[Han Era, 190 AD]
Location: Lujing Mountains, Outskirts of Lujing Village
Thunder echoed in the mountains, a deep, rolling sound that shook the leaves of the ancient pines.
Healer Chen paused his steps, his wrinkled hands gripping his wooden staff. He looked up. The sky above Lujing Village was a brilliant, cloudless blue. There was no sign of a storm.
"Strange," he murmured, his white beard twitching. "Thunder on a clear day. A bad omen."
Behind him, his daughter, Chen Yue, straightened her back. The basket of herbs on her back was light, but her father's premonition made her feel heavy. "Perhaps just a large rockslide in the gorge, Father."
"No," Healer Chen said, his ear still tuned to the forest. "That came from Black Dragon Ridge. And it was not the sound of stone."
The drumbeat of war from tyrants and the Yellow Turban rebels had put everyone in this remote village on edge. An unusual sound meant danger.
Suddenly, from the direction of the ridge, a thin plume of smoke rose into the sky. It was black and smelled strange.
"Chen Fu!" Healer Chen called out to his son, who was chopping wood near the village. Chen Fu, a sturdily built man with an honest but stern face, ran over, axe still in hand. "Take two men. We'll check Black Dragon Ridge. Bring spears."
"Father, it could be bandits," Chen Yue said anxiously.
"Bandits don't make a sound like that," Healer Chen said firmly. "I'm coming along. If someone is injured, they'll need me."
"Then I'm coming," Chen Yue said.
"No. You..."
"I carry your medicine bag," she cut in, her voice gentle but firm. "If someone is hurt, Father will need both hands to work, not to search for roots in a bag."
Healer Chen looked at his daughter's stubborn eyes—the same eyes as her late mother. He sighed. "Stay behind me. Chen Fu, lead the way."
They moved quickly, five of them—Healer Chen, Chen Yue, Chen Fu, and two other village youths—up the narrow path toward the ridge. The acrid smell grew stronger, a stench that stung the nose. It wasn't the smell of burning pine, but of charred metal and... something else. Something chemical and alien.
They found it in a small clearing, hidden by thick brush.
It wasn't a rockslide. It was a small, smoldering crater. The ground around it was scorched black, and in the center... there was something.
"Heavenly Gods..." whispered one of the village youths, dropping his spear.
"Is it... a demon?" Chen Fu said, raising his axe, his eyes narrowed.
In the middle of the crater lay a figure. It was a man, but unlike any man they had ever seen. He was encased in a strange black and gray 'shell' (tactical vest), with bizarrely patterned cloth (digital camouflage). A deadly-looking black metal object (M4 rifle) lay a few feet from his hand.
But his condition was the most terrifying part.
He was shattered.
His left arm lay at an unnatural angle. The right side of his body was caked in blackened blood, seeping from beneath his hard shell. There were metal fragments—shrapnel—embedded in his shoulder and thigh. His face, though handsome, was deathly pale, streaked with blood and dirt. He wasn't moving.
"He's dead," Chen Fu said, spitting to the side. "Whatever it is. Let's leave before its evil spirit latches onto us."
Chen Yue, despite her fear, took a step forward. "Wait."
Healer Chen was already kneeling at the edge of the crater, ignoring the lingering heat. He was a healer. His oath was stronger than superstition.
He placed two fingers on the strange man's neck, just under the jawline. He pressed. Waited.
One second. Two. Three.
Then, he felt it.
Impossibly faint, almost non-existent. Like the flutter of a dying butterfly's wing. But it was there. A pulse.
"He's alive," Healer Chen said, his voice sharp, full of command. "Quickly! Chen Fu, help me. We have to move him."
"Father, are you mad?!" Chen Fu yelled. "This thing... he's not human! He fell from the sky! He's cursed! Look at his wounds! He's already halfway to death!"
"And I will walk the other half to pull him back!" Healer Chen retorted. "This is no time to debate with the Death Gods. Help me, or get out of the way!"
He began examining the wounds. Bad. Very bad. Broken ribs, clearly puncturing something inside. Heavy bleeding. Burns. "We have to stop the bleeding now."
Chen Yue was already rushing forward, opening her medicine bag. "Father, here's the yarrow powder."
"Good. More. And clean cloths."
Healer Chen worked with incredible speed. He didn't care about the strange armor; he ripped the uniform fabric underneath where he could, pressing the styptic herbs into the open wounds. The man groaned softly in his unconsciousness, a raw sound of pain.
They had to get the hard 'shell' (combat vest) off to treat him. It took Chen Fu and another youth to work the complex buckles and straps. When the vest came off, they gasped. Underneath, the man wore a tight black shirt soaked in sweat and blood. His muscles were clearly defined—hard and dense like oak, but trembling from shock.
"Carry him," Healer Chen commanded. "Carefully. Don't worsen his internal injuries."
The journey back to the village was a nightmare. The man was heavy—far heavier than he looked, a result of his dense muscle mass. They made a makeshift stretcher from their spears and cloaks. Chen Yue ran alongside, holding a makeshift IV of salt water—her father's small invention for dehydration—though in this case, it felt futile.
They didn't take him to the main village hall. They took him to Healer Chen's medicinal hut on the edge of the village, where he treated the most severe cases... and the most secret ones.
[Two Days Later]
Inside Healer Chen's Hut
Long Wei was in hell.
A cold, dark hell that smelled of bitter herbs and woodsmoke.
For two days, he floated in and out of the darkness. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know who he was. He only knew pain.
A burning pain in his chest every time he tried to breathe. A dull ache in his shoulder. A sharp throb in his head. He was a symphony of agony.
In his feverish haze, he saw shadows.
The face of a General, smiling cynically, surrounded by fire. "...too smart, Long Wei..."
The faces of his team. Cobra. Ghost. Viper. "...Protocol Omega, Boss!..."
The RPG blast. White. Hot.
Then... another face. A gentle one. Surrounded by the dim glow of an oil lamp. Dark eyes staring at him with... pity? Worry?
A cool hand on his burning forehead. A damp cloth gently wiping the sweat from his temples.
A voice. A whisper. A song.
"Hold on," the voice whispered in a strange, soothing language. "My father says you are a fighter. Hold on."
He tried to open his mouth. "K-Kobra..."
"Ssshhh," the voice whispered. Something bitter but warm was poured down his throat. Medicine. He swallowed instinctively.
Then, the darkness claimed him again.
Outside of Long Wei's consciousness, Healer Chen and Chen Yue worked without stop. The healer had stitched the worst of the wounds, set the broken arm, and bound his chest in tight bandages.
"It's a miracle," Healer Chen said on the second night, staring at the man on the straw cot. "His fever won't break, but it's not killing him either. His wounds... they're horrific. The internal bleeding should have claimed him on the first day. But his pulse... it's strong. Far stronger than it should be."
"He's muscular, Father," Chen Yue said, dipping the cloth in cool water again. She hadn't slept for more than an hour at a time.
"It's more than that, child. There is something in him. A resilience... I've never seen anything like it. It's as if his body was hammered from the finest steel. He is fighting. Even in his sleep, he is fighting."
On the morning of the third day, the fever broke.
[Morning, Third Day]
The pain was the first thing to greet him.
But it was no longer an all-consuming ocean of fire. It had receded into a deep, dull, manageable ache.
Long Wei opened his eyes.
Not a jungle canopy. Not a blue sky.
A ceiling. Made of rough-hewn wood and dry thatch. Dusty. There was a spiderweb in the corner.
He smelled the strong, sharp scent of herbal medicines.
He tried to move.
Damn.
A sharp, stabbing pain exploded in his left chest, making him gasp and cough. Each cough sent a wave of agony through his entire body.
"Don't move!"
A voice. Soft, but full of command.
He turned his head slowly. It felt like lead.
The girl. The girl from the forest. No, not the forest. The one who... cared for me. The hazy memory returned. The gentle face in the darkness.
Chen Yue was sitting on a small wooden stool beside his bed, a wooden bowl of steaming herbs in her hands. She looked exhausted. There were dark circles under her eyes, but her eyes themselves were clear and alert.
Long Wei tried to speak. His throat felt like sandpaper. "Where...?"
"Ssshh," she said again. "You are safe." She spoke slowly, as if to a child. "Lujing Village. My father's hut."
Long Wei didn't understand the words, but he understood the tone. Safe.
He scanned the room. His soldier's instincts were returning, even if his body was shattered. Small hut. One door. One small window. Earthen walls. In the corner, racks of drying herbs.
His weapon.
"My... gear?" his voice was a rasp.
Chen Yue frowned, not understanding. "You are thirsty?" She held up a small cup of water.
Long Wei stared at her. He forced his brain to work, pushing through the fog of pain. He needed to communicate.
He mimed holding a rifle. "Black... thing. Metal."
Chen Yue's eyes widened for a second, then she understood. "Oh. The 'demon stick.' My father has it. He said it... carries bad energy. It is hidden. Safe." She made a locking motion.
Long Wei relaxed. Slightly. His weapon wasn't lost. Just confiscated.
He tried to sit up.
"No! Fool!" Chen Yue jumped, slamming the bowl down and pressing on Long Wei's uninjured shoulder with both hands. The pressure was gentle, but the pain from the movement itself made Long Wei grit his teeth and fall back onto the straw pillow, drenched in a cold sweat.
"You are... badly hurt," she said, frustrated that he didn't understand. She pointed to his chest, then drew lines all over his body. "Broken. Torn. Bleeding." She pointed at him. "You... sleep... three days."
Three days?
Reality hit Long Wei like a truck. Three days. He'd been completely unconscious for three days. The mission... his team... General Tano...
His face must have shown his despair, because Chen Yue's expression softened.
"Eat," she said, picking up another bowl. This one held a thin rice porridge (congee) that smelled of ginger. "You must eat. For strength."
He tried to lift his hand to take the bowl. His right arm was fine, but even that small movement made his chest feel like it was being stabbed. He failed.
The face of Long Wei, the Lieutenant Colonel who had led the most dangerous missions in the world, flushed red. Not from fever. From shame.
He was helpless.
Chen Yue saw his struggle. She hesitated for a moment, then sighed. She sat on the edge of the bed, scooped up a small amount of the congee, and blew on it to cool it.
Then, she held the wooden spoon to Long Wei's lips.
Long Wei froze.
No one had ever spoon-fed him. Not since the orphanage. He had always taken care of himself. This... this was a level of vulnerability he couldn't process. His tactical brain, which could calculate artillery trajectories in seconds, now completely short-circuited in the face of a spoonful of porridge.
"Eat," she insisted gently.
With extreme reluctance, Long Wei opened his mouth. The congee was warm and bland, but it was food. He swallowed. He could feel a tiny bit of energy return to his body.
Chen Yue fed him another spoonful. And another.
Long Wei, the military genius, was conquered by a bowl of congee and a village girl.
[One Week Later]
Long Wei's recovery was something that made Healer Chen question everything he knew about medicine.
"I've never seen anything like it," he told Chen Yue on the fifth day, after changing the bandages on Long Wei's chest. The wounds, which should have still been open and infected, were already closing. The stitches were holding perfectly. "His ribs... I can feel them beginning to knit. And his arm... he can already move his fingers."
"He is strong, Father."
"He is more than strong, child. He is... something else."
By the seventh day after he awoke—ten days after his teleportation—Long Wei was bored of lying down. The pain had become a dull ache he could ignore. He had spent the week doing two things: eating whatever Chen Yue put in front of him, and learning.
Every time Chen Yue came in, he would point.
"Bowl," she would say.
"Mangkuk," Long Wei would repeat, his accent strange but clear.
"Water."
"Air."
"Sky."
"Langit."
"Chen Yue."
"Chen Yue," he said, and for the first time, his cold eyes softened slightly.
The girl blushed and quickly pointed outside. "Village."
On the eighth day, he sat up by himself.
On the ninth day, he demanded to stand.
"You will open your wounds!" Chen Yue protested.
"I must move," Long Wei insisted in the broken, ancient Mandarin he had pieced together.
Chen Fu, who was still deeply suspicious of this "demon man," had made him a sturdy oak crutch.
With Chen Yue's help on one side and the crutch on the other, Long Wei put his feet on the cold, earthen floor for the first time.
His muscles, though recovering rapidly, were still weak from disuse. His legs trembled violently. He, who had once run 30 kilometers in full gear, was now panting just from standing up.
He leaned on the crutch and on Chen Yue's shoulder. He could feel how slender her shoulder was, yet how firmly she supported him. He could smell the herbs and sun from her hair.
Again, his genius brain short-circuited.
"Slowly," Chen Yue said, feeling his body tense up.
"I... am slow," Long Wei growled, more angry at his own weakness than at anything else.
He took one step. Then another.
He made it to the doorway of the hut and leaned against the frame, looking outside for the first time.
He saw a small, peaceful village, nestled in a valley of majestic green mountains. Children ran, playing with dogs. Women washed clothes in a river. Men returned from the fields.
It was a scene from another world. From another age.
He knew now. This wasn't a simulation. This wasn't a kidnapping.
He had died. And somehow, he had been reborn in the most impossible place in the world.