Late at night, Ye Mingzhi drifted into slumber, only to find himself in the midst of a celestial battlefield. Wielding an ancient sword, he fought fiercely against the Dao's disciples and their dark master.
Amid the chaos, a woman's voice pierced through the noise.
"Ah Zhi!"
His heart trembled. He turned toward the voice, his body moving with incredible speed. In a blink, he was before her, shielding her from harm.
But then—
A flash of cold light. A short blade plunged into the woman's chest. One of the Dao's enforcers had struck.
"No!" Ye Mingzhi cried out, his voice filled with anguish. "I'm sorry… I should've realized their evil intent sooner…"
Rage consumed him. With a roar, he unleashed the full power of the ancient sword. A wave of devastation swept through the battlefield, annihilating his enemies in an instant.
The sword, responding to his volatile emotions, flared uncontrollably. Flames surged from its hilt, searing his hand.
The pain jolted him awake.
His chest heaved. Sweat drenched his brow. Morning light streamed through the window of the inn.
Was it just a dream?
Then why does my hand burn? Why did it feel so real?
Who am I... and who was she? Who were they?
Unanswered questions swirled in his mind—mysteries with no clear beginning, no end in sight.