The visions did not stop after that night.
If anything, they grew sharper.
Zhen Yi woke before dawn, the sky still ink-dark, the streets quiet except for the distant hum of early buses. His grandfather was already in the small backyard, practicing slow sword forms the way he did every morning—steady, patient, rhythmic.
"You're up early," Grandpa said without looking back, sensing his presence.
Zhen Yi picked up his wooden sword and joined him. Training with his grandfather had always been soothing, a routine that kept his mind steady. But lately, every swing felt heavier, every breath filled with fragments of a life that wasn't his.
He lifted the sword and followed his grandfather's movements. The wooden blade cut through the air—
—and suddenly, the world tilted.
A flash blinded him.
He was no longer in the backyard.
He stood in a golden-lit hall, incense curling into the air. Two young men in ancient robes were sitting together on the palace steps—one in imperial gold, the other in a general's dark armour without the helmet. The emperor, Xia Jinhai, was laughing while holding a bowl of sweet lotus soup. The general beside him, Yan Zhen, sat with his arms crossed, pretending to be stern.
"You should smile more," Jinhai teased, nudging him with his shoulder. "Otherwise the ministers think I overwork you."
"I don't have time to smile," Yan Zhen said, but his voice carried warmth, not annoyance.
"You just did," Jinhai said, grinning. "Don't deny it."
Yan Zhen huffed. "Your Majesty sees illusions."
"Maybe," the emperor murmured. "But even if the whole world turns against you, I will not. You know that, right?"
The general's expression softened—so quietly, so subtly that it felt like a secret only the two of them shared.
The vision trembled, like a candle flame losing shape.
"Zhen Yi!"
He snapped back to reality just in time to feel his knees buckle. The wooden sword fell from his hand.
Grandpa ran forward and caught him before he hit the ground. "What's happening to you? You look pale."
"I'm fine… I just got dizzy." Zhen Yi forced a smile he didn't feel. His breath trembled in his chest, the remnants of the vision still clinging to him like smoke.
"No training today," Grandpa declared firmly. "You're skipping school too."
"I can't," Zhen Yi said, pushing himself upright. "We have an exam review today. If I miss it, I'll fall behind."
"You won't fall behind," Grandpa said, but Zhen Yi was already stepping back.
"I'm really fine. I just need some water."
His grandfather sighed, knowing that arguing would do nothing. When Zhen Yi set his mind on something, he didn't budge.
He prepared for school, ate breakfast silently, and walked toward the gate. His mom watched him with worried eyes but didn't stop him; she knew how stubborn her son could be.
At the school entrance, he met Li Qiyue and Chen Ming, who immediately noticed his condition.
"You look worse than yesterday," Li Qiyue said, touching his forehead lightly. "You're burning up!"
"I didn't sleep well," Zhen Yi muttered.
Chen Ming frowned. "Dude, you should've stayed home."
"It's fine. I'll just sit through the morning classes and rest later."
But during the first period, his vision blurred. His head felt too heavy to lift. When the teacher approached to check his assignment, she paused, frowning.
"Zhen Yi… you don't look well at all."
"I–I'm okay—"
"No," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You have a fever. You need rest. Go home. I'll excuse your attendance for today."
She turned to Chen Ming. "Accompany him home, alright?"
Before Chen Ming could respond, Zhen Yi stood up quickly. "No need. Really, I can go by myself. Chen Ming has to stay for the math review."
Chen Ming hesitated, torn, but Zhen Yi reassured him with a tired smile.
"I'll message when I reach home."
With the teacher's permission, he packed his bag slowly and left the classroom. The hallway felt longer than usual, every step echoing in his ears.
He walked out of the school gates and followed the familiar street toward home. Students chatted behind him, cars sped by on the main road, the scent of roasted chestnuts from a nearby stall drifted in the breeze.
Everything looked normal.
But inside, Zhen Yi felt something entirely different—as if two worlds overlapped, like a picture that refused to stay still.
His vision pulsed again.
Another flash.
Another memory.
Yan Zhen stood beside Emperor Xia Jinhai on top of the palace wall, both looking over the capital city. Lanterns glowed like falling stars on the streets below.
"Do you regret it?" the emperor asked softly.
"Regret what, Your Majesty?" Yan Zhen turned to him.
"Choosing loyalty over yourself. Choosing this throne, choosing me."
Yan Zhen's eyes softened with something unspoken—something deep, steady, and unbreakable.
"There is nothing to regret," he said.
Jinhai exhaled in quiet relief. "Then promise me one thing. When the next war comes… don't die before me. I couldn't bear that."
Yan Zhen smiled faintly—an expression so rare, so gentle, the kind that only existed in private moments like this.
"You won't have to bear it," he said.
The vision shattered like glass.
Zhen Yi's steps faltered.
He stumbled onto the sidewalk and grabbed a lamppost, breathing hard. His heart thudded painfully, his head pounding with every memory that didn't belong to him.
"Why… why am I seeing this?"
The world blurred into streaks of color.
The noise around him began to fade, replaced by fragments of distant war-drums… metal clashing… the urgent cry of a name—
"General Yan Zhen—!"
Zhen Yi pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to steady himself, but the dizziness only grew worse.
A loud engine roared nearby.
Someone shouted.
But the sound reached him too late.
A sharp horn blared—
—and the world went white.
There was no pain. Only weightlessness, like falling into a soft void.
Then a warmth spread through him, bright and gentle, like sunlight touching his face.
He could hear faint voices echoing across a distance he couldn't measure.
Not from Hong Kong.
Not from his world.
A different place.
A different time.
"General Yan Zhen! Hold on—!"
"Get the physician!"
"His pulse is fading—!"
He tried opening his eyes but saw only blinding light. His body didn't feel like his own. His breath trembled, weak but steady enough to continue.
Somewhere far away, in the world he had just left, people were shouting for help, calling his name.
But their voices faded…
softened…
dimmed…
until they disappeared completely.
The light slowly narrowed into focus.
Wooden beams.
Oil lamps.
A scent of herbs.
A heavy blanket over his chest.
A room he knew from visions—not from life.
He exhaled shakily.
"Where… am I…?"
The door slid open.
A man in ancient clothes rushed inside, relief flooding his expression the moment he saw Zhen Yi awake.
"General Yan Zhen… you survived."
Zhen Yi's heartbeat stuttered.
Yan Zhen.
The name that haunted every vision.
The man he saw fighting, laughing, standing beside the emperor.
The man whose memories lived inside him.
And now—
Zhen Yi… was in his body.
He looked down at his hands—bandaged, strong, not the hands he remembered. His breath trembled again as the truth settled like a heavy cloak over him.
The modern world had slipped away.
His story there… had ended.
But here, in this ancient dynasty—
his new life was beginning.