A soft and strange song filled the air. It was not the familiar chirping of birds, but a harmonious, almost ritualistic melody, as though several voices were weaving together in obedience to an invisible law. Each note flowed seamlessly into the next, resonating among the trees before fading into the distance.
Somewhere within a vast forest, colossal trees rose like skyscrapers, their thick, ancient trunks cloaked in luminous moss. Their canopies allowed only a few rays of light to pass through, forming a natural ceiling pierced by golden beams. The surroundings seemed drawn from a fairy tale: twisted roots like sleeping serpents, flowers in impossible colors, and dense air overflowing with life.
Upon the damp earth, among giant leaves and soft grass, a small body lay motionless, as if sunk in a deep sleep. The steady hum of insects—rhythmic, almost soothing—blended with the distant song until, slowly, the child opened his eyes.
They were golden. Not merely a shade, but a deep, radiant gold, almost sacred, as if reflecting more than the light around him. For a moment, his gaze remained empty and unfocused, fixed on the sky hidden behind enormous branches. Then, clumsily, he sat up.
First he lifted his head and took a deep breath, as though the air itself were something new. Then he frowned and looked around. The colossal trees, the endless forest, the unfamiliar sounds… none of it made sense.
Jin. Or rather, the consciousness that had once been Jin Yuchen.
He should have felt fear; panic would have been the natural response to something so absurd and impossible. Yet what surfaced instead was curiosity and confusion—a profound confusion mixed with a strange calm. As he remained seated on that unfamiliar ground, golden eyes reflecting an impossible world, a silent certainty began to take shape within him.
This was no dream.
He placed his hands on the ground and rose unsteadily. That was when he noticed it: his perspective was lower—much lower. He looked down at his hands, thin and small, free of calluses or the hardness forged by years of training. His body was different… far too different.
Younger.
The muscles he had struggled so hard to build were gone entirely. In their place was a light, almost fragile frame. There was no coiled strength beneath the skin, none of that familiar tension that preceded movement—only a strange, foreign lightness, as if this body had yet to learn what effort truly meant.
He frowned and examined his surroundings again: the impossible forest, the towering trees, the air saturated with an energy he could not describe but that clearly did not belong to Earth.
Then he remembered—or tried to. He had been training in a park. Then a roar. The sky tearing open. A blinding light that swallowed him whole.
After that… nothing.
The sequence aligned with unsettling clarity. He looked around once more, and in that instant his golden eyes shone intensely. The assumption that had been drifting through his mind ceased to be absurd and became certainty.
His lips slowly curved into a brazen smile, filled with disbelief and excitement. He raised both arms toward the sky without the slightest restraint, ignoring how ridiculous he must have looked in the middle of that colossal forest.
"Of course!" he shouted with all his soul. "I don't know what killed me, but I reincarnated!"
His voice echoed among the giant trees, startling several birds into flight as the harmonious song faltered for a moment. He laughed. For the first time in a long while, his chest filled with a pure emotion, free of doubt and emptiness. The world had changed—and this time, perhaps fate would not have the final word.
Elsewhere in the forest, the murmur of flowing water broke the stillness. Near a crystal-clear river, among moss-covered stones and exposed roots, another small body lay upon the ground. Unlike the previous awakening, there was no gasp, no sharp intake of breath; the child opened his eyes slowly, as though returning from a familiar dream.
They were black—but not an ordinary black. They were deep, abyssal, as if two small voids had opened within his face, capable of swallowing light itself. He remained still for several seconds, gazing at the sky filtered through enormous leaves. He was far too calm. Only a faint furrow in his brow disturbed his serenity. There was no fear, no confusion—only assessment.
He sat up slowly. A discomfort ran through him at once; something did not fit. His movements lagged slightly behind his intentions. After gathering his strength, he managed to stand.
The body was different: smaller, lighter. His skin was pale, almost unnaturally so. He examined himself carefully, without visible emotion, as though inspecting an unfamiliar object. Then he walked to the water and looked at his reflection.
The face staring back at him was not his own.
It was beautiful. Not delicate, but disturbingly perfect, as if every feature had been sculpted with absolute intention. Defined cheekbones. Almost unreal symmetry. The child showed neither pride nor rejection—only acceptance.
Wei Han.
The name arose in his mind naturally. He remembered the training hall, the sword, the moonlight. Then the roar. The blinding flash.
After that… nothing. An abrupt interruption of his existence.
Then—
"Of course!"
A shout shattered the silence. Wei Han raised an eyebrow. The voice did not belong in such a solemn setting. Without hesitation, he moved toward its source.
Crossing a clearing, he saw him: a boy his own age standing with his arms still raised toward the sky. His hair blended bright gold with strands of black, and beneath the filtered light it seemed almost unreal. His eyes were golden—alive, intense.
Wei Han stopped. He had thought his own face perfect, but the boy before him was the same… perhaps even more striking. A faint "Oh…" slipped from his lips.
At that moment, Jin lowered his arms, alerted by the sound. Golden eyes fixed upon the silent figure before him. They stared at one another. The wind stirred the leaves, and the birds fell quiet.
Wei Han broke the silence.
"Do you have any idea what's going on? And do you know where in China we are?"
Jin stared at him, then rolled his eyes as an idea struck him.
"Don't tell me you reincarnated too!" he exclaimed, pointing at him. "We're definitely two people who reincarnated!"
He burst into laughter. Wei Han watched him with a frown.
I've run into a lunatic.
The laughter gradually faded.
"Ahem… yes… it does sound strange when you put it that way," Jin admitted, clearing his throat. "But listen to me. We're not on Earth. We're not in China. So the most logical explanation is that we're… in another world."
He gestured toward the colossal forest. Wei Han remained silent for a few seconds.
"I see," he said calmly.
He had understood nothing. Even so, he extended his hand.
"Wei Han."
Jin smiled and shook it.
"Jin Yuchen. Nice to meet you."
And he laughed again. The encounter was strange.
Then a sound cut through everything: a dry, rhythmic scraping—unsettling. They turned at the same time.
A mantis emerged from the undergrowth. It was enormous, the size of a large dog. Its dark green carapace reflected the light unnaturally, and its front legs were curved blades. It lunged toward them.
"RUN!" Jin shouted.
He spun around—only to see Wei Han already several meters ahead.
"YOU BASTARD, DON'T LEAVE ME BEHIND!!!"
Jin shot after him. They ran between roots, slopes, and towering trees while the sound of the insect's legs chased them for what felt like an eternity, until the forest opened up, the ground changed, and they stumbled into a wide meadow beneath an endless sky.
Jin was panting.
"You're… an asshole…" he accused between breaths.
Wei Han tilted his head slightly.
"You said to run."
Jin stared at him, then let out an exhausted laugh.
"This world is insane."
After recovering, they surveyed the meadow. In the distance, a dirt road cut across it like a line promising direction.
"We should follow the road," Jin said. "If there are roads, there are people."
Wei Han nodded. When they reached it, they hesitated between right and left, but a sound interrupted them: wooden wheels.
An old carriage approached, pulled by a beast resembling an ox. An elderly man held the reins and, upon seeing them, tugged sharply. He stared.
Too perfect. Too clean. And there was something else—a subtle, indefinable aura.
Disciples of a clan?
The old man climbed down from the carriage with surprising agility, bowed deeply, and cupped his hands.
"This old one greets the two young masters. If I have committed any offense, I beg your forgiveness."
The words fell like thunder. Jin and Wei froze. They looked at each other, then at the old man. Silence stretched across the dusty road; only the ox snorted softly while the two "young masters" stood there, having no idea how they had come to occupy such a position.