"Ugh!”
Wuji groaned, jolting awake as sunlight spilled into his small room. His chest rose and fell in sharp breaths, his body drenched in cold sweat. For a moment, he sat frozen, grappling with the vivid fragments of a dream—or was it more? The sensation lingered like a phantom, its grip unyielding.
“That whirlpool…” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “What was that? And the voice—it kept saying something… ‘Last’? ‘Seven’? What does it mean?”
The words reverberated in his mind, heavy with a significance he couldn’t yet comprehend. The voice itself had been strange yet familiar, its tone gentle but insistent, urging him to remember. But remember what? The more he tried to focus, the more his head throbbed. A sharp pain tore through his temples, and he clutched his head in agony, gasping as his vision blurred.
A shiver crawled down his spine. It felt as though unseen eyes were watching him, their gaze piercing through the veil of reality. The sensation was suffocating, as if he were teetering on the edge of an abyss, its depths promising answers that came at a perilous cost.
“Enough!” Wuji growled, forcing himself to shake free of the paralyzing thoughts. He gritted his teeth and steadied his breathing. The dream—it had to be connected to his reincarnation. What other explanation could there be? But why now, and why with such intensity?
Determined not to let the enigma consume him, he reached for the small notebook on his desk. With meticulous care, he wrote down every detail he could recall: the whirlpool, the voice, the fragmented words. He couldn’t afford to forget even the smallest clue.
As he closed the notebook, his resolve hardened. *If I want answers, I’ll have to earn them. Strength is the key, and I don’t have enough yet.* Setting the dream aside for now, he turned his attention to the day ahead.
Wuji glanced out the window and groaned again. The sun hung high in the sky, its golden rays painting the streets of Silverbrook City in a warm glow. “Almost noon,” he muttered. “I’m late!”
He hurried to the bathing area, splashing cold water over his face to shake off the remnants of sleep and the unease that still clung to him. Once refreshed, he dressed in a plain black robe and tied his hair back with practiced efficiency. There was no time to waste.
Rushing to the training grounds, Wuji cursed under his breath. Missing part of his morning routine was an annoyance he rarely tolerated. As he arrived, he dropped into a lotus position and began his meditation without hesitation.
Afterward, he moved through his exercises, each motion precise and deliberate. He practiced footwork drills, sword forms, and the coordination exercises he had designed to strengthen his left-handed techniques. The repetitive nature of the training provided a welcome distraction from the lingering strangeness of the morning.
The day passed uneventfully, and by the time Wuji returned to his room in the evening, his muscles ached with satisfying fatigue. He opted for another quick bath to refresh himself, then slumped into the chair by his desk. Normally, he enjoyed the lively chatter of the inn’s dining hall during dinner, but tonight he was too drained to leave his room.
"Could you bring a bowl of vegetable soup and some steamed dumplings to my room for dinner?", he told the innkeeper when she passed by. She raised an eyebrow but nodded, surprised by the rare request.
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
The meal was simple—steamed buns, and a bowl of vegetable soup, but it was enough. Wuji ate in contemplative silence, his mind drifting to the journey ahead. Tomorrow, he and the other disciples were to gather at the city gates at the hour of the rabbit. His master, Bai Xuanfeng, had emphasized punctuality. Wuji had no intention of being late.
As exhaustion claimed him, Wuji decided to retire early. He secured his belongings, checked the timepiece he had recently acquired, and slipped into bed. Closing his eyes, he let the day’s exertions pull him into a dreamless sleep.
---
Wuji woke before dawn, the air in his room cool and crisp. Rising swiftly, he stretched out the stiffness in his limbs and prepared for the day. After a quick bath, he dressed in a clean black robe with subtle silver embroidery—a touch of elegance befitting the occasion. He fastened his sword to his waist and slung a sturdy pack over his shoulder, ensuring everything he might need was within reach.
The streets of Silverbrook City were quiet, shrouded in pre-dawn stillness. Wuji handed his room key to the innkeeper with a polite nod before stepping outside. The lanterns lining the streets cast soft pools of light, their glow a stark contrast to the shadows that still clung to the alleys.
The city gate was a fair distance from the inn, but Wuji didn’t mind the walk. The rhythmic sound of his boots on the cobblestones gave him a sense of focus. The world felt serene, the faint rustling of leaves and distant murmurs of early risers creating a calming backdrop.
When he reached the gate, the area was already alive with activity. Disciples were gathering in clusters, their voices rising and falling in animated conversation. Some looked fresh and eager, their excitement for the journey palpable. Others appeared more reserved, their expressions betraying a mix of nervousness and determination.
Wuji scanned the crowd, his gaze settling on a familiar group—disciples he had shared a carriage with during their journey from the sect exams to the city. Adjusting his pack, he approached them with quiet confidence.
“Morning, Brother Wuji!” one of them called out, a broad smile lighting up his face.
“Good to see you again,” another added, nodding in greeting.
Wuji returned their salutations with a polite bow of his head. “Good morning. I trust you all rested well,” he replied, his tone courteous but reserved.
The group quickly welcomed him into their circle, the conversation flowing naturally as they caught up. Though Wuji maintained his usual composure, he listened intently, gleaning bits of information about his fellow disciples.
As time passed, more disciples arrived, swelling the crowd at the gates. Wuji observed them carefully, noting their varying expressions—some excited, others nervous. The hum of conversation grew louder as the appointed time drew near. Wuji kept his interactions minimal, focusing instead on listening. Idle chatter often revealed more than deliberate questions, and he had learned to pick out useful information from seemingly innocuous remarks.
As the sun began to rise, a ripple of energy spread through the crowd. Conversations hushed, and heads turned in unison as a figure descended from the sky, his robes billowing elegantly in the morning breeze. Bai Xuanfeng’s presence was commanding, his aura radiating calm authority.
Beside him, ten disciples of the Thousand Path Pavilion followed, their robes adorned with intricate patterns of gold and blue. These were familiar faces—those who had been responsible for organizing the sect examination.
Bai Xuanfeng’s presence was commanding, his aura radiating calm authority. His sharp eyes swept over the assembled disciples, and a small smile played at his lips.
“Good morning, disciples,” he greeted, his voice steady yet warm. “Today marks the beginning of your journey into the sect. Remember, this is not merely a physical journey but a step toward forging your path in cultivation. Stay vigilant, learn from each other, and never lose sight of your goals.”
The disciples responded with a respectful bow, their excitement tempered by the weight of his words. Bai Xuanfeng gestured for them to rise, his smile widening slightly.
“Now, let us be on our way,” he said. With a sweep of his hand, an ornate flying artifact—a sleek, leaf-shaped flying ship appeared before him. “Board the artifact in an orderly manner.”