"Aaaaah!"
Unable to endure, Fang Yun screamed like a pig being slaughtered, pressing his hands against his head, desperate to stop the pain somehow.
"YOUNG MASTER!" Fang Zhao, still nearby, panicked. Startled, he tossed the tray into the air and rushed to Fang Yun's side, grabbing his arms and asking desperately:
"What's happening?!"
It was all he could manage to say, overwhelmed by fear.
Struggling against the agony, Fang Yun could only force out: "My hea—"
Before he could finish, his mind went blank. At that very instant, he heard the crash of something shattering.
Outside, Fang Zhao lifted Fang Yun from the chair and rushed toward the door behind him, leaving in the courtyard a scatter of glass shards and the fallen bamboo chair.
...
"Doctor, will my young master be alright? What happened to him?"
"I don't know… perhaps too much worry? It may have caused a mental collapse?"
???
Hearing voices, Fang Yun, lying in a bed, slowly opened his eyes. His head still ached, though not as sharply as before.
When his vision cleared, he realized he was in his room. Turning to the right, he saw two people: Fang Zhao and an old man with white hair, discussing his condition.
At the sight, tears welled up and ran down Fang Yun's face.
"We don't even have money anymore… and I still make Uncle spend on a doctor. I'm so useless…", he thought, guilt gnawing at him.
The two men noticed his tears and fell silent, their gazes softening. As seasoned men, they understood what weighed on his mind.
"Don't worry, boy. I won't charge you for this visit. I didn't use anything, I only checked your condition, and it's nothing serious," the doctor said with a gentle smile, though pity lingered in his eyes.
"Thank you, doctor," Fang Yun replied, his gratitude sincere. To him, this kindness meant a great deal.
"Money! I need to make money!" he thought, unconsciously clenching his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.
"You're awake, young master!" Fang Zhao exclaimed in relief.
"It's all thanks to Uncle Zhao, who carried me back here and called the doctor, even though we can't afford it," Fang Yun said, smiling gratefully at the butler, whom he already considered family.
The doctor also smiled at the sight. He stepped closer, patted Fang Yun's head, and spoke gently:
"Your problem is worry. Try not to dwell on it so much from now on. You still have your Uncle Zhao, and people grateful to the Fang clan, like me. If you ever need help, I'll be there."
As he spoke, his eyes held a hint of nostalgia, followed by a sigh.
Fang Yun's gratitude deepened. "Thank you, Doctor Wang."
"This is my debt," Doctor Wang answered his thanks, and then took his leave. "Rest well. If anything happens, come to me."
With that, he departed, accompanied by Fang Zhao.
...
Alone in his room, Fang Yun stared at the worn ceiling, lost in thought.
"Was that really just worry?" he wondered.
He didn't believe it. Not that he doubted Doctor Wang, but the pain he had felt was far from ordinary.
"What was that?" he tried to reason. As he pondered, suddenly his mind trembled again.
This time, however, there was no pain—only a strange sensation, as if he were trapped inside a constantly shaking rattle.
And along with this new experience stirring within his mind, he saw something that left him utterly stunned.
To be continued…