A symphony of pain. That's all Max could register as consciousness clawed its way back, a slow, agonizing return. His entire body felt like it had been pummeled by a wrecking ball, a dull, throbbing ache spreading from his toes to the crown of his head. Groaning, he tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt glued shut with a gritty film.

Panic welled up, a hot tide threatening to drown him. Where was he? What had happened? His last memory was... a blinding flash of white, the screech of brakes, a searing heat... a truck? Had he been hit by a truck?

With a monumental effort, his eyelids flickered open, revealing a blurry world of dust motes dancing in a shaft of sunlight. He was lying on a hard surface, a thin mat stretched across rough-hewn wooden planks. The air hung heavy with the musky scent of herbs and damp earth. This wasn't his dorm room. This wasn't even remotely close.

A fresh wave of panic washed over him. He tried to sit up, a strangled cry escaping his lips as a white-hot spike of pain lanced through his chest. He fell back, gasping, his hand instinctively reaching for the source of the agony. It met a rough bandage, damp with something warm and sticky. Blood. His blood?

Terror morphed into a kind of desperate calm. He needed to figure out what was going on. He needed to get help.

Struggling against the protest of his battered body, he managed to roll onto his side, wincing at the groan of the old wood beneath him. His gaze swept across the room, taking in the ramshackle interior. It was a small, cluttered space – a single room, with peeling paint and cobweb-festooned corners. A rickety table and a couple of stools huddled in one corner, beside a blackened hearth that looked long-cold. The walls were bare, except for a single dusty scroll hanging crookedly.

This wasn't a hospital room. This was... a shack? A bad feeling settled in his gut, cold and heavy like a stone. Panic clawed back at him, hotter than the pain in his chest. He wasn't in his apartment.

Desperately, he tried to remember more. Had there been an accident? Was he kidnapped? Had he woken up in some kind of twisted horror dream? But no, snippets of memory flickered – a strange, vibrant sky above, the air heavy with the scent of unfamiliar flowers, the flash of powerful claws ripping, tearing…

A name surfaced, a name that didn't belong to him: Tian Feng. A jolt of fear shot through him. Was Tian Feng… him? Was he somehow in someone else's body? It was a concept so familiar, so utterly impossible, that his mind balked at it. Yet, there was no other explanation.

Suddenly, the groan of the old wooden door creaked open, letting in a shaft of golden sunlight and a young girl, barely older than ten, with tear-streaked cheeks and eyes red-rimmed with worry.

"gege!" A choked cry pierced the haze clouding his mind. A slender figure rushed to his side, her voice, melodious despite the raw anxiety, a calming balm to his pounding heart.

He blinked at her, her eyes mirrored the summer sky after a downpour, brimming with concern. Her face, beautiful in its youthful innocence, held no familiarity. Yet, a flicker of warmth danced in their depths, a connection that tugged at the edges of his memory. He was Tian Feng. He had to be.

"Meng'er?" The name whispered like a forgotten melody in his mind. This girl, his sister, gently helped him to a sitting position. Her touch, surprisingly strong for her slender build, steadied him. She propped cushions behind his back and placed a steaming bowl of broth in his hands.

"You have to be careful, gege," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "Grandpa Lin said you were fortunate to survive. That beast… it shouldn't have been near the mountain's edge."

Beast? Mountain? The words sparked a flicker in the darkness that was his memory – a hulking monstrosity with obsidian fur and claws that gleamed like obsidian shards. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. The fight. The pain.

"Hunting," he rasped, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. "Right. The beast."

Meng'er's brow furrowed. "You shouldn't even be talking yet," she chided gently. "Just focus on getting better."

"But what happened?" he pressed, a sudden urgency rising in his chest. "How did I get here?"

Seeing his concern, she softened. "Grandpa Lin found you unconscious at the foot of the mountain, near the Whispering Canyon, he said it was a miracle you survived. The beast… well, you managed to slay it, gege. But you lost a lot of blood."

A wave of dizziness washed over him, the broth he barely touched sloshing precariously in the bowl. Memories flooded back – a desperate struggle, searing pain, the world fading to black. He'd fought a beast. And won? A sliver of pride, thin and fragile, pierced through the haze of confusion.

"But how?" he rasped, his voice hoarse. "I… I don't remember much."

"Grandpa Lin says you fought with the courage of a lion," Meng'er soothed. "He found your hunting spear shattered near the beast's carcass. You must have landed a lucky blow."

Shame, acrid and bitter, welled up inside him. A lucky blow? No. He'd stumbled upon a creature far too powerful for him, a creature that shouldn't have even been near the valley. Recklessness, not skill, had nearly cost him his life.

"I was stupid," he confessed, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I shouldn't have gone after that beast. I could have died there, leaving you all alone."

Meng'er reached out, her touch light on his bandaged arm. "Don't say that," she said, her voice firm despite the tremor in her lower lip. "I need you, gege. You're all I have left."

Her words struck a deep chord. Grief, a gaping wound, threatened to consume him. Images flickered in his mind – his parents' faces, etched with worry and determination, their loving voices echoing in the halls of his fragmented memory. He saw his father's eyes, clouded with despair as he left for the beast wave, a burden heavy on his broad shoulders. He remembered the worn hunting bow pressed into his young hands, the weight of responsibility settling on him like a stone cloak. And then, his mother's voice, a soothing melody now lost to the wind, whispered, "Take care of your sister."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

They had fallen prey to the beast wave last year, leaving him and Meng'er orphaned and alone. He'd taken up hunting, the burden of protecting his sister heavy on his young shoulders. Failure wasn't an option; the next beast tide could spell their doom. But his recent encounter had shown him just how unprepared he was.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to focus on the present. Self-pity wouldn't help them. "I know," he said, his voice gaining strength. "And I won't be this reckless again. I promise."

A flicker of hope ignited in Meng'er's eyes. "That's the spirit, gege!" she exclaimed, a hint of her usual cheerfulness returning. "Grandpa Lin says you just need some rest and some of his special healing concoction. You'll be back on your feet in no time."

"Who's Grandpa Lin?"

"He's the village healer, gege," Meng'er explained, a hint of surprise creeping into her voice. "Don't you remember?"

"My memories are a little fuzzy right now," he admitted, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach.

"Don't worry, gege. After some rest, you'll be well soon. You'll remember everything." She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Grandpa Lin's a retired martial artist, a bit of a hermit some say. But he takes care of us… sometimes. He's the one who patched you up good."

A sense of gratitude washed over him. This mysterious Grandpa Lin, whoever he was, had saved his life. He owed the old man a debt.

As if sensing his thoughts, the door creaked open once more, revealing a wizened old man with a long, white beard that flowed down to his chest. His eyes, though crinkled at the corners, held a sharp glint that spoke of a life lived on the edge.

"Ah, you're awake at last, little Feng," he boomed, his voice surprisingly strong for his age. "Took you long enough. Had me worried there for a while."

Tian Feng, still grappling with the strange name, could only manage a weak nod. "Thank you,...Grandpa Lin" he rasped, the words feeling inadequate. "...For saving me."

The old man chuckled, a sound like dried leaves rustling in the wind. "Saving lives is what I do, boy. Though next time, try not to give me a heart attack with your recklessness."

Shame flushed through Tian Feng's cheeks. "I… I won't," he stammered. "I promise."

The old man studied him for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. "Good," he finally said. "Now, finish your broth. You need your strength back. We have much to discuss."

The broth, though simple, tasted like the most delicious thing he'd ever eaten. As he sipped it, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. The ordeal had taken its toll. His eyelids dropped heavily, and sleep, filled with dreams both fragmented and vivid, claimed him.

He woke to the sound of chirping birds and the warm glow of sunlight filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls. He felt weak, but the throbbing pain had subsided to a dull ache. Meng'er sat beside him, a book resting on her lap, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Meng'er?" he rasped, his voice rough from disuse.

She startled, her head snapping up. Relief flooded her face as she saw him awake. "Gege! You're finally awake. I was starting to worry."

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked, trying to sit up. Meng'er rushed to help him, fluffing the pillows behind him.

"Two days," she said. "Grandpa Lin said it's a good sign. You must be really tired."

He nodded, the exhaustion still clinging to him like a shroud. He glanced around the room, noticing a bowl of broth beside him. "Did you eat?"

"Don't worry about me, gege," she said with a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm fine. There is plenty of food left for me."

He frowned. "You shouldn't be looking after me alone. You need to rest too."

Meng'er shook her head stubbornly. "I can't just leave you alone. Besides, I was so worried."

He reached out and squeezed her hand gently. "Thank you, Meng'er. You're the best sister a brother could ask for."

She blushed, a hint of her usual playful spirit returning. "Just promise me you won't make me worry like that again, alright?"

"I promise," he said, his voice firmed with resolve. This close call had shaken him. He wouldn't risk his life, and Meng'er's well-being, so recklessly again.

"Grandpa Lin said you need to take it easy for a few more days," she said, her eyes flitting to the bowl of untouched broth beside him. "But you should try to eat something. You need your strength back."

He nodded, taking a shaky sip of the broth. It was lukewarm now, but still held a comforting warmth. "What were you reading?" he asked, glancing at the book in her lap.

She looked down at it, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks. "It's a… martial scripture," she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper.

Surprise flickered across his face. Martial scriptures were coveted treasures in this world, were passed down through generations in martial families or held within the Libraries of the Great Martial Academies. As a simple village hunter, he had only seen the common martial scripture used by the village hunters. It is rumoured that the village chief family got a profound martial scripture , profound martial scriptures are heritage of a martial family , it provide greater strength and potential to the martial artist.

"Why are you reading a Martial Scripture?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. Normally, children in the village began their cultivation journey around the age of ten, when their bodies went through a growth spurt that lasted until adulthood. Meng'er, however, was only nine, her body not yet ready for the rigors of cultivation.

Meng'er hesitated, then met his gaze with a determined glint. "I… I want to get stronger," she confessed. "Strong enough to help you. I don't want to be a burden anymore."

His heart ached for her. He understood her fear, her desire to contribute. But cultivation was a dangerous path, filled with challenges and uncertainties. It wasn't something a young girl like her should treade on.

"Meng'er," he began gently, "cultivation isn't a walk in the park. It demands immense dedication and discipline. Not to mention, it's dangerous. You could get hurt. Besides, you're still too young."

"I know," she insisted, her voice firm. "I talked to Grandpa Lin. He said I have a special physique that allows me to start early." She squeezed her eyes shut and blurted out, "I'm willing to take the risk. If you can fight those beasts, then maybe I can too. Maybe I can learn to protect myself, to protect you."

He looked at her small frame, barely more than a child, a fierce protectiveness bloomed within him. He couldn't let her shoulder this burden. The thought of her facing the dangers of cultivation gnawed at him.

"There has to be another way," he murmured, lost in thought.

Suddenly, the creak of the door announced Grandpa Lin's arrival. The old man entered the room, a thoughtful expression on his weathered face.

"Awake, I see," he said, his voice gruff but kind. "And looking a little better already. Now, about your little adventure, young Feng…"

He trailed off, his gaze flicking between Tian Feng and Meng'er. A knowing smile played on his lips. "It seems we have a lot to discuss."

Tian Feng felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, Grandpa Lin had a solution – a way for him to get stronger, to protect Meng'er, and maybe, just maybe, find a way for them both to survive in this harsh world. The future was still shrouded in uncertainty, but for the first time since waking up in this strange body, a spark of determination flickered within him. He wouldn't let fear paralyze him. He would face whatever challenges lay ahead, for himself and for his sister. They would survive. Together.