Morning came quietly.
Too quietly.
Lin Chen opened his eyes to the creak of old wood and the smell of damp herbs. The roof above him was patched with straw and cracked tiles. Sunlight leaked through in thin lines.
So… I'm still alive.
His first instinct was to check his chest.
The mark was still there.
The broken crown wrapped by a three-eyed star sat beneath his ribs like it had always belonged to him.
Lin Chen swallowed.
Okay. Not a dream. Not madness. Either I touched something ancient… or something ancient touched me.
He stood up slowly.
The room felt tighter than before. The air pressed faintly against his skin. When he breathed in, a strange warmth gathered in his lower abdomen, as if the air itself was heavier.
That's new. I don't like "new." New usually means trouble.
Outside, the village was waking up.
Smoke curled from cooking fires. Chickens ran loose. Children chased each other along the muddy path.
Everything looked normal.
And yet—
When Lin Chen passed by, conversations paused.
An old woman selling steamed buns stared at him, her eyes narrowing.
"Child," she said hesitantly, "did you… go near Memory Current last night?"
Lin Chen's heart skipped.
How does she know? I didn't tell anyone. I didn't even tell myself properly.
He forced a laugh. "No, Auntie. Why would I do that?"
The old woman's gaze lingered on his chest, as if she could see through cloth and skin.
"The river's bend changed," she muttered. "It doesn't bend like that unless something stirs."
Lin Chen's smile stiffened.
The river bent away from me…
He left quickly.
At the village square, several youths were gathered around a man in gray robes.
A cultivator.
Lin Chen recognized him immediately.
Disciples of the nearby sect came once a year to collect herbs and test village youths for cultivation talent.
The man held a crystal disk in one hand.
"Those with spiritual roots, step forward," the cultivator said calmly.
Lin Chen froze.
Now? Today? Of all days?
One by one, children stepped forward. The disk glowed faintly for a few. The cultivator nodded and made notes.
When Lin Chen stepped forward, the crystal disk remained dull.
The cultivator frowned.
"Strange," he muttered. "Your qi… is disturbed. But you have no roots."
Lin Chen forced himself not to react.
Disturbed? That doesn't sound good. That sounds like I broke something inside me.
The cultivator studied him more closely.
For a brief moment, the man's pupils shrank.
"Your chest—"
A sharp pressure surged from the mark beneath Lin Chen's ribs.
The cultivator staggered back half a step, eyes widening.
"…Nothing," the man said quickly, regaining composure. "You're not suitable."
He turned away too fast.
Lin Chen stood there, heart pounding.
He saw it. He definitely saw something. And then he pretended he didn't.
That night, Lin Chen returned to Memory Current.
He didn't know why his feet carried him there.
Curiosity?
Fear?
Or the quiet pull in his chest that refused to be ignored.
The river reflected the stars.
The water was calm.
Lin Chen crouched at the bank, staring into his own reflection.
"Why me?" he whispered. "I didn't choose this. I didn't even want anything."
The water rippled.
For a moment, his reflection didn't follow his movements.
Instead, the water showed a long road stretching into mist.
Ruins on both sides.
Symbols carved into broken stone.
The same broken crown.
Lin Chen sucked in a breath.
So the river really does remember… and it's trying to show me something.
His chest warmed.
Not painfully.
Almost gently.
A quiet thought surfaced in his mind, not a voice, not an order—just a feeling:
Walk.
Lin Chen clenched his fists.
"…Fine," he whispered. "But if this ruins my life, I'm blaming you."
The river flowed on, silent and patient.
Behind Lin Chen, far beyond the village, clouds gathered over the distant mountains where cultivators walked paths meant for legends.
And somewhere beneath the Central Heavenly Domain, ancient murals cracked just a little more.
The world had noticed its mistake.
And it was watching him now.