《Quantum Immortal(Rewrite)》


 Chapter 1: The Last Experiment

    Earth, 2080


    The lab was a fortress of modernity, where the line between genius and madness often blurred. Dr. Amar Kumar, a man whose once-powerful frame now carried the gentle sag of age, stood amidst the controlled chaos. Though time had softened his imposing physique, his broad shoulders and thick chest still betrayed the strength that had defined him in his younger days.


    Before him loomed a machine of terrifying beauty¡ªthe Quantum Stabilizer¡ªgleaming with superconductors and intricate arrays, all converging into a singularity of purpose: to harness zero-point energy and create a limitless power source that could forever change humanity¡¯s destiny.


    ¡°Final checks complete, Dr. Amar. Everything is stable,¡± came the voice of his assistant, a young woman barely out of her Ph.D., her tone a mix of awe and nervous energy.


    Amar nodded, his heart pounding with the weight of decades of research. This was it¡ªthe culmination of a life¡¯s work, a journey that had begun long before he stepped into this lab.


    As the machine hummed louder, its light intensifying, Amar¡¯s mind drifted back, far from the sterile walls of the lab, to a time and place that seemed worlds away.


    <hr>


    India, 2012


    In the bustling streets of a small town in India, a boy no older than seven sat on the steps of a dilapidated building, his eyes wide with wonder as he watched the world move around him.


    His clothes were tattered, and his stomach growled from hunger, but his mind was sharp¡ªalways questioning, always curious. His name was Amar, an orphan who had learned early on that the world was both vast and unforgiving.


    Despite the harshness of his circumstances, Amar¡¯s curiosity was insatiable. He would spend hours watching the mechanics at the local repair shop, fascinated by the way they breathed life back into broken machines. He collected discarded newspapers and books, teaching himself to read and devouring any scrap of knowledge he could find. His mind was a sponge, absorbing the complexities of the world, turning them over and over until they made sense.


    At night, when the streets quieted and the stars emerged, Amar would lie on the roof of the orphanage, staring up at the sky. The universe felt so close yet so distant¡ªan endless expanse of mysteries waiting to be uncovered.


    He dreamed of touching the stars, of understanding the forces that governed their brilliance. Even at such a young age, he knew he was destined for something greater, something beyond the confines of his small, lonely world.


    At the age of eleven, Amar¡¯s life changed for the better. One day, a lower-middle-class couple, unable to have children of their own, arrived at the orphanage. Their clothes were worn, their hands rough from years of labor, but their eyes held a quiet kindness.


    They weren¡¯t searching for brilliance or hidden potential¡ªthey simply wanted to share their love with a child who needed it. And when they saw Amar, with his determined eyes and quiet resilience, their hearts knew he was the one.


    Despite their modest means, they welcomed him with open arms¡ªnot to mold him into something greater, but simply to give him a home filled with warmth, kindness, and the unwavering support every child deserves.


    Their home was simple, their means modest, but what they lacked in wealth, they made up for in love. For the first time, Amar had a family¡ªnot just a roof over his head, but hands that guided him and hearts that believed in him.


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    For the first time, Amar knew the comfort of a full stomach, the warmth of a bed, and the joy of attending school. His new parents, though not wealthy, gave him everything they could. They nurtured his curiosity, encouraging him to study, ask questions, and seek answers. Amar was grateful beyond words. They had given him a life he had only dreamed of¡ªa life where he could chase his ambitions without the constant worry of survival.


    His intelligence quickly became apparent to his teachers, who pushed him to excel. Scholarships soon followed, easing the financial burden on his adoptive parents. Amar thrived, his hunger for knowledge driving him to devour textbooks, solve complex problems, and outshine his peers. His academic journey was relentless, each step fueled by the dreams that had once seemed so out of reach.


    After seven years with his adoptive family, Amar achieved what many thought impossible¡ªhe secured a place in one of India¡¯s top engineering colleges.


    The next four years were a blur of relentless study, sleepless nights, and an unending stream of assignments and exams. The pressure was immense, but Amar thrived on it. Each challenge was a puzzle to be solved, a step closer to understanding the world that had always fascinated him.


    Among his rigorous coursework, one subject captivated him more than anything else¡ªprogramming. From the moment he wrote his first line of code, he was hooked. The logic, the precision, the elegance of turning abstract ideas into functional programs¡ªit all felt like second nature. He devoured books on algorithms, spent hours debugging code, and found solace in the hum of his laptop late into the night.


    As he honed his programming skills, Amar became increasingly drawn to artificial intelligence and data science. His projects evolved from simple coding exercises to predictive analytics and experimental AI models, each pushing the boundaries of what he thought possible. To support his education and ease the financial burden on his adoptive parents, he started freelancing¡ªbuilding custom algorithms and selling automated tools that showcased his growing expertise.


    Despite the academic grind, Amar found joy in every breakthrough. Yet, as he mastered AI and engineering, his curiosity began to shift toward deeper mysteries. He remembered the dream of his childhood¡ªto uncover the secrets of the universe. What governed the behavior of particles at the smallest scales? Could reality itself be encoded, a complex algorithm woven into the quantum fabric?


    Engineering was just the beginning. The more he worked with AI, the more he encountered theoretical concepts from physics and mathematics¡ªchaos theory, quantum mechanics, the nature of probability. He realized that while engineering built solutions, fundamental science uncovered the why behind them. Drawn toward the mysteries of existence, Amar found his focus shifting from machines to the fundamental forces that governed the universe.


    Physics captivated him. As he neared the end of his engineering degree, two doors opened before him¡ªone leading to the corporate world, the other to academia.


    In his fourth year, he secured a coveted placement at one of the biggest tech companies in the world. At the same time, he received an acceptance letter from MIT, offering him a full scholarship for his master¡¯s degree.


    It was a crossroads, but deep down, Amar knew the answer. His fascination had always been with the unknown. So, he chose MIT.


    At one of the world¡¯s best universities, he immersed himself in quantum physics, eventually pursuing a Ph.D. in the field. His research on quantum entanglement caught global attention, propelling him to the forefront of scientific discovery.


    And so, his experiments grew bolder. The Quantum Stabilizer was his magnum opus, the culmination of a lifetime of curiosity and ambition. He believed it could unlock a limitless power source¡ªone that wouldn¡¯t just illuminate cities but unravel the hidden potential of the universe itself.


    But fate had other plans.


    <hr>


    The machine¡¯s hum grew louder, the air crackling with energy. Amar¡¯s thoughts snapped back to the present as alarms blared, their shrill tones slicing through the heavy atmosphere of the lab.


    ¡°Doctor, we have a critical surge! The quantum field is destabilizing!¡± a panicked voice yelled, but Amar was already moving, his hands flying over the controls.


    ¡°Divert the excess to the dampeners! We can still stabilize it!¡± he shouted back, but deep down, he knew the situation was spiraling out of control.


    A blinding light erupted from the core, and for a brief moment, Amar felt himself being torn from his body, his consciousness flung into a void of endless light and swirling energies.


    Then, everything went dark.

 Chapter 2: Echoes of a Forgotten Life

    Celestial Harmony Village, Year 2984 ADR


    Golden slivers of sunlight pierced through the gaps in the wooden shutters, casting faint patterns on the dirt floor of the modest orphanage. Outside, the village stirred to life¡ªmerchants setting up stalls, blacksmiths stoking their forges, and farmers guiding oxen to the fields. The crisp morning air carried the distant hum of conversation and the scent of fresh tea.


    Inside a small room, nestled on a straw mattress, a young boy stirred. His small frame shifted as his dreams took a darker turn, his brows knitting together in distress. Then, abruptly, his eyes snapped open.


    Pain.


    A sharp, searing agony split through his skull, as if a vice had clamped down on his mind. He clutched his temples, breath shallow, his body trembling under the invisible force tearing through him. Images and memories surged forward¡ªa chaotic flood, overwhelming and relentless.


    Machines. Equations. Voices¡ªsome distant, some achingly familiar.


    "Dr. Amar, the calculations¡ª"


    "Energy levels are¡ª"


    "Amar, get out¡ª"


    The boy gasped, his small body trembling as the memories continued to crash over him, relentless and unforgiving. He saw his childhood in India and felt the hunger, the cold, and the burning curiosity that had driven him to learn and to question.


    He remembered his adoptive parents, their kindness, their sacrifices, and the sense of purpose they had instilled in him. He saw the years of study, the endless nights spent poring over textbooks, the thrill of his first scientific breakthrough, and the overwhelming pride he felt when his research paper was published.


    And then, he remembered the experiment¡ªthe blinding light, the sense of weightlessness, and the strange, ethereal presence that had observed him in those final moments.


    The pain began to subside, leaving behind a dull ache and a sense of disorientation. The boy¡ªAmar, no, Wuji¡ªsat up slowly, his small hands shaking as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. He looked around the room with blurry eyes, at the rough wooden walls, the simple furnishings, the unfamiliar surroundings.


    It took a moment for the reality to sink in. He was no longer Dr. Amar Kumar, the renowned physicist. He was Wuji, a eight-year-old boy in an unfamiliar world, an orphan once again, without the warmth and love of his parents, without the comforts of his previous life. A wave of sadness washed over him, a deep, aching sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him.


    Then, a gentle but worried voice broke through his thoughts.


    "Wuji, are you okay?"


    He turned his head and saw a woman in her thirties sitting beside him, concern etched across her face. A damp cloth rested in her hand, the faint scent of medicinal herbs lingering in the air. It was then that he remembered¡ªhe, or rather, Wuji, had been bedridden for the past week, his body burning with fever. And the woman before him, the one who had cared for him all this time, was Qin Jingwen, the orphanage¡¯s owner. But to everyone here, she was simply "Mother."


    Seeing him lost in thought, she spoke again, her voice softer this time.


    "Wuji, are you alright?"


    He blinked and nodded. "Yes, Mother." He attempted to sit up, but his body, still weak from illness, refused to cooperate.


    Qin Jingwen frowned and gently pushed him back down onto the bed. ¡°You just woke up, and you¡¯re already trying to move?¡± She let out a weary sigh, shaking her head. ¡°Do you have any idea how worried I was when you lost consciousness yesterday? I thought I was going to lose you.¡± Her voice softened, but there was no mistaking the firmness in her tone.


    ¡°For now, your only job is to rest, eat, and heal. Understand?¡±


    His mind buzzed. Lost consciousness? Did that mean the previous owner of this body had died¡ªor was on the brink of death¡ªwhen he took over? So, I¡­ possessed him?


    His thoughts raced to the ancient Indian scriptures, the ones that spoke of the soul¡ªthe Atma¡ªand the cycle of reincarnation. But this didn¡¯t feel like reincarnation. He hadn¡¯t been reborn; he had taken over another person¡¯s body. That was transmigration, wasn¡¯t it? But how? And why? Who¡ªor what¡ªhad caused this? His logical mind sifted through possibilities, each question spiraling into another mystery.


    A gentle yet firm voice cut through his thoughts.


    ¡°Wuji, did you hear what I said?¡±


    Snapping back to reality, he met her concerned gaze.


    ¡°Yes, Mother,¡± he said, his voice steady, yet his mind still reeling from the revelation.


    -----


    A month had passed since Amar found himself reborn in this unfamiliar world as Wuji. Seated cross-legged on the orphanage roof, he let the cool evening breeze brush against his skin, its touch grounding him in this strange new reality. Over the past weeks, he had sifted through the memories of this eight-year-old boy¡ªlearning who he was, how he had lived, and the fragments of a past that was now his own.


    From these memories, one thing stood out¡ªthis boy had been timid and shy, yet insatiably curious, much like Amar himself had been in his previous life. The resemblance was unsettling, almost as if fate had mirrored his childhood in another world. He didn¡¯t know why he had transmigrated here or why he had taken over this boy¡¯s body, but the eerie coincidence between them was undeniable¡­ and terrifying.


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    His thoughts wandered to the final moments of his past life¡ªthe catastrophic quantum experiment, the brief yet overwhelming presence he had felt as death claimed him. Could that entity be responsible for his rebirth? The idea lingered at the edges of his mind, unanswered.


    He exhaled slowly and turned his gaze to the village below¡ªCelestial Harmony Village¡ªnestled under the rule of the Golden Lotus Kingdom. The setting sun bathed the streets and rooftops in hues of gold and crimson, casting long, inky shadows that stretched across the worn paths like calligraphy on ancient parchment. For a fleeting moment, the scene felt almost familiar, a distant echo of the world he had left behind.


    But as his eyes lifted to the sky, that fragile illusion shattered.


    Two moons hung in the sky.


    Back on Earth, this would have been a scene straight out of a fantasy novel. Yet here, it was reality. The Azure Moon, vast and luminous, dominated the heavens, completing its cycle every thirty-five days. Meanwhile, the Crimson Moon, smaller but more mysterious, followed a longer one hundred and five-day cycle, its dim glow barely visible against the twilight.


    Wuji exhaled, adjusting to yet another strange facet of this world. Even time itself moved differently. Here, a day lasted twenty-eight hours, a month spanned thirty-five days, aligning with the Azure Moon¡¯s cycle, and a full year comprised twelve such months, each named after celestial and elemental phenomena.


    But what truly intrigued him was something else¡ªthe timeline system.


    He had come across references to BDR and ADR, which immediately reminded him of Earth¡¯s BC and AD. The more he saw it, the more it gnawed at his curiosity. Finally, he turned to Mother Jingwen for answers.


    ¡°Mother, what do BDR and ADR mean? We use them for dates, but I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    She glanced at him, then smiled. ¡°BDR stands for Before Divine Reckoning, and ADR is After Divine Reckoning.¡±


    The name alone hinted at some grand historical event¡ªsomething powerful enough to reshape the world¡¯s timeline. His brows furrowed as he pressed further.


    ¡°Then¡­ what is the Divine Reckoning?¡±


    Mother Jingwen¡¯s expression turned thoughtful, but after a brief pause, she shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know much,¡± she admitted. ¡°Only that long, long ago, a catastrophic war changed everything. Whatever happened back then¡­ it was enough to mark the beginning of a new era.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Wuji frowned. ¡°No one remembers more?¡±


    She let out a soft chuckle, ruffling his hair. ¡°I run an orphanage, not a scholar¡¯s hall, little one. If you want real answers, you¡¯ll have to read history books or find a teacher willing to tell you.¡±


    That only deepened his curiosity. He wanted to read historical texts, to uncover the truth behind the Divine Reckoning. But there was one problem¡ªhe couldn¡¯t read the script of this world.


    Though he had picked up Yulian, the spoken language, the written form remained a mystery. If he wanted answers, he had to master the Yulian script first. But words alone might not hold the full truth.


    His gaze drifted beyond the orphanage, toward Celestial Harmony Village, where history seemed to linger in every shadow and whisper through every street. Perhaps the answers he sought weren¡¯t just buried in books but woven into the world itself¡ªhidden in the customs passed down through generations, in the quiet wisdom of the elders, and in the silent stories etched into weathered walls and timeworn beams.


    As the sun dipped below the horizon, lanterns flickered to life, their warm glow spilling onto the winding streets. The village pulsed with quiet energy¡ªshopkeepers securing their stalls, children darting through alleyways, elders gathered outside their homes, their murmured conversations blending with the evening breeze. Even in stillness, the place felt alive.


    Every structure, from the humblest wooden hut to the grandest estate, carried an ancient elegance¡ªsloping roofs that curved like the sweep of a calligrapher¡¯s brush, sturdy beams worn smooth by time, and intricate carvings that hinted at tales far older than him. If history refused to be read, then perhaps it could still be seen, heard, and felt.


    His eyes traced the lines of the village, lingering on the mansion perched atop higher ground¡ªthe residence of Li Zhengtai, the village chief. Unlike the modest homes scattered below, this place radiated an aura of authority and mystery, something almost palpable in the air. He had heard the whispers¡ªstories of a man who seemed more myth than reality. A leader, yes, but also a legend. They spoke of his superhuman strength, how he could crush boulders with his bare fists. But what intrigued Wuji most were the claims that Li Zhengtai could command fire with a mere gesture, as if by magic.


    A cultivator¡ªthat was what they called him. The term was new to Wuji, yet strangely familiar. Memories from his previous life stirred¡ªlate nights during his engineering days when his friends insisted he read those Chinese cultivation novels filled with tales of powerful warriors harnessing qi, the life force that flowed through all things. Those stories, though fantastical, had touched upon concepts that resonated with him, like the chakras in ancient Indian texts that spoke of energy channels and spiritual awakening.


    The idea that one could absorb the energy of the world¡ªspiritual energy, or qi¡ªfelt surreal, yet the evidence was hard to ignore. If such power truly existed, it would shatter his worldview as a scientist from Earth, where energy was governed by strict laws and measurable forces. The thought was both terrifying and thrilling. His mind raced with questions: How did they gather this energy? What principles lay beneath this so-called cultivation? Was it science that had yet to be understood or something else entirely?


    His thoughts were interrupted by the kids playing in the orphanage courtyard, though he was also a kid now but his aged mind was still thinking them as kids.


    Then he saw her¡ªa tiny whirlwind of energy, barreling toward the orphanage with unsteady but determined steps. Her messy pigtails bounced with each movement, and when she lifted her head, her round face stretched into a beaming, toothy grin.


    "Wuji! Wuji! Play!"


    Her voice rang out, high and clear, filled with the boundless excitement only a child could muster. She stood at the base of the orphanage, hopping on her toes, waving both arms wildly as if her sheer enthusiasm could pull him down from the roof.


    Wuji hesitated. He had so much to do, so many answers to seek, yet at that moment, the weight of it all pressed down on him. His mind, filled with relentless calculations and thoughts of the past and future, felt weary. Perhaps, just for a little while, he could pause¡ªlet himself exist in this moment, in this new life.


    With a quiet sigh, he pushed himself up and climbed down. The moment his feet touched the ground, tiny hands latched onto his, warm and insistent. Mei beamed up at him, her round eyes shining with unfiltered joy. She babbled eagerly, half in words, half in gibberish, tugging at him as if the world outside was too full of wonders to be ignored.


    A smile tugged at his lips¡ªsmall but genuine, a warmth spreading in his chest. "Alright, Mei," he said, his voice softer now, steadier. "What are we playing?¡±


    The girl let out a triumphant cheer, dragging him toward the courtyard. As he followed her into the fading light, laughter echoed around him, mingling with the gentle hum of the village.


    For the first time since arriving in this world, he felt something shift within him.


    Yes, he was an orphan once more. Yes, his past life was gone. But here, in this quiet village under a sky of twin moons, he had been given a second chance. A chance to live, to explore, to carve out a new path.


    And perhaps, it all started with something as simple as a child¡¯s laughter.

 Chapter 3: The First Step Toward Knowledge

    The next morning, Wuji woke up feeling truly rested for the first time since arriving in this world. Sleep had long eluded him¡ªfirst because his body had yet to fully recover from the fever, leaving him with lingering headaches, and second, because his mind had been in turmoil. Whether it was his soul struggling to adapt to this new vessel or the sheer weight of his past memories pressing against the limits of an eight-year-old brain, he couldn¡¯t say.


    But one thing was undeniable¡ªhe remembered everything. Every moment from his past life, from the day he was born to the day he died, was etched into his mind with perfect clarity. Yet, what unsettled him even more was the realization that his memory had far surpassed what it once was. He had been a genius in his previous life, but now his recall was on an entirely different level¡ªalmost unnatural in its sharpness.


    That thought disturbed him. Was this an effect of transmigration? He doubted the body alone could be responsible. From the fragmented memories of its former owner, he knew the boy had been bright and curious, but certainly not someone capable of absorbing information with perfect precision after a single glance.


    Something had changed. And he needed to find out why. The nature of the soul was elusive, shrouded in mystery, and he had no clear path to understanding it. For now, speculation would get him nowhere.


    More immediate concerns took precedence. A month had passed, and his body had finally healed. Though still thin, he was no longer malnourished. His mind, too, felt sharper, unburdened by weakness. Most importantly, yesterday¡¯s resolve had given him something just as crucial¡ªa sense of direction. Rather than drowning in uncertainty, he would take things one step at a time, methodically unraveling the mysteries of this world.


    And the first step? Learning the Yulian language. For that, he would need Mother¡¯s help.


    With that thought, Wuji pushed himself up from the bed and stretched, feeling the stiffness in his limbs. He headed toward the bath area. Over the past month, Mother and the other attendants had offered to help him bathe, but Wuji¡ªan old man in spirit¡ªhad firmly refused.


    The bathroom was bare and utilitarian¡ªstone walls enclosed the space, the rough floor cool beneath his feet. At the center sat a wooden bucket brimming with water, a small luxury prepared in advance by the caretakers. It was a special privilege given to children under the age of ten, as they were still too small to fetch and carry water on their own. Beside it rested a delicate dish filled with fine white powder¡ªthe closest thing this world had to soap. As he leaned over the bucket, his reflection wavered on the water¡¯s surface, and for a fleeting moment, he was caught off guard once again.


    Even after a month, the face in the water still felt unfamiliar. Pale skin, smooth like white jade, dark black hair framing sharp yet delicate features, and striking blue eyes that seemed almost unnatural in their clarity. Compared to his past life, where exhaustion and long hours had left their mark on his appearance, this face was... breathtaking. His old self wouldn¡¯t even hold a candle to this. Realizing he was indulging in vain thoughts unbefitting of an eighty-year-old mind, Wuji scoffed at himself and pushed them aside. He pinched a bit of the white powder, rubbing it between his fingers before scooping up water. The cool sensation jolted him fully awake, washing away the last remnants of sleep.


    Once finished, he dried himself and slipped into his gray robe. At first, he had found the rough fabric unbearably uncomfortable, a stark contrast to the smooth, tailored clothes of his past life. But after a month, he had grown accustomed to it¡ªit no longer felt like a foreign skin. With that, he made his way to the room where Mother worked, the place from which she managed the orphanage. Reaching the wooden door, he knocked lightly and waited.


    Wuji pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was modest, its wooden walls coated in a protective brown paint to prevent rot. In the center stood a sturdy wooden table, its surface cluttered with neatly stacked papers, inkstones, and brushes. The scent of aged wood and faint traces of ink filled the air.


    His gaze shifted to the woman seated at the table¡ªQin Jingwen, or as he called her, Mother. She was beautiful, her long black hair flowing down her back, her warm brown eyes carrying a gentle kindness. At the sight of him, a soft smile graced her lips.


    "Hmm, Wuji," she asked, setting aside her brush. "What is the matter? Do you need something?"


    Wuji met her gaze with determination. "Mother, I want to learn to read and write Yulian."


    Qin Jingwen blinked, momentarily taken aback. "You want to learn to read and write? Why the sudden interest?"


    He had anticipated this question. Keeping his expression earnest, he replied, "Because I want to read the storybooks you read to me¡­ by myself."


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    A flicker of surprise crossed her face before it softened into amusement. "Oh? So my little Wuji is eager to learn?" She chuckled. "That¡¯s quite an unusual request for someone your age. Are you sure you won¡¯t get bored?"


    Wuji shook his head. "No, Mother. I really want to learn."


    Qin Jingwen studied him in silence, her gentle eyes searching his face as if weighing the sincerity in his request. After a moment, her lips curved into a warm smile.


    "Alright then... if you truly wish to learn, I will teach you." Her voice was soft, yet there was a quiet strength behind it. "If any of the others are interested, I will announce it during lunch. It will be good if more children learn."


    She had previously considered teaching Yulian to the children, but the response was underwhelming. Few saw the need to read and write the language, as most villagers worked as farmers, blacksmiths, or in other trades that didn¡¯t require proficiency in Yulian. As a result, many children showed little interest. However, with Wuji displaying enthusiasm, she hoped his curiosity would inspire others, as children often thrive on competition.


    Wuji''s heart fluttered, a small spark of hope lighting within him. This was it¡ªthe first step. The first piece of the puzzle to understanding this world.


    "Thank you, Mother." His voice was steady, but he couldn''t hide the excitement in his eyes.


    With a small bow, Wuji turned and left the room, his steps light as if the burden of uncertainty had lessened, even if just a little.


    -----


    The sun hung high in the pale blue sky, casting soft rays through the cracked windows of the orphanage hall. The scent of warm broth filled the air. Children gathered in neat lines, their small feet shuffling against the worn wooden floor.


    Wuji stood behind Mei, their places fixed by age. Mei¡ªbeing the youngest¡ªstood first, her wide eyes glancing curiously at the pot where one of the caretakers ladled out steaming broth into simple wooden bowls. When her turn came, she clutched the bowl with both hands, her little face lighting up with satisfaction before she carefully moved to her seat.


    Wuji stepped forward next, receiving a bowl of thin broth and a small piece of coarse bread. The meal was plain¡ªjust as it had been every day since he''d arrived in this world¡ªbut he understood the hardship behind it. With around twelve children under the age of fifteen and only the meager stipend provided by the kingdom through the village chief, the orphanage struggled to keep everyone fed. The older children, those who had passed their fifteenth birthday and were considered adults, worked to earn their own living¡ªyet some still shared what little they earned with the orphanage.


    There were five tables in the hall, each with a caretaker seated to oversee the children. Qin Jingwen rotated between tables every day, making sure no child felt overlooked. Today, she sat at Wuji''s table, her gentle presence bringing a rare warmth to the otherwise somber meal.


    Once everyone had been served, a hush fell over the hall. As if by silent signal, every child pressed their hands together and began to recite the mealtime prayer in unison.


    "Heaven above and earth below, we give thanks for this humble meal. May the harvest be plentiful, our labor be steady, and our days be peaceful. As we nourish our bodies, may we find strength to face tomorrow."


    The soft, uneven chorus of young voices echoed against the stone walls, filling the hall with something fragile¡ªsomething almost sacred. For a brief moment, the hunger, the hardship, and the uncertain future faded away, replaced by a quiet unity.


    Wuji''s lips moved along with the others, his mind half on the prayer, half on the lessons that would come after.


    After the prayer, everyone began their meal. Though they ate the same food every day, it never lost its charm¡ªit was always delicious, and all the credit went to Liu Hua. It was as if she wielded magic; everything she cooked carried a warmth that made it taste extraordinary. He still remembered the day when one of the children had a birthday¡ªbirthdays in the orphanage were marked by the day they arrived. That day, Liu Hua had prepared more than the usual broth and bread, filling the table with extra dishes. The flavors were unforgettable¡ªit was nothing short of heavenly.


    Well after having there lunch, Mother said she had an announcement to make and then all the children listened to her carefully.


    "I¡¯m thinking of teaching Yulian reading and writing. If anyone is interested, raise your hand."


    As soon as the words left her mouth, Wuji¡¯s hand shot up without hesitation.


    Sitting beside him, Mei blinked in surprise before tugging on his sleeve. "Brother Wuji, why do you want to learn Yulian? We don¡¯t need it, right? We can just work on the farms and earn money. Even Brother Feng, who¡¯s already twenty, doesn¡¯t know Yulian, and he still earns enough to eat three meals a day and buy new clothes every year!"


    ¡®This girl¡­¡¯ Wuji sighed internally. From a purely practical standpoint, she wasn¡¯t wrong. The villagers lived simple, peaceful lives without needing literacy. But for him, things were different. He wasn¡¯t just a child¡ªhe was a scientist, a man who once sought to unravel the mysteries of the universe. How could he be content with farming when an entire new world of knowledge lay before him?


    Still, explaining quantum mechanics to a six-year-old was out of the question. So, he smiled and gave her a reason she would understand.


    "I want to read the storybooks Mother reads to us every night by myself."


    Mei tilted her head. "But you can just ask Mother to read them again. She won¡¯t say no, right?"


    Wuji shook his head. "And what about when we grow up, like Brother Feng? When we have to work all day, we won¡¯t have time to listen to Mother reading stories anymore."


    Mei¡¯s eyes widened as if he had just revealed a great truth. She clenched her tiny fists, puffed up her cheeks, and with a determined nod, shot her hand into the air. "Then I want to learn too! I want to read the storybooks by myself!"


    Seeing the two youngest kids eager to learn, a few other children hesitated before raising their hands as well. In the end, including Wuji and Mei, six children had volunteered to learn Yulian.


    Wuji smirked inwardly. ''A small step, but a good one. Knowledge is power, after all.''

 Chapter 4: The First Lesson

    Seeing the eager faces of so many children, Yulian Qin Jingwen felt a deep warmth in her heart. With a gentle smile, she announced,


    "Our first lesson will begin tomorrow at the Hour of Radiant Birth (9 o¡¯clock in the morning) in our courtyard. Be sure to arrive early!"


    Wuji and Mei nodded eagerly, their bright eyes shining with excitement. After lunch, the children scattered to their daily tasks, their steps lighter with anticipation.


    Life in Celestial Harmony Village continued beneath the golden sun. Farmers tilled the fields, blacksmiths hammered molten iron, and weavers worked their looms with practiced hands. Herbalists crushed fragrant leaves into potent remedies, while hunters ventured into the forests, ensuring the village remained safe and well-fed. As the sun arched across the sky, painting the land in warm hues, the village gradually slowed. Twilight arrived, bringing with it a time of rest¡ªfamilies and friends gathered to share stories, their laughter mingling with the evening breeze.


    ¡ª ¡ª ¡ª


    At the Hour of Budding Dawn (7 o¡¯clock in the morning), Wuji stirred from his slumber. Rubbing his eyes, he began his daily routine¡ªrelieving himself, brushing his teeth, and bathing with the herbal-infused powdered soap prepared by the caretakers.


    Afterward, he donned his grey robe. Though its fabric was rough and its color fading¡ªpurchased during the New Year festivities¡ªhe had long since adapted to its discomfort.


    By the time he finished, breakfast was about to be served. As he entered the dining area, he spotted a few children already waiting. Moments later, Mei arrived, practically skipping toward him.


    "Brother Wuji, are you excited for our first lesson?" she asked, her face glowing with anticipation.


    "Yes, I am," Wuji replied with a small smile. "What about you, Mei?"


    Mei giggled. "Hehe, Brother Wuji, I was so excited I could barely sleep last night!"


    Wuji sighed, preparing to scold her, "You know, it''s important to¡ª"


    Before he could finish, Mei suddenly grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the counter. "Brother Wuji, let¡¯s go! The breakfast is ready!" she chirped, clearly dodging the impending lecture.


    Wuji chuckled at the little girl¡¯s slyness. In his past life, he had never known the joy of having a younger sister or daughter. Now, he found himself unconsciously doting on Mei as if she were his own.


    Lining up behind Mei, he waited for his turn to receive his share¡ªa fragrant bowl of broth and freshly baked bread, prepared by Liu Hua. Once everyone had their portions, they took their seats at the long wooden tables.


    Zhang Fei, one of the caretakers, sat with Wuji¡¯s group. He was a large, broad-shouldered man in his twenties, his rugged face giving him a fierce appearance. Yet, despite his intimidating looks, he was a gentle and kind-hearted soul.


    As the meal was served, the children clasped their hands together, bowing their heads in unison. Their voices rose in soft reverence, reciting the traditional prayer before their meal:


    "Heaven above and earth below, we give thanks for this humble meal. May the harvest be plentiful, our labor steady, and our days peaceful. As we nourish our bodies, may we find strength to face tomorrow."


    With that, the quiet murmur of gratitude faded, replaced by the comforting sounds of children eating and chatting, marking the start of another day in Celestial Harmony Village.


    Half an hour after breakfast, it was time for their first lesson with Yulian. As instructed by Mother, Wuji and Mei, along with four other children¡ªJinwei, Zhen, Yuan, and Li¡ªmade their way to the courtyard.


    The morning sun cast a warm glow over the village, its golden rays filtering through the leaves of an ancient tree at the heart of the courtyard. Beneath its shade stood Qin Jingwen¡ªwhom the children fondly called Mother¡ªher serene presence commanding quiet respect. Beside her was a large blackboard, its dark surface contrasting against the sunlit surroundings.


    As they approached, Qin Jingwen gestured toward six neatly arranged straw mats beneath the tree. Her voice, gentle yet firm, carried a soothing authority.


    "Come, take your seats on the mats. Our lesson will begin shortly."


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    The children obediently settled onto the straw mats, sitting cross-legged in a single line, their curious eyes fixed on their teacher.


    Once they were seated, Qin Jingwen swept her gaze over them, a soft smile playing on her lips.


    "Today, for our first lesson in Yulian, we will delve into its history¡ªhow it came to be and the legacy it carries."


    Her words sparked excitement among the children, their anticipation palpable in the crisp morning air. Wuji straightened his back slightly, intrigued by what he was about to learn.


    Qin Jingwen clapped her hands lightly to get the children¡¯s attention. She smiled and said in a gentle voice,


    "Before we learn about the Yulian language, we need to understand where we live. After all, words come from the places and people around us!"


    Qin Jingwen picked up a piece of chalk and began drawing a rough map on the blackboard.


    "This is our Duskwind Plains. It is so vast that even if you walked every day for your entire life, you still wouldn¡¯t reach the end!"


    The children¡¯s eyes widened in amazement.


    "Within these plains, there are many kingdoms and empires, big and small¡ªlike different families living in the same village. Our home is the Golden Lotus Empire. This is where we were born, where we play, and where we learn!"


    She turned back to the children, her eyes twinkling.


    "Now that we know where we live, let¡¯s travel back in time and discover how the Yulian language came to be!"


    The children leaned forward, eager for the next part of the lesson.


    Qin Jingwen smiled at their curiosity and continued, her voice warm and inviting.


    "A long, long time ago, before there were great empires or even cities, the Duskwind Plains were home to many different tribes. Each tribe had its own language, and because they couldn¡¯t understand each other, they often fought over land, food, and water."


    Mei raised her hand eagerly. ¡°Teacher, why didn¡¯t they just learn each other¡¯s words?¡±


    Qin Jingwen chuckled, pleased by the thoughtful question. "That¡¯s a clever thought, Mei! And some did try. But think about it¡ªif you and your friends all spoke different languages, how would you even begin to teach each other?"


    Mei tilted her head, frowning. ¡°Hmm¡­ maybe we could point at things and make sounds?¡±


    Qin Jingwen nodded. "Exactly! And that¡¯s what people did at first. But tribes were spread far apart, and learning a new language takes time. Some groups didn¡¯t trust each other enough to sit and learn. Others were too busy surviving¡ªhunting, farming, or defending their land."


    Li, scratching his head, asked, ¡°But, Mother, how did they stop fighting?¡±


    Qin Jingwen¡¯s eyes twinkled as she continued.


    "One day, something incredible happened¡ªa great star, burning bright like the sun, fell from the sky. It crashed into the land with a loud boom! And from its light, a mystical lake appeared. At the center of the lake... grew a tree unlike any other¡ªthe Yulian Tree, with silver leaves that shimmered like the stars."


    The children gasped, captivated by the tale.


    "Then, from the lake, a woman appeared. She had silver eyes and robes that flowed like moonlight. Her name was Yu Lian, the Celestial Sage. She saw how lost and divided the people were, so she gave them a gift¡ªa way to speak and understand each other."


    Jinwei¡¯s eyes sparkled. ¡°Did she use magic?¡±


    "Not quite," Qin Jingwen said with a soft smile. "She listened to the world¡ªthe way rivers flowed, the way mountains stood tall, the way stars moved across the sky. And from all these things, she created a new language: Yulian. She taught them to write, using symbols inspired by nature itself. With this, the tribes could finally understand one another."


    Mei raised her hand. ¡°But, Teacher, why didn¡¯t they just learn each other¡¯s words? Wouldn¡¯t that have been easier?¡±


    Qin Jingwen chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s a smart question, Mei! Some people did try, but it wasn¡¯t that simple.¡±


    She glanced around the room, then pointed at three children. ¡°Let¡¯s say Jinwei speaks the language of the River Tribe, Li speaks the language of the Mountain Tribe, and Mei, you speak the language of the Forest Tribe. Now, Jinwei wants to trade fish for some wood, but he can¡¯t understand Li¡¯s words. So what should he do?¡±


    Mei tilted her head. ¡°Maybe Li can learn Jinwei¡¯s words?¡±


    Qin Jingwen nodded. ¡°He could try! But what about you, Mei? If you meet both of them, would you learn two different languages? What if there were ten tribes? Twenty?¡±


    Mei¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°That would take forever!¡±


    "Exactly," Qin Jingwen said. "Each tribe had their own way of speaking, and even within tribes, words changed over time. Learning just one other language was already difficult, and most people didn¡¯t have the time. Imagine trying to learn ten or more!"


    Li scratched his head. "So the Celestial Sage made a new language so that everyone could talk to each other instead of learning dozens of different ones?"


    "That¡¯s right," Qin Jingwen said. "She created Yulian as a shared language so people could communicate easily¡ªwhether they lived by the river, in the mountains, or deep in the forests. With this, the tribes stopped fighting and started working together. They built homes, villages, and, over time, entire kingdoms. This was the beginning of the Yulian Accord, the first great alliance of the mortal world."


    She paused, letting the children take it all in before lowering her voice, as if sharing a secret.


    "And even today, some say that if you find the Celestial Lake and sit beneath the Yulian Tree... you might hear the whispers of the Celestial Sage herself, telling forgotten stories from long ago."


    The children sat in awed silence, their minds filled with images of silver trees, celestial sages, and ancient wisdom.


    Mei finally broke the silence, tugging on Wuji¡¯s sleeve. ¡°Brother Wuji, do you think we can find the Yulian Tree one day?¡±


    Wuji, who had been quietly listening, gave a small smile. ¡°Maybe.¡±


    And with that, their first lesson came to a magical end.

 Chapter 5: Yulian 101: The First Strokes

    The next morning, after breakfast, the children eagerly gathered in the courtyard for their second Yulian lesson. Seated cross-legged on straw mats beneath the shade of the ancient tree, they whispered excitedly, their anticipation buzzing in the crisp morning air.


    Before long, Qin Jingwen arrived, carrying a small stack of books along with brushes and ink boxes. The children quickly fell silent, their eyes gleaming with curiosity.


    With a gentle smile, she stood beside the wooden blackboard and announced, ¡°Today, we begin with the foundation of writing Yulian.¡±


    She carefully handed each child a notebook, a brush, and an ink box.


    ¡°These are your writing tools,¡± she explained. ¡°Treat them with care, for they will shape the words you learn. Keep them safe, and do not lose them.¡±


    The children nodded eagerly, gripping their brushes as if they held something sacred.


    Wuji ran his fingers over the notebook¡¯s rough surface. Unlike the smooth, refined paper of his past life, this was coarse and fibrous, a stark reminder of how far this world was from the technological advancements of Earth. Everything here resembled a medieval era¡ªfunctional, but lacking the polish of true innovation.


    Qin Jingwen clapped her hands lightly, drawing their attention.


    ¡°Yesterday, we explored the origins of Yulian. Today, we take our first step in mastering it¡ªstarting with the sounds that shape our words.¡±


    The children leaned in, their excitement palpable as the lesson began.


    She picked up a piece of chalk and wrote the first few Yulian syllables on the blackboard, her strokes smooth and precise. ¡°Yulian has 36 basic sounds¡ªthese are the building blocks of all words. Let¡¯s start with the first few.¡±


    The children leaned forward, ready to begin their journey into the world of writing.


    Qin Jingwen tapped the blackboard gently with her chalk, drawing the children''s attention to the first few symbols she had written.


    "Yulian is a logophonetic script," she began, writing another set of characters beneath the first. "This means each character represents both a sound and a meaning. Some characters are simple and stand alone, while others combine smaller parts¡ªcalled radicals¡ªto form new words."


    She pointed at the first symbol. "This is ¡®Mu (ľ)¡¯¡ªit means ''tree.'' Can everyone say ''Mu''?"


    The children repeated after her, their voices overlapping. Wuji, however, was already analyzing it with a different perspective.


    "A logophonetic script? So, it¡¯s similar to Chinese Hanzi or Kanji from my past life." He narrowed his eyes, carefully observing the strokes.


    Qin Jingwen continued, drawing a second symbol next to the first. "Now, if we add another ''Mu'' (ľ) beside it, we get ''Lin (ÁÖ),'' which means ''forest.'' See how meaning is built?"


    Some children gasped in realization, while others nodded slowly, trying to grasp the concept. Wuji, however, was thinking deeper.


    "This is just like radicals forming compounds. It follows a structural logic¡ªsingle characters form a root meaning, and when combined, they create a more complex idea." He found this fascinating, as it confirmed that Yulian was not purely pictographic but had an underlying system of semantic-phonetic composition.


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    Qin Jingwen smiled at their expressions and moved on. "Now, let''s look at the strokes. Each character follows a specific order. Watch carefully."


    She lifted her brush and demonstrated:


    <ol>


    <li>Top to bottom</li>


    <li>Left to right</li>


    <li>Horizontal before vertical</li>


    </ol>


    She then gestured toward their notebooks. "Now, it¡¯s your turn. Let¡¯s start with ''Mu'' (ľ). Try to follow the stroke order carefully."


    As the lesson progressed, Wuji dipped his brush into the ink, carefully tracing the strokes of ¡®Mu (ľ)¡¯ in his notebook. Though calligraphy had never been part of his past life, he was no stranger to intricate characters¡ªhis fascination with Japanese culture, sparked by anime during his college years, had led him to study Japanese.


    Now, as he observed the structure of Yulian characters, he couldn''t help but draw parallels to Chinese Hanzi, which shared many similarities with Kanji. The familiar strokes and balanced forms stirred a sense of nostalgia, bridging the gap between his past world and this new one.


    "The stroke order, radicals, and phonetic components... This feels a lot like how Kanji works in Japanese," he thought, his hand moving naturally despite his lack of formal practice.


    Qin Jingwen walked around the courtyard, glancing at everyone¡¯s progress. When she reached Wuji, she paused. His characters were surprisingly well-formed for a beginner.


    "Wuji, have you seen these characters before?" she asked curiously.


    Wuji hesitated for a moment before answering, "No, but I think I understand the structure. If I recognize the parts, it makes it easier to remember."


    Qin Jingwen smiled, nodding in approval. "That¡¯s a sharp observation. Yulian characters often follow patterns. Once you grasp those, learning new words becomes much easier."


    She then turned back to the board, writing another set of characters. "Now, let¡¯s move on to basic phonetics. Yulian has 36 base sounds, which are the foundation of all words. If you understand these, you can pronounce and write any character."


    Wuji listened carefully, comparing them to the Japanese syllabary in his mind. While the system was different, the logic of syllables forming words felt somewhat familiar.


    "If I approach this like learning new Kanji readings, I should be able to pick it up quickly."


    Excited by this realization, Wuji continued practicing, eager to see how far he could push his understanding of this new world''s language.


    The lesson continued with Qin Jingwen patiently introducing new characters and syllables, guiding the children through each stroke and pronunciation. It was a challenge for many, but they persisted, their small hands gripping brushes tightly as they traced the unfamiliar symbols.


    Among them, Wuji stood out. His ability to grasp the characters and their meanings almost instantly made him seem exceptionally intelligent in the eyes of the others. As he practiced, he became more aware of how his sharpened memory was aiding him¡ªallowing him to learn the characters swiftly and grasp their essence with ease. This realization reinforced just how valuable this advantage was in understanding the world around him.


    While Wuji¡¯s rapid progress was noticeable, he wasn¡¯t the only one making strides. Beside him, Zhen, who was the same age, was also advancing well. Though a quiet boy who rarely spoke, there was a bright light in his eyes whenever he focused on learning Yulian. He was the type to silently absorb knowledge, letting his work speak for itself.


    On the other hand, Mei was putting in all her effort, her tiny brows furrowing as she struggled with certain characters. Whenever she got stuck, she would immediately turn to Mother Qin for help, her determination shining through despite her difficulties. Watching her pout in frustration before breaking into a grin when she finally understood something was oddly endearing to Wuji.


    Then there was Jinwei, a boy a year older than Wuji, who had a large, broad-shouldered frame¡ªfar bigger than the other children his age. His size, however, didn¡¯t help him when it came to writing. Wuji found it amusing to watch him scratch his head in confusion, his brush hovering hesitantly over the page as he struggled with the basic strokes.


    Lastly, Li and Yuan, two sharp-minded children, sat attentively in front, hanging onto Qin Jingwen¡¯s every word. Whenever something didn¡¯t make sense, they didn¡¯t hesitate to raise their hands and ask questions, their curiosity pushing them forward.


    As the class continued, the atmosphere was filled with a mixture of determination, frustration, and moments of quiet joy. Some grasped the lesson quickly, others stumbled, but in the end, they were all learning, step by step, the foundation of the language that connected their world.

 Chapter 6: Celestial Harmony Marketplace

    A Month passed, and the children''s grasp of Yulian steadily improved. Now, they could read basic storybooks, though they still had a long way to go before mastering the language. With over 3,000 core characters and an extended set exceeding 10,000 used in poetry, historical records, and advanced literature, true fluency would take at least two to three years of dedicated study.


    It was a warm afternoon, and Wuji sat beneath the sprawling shade of the old courtyard tree, revising that day''s Yulian lesson. Though his memory had sharpened significantly, he refused to grow complacent. In his past life, he had been a renowned scientist, hailed as a genius by his peers. But few understood the relentless hard work and sleepless nights behind his success. He firmly believed that talent alone was not enough¡ªa hardworking ordinary person could surpass an idle genius.


    As he traced invisible characters in the air, committing their strokes to memory, a familiar voice interrupted him.


    ¡°Brother Wuji, what are you doing at this time? Did you forget we¡¯re going to the marketplace today?¡±


    Mei¡¯s voice brimmed with excitement. She dashed toward him, her short legs barely keeping up with her enthusiasm. Skidding to a stop, she panted heavily, her cheeks flushed from the effort.


    ¡°Get up quickly and freshen up, or Mother won¡¯t take us with her!¡± she insisted, tugging at his sleeve.


    Wuji blinked, momentarily disoriented, before recalling that after weeks of pleading, Qin Jingwen had finally agreed to take them to the marketplace. The village was peaceful, but like any settlement, it had its dangers. For years, Qin Jingwen had been cautious, refusing to let the children wander far from the safety of the courtyard. But after much convincing, she had relented¡ªwith the condition that they must stay close to Zhang Fei, their guardian for the trip.


    Realizing Mei wouldn¡¯t leave him alone, Wuji sighed and stood up. ¡°Alright, alright, I¡¯m going.¡±


    After freshening up and changing into a clean robes, Wuji joined the others at the courtyard gate.


    Qin Jingwen, ever graceful, was dressed in a flowing robe of deep blue, her hair neatly tied with a jade hairpin. Beside her stood Liu Hua, the second caretaker and the orphanage''s cook, a woman in her forties with a round face and a warm demeanor. Towering over them was Zhang Fei, a broad-shouldered man with a quiet but imposing presence, his mere existence enough to deter troublemakers.


    Among the children, Mei bounced on her heels, barely containing her excitement. Zhen, ever quiet and observant, adjusted the small satchel tied to his belt, while Jingwei, the eldest among them, stood with his arms crossed, trying to appear more mature than he was.


    With final reminders from Qin Jingwen to stay close and not wander off, the group set off.


    For Wuji, this was the first time stepping beyond the orphanage walls. Though he had glimpsed the village from the rooftop, seeing it up close was a different experience. The roads were dirt paths, the orphanage located on the village outskirts. The surrounding area wasn¡¯t affluent, but neither was it destitute¡ªsimple, yet well-kept.


    The journey was quiet, the children taking in their surroundings with wide eyes. After fifteen minutes, they arrived at the Celestial Harmony Marketplace, marked by a grand wooden gate adorned in traditional Chinese architecture, a nameplate hanging prominently.


    The marketplace was alive with color¡ªred and blue ribbons hung from stalls and the entrance gate, fluttering in the breeze.


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    Qin Jingwen smiled. ¡°The market is especially lively today since the Festival of Twin Moons is only a week away.¡±


    The Festival of Twin Moons was one of the grandest celebrations in the village, held on the 105th day of the year, marking the completion of the Crimson Moon¡¯s cycle. Wuji recalled reading about it in his inherited memories.


    Qin Jingwen turned to the children and Zhang Fei. ¡°Everyone, stay close and don¡¯t wander around, got it?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Mother.¡± The children responded in unison.


    The marketplace was a feast for the senses. The air was thick with the aroma of roasting meat, fresh herbs, and the sharp tang of ink from calligraphy stalls. Merchants called out their wares, their voices blending with the laughter of children weaving through the crowd.


    Stalls lined both sides of the market street, their awnings casting patches of shade over baskets of glistening fruits, rows of handmade pottery, and bundles of fragrant spices tied with twine. At one corner, a baker pulled freshly baked sesame buns from a clay oven, their golden crusts glistening in the sunlight.


    ¡°Whoa!¡± Mei gasped, tugging at Wuji¡¯s sleeve. ¡°Look at that! And that! And¡ªoh! Smell that?¡±


    Wuji chuckled at her enthusiasm. Even Zhen, usually composed, seemed fascinated by the variety of goods. Meanwhile, Jingwei eyed a stall displaying wooden toys, his fingers twitching as he fought the urge to reach out. Seeing him struggle to maintain his ¡°mature¡± persona was amusing.


    As they followed Qin Jingwen, stopping occasionally to purchase essentials for the orphanage and festival, Wuji¡¯s attention was drawn to a wood artisan¡¯s stall tucked between a blacksmith¡¯s shop and a tea merchant¡¯s stall.


    Intricately carved figurines of animals, miniature houses, and delicate furniture were displayed with meticulous care. Each piece was a testament to patience and skill.


    An elderly man, his face weathered with age, sat behind the stall, using a small chisel to shape a block of wood. Wuji watched, entranced, as the man¡¯s gnarled hands moved with practiced ease, shaving away slivers of wood to reveal a crane in flight. The fine curls of wood fell away like autumn leaves, revealing each delicate feather and the graceful curve of the bird¡¯s neck.


    Fascinated, Wuji couldn¡¯t help but ask, ¡°Sir, how do you make them so detailed?¡±


    The wood artisan glanced up, his dark eyes twinkling. ¡°Ah, lad, it¡¯s all about patience and knowing the wood.¡± He held up the carving. ¡°Each piece has its own grain, its own spirit. You just need to listen.¡±


    Listening to the wood? It was a poetic way to describe craftsmanship. But as a scientist in his past life, Wuji understood¡ªevery material had its properties, its own rules.


    As he reached out to touch one of the finished carvings, a new curiosity stirred within him. He didn''t know why, but he wanted to learn this craft. To create something beautiful from a simple piece of wood fascinated him. In his past life, his passion had been the pursuit of knowledge¡ªthe endless quest to unravel the mysteries of the universe. But over time, passion had become a profession, and then an obligation. He had lived for discovery, but there had been no hobbies, no moments to simply create for the joy of it.


    He had no regrets¡ªhis past life had been one of learning, exploration, and discovery. But in this life, he wanted more than just knowledge. He wanted to live.


    Wuji''s eyes gleamed with curiosity as he asked, "How can I learn to create such beautiful objects?"


    The old wood artisan paused, studying the eager young boy before him. A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he replied, "Patience and practice, lad. There¡¯s no shortcut. Just take up the tools and start working the wood. At first, your hands will fumble, and your carvings will be rough. But with time, they¡¯ll find their form, and the wood will start to listen to you." He tapped a finished piece on his workbench. "That¡¯s the only advice I can give you."


    Wuji nodded, his gaze lingering on the intricate carvings around him. A quiet determination settled in his heart as he lost himself in thought, envisioning the day when his own hands could create such wonders.


    A voice broke through his reverie. "Wuji! It¡¯s time to head back to the orphanage."


    Snapping back to reality, he took one last look at the wood artisan and his masterpieces.


    As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting golden hues over the village, Qin Jingwen gathered the children once more. Their hands filled with small trinkets and snacks¡ªa testament to a day well spent. The trip had been a success, offering them a rare glimpse into the bustling heart of the village¡ªa fleeting moment of joy in their otherwise structured lives.

 Chapter 7: Festival Preparations

    As the first light of dawn bathed the village in golden hues, the rhythmic crowing of roosters signaled the start of another day. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys as early risers stoked their hearths, the scent of fresh bread and simmering porridge mingling with the crisp morning air. Merchants unfurled their stalls, farmers led their livestock to pasture, and the soft murmur of morning prayers drifted from the temple courtyard, weaving seamlessly into the village¡¯s quiet awakening.


    Within the orphanage, Wuji stirred at the hour of First Embers (7:00 AM), the lingering chill of dawn brushing against his skin. He opened his eyes to the familiar sight of the dimly lit room, the soft rustling of blankets as the other children roused from sleep. Without hesitation, he rose, slipping into the motions of his morning routine¡ªbathing in the cool water, donning a fresh robe, and making his way to the dining hall, where the comforting aroma of warm millet porridge and freshly steamed buns awaited him. The meal was simple but nourishing, a steady anchor in the rhythm of daily life.


    After breakfast, the children gathered in the courtyard for their daily Yulian lesson. Beneath the sprawling branches of the old tree, dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting shifting patterns over the straw mats where they sat cross-legged. Their brushes, inkstones, and books were arranged neatly beside them, while at the front, a sturdy blackboard stood against a wooden frame, faint traces of past lessons still clinging to its surface.


    Qin Jingwen stood before them, poised with a piece of chalk in hand. Clad in a simple yet elegant robe, she carried an air of quiet authority, her sharp eyes sweeping over the eager young faces before her. ¡°Today, we begin with calligraphy,¡± she announced, turning to the board to write a series of foundational Yulian characters. The soft scrape of chalk filled the air as graceful strokes took shape.


    ¡°The essence of Yulian lies in its strokes,¡± she continued, tapping the board. ¡°Balance, precision, and patience¡ªwithout these, your characters will lack strength. Watch carefully.¡±


    Dipping a brush into an inkstone, she demonstrated on a sheet of paper, each movement fluid and controlled. ¡°Now, take your brushes and follow along.¡±


    The children bent over their books, dipping their brushes into ink with varying levels of confidence. Zhen, ever meticulous, traced each stroke with careful precision, while Mei wrinkled her nose in frustration as her lines wobbled. Jingwei, in his attempt to maintain composure, furrowed his brow in deep concentration. Wuji, however, handled the brush with surprising steadiness¡ªhis past experience with Japanese lending him an unexpected ease in mastering the strokes.


    After a while, Qin Jingwen set the brushes aside and turned back to the board. ¡°Now, let¡¯s move on to proverbs,¡± she said, writing a phrase in bold, deliberate strokes:


    "A river carves through stone not by strength, but by persistence."


    She turned to the class. ¡°Who can tell me what this means?¡±


    Jingwei straightened, his voice steady. ¡°It means that even something as soft as water can overcome the hardest obstacles through perseverance.¡±


    Qin Jingwen nodded in approval. ¡°Exactly. And this applies to your studies as well. Mastering Yulian is not something that happens overnight. It requires effort, patience, and a willingness to learn from your mistakes.¡±


    She then guided them through a passage from a storybook, having each child take turns reading aloud. Some stumbled over difficult characters, while others read with growing confidence. Wuji listened intently, absorbing every word.


    By the time the lesson ended, their books and practice sheets bore the marks of their efforts¡ªsome pages filled with precise strokes, others smudged with ink and wobbly lines. Qin Jingwen surveyed their work with a satisfied smile. ¡°You are all improving. Keep practicing, and one day, Yulian will no longer feel like a challenge, but a skill you wield with ease.¡±


    With that, she dismissed them. The children eagerly stretched their legs, their earlier concentration melting into excitement as they rushed toward the rest of the day¡¯s adventures.


    Wuji rose to his feet, walking toward the kitchen with measured steps, his mind already weighing possibilities. His recent interest in wood crafting had led him to this decision¡ªto search for an old knife or something similar that could serve as a makeshift carving tool. He hadn¡¯t bothered asking Qin Jingwen to buy him proper tools.


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    Firstly, she would refuse outright, citing concerns for his safety. Secondly, even if she miraculously agreed, he wouldn¡¯t let her. A set of decent carving tools cost around ten copper coins, a price far too steep for the orphanage. Their funding¡ªtwo silver coins per month from the kingdom¡ªbarely covered food and clothing.


    In the Golden Lotus Kingdom, currency followed a simple hierarchy: copper coins were the most common, used for everyday transactions; a silver coin was worth a hundred coppers and could sustain a family for several days; while gold coins, valued at a hundred silvers each, were a rare sight among commoners. Spending money on non-essentials was simply impractical.


    As he stepped into the kitchen, the familiar scent of damp wood, faint spices, and lingering smoke greeted him. The elder children and caretakers bustled about, scrubbing surfaces and sweeping the floors. He quickly recalled the reason¡ªthe Festival of Two Moons was approaching.


    In this festival, the people worshiped the twin moon goddesses, a tradition that required homes to be thoroughly cleaned to receive divine blessings. Wuji found it a quaint custom¡ªone he might¡¯ve dismissed in his past life¡ªbut here, such beliefs were woven into everyday existence.


    His gaze swept across the kitchen until he noticed a pile of discarded utensils shoved into a corner. As he approached, he spotted an old, blunt knife with a broken handle among the heap.


    Just then, Liang Bo, a middle-aged caretaker, entered with another stack of worn-out items. Wuji took the chance to ask, his tone polite but tinged with the patience of someone far older than his small frame suggested.


    ¡°Uncle Liang, why are all these things gathered here?¡±


    Liang Bo glanced at him before chuckling. ¡°Ah, Wuji. These are old and broken utensils. We¡¯ll be throwing them out soon.¡±


    Wuji gave a slight nod and asked while pointing to the blunt knife. ¡°Uncle Liang, may I take that knife?¡±


    Liang Bo raised a brow. ¡°And what exactly do you need a knife for?¡±


    Wuji hesitated for a fraction of a second¡ªnot out of nervousness, but to mimic the natural hesitance of a child. Then, with a slight fidget, he answered, ¡°I¡­ I want to learn wood crafting. This knife is perfect since it¡¯s blunt. Even if I slip, I won¡¯t get hurt. I can use it to carve soft wood and practice.¡±


    Liang Bo studied him for a long moment before letting out a hearty chuckle. ¡°A little craftsman, eh? Alright then.¡± He picked up the knife and handed it over. ¡°But even a blunt knife can cut if you¡¯re careless. Be mindful.¡±


    Wuji accepted it with both hands, offering a respectful bow. ¡°I will. Thank you, Uncle Liang.¡±


    As Wuji stepped out of the kitchen, the weight of the knife in his small hand felt oddly satisfying. It was nothing more than a discarded tool, its edge dulled by years of use, yet to him, it marked a beginning.


    Every craftsman, every scholar, every builder¡ªeach had started with the simplest of tools. What mattered was how they used them.


    His fingers curled around the worn handle, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He had what he needed to begin.


    Now, all that remained was to find some soft wood to practice on.


    But as he glanced around, watching the children and caretakers hard at work, scrubbing floors, dusting shelves, and airing out bedding in preparation for the festival, a quiet sense of duty settled over him. The orphanage was his home, and if everyone was working to clean it, then so should he.


    Before joining them, he made his way to the small, shared room where he slept. Six beds were packed tightly together, leaving little space for anything else. Sunlight filtered in through two narrow windows on adjacent walls, casting long shadows over the bare wooden floor. He crouched by his bed and carefully tucked the knife beneath it, ensuring it was out of sight. There would be time for wood carving later.


    For now, he had work to do.


    Rolling up his sleeves, he stepped into the main hall, where dust motes danced in the evening light. The long wooden tables, worn smooth by years of use, were being wiped down, their surfaces gleaming under the efforts of eager hands. Wuji grabbed a damp cloth and began scrubbing alongside the others. The scent of fresh soap and aged wood filled the air as he methodically worked, making sure no corner was left untouched.


    When the tables were spotless, he helped sweep the floors, gathering dust and stray crumbs into neat piles before discarding them outside. His small frame made it easier for him to slip into corners the older children struggled to reach, and he took advantage of it, ensuring even the tightest spaces were cleaned.


    Later, he helped carry out worn-out decorations, replacing them with fresh banners of deep blue and silver¡ªthe colors of the twin moons. The fabric shimmered faintly under the lantern light, swaying gently as they were secured in place.


    By the time they were finished, exhaustion tugged at Wuji¡¯s limbs, but there was a quiet sense of satisfaction in the air. The orphanage looked different¡ªcleaner, brighter, as though it, too, was preparing to welcome the goddesses¡¯ blessings.


    As the days passed, excitement crackled like a coming storm. The festival of the Twin Moons was nearly upon them.


    On the eve of the festival, when the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, everyone in the orphanage gathered in the courtyard. A large bronze container stood empty at the center, its metal glinting in the flickering torchlight. It was time for the first ritual of the festival¡ªone that would cleanse the past and welcome the blessings of the twin goddesses in the days to come.

 Chapter 8: The Festival of Twin Moon [1]

    The Festival of Twin Moons was one of the grandest celebrations in the village, held on the 105th day of the year, marking the completion of the Crimson Moon¡¯s cycle. According to the stories, in ancient times, the two celestial bodies¡ªthe Azure Moon and the Crimson Moon¡ªwere not just moons, but twin sisters, goddesses who watched over the mortal world. The Azure Moon, a beacon of wisdom and harmony, balanced the fierce strength and valor of her twin, the Crimson Moon. Together, they represented balance in all things¡ªknowledge and power, peace and war, light and darkness.


    Yet, legend told of a time when the heavens themselves were torn asunder by conflict. A great betrayal plunged the world into war, and the very fabric of existence was ravaged by fire and chaos. In the midst of the destruction, the Twin Moon Sisters faced each other in battle, their clash shaking the heavens. Despite their efforts, both perished, and their spirits were sealed within the very moons they once governed. The Azure Moon, scarred by her fate, carried the mark of their lost unity, while the Crimson Moon, forever stained red, stood as a symbol of their tragic end.


    The festival was a time of remembrance and renewal, where the people honored the moons¡¯ blessings and sought to harmonize strength and wisdom within themselves. Lanterns in shades of blue and red filled every village and city, their glow representing the sisters¡¯ spirits, while offerings were made to appease their lingering presence and ensure peace for another year.


    On the eve of the festival, when the sun had dipped below the horizon and the air had grown crisp, everyone in the orphanage gathered in the courtyard. A large bronze container stood empty at the center, its metal reflecting the flickering torchlight. It was time for the preparation of the first ritual of the festival¡ªone that would purify the past and usher in the moon''s blessings for the days to come.


    Wuji stood beside Mei, both of them engaged in quiet conversation about the upcoming celebration.


    ¡°What are you most excited about tomorrow, Brother Wuji?¡± Mei asked, her tone light.


    Wuji paused, considering. ¡°Hmm... for everything, I suppose.¡±


    Mei groaned in mock exasperation, swaying on her feet with her hands clasped together. ¡°Brother Wuji, you¡¯re no fun!¡±


    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Is that so?¡±


    She grinned, her face lighting up. ¡°I¡¯m most excited for the ritual dance performance!¡±


    Wuji smirked. ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯re in it.¡±


    Mei pouted, but her expression softened as she giggled. ¡°Maybe. But still! The dance is beautiful¡ªit tells the story of the Twin Moon Sisters. We wear blue and red robes to represent them.¡± She twirled on her toes, mimicking the graceful movements of the ritual dance before laughing.


    Wuji chuckled, his gaze drifting to the bronze container before settling on the twin moons overhead, gleaming with an otherworldly glow.


    In his past life, Wuji had been a scientist, a man devoted to logic and reason. Yet, despite his scientific pursuits, he had always honored his cultural traditions¡ªnot out of superstition, but because they were part of his identity, the invisible threads that connected him to his ancestors. In a way, they grounded him.


    Now, in this life, his roots had changed. The Celestial Harmony Village had become his home, and its customs, passed down through generations, were now as much a part of him as they were of the villagers. To honor them wasn¡¯t just about upholding tradition; it was about belonging.


    The ritual was simple but deeply meaningful. Each person was to pour water into the container, symbolizing their participation in the blessings of the festival.


    Qin Jingwen, as the eldest, went first. She lifted a wooden bucket and gently poured its contents into the empty vessel. One by one, the caretakers followed, their movements respectful and deliberate.


    Then came the children, each taking their turn. Wuji was second to last. He lifted his bucket, the cool water sloshing inside, and poured it carefully into the growing pool. Mei, the youngest, was last. She tiptoed to reach the rim, her small hands shaking slightly as she added her share.


    Once all the water had been poured, the group gathered in a semi-circle around the container. With quiet reverence, they bowed to the twin moons above, then to the vessel, before chanting an ancient mantra in Yulian:


    "Under the Azure¡¯s gentle gaze, we seek wisdom and peace.


    Under the Crimson¡¯s watchful light, we find strength and resolve.


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    May the moons cleanse our hearts, and may their light guide our souls."


    Their voices, soft yet harmonious, echoed in the stillness of the night. When the chant ended, a calm silence descended upon the courtyard.


    The large container, now filled, was left to absorb the moons'' blessings overnight. At dawn, they would wash their faces with the Moon-Blessed Water, cleansing away misfortune and welcoming a new cycle of prosperity and strength.


    One by one, the children stretched and yawned, their earlier excitement giving way to drowsy anticipation. The cool night air had settled in, and with it, the promise of a new day.


    Qin Jingwen smiled softly. ¡°Off to bed, little ones. Tomorrow is a special day.¡±


    With murmured goodnights, the children trickled inside, leaving Wuji to linger. He stood there for a moment longer, his gaze fixed on the two moons. Their soft glow bathed the village in an ethereal light, both serene and powerful¡ªa silent blessing that hung over the land, waiting to embrace them all


    --------


    The next morning, Wuji woke up later than usual, skipping his routine. Instead, he simply freshened up before heading to the courtyard. Today was the Festival of Twin Moons, a sacred day that began with receiving the blessings of the celestial sisters by washing one¡¯s face with moon-blessed water¡ªa tradition passed down through generations.


    As Wuji stepped into the courtyard, he found it already bustling with life. Mother Qin Jingwen and the others were gathered, dressed in ceremonial robes, while the courtyard itself had been adorned with silk banners of deep crimson and serene azure, symbolizing the twin moons. The air carried a faint floral fragrance, and small incense burners released curling wisps of blue and red smoke into the sky.


    He instinctively looked up¡ªand there they were. The twin moons, normally hidden by daylight, were faintly visible, shimmering with an unearthly glow. It was a sight both mystical and unsettling, as if the heavens themselves had opened their gaze upon the mortal realm.


    Soon, more children arrived, gathering in eager anticipation. Mother Qin Jingwen, standing by the ceremonial bronze basin, smiled warmly and began explaining the significance of the festival.


    ¡°The Twin Moons, Yuelan and Yuehong, were once celestial sisters who guided the balance of fate,¡± she began, her voice gentle yet firm. ¡°Each year, on this day, their divine presence aligns in harmony, blessing all who seek wisdom and strength. This ritual cleanses our spirit and mind, ensuring that we walk forward with clarity and purpose.¡±


    She gestured toward the basin, filled with moon-blessed water¡ªwater that had been left under the twin moons'' radiance the night before, absorbing their essence. ¡°This water is not ordinary,¡± she continued. ¡°It is touched by the celestial light, washing away misfortune and refreshing the soul. From the youngest to the eldest, we partake in this rite to embrace renewal.¡±


    She then clasped her hands together and began chanting a sacred mantra, her voice carrying a melodic cadence:


    "Under twin moons, balance bright,


    Cleanse the mind, embrace the light.


    Azure wisdom, crimson flame,


    Guide our steps, keep us sane....."


    The younger children, too young to remember the words, repeated after her in hushed reverence.


    After the chant, she beckoned toward Mei, the youngest, who hesitated briefly before stepping forward. ¡°The youngest shall wash first, for they are closest to purity,¡± Qin Jingwen said, gently encouraging her. Mei carefully dipped her small hands into the cool, shimmering water, cupping it before pressing it against her face. She let out a soft giggle at its refreshing touch.


    Next, it was Wuji¡¯s turn. Stepping forward, he mimicked Mei¡¯s actions, cupping the water in his hands and splashing it over his face. He had expected it to be just another ritual¡ªone of many traditions carried over generations, often performed without true understanding.


    But the moment the water touched his skin, something shifted.


    A sudden clarity washed over him, like a fog lifting from his mind. He felt weightless, focused, aware¡ªas if his thoughts, scattered like autumn leaves, had suddenly aligned into perfect order. His breath hitched.


    ¡®This... isn¡¯t normal.¡¯


    In his previous life living in India, he had participated in countless ceremonies, none of which had ever produced tangible effects. But this was different. This was real. His logical mind instantly sought an explanation¡ªwas there some unknown property in the water? A special mineral? Or perhaps... an undiscovered energy?


    He glanced around, but no one else seemed surprised. To them, this was simply tradition, something they followed without question. They did not ask why¡ªthey only obeyed what had been passed down for generations.


    Realizing he wouldn¡¯t find his answers here, Wuji sighed and stepped aside, pushing his curiosity to the back of his mind¡ªat least for now. Today was a day of celebration, and though questions burned within him, he intended to experience the festival and uncover its mysteries in time.


    And as such after Qin Jingwen¡¯s turn the first ritual concluded. She turned to the children, her voice warm yet firm.


    ¡°Now, go and cleanse yourselves properly. Put on the robes prepared for today. A new beginning starts with purity.¡±


    The children nodded eagerly before scattering toward the bathhouse. Wuji followed suit, still contemplating the strange clarity he had felt from the moon-blessed water. Inside the bathhouse, steam curled into the air, carrying the faint fragrance of sandalwood and jasmine. The water had been infused with spirit-cleansing herbs, a tradition believed to wash away lingering misfortune before stepping into the festival¡¯s blessings. Wuji submerged himself in the warm water, feeling a sense of tranquility settle over him.


    After bathing, he dressed in ceremonial robes¡ªa pristine white garment, embroidered with flowing patterns of red and blue threads, mirroring the colors of the Twin Moons. The fabric was soft, yet the stitching carried an intricate weight of tradition, a silent reminder of the festival¡¯s deep-rooted history.


    Stepping outside, Wuji found that several children had already gathered in the courtyard, their robes shimmering under the soft daylight. One by one, the rest arrived, their expressions a mix of excitement and reverence.


    Qin Jingwen stood at the center, a gentle but knowing smile on her lips. ¡°Come,¡± she said, her voice carrying an air of quiet authority. ¡°The next ritual awaits.¡±

 Chapter 9: The Festival of Twin Moon [2]

    Beyond the orphanage, at the heart of the village, stood an open shrine beneath the vast sky, flanked by two ancient stone pedestals. Atop each pedestal rested a brass lantern, their golden flames flickering¡ªsteady and unwavering, untouched by the wind.


    Villagers gathered in hushed reverence, their faces serene as whispered prayers wove through the air, mingling with the rich scent of incense and smoldering wood. A sacred stillness settled over the shrine.


    Qin Jingwen turned to the children, the lanterns¡¯ glow reflected in her eyes. ¡°This is the Lighting of the Twin Flames¡ªone of the most sacred traditions of the festival.¡±


    She knelt and held up two slender candles¡ªone a deep crimson, the other a cool azure. ¡°This red candle,¡± she said, ¡°is the Flame of Yuehong. It stands for strength, passion, and determination¡ªthe fire that pushes us forward.¡± Then she raised the blue. ¡°And this one is the Flame of Yuelan, the light of wisdom, clarity, and serenity¡ªthe guidance that keeps us on the right path.¡±


    Her gaze swept over the children. ¡°We light these not just to honor the Twin Moons, but to remind ourselves of something important.¡± She placed a hand over her heart. ¡°Strength without wisdom is reckless. Wisdom without strength is powerless. We need both, just like the twin moons in the sky.¡±


    The children listened, their small hands clutching their unlit candles.


    One by one, they stepped forward. Each child took a candle¡ªred in one hand, blue in the other¡ªbowed before the shrine, and carefully touched the wicks to the sacred flames. The golden light flared, catching in their eyes.


    Wuji cupped his candles carefully, watching the flames dance, their glow warming his face. For a moment, it almost felt like the twin moons themselves were watching back.


    As the last candle was lit, soft claps and murmured blessings rippled through the crowd. The sacred flames would burn through the day, ensuring the festival remained under the watchful gaze of the Twin Moons.


    Qin Jingwen rose to her feet, pride in her expression. ¡°The flames have been lit,¡± she said, her voice gentle but firm. ¡°Now, the festival truly begins.¡±


    Cheers erupted from the children, their excitement breaking through the reverent silence.


    Qin Jingwen smiled. ¡°Alright, that¡¯s it for the ritual. Now, go have fun! The caretakers will take you around the village to enjoy the celebrations.¡±


    The children quickly formed groups, sticking close to their friends. Wuji ended up with his classmates from the Yulian class¡ªhe knew them best, and the festival was always more fun with familiar faces.


    Their caretaker, Zhang Fei, towered over them, his broad shoulders and deep voice making him seem even larger than he already was. ¡°Alright, little ones,¡± he said, crossing his arms. ¡°Let¡¯s get moving. There¡¯s a lot to see.¡±


    As they walked, Mei, a lively girl with a quick step, looked up at him. ¡°Uncle Zhang, where are we going first?¡±


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    Zhang Fei stroked his chin. ¡°Hmm¡­ Well, since it¡¯s the Festival of Twin Moons, the big fighting competition should be starting soon.¡±


    The kids instantly perked up.


    ¡°A fighting competition?¡± Mei¡¯s eyes sparkled. ¡°Like, real fights?¡±


    Zhang Fei chuckled. ¡°Not just any fights. This tournament is held every year to honor the Twin Moons. It¡¯s not about brute strength¡ªit¡¯s about balance.¡± His voice took on a more serious tone. ¡°The Twin Goddesses, Yuehong and Yuelan, represent strength and wisdom. A true warrior needs both.¡±


    He gestured ahead, where a distant crowd had already gathered. ¡°That¡¯s why the tournament isn¡¯t just about who¡¯s the strongest. Fighters need to think ahead, read their opponents, and know when to strike and when to hold back. It¡¯s about control.¡±


    Mei¡¯s excitement only grew. ¡°That sounds amazing!¡±


    Zhang Fei smirked. ¡°It is. Now, let¡¯s hurry. We don¡¯t want to miss the opening match.¡±


    The children followed eagerly, anticipation buzzing in the air as the festival came alive around them.


    The festival streets were alive with color and movement. Lanterns swayed from tall wooden poles, casting warm light over the cobbled paths. Stalls lined the roads, their vendors calling out with enthusiasm¡ªoffering skewers of sizzling meat, sweet rice cakes wrapped in fragrant leaves, and tiny trinkets carved in the shapes of the Twin Moons. The scent of grilled fish and fresh herbs filled the air, blending with the distant chime of bells and the rhythmic beat of festival drums.


    Wuji and the others stuck close to Zhang Fei as they wove through the crowd. Though the village square was bustling, the path to the tournament grounds had already been cleared, marked by banners embroidered with the symbols of Yuehong and Yuelan¡ªa crimson flame and a silver crescent moon.


    As they neared the competition grounds, the excited murmur of the crowd grew louder. A large circular arena had been set up in an open fiels, its edges lined with sturdy wooden railings. Spectators had already gathered, eager for the matches to begin. On one side of the ring, a raised platform held the festival elders, their flowing robes denoting their status as judges for the event.


    Zhang Fei guided the children to a good viewing spot near the front. ¡°Stay close,¡± he said, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. ¡°The opening match is about to start.¡±


    The festival announcer, an older man with a booming voice, stepped forward. ¡°Welcome, one and all, to this year¡¯s Festival of Twin Moons Combat Tournament!¡± His words carried over the crowd, drawing a wave of cheers.


    ¡°This competition is a tradition as old as our village itself,¡± he continued. ¡°It is not just a test of strength, but a challenge of the mind and spirit. To honor the Twin Goddesses, the fighters must display both skill and wisdom¡ªbecause true strength comes not from power alone, but from knowing when to wield it.¡±


    A hush fell over the crowd as the first competitors stepped forward. The announcer gestured to the left. ¡°Representing the Crimson Path, we have Lu Shengtian, known for his ferocity in battle and his unshakable will!¡± A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped into the ring, his crimson sash fluttering as he moved. He gave a respectful bow to the judges, then turned to his opponent.


    ¡°And representing the Azure Path, we have Xie Lian, a fighter known for his agility and precision, as sharp as the crescent moon itself!¡± His opponent was leaner, dressed in lighter robes of pale blue. Unlike Lu Shengtian¡¯s solid stance, Xie Lian moved with a flowing grace, his steps measured and calm.


    Zhang Fei leaned down slightly so the children could hear him. ¡°Watch closely,¡± he said. ¡°These two fighters represent the ideals of the Twin Moons¡ªone fights with raw strength, the other with strategy and speed. This isn¡¯t just a match, it¡¯s a lesson.¡±


    A temple priest stepped forward, raising a ceremonial staff. ¡°May the spirits guide your hands,¡± he intoned. ¡°Begin!¡±


    The moment the staff struck the ground, Lu Shengtian lunged.


    The crowd erupted in cheers. The children leaned forward, wide-eyed, as the first strike of the match echoed through the festival air.

 Chapter 10: The Festival of Twin Moons [3]

    The Twin Moons Festival was a sacred tradition, a time when the two great paths¡ªCrimson and Azure¡ªstood as symbols of balance and opposition, of the twin goddesses Yuehong and Yuelan. The Crimson Path represented raw strength, direct power, and overwhelming force, while the Azure Path embodied precision, strategy, and adaptability. Each year, the festival¡¯s climactic battle showcased fighters chosen from both paths, determined through rigorous trials and selection processes. Only the most skilled were granted the honor of competing.


    This year, the arena¡¯s focus fell on two such warriors¡ªLu Shengtian of the Crimson Path and Xie Lian of the Azure Path.


    Lu Shengtian moved first.


    He surged forward like a battering ram, his crimson robes billowing behind him. His foot slammed against the stone tiles with a dull, thunderous thud, and with a burst of strength, he drove his fist toward Xie Lian¡¯s chest. A direct, overwhelming strike.


    Xie Lian barely avoided it.


    A pivot. A shift of weight. His body moved with the precision of a well-honed blade, turning just enough to let the blow graze past. The force of Lu Shengtian¡¯s missed strike sent a sharp gust whipping through the air.


    The crowd barely had time to react before Xie Lian countered.


    His right foot slid forward, shifting his balance. As Lu Shengtian¡¯s weight was still thrown forward from the missed punch, Xie Lian struck¡ªhis palm snapping up in a sharp, controlled motion, aiming directly for the underside of Lu Shengtian¡¯s exposed ribs.


    A clean, precise strike.


    The impact landed with a solid crack.


    Lu Shengtian grunted, his body jerking from the hit. But rather than stumbling back, he twisted into the attack, absorbing the force with sheer resilience. His skin reddened where the blow struck, but his stance remained unshaken. His right arm swung out in a brutal arc, aiming to catch Xie Lian mid-retreat.


    He¡¯s not just a brute. He¡¯s experienced.


    The two fighters separated for a brief moment.


    A tense pause.


    Xie Lian¡¯s chest rose and fell steadily, his face unreadable. Lu Shengtian flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders. A faint bruise was already forming where the palm strike had landed, but his stance remained firm.


    The crowd murmured in appreciation. It wasn¡¯t a reckless brawl. It was a battle of control.


    Zhang Fei stroked his chin. ¡°Lu Shengtian¡¯s built like a warhorse. He can take a hit and keep charging. Xie Lian¡¯s got speed, but dodging won¡¯t win him the fight.¡±


    The fighters moved again.


    This time, Xie Lian initiated. He feinted to the left, testing Lu Shengtian¡¯s reaction. The larger man shifted his stance, preparing for an attack from that angle¡ªbut it was a trick.


    Xie Lian suddenly twisted to the right instead, dropping low as his leg shot out in a sweeping motion.


    A well-aimed leg sweep.


    Lu Shengtian, despite his size, reacted fast. Instead of trying to dodge or absorb the impact, he lifted his leg at the last moment¡ªa calculated move. The sweep passed beneath him harmlessly, and the instant his foot hit the ground again, he retaliated.


    A knee strike.


    Xie Lian barely managed to deflect it with his forearm, but the sheer force sent a numbing jolt up his arm. He exhaled sharply, shaking it out.


    Neither of them were making reckless mistakes. Every move had a response, every response had a counter.


    But Xie Lian wasn¡¯t finished.


    Instead of backing away, he stepped in close. His movements shifted¡ªfluid, unpredictable. A sudden burst of speed, a flicker of motion, and he was inside Lu Shengtian¡¯s guard before the larger man could reset his stance.


    A sharp elbow strike to the ribs.


    Lu Shengtian grimaced, his body jerking from the impact. But again, he absorbed it, twisting to lessen the blow¡¯s force. His arm lashed out¡ªa backhand strike, aiming for Xie Lian¡¯s temple.


    Too slow.


    Xie Lian ducked, his body weaving under the attack. And then, in the same breath, he struck again.


    A palm to the sternum.


    This time, the force sent Lu Shengtian stumbling. His footing wavered, and for the first time, uncertainty flickered in his eyes.


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    The crowd gasped.


    Xie Lian had disrupted the rhythm. Lu Shengtian had been fighting as an immovable force, absorbing and retaliating. But Xie Lian had changed the tempo, chipped away at that stability. And now, the cracks were showing.


    He didn¡¯t hesitate.


    His next move was seamless¡ªa flurry of strikes designed to keep Lu Shengtian off balance. The larger man blocked some, absorbed others, but his steps faltered.


    And then¡ª


    A final, decisive blow.


    Xie Lian shifted, his body twisting into a spinning kick. The strike landed square against Lu Shengtian¡¯s chest.


    The impact was devastating. Lu Shengtian¡¯s breath left him in a harsh, choked gasp. His feet lifted slightly off the ground before he crashed onto his back, the force shaking the arena floor.


    Silence fell.


    For a second, everything seemed frozen. The crowd, the fighters, even the air itself held still.


    Then¡ª


    A deep exhale. Lu Shengtian stayed down.


    The temple priest stepped forward, raising his staff. ¡°The match is decided. Victory¡ªXie Lian!¡±


    The moment the temple priest declared Xie Lian the victor, the arena erupted into thunderous applause. Cheers echoed through the stone pavilion, voices rising in excitement as spectators celebrated the dazzling display of skill and discipline.


    From the stands, villagers and martial practitioners alike shouted words of praise.


    ¡°Well fought, Xie Lian!¡±


    ¡°A true display of the Azure Path¡¯s mastery!¡±


    ¡°Lu Shengtian, you held strong! Next year will be yours!¡±


    Despite his loss, Lu Shengtian pushed himself upright, his chest still heaving from exertion. He wiped a streak of sweat from his brow, eyes flickering toward Xie Lian¡ªnot with resentment, but with grudging respect.


    With a slow nod, he stepped forward and extended his hand. ¡°That was¡­ a good fight.¡±


    Xie Lian, still catching his breath, met his gaze. He hesitated only a moment before clasping the offered hand. ¡°You fought well too. Strength and endurance like yours¡ªit¡¯s not easy to overcome.¡±


    The crowd murmured in approval. Rivalries were one thing, but honor mattered more.


    Lu Shengtian let out a rough chuckle. ¡°Next time, I won¡¯t let you dance circles around me.¡±


    Xie Lian smirked. ¡°Then I¡¯ll just have to get faster.¡±


    Their exchange drew another round of applause, solidifying the respect both warriors had earned.


    As the cheers subsided, a rhythmic chime echoed through the pavilion. The temple priest, draped in deep indigo robes embroidered with golden thread, raised his staff and struck the ground twice. Silence fell over the crowd, the shift in atmosphere marking the transition from battle to ceremony.


    Two attendants, dressed in ceremonial white, stepped forward. One carried a wooden box, carved with intricate moon-and-star motifs. The other held a small leather pouch, the drawstring glinting with silver thread.


    The priest¡¯s voice rang out. ¡°For the victor of this year¡¯s Festival Duel, the blessings of the Twin Moons are bestowed. The prize, as decreed by tradition¡ª¡±


    The first attendant carefully lifted the lid of the wooden box, revealing a 50-year-old Moonlit Herb nestled within. Its leaves, a faint silvery-green, exuded a soft fragrance, carrying a hint of night-blooming flowers.


    Murmurs spread through the crowd.


    A 50-year-old mortal herb wasn¡¯t just rare¡ªit was valuable. With proper preparation, it could enhance one¡¯s stamina, cleanse minor impurities from the body, or even aid in cultivation for those who had stepped onto the martial path.


    ¡°And alongside it,¡± the priest continued, the second attendant stepping forward, ¡°five silver coins. A token of honor, a mark of your achievement.¡±


    The pouch was passed to Xie Lian, its weight a reminder that victory was not only about pride but also prosperity. For common villagers, five silver coins could feed a family for months.


    Xie Lian accepted both prizes with a deep bow. ¡°I thank the temple, the honored elders, and all who bore witness today.¡±


    The priest gave a solemn nod. ¡°May the path you walk remain in harmony, as the Twin Moons intended.¡±


    Just as the crowd began to thin, the crisp night air stirred with a new energy. A voice¡ªrich and commanding¡ªrippled through the departing festival-goers.


    ¡°Now, now! Why the rush? Are your ears so weary that they cannot bear a good tale?¡±


    The voice belonged to an old man who had suddenly taken the stage, clad in white robes embroidered with intricate silver threads that shimmered under the lantern light. His long, wispy beard swayed slightly as he spread his arms wide, his presence effortlessly drawing attention.


    A few people turned at the sound, curiosity flickering in their eyes.


    ¡°Ah, my dear friends,¡± he continued, a mischievous gleam in his gaze, ¡°surely you wouldn¡¯t leave without hearing one of old Xu Feng¡¯s legendary stories? What is a festival without a tale to haunt your dreams and set your hearts aflame?¡±


    At the mention of his name, a ripple of recognition spread through the gathering.


    ¡°Xu Feng? The wandering storyteller?¡± one man murmured.


    ¡°I heard he once debated a scholar for three nights straight¡ªand won!¡± whispered another.


    ¡°My grandmother told me he knows a thousand tales, each more thrilling than the last!¡±


    ¡°Hah! A thousand? I heard it was ten thousand!¡±


    Excited whispers blossomed through the crowd, replacing the earlier murmurs of departure. More people turned back, some nudging their companions, others pulling their children closer to listen.


    Wuji, who had been preparing to leave with the others, paused mid-step. He glanced at Zhang Fei, who had also stopped, arms crossed as he studied the storyteller with interest. The other children, once eager to explore the rest of the festival, hesitated¡ªcuriosity slowly winning over their previous excitement.


    Mei tugged at Zhang Fei¡¯s sleeve. ¡°Uncle Zhang, who is he?¡±


    Zhang Fei chuckled. ¡°Xu Feng? That old fox has been spinning tales since before you were born. If he¡¯s here, it means there¡¯s a story worth listening to.¡±


    Wuji exhaled, folding his arms. A storyteller? He had always found history fascinating, though he preferred facts over embellishments. But folklore had a way of revealing the world¡¯s truths, even through its exaggerations.


    Seeing the shifting tide, Xu Feng stroked his beard, clearly satisfied.


    ¡°That¡¯s more like it,¡± he said with a chuckle. ¡°Now then¡ªsettle in, young and old alike. Let this humble bard take you into a world of steel and storm, of men who wield blades like dragons and fates sharper than any edge.¡±


    He took a deliberate step forward, his voice dropping slightly, just enough to draw the audience in.


    ¡°Tonight, I will tell you of a man whose very name sent shivers down the spines of warriors. A man feared and revered in equal measure. A man¡­ who walked the line between madness and genius.¡±


    He let the silence stretch for just a breath, then¡ª


    ¡°Let me tell you the tale of the Mad Tyrant of the Blade!¡±


    The hush that fell over the audience was not of boredom, but of pure anticipation.


    Even Wuji, logical as he was, found himself intrigued. A tyrant? A master of the blade? A descent into madness? If nothing else, it would be an intriguing glimpse into how history turns men into legends.


    The festival¡¯s revelry faded into the background as all eyes turned to Xu Feng, waiting for the story to unfold.