Distorted World

Another World

The month of Yin corresponds to spring, when willow leaves flutter about, and a cool breeze blows gently. By the lakeside, a pleasure boat slowly approaches the shore, creating gentle ripples on the water.

"Sir, we have arrived at the city of Liuzhou," the boatman leans close to his passenger, bowing his head as he speaks.

In the boat sits a man in white robes, with a face fair as jade and eyes dark as ink, the corners slightly upturned, giving him an added air of intelligence and allure. This is Mingxuan, who has just been transported here.

Mingxuan stirs awake; seeing an ordinary person draw near, he instinctively recoils, then steps out of the boat without looking back.

Surrounded by white dikes that serve as bridges, towering pavilions stand majestic, multi-storied buildings rise high, and visitors weave through in a bustling scene, full of life and activity.

To him, however, it is all an unfamiliar landscape. At some point, his hair had changed from its silvery hue to match the color of those around him, blending seamlessly with the crowd. As he walked, constantly looking around, he felt like a wanderer in a foreign land, his life as transient as a floating duckweed, devoid of any novelty. He could not find a single trace of familiarity, and despite having seen much of the world, humiliation and despair now crept into his heart, cracking its surface. Clenching his fists tightly, his long nails nearly pierced his flesh.

Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. Wait, spiritual powers?!

Disregarding the gazes of others, he instantly raised his hands to form seals, but there was no response—only strange looks from passersby.

The cracks in his heart threatened to consume him. Suppressing his panic, he continued walking without stopping. Earlier, he had recognized various signboards; his eyes caught sight of a teahouse named Qinghuan, nestled beside weeping willows, with few patrons. Mingxuan lowered his head and swiftly slipped inside.

He needed a place to pause. It was a time when business was slow, and the large teahouse had only a scattering of three guests. Mingxuan chose a seat by the window. The shopkeeper promptly approached with a menu, smiling kindly while serving a complimentary snack and hot water.

Mingxuan realized he understood the text on the menu and the shopkeeper's words perfectly, without any communication barrier. Only then did he recall the boatman mentioning this place was Liuzhou upon arrival.

With no interest in ordering, he formally selected a cup of fragrant tea and Longjing tea.

Taking advantage of the undisturbed moment, he took a deep breath, his heart once again hanging in suspense: his very foundation, his spiritual powers!

Again, his hands moved with intent, focusing his mind and calming his spirit. For the first time, he chose to let the teacup fall.

The teacup dropped as expected.

For the second time, he caused the remaining two patrons to switch places.

Their seating positions immediately shifted.

Xuan's heart eased slightly. For the third time, he attempted to erase these two patrons' memories of the event.

There was no response.

Xuan's grip on the teacup tightened abruptly.

The first time, moving a small object, he used only one-tenth of his power; the second time, relocating people over a short distance, he used three-tenths of his power; the third time, altering memories required five-tenths of his power but failed.

His powers were still there, but less than half remained. Skills like lightness and wind manipulation required five-tenths of his power to execute; even if he didn't care about the gazes of passersby, it wouldn't make a difference. Just as he planned to use another person as a test subject for four-tenths of his power, the shopkeeper approached with a smile, serving the fragrant tea and Longjing.

The tea water scalded as it entered his mouth.

Searching his pockets, both hands came up empty.

Xuan gazed coldly at the floating tea leaves. Moments later, the remaining two patrons were about to confront the shopkeeper, unaware that their money pouches had vanished from their pockets.

Resting his head against the window, the street outside was filled with bustling crowds. He found himself unusually close to so many humans, yet it was out of necessity. Watching them felt like they were watching goldfish in an aquarium.

He too had been confined within the fishbowl of fate, cursing the witch countless times in his heart without any change. Different from them, yet forced to survive among them with nothing. All he wanted was to smash against the walls of the fishbowl, but all that remained was anger and futility, his fury cruelly extinguished in the flow.

Leaving the teahouse at dusk, a few copper coins left on the table. Returning to the streets, noise and clamor assaulted him once more, clinging tightly like his own aversion.

Wandering aimlessly through the city, as a monster, his physical strength and endurance surpassed those of ordinary humans, and going a day and night without food or drink posed no problem. At this moment, his heart was numb and hopeless, paying no heed to these facts, he walked mechanically in this unfamiliar world until the sun dipped low in the sky.

All because the witch's power was stronger than his, trapping him in this illusion. Where is the exit of this world? How to escape this noisy crowd?

Misty unknowns awaited him, while "going with the flow" seemed a distant concept.