(The protagonist is half native; otherwise, the Yulan Plane would blow up. The protagonist is a bug, and his memories of a past life come in flashes of insight. Read with caution. If there are any problems, the author is sick in the head. I apologize. I repent.)
Pain!
It was the most familiar "companion" of Guo Luo's twenty-two years. It lurked deep in his chest, sending warnings of "failure" through every limb and bone with each feeble heartbeat. His vision gradually blurred. Was it finally time to be free?
He struggled to move his eyes, his gaze falling on the copy of Coiling Dragon beside his pillow, its corners frayed and pages curled. In the dim light, the embossed dragon on its cover seemed about to soar into the air. How wonderful... he thought hazily. Though his body was frail, at least here, his soul could run freely through the worlds built from those words. It could even fly.
His fingers moved with difficulty as he tried to touch the book beside his pillow. He spent his last scrap of strength, but his hand fell limply in the end.
If...
If I could live another life, how I wish it could be as exciting as Linley's...
The thought flickered like a candle in the wind, then went out. Darkness closed gently around him, taking away the last trace of tenderness, the last shred of reluctance.
He faintly heard, "Bed thirteen isn't going to make it. Notify the family. Ah..." "Chen, this patient doesn't have any family left." A brief silence followed, before a call came from farther away. "Professor Chen Ang, the operating room is ready." "Understood."
Then came light.
No, not light. It was a brutal squeezing sensation, a passage that seemed to tear him apart, a cold, hard touch pressing instantly against his bare skin, the searing pain of icy air suddenly flooding his lungs-
"Waaah-!!"
The infant's cry rang out, loud and shrill, carrying the heedless force of a new life as it pierced the deepest darkness before dawn in Wushan Town, in the late autumn of year 9979 of the Yulan Calendar.
Guo Luo could not open his eyes. He could only vaguely sense light. Cold, along with an utterly unfamiliar smell of rust mixed with charcoal embers, surged into his fragile airways. Together with an infant's instincts, it brought another burst of ringing cries.
"What's that noise?"
The aged, hoarse voice was heavy with sleep and the irritation of being disturbed. The wooden door creaked, and the yellow glow of an oil lamp spilled out, illuminating the tiny body barely wrapped in worn gray cloth below the stone steps outside the smithy.
Wrapped in an old, heavily patched padded coat, Old Jack squinted through his failing eyes for a long while before muttering a curse. Whether he cursed the heartlessness of whoever had abandoned the child or the damned chill of this late-autumn morning was unclear. He crouched down, his fingers as rough as old bark faltering for a moment before gently touching the baby's face, which had turned blue with cold.
Miraculously, the crying weakened into aggrieved little sobs.
The old man sighed, took off his old padded coat, and carefully picked up the little thing.
"Another poor little wretch," Old Jack muttered, turning back into the smithy with the child, where some warmth still lingered from the forge. "Who knows whether living with these old bones of mine will be a blessing or a curse."
The lamplight swayed, casting the overlapping shadows of old man and infant onto the wall. The anvil, the bellows, the assorted farm tools hanging on the wall, and the unshaped iron silently watched this new life amid the light and shadow.
As a newborn, Guo Luo knew nothing of this. Once he was wrapped in the padded coat, which held the old man's body heat and a strong smell of smoke and fire, the long-missed warmth was followed by immense exhaustion. Like a black tide, it submerged him once more. This time there was no illness or pain, only the deep drowsiness of an infant. With a trace of iron and fire lingering in his heart, he slept soundly.
Time hurried on, flowing slowly through the infant's pure instincts and physical needs.
At first light the next morning, Old Jack bundled the baby snugly in his thickest old padded coat, leaving only a little face exposed, and went out with him in his arms. The smithy's fire had not yet been lit, and the morning chill was especially biting.
Getting from the smithy to the old physician's Medical Clinic at the eastern end of town meant crossing most of Wushan Town. At this hour, the hardworking women were already up fetching water, and the men had begun the day's work. Old Jack walking down the road with a bundle that was plainly a baby immediately drew countless looks.
"Oh, Old Jack, is that...?" The plump woman who sold bread was the first to come over. She carefully lifted a corner of the padded coat, took a look, and exclaimed, "It really is a baby! Where did you get him?" Her exclamation quickly drew the people nearby, who gathered around.
"Found him outside the shop last night," Old Jack explained vaguely, without stopping. The baby seemed disturbed by the noise and gave a faint whimper. Instinctively, he drew the coat tighter around him.
"What a sin! Abandoning a child in weather this cold..." A woman carrying a bucket shook her head and sighed, genuine pity in her eyes. "Is he a boy? He doesn't look well. You'd better have Old Henry take a look right away."
But some whispered among themselves. "Old Jack can barely get by himself. How can he raise a child?" "Exactly. What little he makes from smithing barely keeps him fed." "Ah, he's kindhearted, certainly, but..." "Enough of that. Old Jack has no children of his own, after all. This is a good thing, too."
Their voices were neither loud nor soft, just loud enough to drift into Old Jack's ears. He remained silent, but his arms held the child steadily, and his steps stayed firm as he passed through the crowd-some sympathetic, some curious, some worried, and some merely watching the commotion-and walked on without a word.
At last, he reached the old physician Henry's Medical Clinic. The doctor was over sixty, his hair graying, but his eyes were still clear. He examined the baby carefully, lifting his eyelids and listening to his heartbeat.
"His constitution is a little weak. Seems he was born frail, and then he was left out in the cold." Old Henry washed his hands, his tone calm. "But he's pulled through. There's nothing seriously wrong. Feed him rice water and goat's milk, keep him warm, and he can live."
Only then did Old Jack let out a long breath, relief appearing on his deeply wrinkled face.
"Jack," Old Henry lowered his voice and glanced at the few neighbors outside who had not yet dispersed. "Raising a child isn't as simple as having another mouth to feed. From now on..."
"I know," Old Jack interrupted. He stroked the baby's fine, soft hair with his rough palm, his movements somewhat clumsy but extraordinarily gentle. "Coming across him was fate. As long as I have a bite to eat, he won't go hungry."
He paid the consultation fee-a few copper coins rubbed bright, money he had originally meant to spend on some good tobacco. Then he carefully wrapped the baby in the padded coat again, held him against his chest, and turned to leave the Medical Clinic.
On the way back, morning light had spread fully over the flagstone road. Most of the earlier onlookers had dispersed and gone about their own business.
Now and then, someone nodded to him or gave him a kindly look. Old Jack no longer paid attention to the muttering behind his back. He simply lowered his head, looking at the little face sleeping peacefully in his arms, and walked step by step back to the home filled with the smell of rust and charcoal.
The forge fire was lit, crackling as it drove the chill from the room. The smithy remained as shabby as ever, but something seemed to have changed from that moment on. Looking at the newborn life, Old Jack murmured, "From now on, your name will be Loa, little fellow."
Before you continue