The Celestial Continent – Kingdom of Luyao – Tianlong Summit – Zhou Estate Vaults

Light seeped through the cracks of the iron-clad door, the few beams of soft sunlight illuminating my face, eliciting a wince of discomfort from myself; for the moment I become cognizant, I become victim to an onrush of foreign stimuli.

Pain.

It was a sensation that I thought was impossible; it shouldn’t be possible! I had purged such weakness long ago, but at this moment, my body contorted, my hands splayed open before scratching at the smooth stonework floor, my fingers running over the divots and engravings of the rock as my mouth was trapped in a soundless scream.

Something was tearing at me from the inside, like sharp knives heated with fire they stabbed at my body, pain and exhaustion intermixing to create an almost mind-numbing experience that perpetuated the feeling of countless pins slowly pushing their way through my flesh from every direction.

It took only a few more seconds that, through pain-hazed eyes, felt far longer for my sluggish mind to quickly realise that this was no outside attack, no parasite or spell that sought to impose unending suffering upon my body and soul; it was my own Qi, lashing out at me.

Though I remain a slave to my senses, the endless torrent of painful stimulations rendering my mind a shadow of its former glory, worsened by a foreign thought that bites at the edges of my psyche, fear. Yet at this moment, rather than serving as an obstacle to my survival, it was what fuelled my spirit.

I was suffering from Cultivation Backlash, its source unknown; whatever had facilitated this effect was now concealed beneath cascading follow-on-effects, as every acupoint in my body was breaking down, releasing unrefined and unfiltered Qi into my body- Something that should not be of concern to a man in Nascent soul, but here… I feel none of that power; I feel… Human.

There is no time! I must act to preserve what is left! Already, my Dantian is cracking, unable to handle the pressures placed upon it by a body going haywire.

I must sacrifice my cultivation.

Blood leaks from every orifice in my body, and my eyes grow hazy as they become less of a means to see and merely another outlet for both corrupted and qi-rich blood; I try to let out a moan of pain, but all that comes out is a gargled gasp, as brackish water and light red blood eject violently from my oesophagus as if I were regurgitating a meal.

The entire exercise in human suffering is but a moment, likely less, but I am in no state to keep track of something so meaningless; instead, the dribbling of blood and the expulsion of Qi leaves my soul withered and dry, spent of its energy and resources as I still, embracing the cold stonework beneath me, indifferent to the puddles of blood, sweat and elixir that wets my robes.

Each breath I take is less ragged than the one that comes before it, measured and carefully paced; each exhalation aids the restoration of order to my befuddled thoughts.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Though I still feel the phantom sensations of my Cultivation Backlash across aching bones and malleable flesh, the danger has passed- If I were in a better state of mind and possessed a sliver of my former power, I would have easily overcome such inconveniences.

But not now, not with this body, which brings me to my next task.

Understanding what has occurred.

It was only when I climbed to my feet did I realise how heavy my body felt; I had been a Nascent Soul cultivator for so long that such things had previously been nonexistent, but now, with a destroyed foundation, I could feel the exhaustion weighing down my limbs, my balance was inelegant, and I could only describe my gait as something akin to a stumble.

Yet that did not stop me, for I was drunk on victory; the joy that flooded my veins was as foreign as the sensations of pain and exhaustion, leaving me confused and later, upset as I shied away from embracing these unfamiliar feelings.

In rubbing my face, I gazed upon my hands, soft pale things, without sign of damage or hardship besides the filth of my previous torment; they were smaller than what my hands ought to be, and that was what clued me into my current predicament.

The contingency worked.

I could not help myself; the laugh of exultation that escaped my lips bounced off the walls of the dusty room was one that was thoroughly deserved, and for the first time since occupying this body, or more accurately, awakening this body, I embraced the base emotions that flooded across my body.

"Fools! The lot of them!"

It is unbecoming to monologue; I have seen many fellow Demonic Cultivators cut down at the cusp of victory because they paused to enjoy their moment in the sun, but here, I am alone, but more importantly, alive.

"They thought it impossible!"

I've cheated death like a stain upon white cotton; I remained upon my washed soul as it entered the cycle of rebirth, spitting in the face of the Heavens and the natural order of all things, but is that not my right as a Cultivator?

To refute the immutable and substitute reality with my own?

Yet, as time passes, I do not feel the onrush of knowledge accumulated by my current iteration during its formative years, the wide gap between me assuming direct control, and my soul carrying on auto-pilot; there is nothing but a haze of blurred memories, words that rest on the tip of my tongue and no further.

"I should have had more time to prepare if not for that damnable Zhou!"

Zhou, that single word is what brings to the fore a fount of knowledge; as a dam pushed past its breaking point, the walls collapse, a single name, to a single face, to a single family; I understand now; the tangle of various memories, lived experiences and grudges that constitute this body unravel before me in a flash of faux-enlightenment.

I am Zhou Wen, thirdborn of Zhou Ren, Patriarch of the Zhou Family and Pei Luyan, a daughter of the Pei Clan, whose Patriarch currently leads the Scripture Pavilion of the Sixfold Harmony Sect, a major Sect which was founded by… Zhou Feiyun.

My laughter soon began to shift in tone, turning into cries of inarticulate rage before degenerating into sobbing; I stomped my feet against the ground, splashing in the puddles of my blood, sweat and elixir as an impotent rage against the Heavens for daring to play such a sick joke on me.

"Zhou! Zhou!"

I call out to a long-dead ancestor, my ancestor, and my murderer.

This humiliating rage was intermixed with another strange sense, that of… disappointment, that I could not honour the oath I swore before that damnable upstart.

It is a feeling that I do not like, not at all.