There was nothing but darkness at first.
Deep. Endless. Consuming.
Zhao Yan floated weightlessly, suspended in an abyss where neither time nor space seemed to exist.
His body felt light—too light. It was as if he no longer had any weight, no longer belonged to the world he knew.
Then, faintly—like a whisper carried by the wind—he heard a voice.
Zhao Yan...
It was distant, strained, almost painful. A voice thick with desperation, yet muffled, as though coming from behind an invisible wall.
His heart clenched.
He didn’t recognize the voice, yet something about it stirred something deep inside him.
A feeling.
An emotion he couldn’t place.
He turned toward the sound, trying to grasp onto it, but the moment he moved, the weightless sensation faded.
Suddenly—
A rush.
His entire body was pulled forward, dragged through the darkness at an impossible speed. The air around him warped, shifting and twisting, as colors—black, white, and streaks of silver—flashed past him.
The voice grew louder.
Zhao Yan...!
The urgency in it sent a chill down his spine.
And then—
Silence.
His body came to an abrupt halt.
Zhao Yan’s eyes fluttered open
For a moment, everything was blurry—swirling shadows and bright streaks of white clashing together. His head felt heavy, as if he had just awoken from a deep slumber that had lasted centuries.
Then, suddenly—clarity.
He stood in a vast, pristine room.
What is this place?
The walls gleamed, so white and immaculate that it made his eyes ache. The air smelled sterile, clean in a way that felt unsettlingly foreign.
And then—
Beep. Beep. Beep.
A strange sound echoed through the room.
It was rhythmic, sharp, and constant. Unlike anything he had ever heard before.
His brows furrowed, and his gaze darted toward the source.
There—beside an unfamiliar-looking bed—was a strange contraption.
Thin, transparent tubes extended from it, like veins made of glass, snaking their way toward the bed’s occupant.
A man lay there.
His body was unnaturally still.
Pale.
Hooked up to machines that pulsed and flickered with soft, eerie lights.
Zhao Yan took a step closer.
Everything felt... surreal.
As though he was intruding on something he wasn’t supposed to.
His footsteps were soundless as he approached.
He now saw who it was on the bed.
His face was partially obscured by some sort of mask, and various wires were attached to his arms and chest.
Zhao Yan’s gaze traveled over the unfamiliar fabrics that clothed the man—nothing like the robes of his world.
And yet—
The moment he got close enough to see the man’s face clearly, his breath caught.
His entire body froze.
The man lying in the bed...
Was him.
But different.
The same face, yet so unfamiliar.
His heart pounded violently in his chest.
What... is this place?
Zhao Yan could not move.
His feet felt rooted to the ground as he stared at the man lying in the bed.
Him.
And yet, not him.
The same sharp jawline, the same nose, the same unruly strands of hair that framed his face. But this version of him was... different. His skin was paler, his breathing slow and measured. The strange tubes connected to his arms, the odd contraptions beside him making steady beeping sounds—it was all so foreign.
What is this place...?
His fingers twitched as he fought the urge to touch the man on the bed, to confirm if he was even real. But before he could take another step forward, the sound of a door creaking open made him freeze.
His head snapped toward the direction of the noise.
Someone had entered.
A man dressed in white, with strange black trousers, strode inside with a practiced ease. There was something rigid yet methodical about the way he moved, as if he had done this a thousand times before.
Zhao Yan’s breath hitched.
He took a cautious step backward, instinctively hiding himself, though it soon became clear—
The man couldn’t see him.
Even as he moved past Zhao Yan, his expression remained neutral, completely unaware of his presence.
What is going on?
Zhao Yan’s gaze followed the man as he approached the bed, adjusting some of the odd contraptions attached to the unconscious version of himself.
There was a moment of silence.
Then—
A sigh.
"You’re one hell of a fighter," the man murmured, almost to himself.
Zhao Yan’s eyes narrowed.
What did that mean? A fighter? Was this version of himself battling something?
The man in white lingered for a moment longer before straightening and walking toward the door.
Zhao Yan didn’t hesitate.
The moment the door swung open, he moved swiftly, stepping out behind him.
The second Zhao Yan stepped outside, his senses were overwhelmed.
The world before him was unlike anything he had ever seen.
The vast hall stretched long and pristine, its floors gleaming as though made of polished glass. The ceiling above was lined with strange glowing orbs that cast an artificial light over everything.
But it wasn’t just the structure of the place that stunned him—
It was the people.
Women dressed in matching blue clothing moved swiftly through the halls, their expressions focused, their movements efficient. Some wore white over their blue attire, their steps hurried as they carried strange objects in their hands.
Everything felt... precise.
As though this place operated under an entirely different set of rules, a system beyond his comprehension.
His eyes darted around, taking in the strange symbols and objects placed along the walls. Nothing was familiar.
This was not his world.
His chest tightened at the realization.
But before he could dwell on it further, movement ahead caught his attention.
The man he had followed out of the room had stopped, greeted by another figure—a woman.
She was also dressed in blue, with the same white cloth draped over her shoulders. Her expression was serious, but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes.
"How is he doing?" she asked.
The man exhaled and shook his head slightly. "His vitals are stable. Nothing major. We’ll have to keep an eye on him."
The woman nodded, seemingly reassured.
"Good. I’m on my way to see the top actress, Hua Jing."
Zhao Yan’s entire body stiffened.
His breath caught in his throat.
Hua Jing?