The chill was the first thing to return, then the dull throb behind his eyes. Long Hu, or what was left of him, awoke to the biting cold of stone and the scent of unfamiliar herbs. His limbs screamed in protest as he tried to sit up, his muscles protesting with every twitch. He was on a simple, hard cot, covered by a roughspun blanket.
Where was he? What was this place? The last thing he remembered… a flash of light, a surge of overwhelming force, then nothing. His mind was a jumbled mess, fragmented images dancing just beyond his grasp. He tried to focus, to summon the power he instinctively felt he should possess, but only a desolate emptiness answered.
The room was austere, yet elegantly crafted. Polished black jade formed the walls, and arcane symbols, faint and ancient, glowed softly in the corners. It was clearly a place of cultivation, but one devoid of life or active energy. The Northern Pavilion, as Empress Xianxia had named it.
A soft click echoed in the silence. The elegant jade doors slid open, and a figure emerged, casting a long shadow across the polished floor.
It was her. The woman who had saved him from the monstrous vine-beast. Or, perhaps, captured him.
Empress Xianxia stood framed in the doorway, her presence radiating an aura of power so immense it felt like a physical weight, pressing him back onto the cot. Her silver hair seemed to shimmer, and her eyes, like twin galaxies, fixed on him with a gaze that held neither pity nor malice, but a chilling, detached curiosity.
"Awake, little one?" Her voice was a low hum, melodious yet sharp, like the edge of a celestial blade. "Do you recall your name?"
He tried to speak, but his throat was dry, raw. He coughed, a pathetic, rasping sound. "I... I don't know," he finally managed, his voice thin and reedy, alien to his own ears. "Who... who are you?"
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips. "I am Empress Xianxia, ruler of the Azure Heaven Realm. And you, it seems, are a cosmic jest delivered to my doorstep." She moved closer, her steps silent, graceful. She stopped by the cot, looking down at him as one might examine an intriguing, but ultimately inconsequential, specimen.
"Your cultivation is shattered. Your spiritual roots, severed. A miracle you breathe at all, let alone retained a shred of your soul." Her words were clinical, devoid of emotion, yet each one felt like a hammer blow to his fragile sense of self. "Do you know who you were?"
He desperately searched the recesses of his mind, grasping for any memory, any sliver of identity. Nothing. Just a profound, aching emptiness. He shook his head, a wave of dizziness making the room spin.
"Excellent," she purred, the word chilling him far more than any threat. "A blank slate. Perfect." She paused, her gaze scrutinizing him, as if calculating the precise weight of his worthlessness. "From this day forth, you shall be my apprentice. Not of grand cultivation, for that path is closed to you. But an apprentice in... other matters."
He stared at her, bewildered. Apprentice? To this terrifying, all-powerful woman? He felt a flicker of something he couldn't name – a desperate hope, perhaps, that she might help him.
"You will begin by tending to the spirit gardens surrounding this pavilion," she continued, completely ignoring his stunned silence. "They have become overgrown. Every petal must be perfect, every weed purged. And your first task: the Jade Dew Fountain in the central courtyard. It needs cleaning. Thoroughly."
She gestured dismissively towards a corner of the room, where a simple, worn broom and a bucket of water sat. "Begin when you are able. My cultivation demands my presence. Do not disappoint me, apprentice."
With that, she turned, her robes swirling around her, and swept out of the pavilion as silently as she had entered. The jade doors slid shut, leaving Long Hu alone in the oppressive silence.
He lay there, processing her words. An apprentice. Cleaning. His limbs still ached, his head pounded, and a profound sense of humiliation began to creep through the fog of his amnesia. This powerful woman, Empress of a realm, had rescued him only to consign him to servitude.
He forced himself to sit up, then swung his legs over the side of the cot. His bare feet touched the cold stone floor. He looked at the humble broom, then up at the daunting, perfect jade walls. A surge of indignation, unfamiliar yet potent, sparked within him. He didn't know who he was, or what he had lost, but he knew one thing: this wasn't right.
He looked towards the closed doors. The Empress had left him here, weak and broken. But perhaps... perhaps this was his only chance. He clenched his fists, a raw, desperate resolve hardening in his heart. If she wanted an apprentice, she would get one. But he wouldn't just clean her gardens. He would find a way back to himself. And then, he would face the woman who now held his fate in her hands.