Above the giant stretched nine radiant layers of light, each blazing with its own brilliance. Their glow overlapped yet remained distinct, forming a vast structure that felt both distant and suffocatingly close at the same time.
Nine suns…?
Or nine heavens?
The thought struck him instinctively, rising from somewhere deeper than logic. From the void, they appeared hazy and indistinct, like distant stars veiled behind layers of mist.
But he knew—if someone stood upon any of the continents below, those nine layers would shine like nine overwhelming suns dominating the sky.
What is the meaning of this…?
The question surfaced quietly, yet it carried a strange weight as it echoed through his mind. It was not mere curiosity, but something closer to unease.
What is this place?
Above him, the nine layers of light flickered faintly, their brilliance pressing against his consciousness. It felt as though his current existence—whatever he was now—was not meant to perceive them fully.
Could this be… the world the Eye originated from?
The idea formed too smoothly, slipping into his thoughts as if something within him had guided it forward. That alone made him wary.
Or…
A sharp pulse ran through Lin Yuan's mind, cutting the thought short before it could fully take shape. A dangerous conclusion was beginning to form, and he instinctively suppressed it.
No. This won't do. Jumping to conclusions is the fastest way to misjudge a situation.
He steadied himself, forcing his thoughts to settle one by one. The chaos in his mind slowly aligned into something clearer, something he could work with.
Let's go over what I know.
First: the Eye fused with me while I was unconscious.
Whether that was its intention from the beginning or merely coincidence, he could not tell. But one fact remained undeniable—it had never asked for his consent.
Second: I was reborn with my memories intact.
This alone defied any logic he had once known. No ordinary method could preserve a person's consciousness across death, let alone carry it intact into a new body.
Was it the Eye that brought his memories with him? Or was it the ancient pendant that had been with him at the moment of death?
There was no answer. Only possibilities layered upon uncertainty.
Third: where exactly have I ended up?
The village, the people, even the rhythm of daily life—all of it felt strangely familiar on the surface. Yet beneath that familiarity, everything was fundamentally different.
Whatever this world was, it was certainly not Earth. And it was not the past either.
If the Eye had followed him across worlds…
If the pendant had preserved his consciousness at the moment of death…
And if those nine radiant layers were truly the heavens of this realm…
Then his situation was far more complicated than he had ever anticipated.
For now, however…
---
Lin Yuan woke again. This time the transition was calmer, the lingering weight in his body far less oppressive than before.
When he opened his eyes, surprise flickered across his face. The ceiling above him was not the one he had grown used to over the past few days.
For a moment, he simply lay there, listening. The soft creak of wooden shutters echoed faintly, accompanied by the distant rumble of wind moving between cliffs.
He was not alarmed. After everything he had experienced since his death, waking up in a different house barely registered as something worth worrying about.
It seemed Liu Yulan and Lin Zheng had finally moved into the new residence provided by the temple.
Judging by the chill in the air, they were now closer to the higher mountain paths. Voices drifted faintly through the walls—neighbors exchanging greetings, the dull clatter of wooden buckets, and the distant call of a merchant traveling along the temple road.
So this was the residential quarter of the Pearlroot Temple.
After adjusting to the idea, Lin Yuan closed his eyes briefly. It did not concern him much. Whether he slept under one roof or another mattered little.
What truly concerned him lay far beyond such trivial matters.
But that was something for later.
Pearlroot Temple was not large, yet it was always active in a steady, unhurried way. The mountain paths brought a constant flow of people—hunters returning from the forest, merchants carrying goods, traveling experts, and the occasional wandering alchemist searching for rare herbs.
With so many passing through, Liu Yulan's skill as a physician quickly became indispensable.
Every morning, before the sun rose fully above the eastern ridge, she would open the clinic doors and light the incense on her table. By the time the temple bell rang, several people would already be waiting outside.
Villagers in thick coats, junior disciples with injured meridians, elderly hunters and fishermen—all of them sought her care.
Lin Zheng's forge stood a short distance behind the clinic. As soon as the frost began to melt each morning, he would already be at work.
The rhythmic ringing of his hammer echoed through the courtyard—sometimes steady, sometimes sharp, depending on the task at hand.
He crafted arrowheads for hunters, reinforced weapon guards for disciples, and repaired tools for villagers maintaining the temple grounds.
He did not need to work so tirelessly. The temple provided for them, and his duties were lighter than before.
But Lin Zheng continued regardless. He claimed that working with fire and iron helped steady his mind, and though Liu Yulan teased him for it, she never once tried to stop him.
Everyone needed something to anchor themselves in the flow of time.
Lin Yuan, however, was different. His body, unlike that of ordinary children, remained weak and frail.
Liu Yulan often checked on him between patients, placing a hand gently against his chest to monitor his breathing. Lin Zheng would sometimes pause by the cradle in the evenings, wiping soot from his hands before adjusting the blanket around the child he believed to be his son.
From Lin Yuan's perspective, they worried far too much. Yet he endured their care in silence, neither resisting nor accepting it fully.
This was his life now—confined to blankets and stillness, yet not without meaning. He was no longer entirely helpless, and he could now produce small sounds that Liu Yulan interpreted as signs of good health.
Sometimes, he thought that if not for the dreams, he might have been able to forget how strange his situation truly was.
But those dreams persisted.
They did not belong to a newborn, nor to any ordinary existence. They were too vivid, too structured, too real to dismiss.
On the seventh night in their new home, a faint shiver passed through his small body as he woke from yet another overwhelming vision.
"I see… so this world is truly not simple…"
Time passed quietly after that.
Seasons came and went with little change. Snow layered the rooftops each winter, melted away in spring, and returned again, marking the passage of years.
The routines of life remained unchanged—medicine, forge work, temple bells, and the steady flow of villagers seeking aid.
Everything moved as it should.
Lin Yuan found himself slipping into that rhythm with surprising ease.
By the time nine years had passed, nothing in Liu Yulan and Lin Zheng's lives had changed. Liu Yulan still rose early each morning, tying her hair with practiced precision before opening the clinic doors.
Lin Zheng remained the same. His forge burned every day, and the sound of his hammer had become as familiar as a heartbeat.
For them, nine years passed like a calm stream.
But for Lin Yuan…
Those nine years changed everything.