The woman cried out in panic and rushed to his side, her eyes wide with fear. Zhou Mei held her son carefully, her arms wrapped around him as he clutched his head in agony. She turned her head sharply, addressing the man in physician's robes.

"Physician Du! What is happening with my son? You said he might feel slight pain upon waking, but this is anything but slight!" Her voice trembled with worry, laced with frustration and a trace of anger at her helplessness.

Physician Du, though calm outwardly, furrowed his brow in confusion. Zhou Wen, the patriarch, stood behind her, his expression steady as always, but the slight tension in his brows betrayed his concern. The Meng siblings, standing to the side, were pale and panicked, unsure of how to help their young master.

Physician Du stepped closer, gently taking Zhou Yang’s hand. Pressing two fingers to his wrist, he began to check his pulse. Strange... His body shows no signs of abnormalities. The medicinal herbs and elixirs are working perfectly, and his internal injuries are healing at an impressive rate. His confusion deepened. There’s no physical reason for this reaction. Could it be... psychological? A lingering effect from his extended unconsciousness?

Releasing Zhou Yang’s hand, Physician Du straightened and addressed the couple. "Patriarch Zhou, Mistress Zhou, his body is healing well, and there are no signs of lingering injury. This reaction may be the result of psychological trauma from his prolonged condition. While I can assure you his body will recover fully with time, his mental state now depends on the young master himself."

The words provided little comfort to Zhou Mei, who bit her lip, her eyes darting between her son and the physician. Zhou Wen nodded curtly, keeping his composure, though his gaze lingered on Zhou Yang.

Meanwhile, Zhou Yang was lost in a torrent of pain and confusion. Memories flooded his mind—fragmented at first, then vivid, like living through another person’s life.

What is this? he thought, clutching his head as scenes played out before him.

In his mind’s eye, he saw a boy, also named Zhou Yang, training diligently in martial arts. Martial arts? Zhou Yang’s thoughts faltered. Who practices martial arts in this day and age?

The memories unfolded further, showing the young Zhou Yang cultivating energy—Qi—and growing stronger. He spectated the moments as if standing at the boy’s side, yet he also felt every action, every emotion. It was a strange duality, both observer and participant.

A scene emerged, a warm one. The boy, around seven years old, ran excitedly to his mother, holding up a strange glowing rock. "Mom! Look what I found!"

Zhou Yang felt a pang in his chest as the memory played out. Zhou Mei’s voice rang out, gentle and full of love. "What did Yang’er find? Let me see."

In the distance, the patriarch, Zhou Wen, watched with a calm but proud smile. "Show it to your father too," Zhou Mei added with a laugh, ushering the boy toward him.

I lost my parents years ago... Zhou Yang thought, bitterness and envy twisting in his heart. And yet, this boy had such warmth in his life...

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

The memories jumped forward. At twelve years old, the young Zhou Yang reached the peak of Qi Refining, earning widespread praise. His mother beamed with pride, and his father offered rare words of approval. Qi Refining? Zhou Yang frowned. Isn’t that something from those cultivation stories I overheard back on Earth?

The scenes grew darker. At eighteen, the young master Zhou Yang, now at the peak of Foundation Building, faced a challenge from Ye Tian, a cultivator of the same generation but at a lower stage. Zhou Yang watched the duel unfold, the arrogance of the young master clashing with the relentless determination of Ye Tian. Despite his lower cultivation, Ye Tian’s skills and forbidden techniques pushed Zhou Yang to the brink.

The forbidden technique left Zhou Yang bedridden for two years, and his family’s worry was palpable. Zhou Mei hovered constantly by his side, her grief and concern evident. Zhou Wen, though stoic, took decisive actions to secure rare resources for his recovery.

The memories continued until they reached the present, and Zhou Yang gasped, the pain in his head beginning to subside. He released his grip on his temples, the shout that had been tearing from his throat finally fading.

His breathing was ragged, his mind spinning. I... I’ve just lived twenty years of another person’s life. How is this possible? Shouldn’t I be dead?

As his vision cleared, he heard the soft, familiar voice of a woman.

"Yang’er..." Zhou Mei whispered. Her voice trembled as if she feared the boy before her might vanish at any moment. She reached out, her hand resting gently on his cheek. Her tears welled, her fear and relief pouring out all at once. "Son, you’re awake..."

Zhou Yang looked at her, recognition flashing through him. She was the woman from the memories—the kind, loving mother who had doted on him. The word slipped from his mouth instinctively, unbidden but filled with emotion.

"Mother..."

It felt strange. He knew his parents on Earth were long gone, yet this woman stirred the same feelings of warmth and longing within him. Maybe it’s the memories... Or maybe I just can’t deny what I feel.

The Meng siblings were crying as well, overjoyed at their young master’s recovery. Zhou Yang’s gaze shifted to the man beside her—Zhou Wen, the patriarch of the Zhou family. His expression remained composed, but Zhou Yang could see the subtle relief in his eyes.

Physician Du stepped forward and bowed slightly. "Mistress Zhou, let me check the young master’s condition." Zhou Mei reluctantly moved aside.

"Do not resist," the physician instructed as he placed his fingers on Zhou Yang’s wrist. A faint pulse of Qi flowed into his body. Zhou Yang winced slightly but endured.

After a moment, Physician Du straightened and turned to Zhou Wen and Zhou Mei. "Patriarch Zhou, Mistress Zhou, the young master is recovering well. His injuries have almost healed, and with a few more days of rest, he will make a full recovery."

Zhou Wen nodded, his usual calm demeanor returning. "Yang’er, focus on resting and recovering. Once you’re better, you’ll need to resume cultivating." His tone was firm, but Zhou Yang caught the faint undercurrent of concern. Without waiting for a reply, Zhou Wen turned and left the room.

Physician Du also excused himself, reassuring them one last time before departing.

Now only Zhou Mei, the Meng siblings, and Zhou Yang remained in the room. Zhou Mei’s face softened, her earlier fear replaced with a warm, contented smile. "Until you’re fully recovered, I will stay by your side. Meng Yao, Meng Yan, assist me in taking care of him."

"Yes, Mistress," the siblings said in unison, their devotion evident.

A week later, Zhou Yang stood before a full-length mirror.

The reflection staring back at him was unfamiliar—a young man with sharp features, dark eyes, and a body lean butbrimming with potential. He ran his fingers along his face, tracing its contours. This is me now... Zhou Yang of the Zhou family.

His memories of Earth and this new world intertwined in his mind, leaving him with one thought: What is happening to me?