chapter 4

Xie Kai jolted awake, sitting up abruptly. His heart pounded in his chest, sweat clinging to his skin. His breath came in ragged gasps, loud in his ears as his mind scrambled to make sense of what had just happened.

Instinct took over. Years of habit made him hunch his back, his body coiling in vigilance. His hand moved automatically to the concealed blade at his side—only to grasp at nothing.

His fingers twitched. His breath hitched.

His weapon was gone.

A sharp clarity cut through the haze in his mind. He needed to move. Needed to get on his feet. Without hesitation, he pushed himself up, exerting force out of sheer instinct—

Agony.

A cruel, searing pain shot through his waist, lancing up his spine. His body locked up, frozen mid-motion. It was unbearable—unlike anything he had felt before.

He had been slashed, beaten, fractured. He had fallen from heights that should have left him crippled. He had endured it all.

But this... this pain refused to subside. It robbed him of movement, forcing him down onto the soft mattress. A shudder ran through him as he pressed a hand over his eyes, his body visibly relaxing despite himself.

He exhaled a long, weary sigh.

He had always told himself he was ready for anything life threw at him. That he could endure, survive, no matter what.

And yet, he always lost his composure at the crucial moment.

Even just now, what had he been planning to do? Getting to his feet—what was that supposed to accomplish? And in the tunnel...

If only he hadn't hesitated when he first heard the boy's cries—if he'd run straight toward the second tunnel, without faltering—perhaps things would have turned out differently. Perhaps he would still be alive.

But he wasn't.

He was dead.

And there was nothing worse than that.

Nor was there anything better.

The apocalypse was over. No more running. No more undead clawing at his heels, no more endless, breathless chases through the ruins of a world long lost.

They couldn't reach him anymore.

They never would again.

He seemed to have just woken up from a dream—this thought itself felt almost novel. When was the last time he had a dream? No—when was the last time he had slept so deeply, unaware of his surroundings?

He had seen his sister after so long. He thought he had forgotten her face, yet there she was—more beautiful than he ever remembered. His parents were there too. If only he hadn't rushed. He should have stayed, spoken to them longer. He missed them.

Slowly, he sat up, dragging his weary body until he was seated against the ornately carved headboard of the grand canopied bed. No longer hunched, he let his gaze drift across the room.

Where was he?

This wasn't the post-apocalyptic wasteland he had known, nor was it the world from before. It was something else—something distant yet strangely familiar. He had seen places like this before, on the TV screen when his mother used to watch historical dramas.

Which dynasty was this?

He couldn't tell. His knowledge of history had always been weak. At twelve, there had been little chance to learn. And now... now, he had forgotten even more.

A dull throb pulsed in his head. He exhaled slowly, raising a hand to rub his temple, only to pause midway.

White. Tender. Delicate.

His fingers trembled slightly as he stared at his own hands. A strange sensation stirred within him—not from his hands, but lower. A slow, semi-fluid warmth trickled down, making him stiffen.

A deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.

Calmly, he redirected his hand, lifting the quilt inch by inch.

His first thought: Am I a girl now?

With methodical movements, he loosened the white inner garments and peeked inside.

His breath hitched—not because he had become a woman. No, he was still very much a man. Nor was it the sight of how small his little Kai had become. It was the sheer state it was in.

Dark bruises. Raw, inflamed skin. The unmistakable signs of misuse.

His face darkened.

Instinct urged him to examine further, but his hands stilled. This wasn't his body. He had no interest in touching what wasn't his.

Instead, he pinched his arm—hard. Red marks surfaced, joining the ones that were already there. The pain was real. This was real.

He had truly woken up in someone else's body.

His fingers grazed lower for confirmation. The moment they did, a violent tremor wracked his frame. His body was far too sensitive, every touch sending an uncomfortable jolt through him.

And his bottom...

His jaw clenched.

It had been thoroughly ravaged.

A slow, simmering fury built within him.

Only one thought remained.

Which bastard did this?

He tried to remember. He focused his mind. It pieced something together, so vague that he doubted it was amnesia. But he remembered dying, waking up, and then seeing a man walking toward him. His face looked more like a mosaic—an unreadable mess—then he was carried. His body had burned the entire time. He remembered that.

He was tossed around in a literal sense. First, he was thrown onto the bed, the impact hurting him. Then, he was dumped into a bathtub, as if he were not a human, but a doll. He choked a few times—it was not just once, but for hours at that. That was why, now, his ears felt waterlogged. It was irritating. He poked at his ears, trying to clear them.

Many things were unclear. It seemed he had spoken many times, had heard that man's voice many times, but the words were not clear. One thing, however, was unmistakable: the man was so hesitant. Even when he was choking on water, the man simply lifted him by the collar.

He remembered begging that man to help him relieve the heat that wouldn't subside, but the man kept him burning for hours.

And then... what later? The man wouldn't stop. He ravaged him, even when he begged again for him to stop.

He remembered never begging before in his life. Even when he was starving, he fought for it. But this man made him beg so many times, keeping him at his mercy.

He covered his face, his skin burning hot—not from embarrassment, nor because he wanted to dig himself into a hole to hide.

Only one thought consumed him: he would kill that guy. His eyes seemed red, and even more so, his face.

When he finally managed to calm down, his body felt strange all over. He wanted to clean himself, even though he was used to not doing so regularly—where could he have gotten that luxury before? But now, he truly wanted to, because this new body of his was incredibly sensitive. His skin felt like it was crawling, even though it was covered in clean silk inner garments.

They were soft to the touch, but his body itself hadn't been cleaned properly—just wiped a little. He cursed that man again for this.

He looked around, inhaling the rich scent of sandalwood and lingering incense as it curled through the air, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. The sheer black canopy draped around the bed swayed gently, framing his vision like the fading edges of a dream. Golden embroidery shimmered in the dim morning light, filtering through the latticed windows and casting intricate patterns upon the polished wooden floor.

Directly ahead, a low table stood, its surface adorned with a delicate porcelain tea set, an inkstone, and a small, untouched plate of candied plums—perhaps left by an unseen attendant

Directly ahead, a low table stood, its surface adorned with a delicate porcelain tea set, an inkstone, and a small, untouched plate of candied plums—perhaps left by an unseen attendant. Nearby, the last flickering ember of a dying candle atop a bronze stand signaled the passing of night, its wax pooled like frozen amber.

The walls were lined with intricately carved wooden panels, their hidden compartments so seamlessly crafted that only a trained eye might notice them. A tall candelabrum, its many arms still bearing the remnants of melted wax, stood beside a decorative screen embroidered with celestial dragons soaring through storm-laden clouds. A vase filled with fresh lilies rested near the bed, their pale petals illuminated by the first light of morning, adding a touch of softness to the room's regal splendor. A side door, slightly ajar, revealed a glimpse of an adjoining chamber, hinting at unseen corridors beyond.

There must be a bath here, he guessed.

What now?

He could dump himself in cold water, but the ache in his body warned against it. A place like this—despite its dark, opulent atmosphere—was certain to have hot water. The thought drifted through his mind in a hollow, detached way.

Why should he live his life crudely if he could indulge in a little luxury?

Who could he call? A name surfaced in his mind—Li Feng, a manservant. He tried calling out, but his voice betrayed him. What emerged was a guttural rasp, barely audible, as his throat burned with the effort.

Water. He needed water. His eyes scanned the room, but he found no place to get it. He couldn't call out, and there was no source within reach.

His gaze fell on the vase of fresh lilies near the bed.

A cold emptiness washed over him, and without a word, his eyes narrowed. In an instant, the vase—fragile and delicate—was sent crashing to the ground. The sharp sound echoed through the quiet, regal room, a jarring contrast to its serene elegance.

Soon, hurried footsteps echoed outside the room, followed by an anxious voice that seemed to pierce the still air. He strained to listen, piecing together the fragmented words. The voice was familiar, but not to him—perhaps to the original owner of this body. It was Li Feng, he guessed.

"Let me in! My gongzi needs me!" The voice was laced with urgency, but also restrained, as if the speaker was holding back something volatile.

There was another voice, one that spoke with hesitation, barely audible. "We can go and check on him..."

Li Feng's voice cracked with disbelief, quickly turning sharp with suppressed anger. "How dare you suggest merely checking on my gongzi in such a manner? He is unmarried! Do you have a death wish?"

Before the guards could retort, Li Feng pressed on, his tone low and commanding. "Let me in. I am my gongzi's personal attendant. My lord entrusted me with his care. Did His Highness not order you to ensure his safety? You would do well to remember your place! My gongzi will soon be the Imperial Consort—offend him at your own peril." The last words seemed to escape through gritted teeth, an edge of fury barely contained.

This was interesting, Xie Kai mused, his mind oddly calm despite the chaos he had just stirred. Should he break something else? Maybe it would force Li Feng in faster, but it seemed unnecessary. What a pity. Things seemed to be falling into place for Li Feng after some subtle threats.

The footsteps outside softened, and soon, the door creaked open. Anxious steps quickened, and Xie Kai couldn't quite grasp why Li Feng was so unsettled—it seemed overly dramatic.

Li Feng's hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor before he finally burst into the room, breathless with a mixture of concern and caution. He paused in the doorway, his eyes scanning the chamber in haste before settling on Xie Kai. Guilt and pity swirled in his gaze.

The young man's face was pale, his hands trembling ever so slightly. He sank to the ground in front of the bed, and this action caused Xie Kai to straighten up, confused. Then, Li Feng's voice cracked, choked with emotion.

"Gongzi..." His voice was strained, a low murmur burdened with unfiltered worry. "Are you... well?"

Xie Kai said nothing, his face unreadable. He quietly lowered his gaze, his thoughts drifting—Are you well yourself? He honestly felt this man was being far too melodramatic.

When he did not respond, Li Feng suddenly broke into sobs. "Gongzi, I deserve death! It is all my fault! You must not blame yourself—I was incompetent! I failed to protect you! Wuwu... You should not harm yourself over this. What if something had happened to you? If you are angry, I will smash a vase over my own head—just, please, do not hurt yourself!"

Xie Kai grew even more perplexed, his back straightening as his mouth twitched in confusion. What was he rambling about? Had something truly terrible happened to him? But he was fine—alive, unharmed. He only needed a bath and a few days' rest. He would recover.

And what's with breaking a vase on his head? Was this man crazy? Did he think Xie Kai broke it out of anger? Why was he feeling so guilty?

Xie Kai furrowed his brow. Wait... was he the bastard from the night before?

He brushed the thought away as soon as it came. The boy was young and lean, with some muscle, but short. His height could never compare to the towering figure of that man.

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