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Yan Shi woke slowly.
Not to pain.
Not to fear.
Just awareness.
The first thing he noticed was the ceiling.
Stone.
Rough. Low. Uneven.
Not Tunnel Seventeen.
His breathing was steady. His chest rose and fell without resistance. No crushing weight. No suffocating dust. No stone pressing into his ribs.
His body felt… intact.
Yan Shi blinked once. Then again.
The room was narrow, carved directly into the mountain wall. A worker's resting cave—simple, functional, familiar. A single oil lamp burned near the corner, its flame steady, unmoving. The air smelled faintly of herbs and damp stone.
His limbs were free.
He flexed his fingers.
Then his toes.
No sharp pain followed. Only a dull stiffness, like a body that had slept too long.
That alone felt wrong.
He remembered the collapse. The weight. His father's body shielding him. The stone tearing the tunnel apart.
He should not feel like this.
Before he could think further, a knock sounded at the door.
Two quiet taps.
The door opened.
A man entered first—thin, straight-backed, movements precise. His hair was bound neatly, robes clean but unadorned. A leather satchel hung at his side.
The physician.
Behind him followed another figure.
Broader. Taller. Familiar.
His uncle.
Yan Shi turned his head slightly, studying them in silence.
The physician approached the bedside, eyes sharp but calm. He did not rush. Did not dramatize. He placed two fingers briefly against Yan Shi's wrist, then nodded faintly to himself.
"You're awake," the physician said.
It was not a question.
Yan Shi nodded once.
"You were unconscious for three days," the man continued. "No internal organ damage. Fractures were light. External injuries already treated."
Three days.
Yan Shi processed the number without reacting.
The physician opened his satchel and removed a small jade vial. "You'll take this twice a day. Morning and night. Do not exert yourself. Do not circulate breath intentionally. No heavy labor."
Yan Shi listened.
"Eat lightly. Sleep properly. If pain worsens, call for help. Otherwise, you will recover."
The physician paused, eyes flicking briefly to Yan Shi's chest—then away.
"There is no cause for concern," he added.
He corked the vial and placed it beside the bed.
The physician straightened and stepped back.
Yan Shi's uncle moved forward.
Before leaving, the physician turned slightly. "Payment."
The uncle handed over two low-grade spirit stones. Their glow was faint, unstable. The physician accepted them without comment and left the room.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Yan Shi looked at his uncle.
The man stood there for a moment, arms folded behind his back. His face was lined, weathered by years of labor.
Calloused hands. Simple clothing. No authority—just endurance.
"You scared us," his uncle said.
His voice was steady. No tremor.
Yan Shi said nothing.
"We thought…" The uncle paused, then shook his head once. "Doesn't matter. You're awake."
He pulled a low stool closer and sat.
"Your father," he said.
Yan Shi's gaze lowered slightly.
"He didn't make it," the uncle continued. "The collapse crushed him completely. He was already gone when they reached the site."
No embellishment.
No mercy.
Yan Shi absorbed the words slowly.
A weight settled in his chest—not pain, not shock. Just loss. Quiet. Final.
"I see," Yan Shi said.
The uncle nodded once, satisfied.
"He did what he could," he added.
"That's enough."
Silence stretched between them.
Then the uncle spoke again. "The sect has decided to help those affected by the collapse. Supreme Elder approved it."
Yan Shi lifted his eyes.
"I spoke to Elder Qin," the uncle continued. "He said he will try to arrange a place for you. Nothing guaranteed. Maybe outer sect labor. Maybe something else."
Yan Shi nodded.
"I'll send soup later," the uncle said. "Wan'er insisted. She cried for days. Thought you…"
He stopped himself.
"Rest," he finished. "That's all you need to do."
The uncle stood.
Before leaving, he placed a small low-grade spirit stone on the table beside the bed.
"For recovery," he said.
Then he left.
The door closed.
Yan Shi was alone.
The room felt quiet—but not empty.
He lay there, staring at the ceiling.
And then he remembered.
The pressure beneath his breastbone.
The slow, turning motion.
The red-green shimmer.
His fingers tightened slightly against the bedding.
Was that real?
The memory was clear. Too clear. But memories could lie—especially when death was close.
He breathed slowly.
Nothing stirred inside his chest.
No movement.
No rotation.
No pressure.
Just the faint warmth of healing flesh.
Hallucination, he thought.
The mind often created meaning when the body neared its end.
Half an hour passed.
The oil lamp flickered once, then steadied.
A knock sounded at the door.
This time, the voice came before the door opened.
"Brother Shi?"
Soft. Careful.
The door opened, and a girl stepped inside.
Sixteen. Maybe seventeen.
She was beautiful—but not striking. Her features were gentle, balanced, easy to look at without demanding attention. Her hair was tied simply, a few loose strands framing her face. Her eyes were clear, anxious, bright with relief.
Wan'er.
She carried a bowl wrapped in cloth.
She froze when she saw his open eyes.
"You're awake!" she said.
Before he could respond, she crossed the room and hugged him tightly.
Her arms were warm. Firm. Real.
"I was so scared," she said quietly. "They wouldn't tell me anything. Just said you were alive."
She pulled back, embarrassed, then wiped at her eyes quickly.
"I brought soup," she said, holding up the bowl. "You have to eat."
She sat beside the bed and carefully lifted the spoon.
Yan Shi ate.
The soup was plain. Warm. Grounding.
She watched him closely, making sure he swallowed each mouthful.
"You must rest," she said firmly. "No thinking. No moving. The physician said so."
Yan Shi nodded.
Satisfied, she stood.
"I'll come back later," she said. "Sleep."
She left quietly.
The room returned to silence.
Yan Shi slowly pushed himself upright.
Carefully.
He sat cross-legged on the bed.
His posture was natural. Familiar.
He closed his eyes.
Not to cultivate.
Not to circulate breath.
Just to remember.
The question returned—unchanged.
Was that real?
Or had his mind created something in the darkness beneath the mountain?
No answer came.
Only stillness.
The oil lamp burned steadily.
Yan Shi remained seated, unmoving.
And the question lingered with him as the chapter ended—
What was that?
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