Zhou Yang didn’t know how much time had passed. He was sure he had jumped, felt the rush of air against his skin, and then... nothing. Yet the oblivion he expected never came. No fading into unconsciousness. No pain from the impact. Nothing.

His mind stirred as confusion grew within him. Slowly, he tried to open his eyes, though the very thought felt absurd. How could a dead man open his eyes? Yet to his surprise, his eyes opened, revealing... nothing.

Before him was an expanse of absolute darkness. No light, no sound—just endless silence. Panic welled up in his chest, an unfamiliar sensation for someone who had always prided himself on staying composed. But now, his calm facade cracked.

Why can’t I feel my body? The realization sent a shiver down his non-existent spine. He tried to move, to stretch or flinch, but his limbs were unresponsive. Am I dead? Is this what death feels like?

If anyone could have seen within the void, they would have found a flickering wisp—a soul, moving frantically as if searching for an escape. Zhou Yang’s thoughts spiraled his internal monologue racing.

Suddenly, a voice shattered the silence, reverberating from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

"Lost soul, thou dost not belong here yet."

The words were garbled, almost incomprehensible, as though spoken in an ancient tongue that his mind struggled to grasp. They echoed all around him, their tone commanding, authoritative, and overwhelming.

What... What is this?

He couldn’t understand the words, but some instinct deep within him recognized that the voice was addressing him. Before he could react further, the voice continued, its second statement more lucid:

“Find what thou yearn’st for most, then return.”

As the final word echoed into the void, Zhou Yang’s soul was gripped by an immense force. It felt like being caught in a powerful current, dragged helplessly toward an unseen destination. He wanted to scream but had no voice to give.

A rush of sensation jolted him. Zhou Yang gasped as he became aware of his body once more—the weight of limbs, the faint throb of a heartbeat. Confusion swirled as he tried to process his surroundings.

What just happened? First that dark void, now this... where am I?

Slowly, he attempted to open his eyes. It took a few tries—each blink an exhausting effort—but finally, his vision adjusted to the dim light around him.

Above him wasn’t the stark white ceiling of a hospital. Instead, an ornate, wooden ceiling came into view, its intricate carvings depicting scenes of dragons and phoenixes. Silk banners hung from polished beams, their rich colors glinting faintly in the soft candlelight.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

What... is this place? Zhou Yang thought as he struggled to make sense of the grandeur surrounding him. The room was spacious and regal, filled with finely crafted furniture and priceless artifacts.

He tried to sit up, only to find his body unresponsive, as though crushed under an immense weight. A dry, raspy voice escaped his lips. “Where... am I?”

The sound startled him. The voice was young, like that of someone in their twenties, but strained and hoarse, as if it hadn’t been used in days. Before he could dwell on the peculiarity, an unbearable wave of pain erupted across his body.

It felt as though every bone was shattered, every muscle torn. The agony tore through him, and he let out a hoarse cry, neither loud nor clear, but raw and filled with torment.

The sudden sound caused the large doors of the room to swing open. Two figures rushed in—a young woman and a young man, both appearing to be in their early twenties.

The woman, who had a kind, round face framed by long black hair with a slight brown undertone, hurried to his bedside. Kneeling beside him, she quickly assessed his state. “Young Master!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with relief and urgency.

Turning to the young man behind her, she commanded, “Go! Call the Master and Mistress! Tell them the young master has woken up!”

The young man nodded and darted out of the room.

The woman gently helped Zhou Yang sit up despite his groans of pain. She supported him with surprising care, her touch delicate yet firm. Grasping a cup of water from the bedside table, she pressed it to his lips.

Zhou Yang gulped it down greedily, like a man parched after wandering through a desert. The cool liquid coursed down his throat, providing momentary relief from the dryness that plagued him.

As his strength returned slightly, he looked around the room again. It was enormous and grand, far beyond anything he had seen even in the finest hotels on Earth. The furniture was richly adorned, and golden artifacts sparkled under the warm glow of candlelight.

His gaze shifted to the girl kneeling beside him. She was pretty, with soft, youthful features that radiated kindness. Her round face and slight chubbiness gave her a comforting presence, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Young Master,” she said, her voice cracking slightly, “I’m so glad nothing happened to you.”

Zhou Yang frowned, her words only deepening his confusion. Young Master? What is she talking about? Who am I? Where am I?

His thoughts turned inward, and a pang of longing struck him. Ying’er... The name echoed in his mind. Where are you? I want to be with you. What am I doing here?

Almost instinctively, Zhou Yang’s hand reached out and rested lightly on the girl’s head. He didn’t know why he did it, but it felt... right. The girl froze momentarily before calming, as if his touch had reassured her.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “Please rest, Young Master. Master and Mistress will be so happy to see you awake.”

She helped him lie back down and smiled gently.

Moments later, the door opened again, and four figures entered.

At the forefront was a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, exuding authority despite his kind expression. His black robe with golden embroidery enhanced his regal presence. Beside him was a strikingly beautiful woman who appeared to be in her late twenties, wearing a crimson gown adorned with similar golden patterns. Her unique, golden pupils shimmered with emotion, adding an air of mystery to her beauty.

Behind them stood the young man from before and an older figure dressed in the attire of a physician.

The woman’s eyes welled with tears as she gazed at Zhou Yang. Her voice trembled with a mix of relief, disbelief, and maternal warmth as she spoke. “Yang’er...”

Zhou Yang’s gaze locked with hers, and suddenly, a torrent of memories surged into his mind. Pain overwhelmed him, his head feeling as though it would split apart. He let out a pained shout, clutching his head in agony.

“Yang’er!” the woman cried out in panic, rushing to his side.