After a calm morning spent in reflection that soon turned into echoes of the past and unanswered questions, Li got up and walked across to the tea house. Master Zhang was already there, as usual, with a lightly steaming cup in his hands.
When he saw Li, he smiled. Master Zhang had specifically chosen Li to study under him—they were both human, and it seemed Li possessed a deep knowledge of the Lost World and a strong desire to improve in this universe. Master Xing was also there.
She was over 400 years old, sustained by the herbs humanity had discovered across the worlds, which helped her maintain her health.
Li sipped his tea. During his first few days at Wisdom Bank, the food had tasted... strange. But over time, he developed an unusual fondness for its flavors.
One thing he noticed was how natural everything was. The food was minimally processed, which only added to its value. Typically, he skipped breakfast, eating only during the midday break with the others.
"Young apprentice, today I have some errands. You will be with the Paduk. Pay close attention to him—he has much to tell you."
Li nodded and smiled. Every day he had spent at Wisdom Bank, his affection for the Paduk had grown. The first time they met, Li had been walking across the large courtyard when he came across a lone catfish in an unusually large pond.
For the first time, he saw an animal that was actually from Earth—or, as they called it, the Lost World.
Li sat down and stared at it, a feeling of longing stirring in his chest. Then, the fish grew—its size swelling until it matched that of a whale shark—and opened its mouth, reciting something in a language Li could not understand, though he felt the beauty of what the Paduk was trying to say.
Since then, Li had gradually begun to understand the emotion-filled groans and songs. The Paduk told many tales, often building to a climax that left him wailing deeply—yet somehow comfortingly. Li found himself more and more drawn to these stories.
Somehow, he understood them. He couldn't quite explain how or why, but the connection was real and visible.
Still, other studies—like politics and self-reflection—took up much of his time. And the Paduk had disciples of his own. Li often had errands to attend to, so their time together was limited, but deeply cherished.
Today, he would spend the entire day with the Paduk—and that alone was enough to lift his spirits.
Looking out of the tea house's open window, the forest ocean stretched endlessly before him. A low groaning noise echoed from outside, and Master Zhang sighed.
Master Xing looked down. Li himself had to stifle a sigh of annoyance.
It was the Imbecile.
Though he usually kept to himself, his presence unsettled many of the scholars and disciples.
From what Li could tell, he had suffered some form of severe brain damage and remained here only because of a wealthy family's influence.
The Imbecile was half-blind, one eye clouded with a milky film beneath layers of crust. His other eye was sharp but crazed.
His posture was grotesquely hunched, as though his body had folded in on itself in pain. A large tumor bulged from the back of his neck, and painful boils and bumps protruded from his thin, skeletal frame.
He limped past the tea house, clutching a twisted cane. His fingernails were blackened, and foam clung to the corners of his mouth.
Usually, he lingered in the campus center, intimidating everyone simply by being there. In truth, he did little more than stand and occasionally twitch.
Strangely, he disappeared six times a day—and according to Master Zhang, seven—because no one knew where he stayed during the night.
"Li, focus on yourself. I'll see you later."
Master Zhang rose, placed the teacup gently into the wash basin, and then walked out with quiet grace, leaving behind only Master Xing, who remained gazing out at the forest. Li looked at her, then gave a small nod.
"I know you enjoy your time with the Paduk," Master Xing said with a faint smile. "Hopefully, we can get you a seat among his disciples."
Li smiled in return and thanked her. He finished his tea, lingered a moment, then stood and left.
Crossing the vast campus, he passed through the inner courtyard and into the major courtyard. There stood the familiar, wide structure that housed the Paduk.
As Li approached, he noticed the water around the dwelling had turned a deep, inky shade. He took a seat on the carved stone bench reserved for the disciples.
Not long after he sat down, the Paduk emerged—its large, fish-like face serene and still.
Li leaned forward and whispered,
"Master Paduk, I'll be here the whole day."
The Paduk let out a low, contented hum, then exhaled slowly—steam drifting from its wide gills and mouth. The air had grown warm, and Li felt perfectly at ease in his robes.
Their last meeting had ended with the tale of the Lost World, and now he sat in anticipation, wondering what story would unfold today.
The Paduk began his song and Li leaned forward. Unlike many before, this was a sorrowful tale.
In a remote village nestled deep within the mountains, far beyond the fringes of the known stars, there dwelt a young boy who suffered under the cruel hand of his father.
The other villagers had long since vanished, scattered to the winds, and his mother had departed this world in his earliest days.
The beatings were all the boy had ever known. And though harsh, he bore them with a strange, quiet contentment, for he had never been shown a gentler life.
Yet once, long ago in a dream, he had glimpsed another world—one where suffering did not follow him like a shadow. In that dream, he was taken away, to a place where he lived in peace and ease.
Each night, he longed for such dreams—for in them, the pain ceased, and hope flickered. But in waking life, the torment continued, his father's fury growing ever more severe.
No reason guided the man's hand, save for a bitter loathing of the child he had never desired. Only the iron grip of old tradition restrained him from ending the boy outright.
Now it was the eighth night since the boy's twelfth birthday. Weary beyond his years, his body bore the fresh welts of a savage beating—his father's cane, long plucked from a gnarled tree nearby, having been brought down with vengeance.
Yet even as pain clouded his waking hours, his dreams had grown stronger, more vivid.
That night, as silence draped itself over the mountains, the boy sat by the window and gazed into the vast, mist-veiled dark. And at last, he considered escape.
When the hour neared dawn, he slipped from the window and fled down the mountainside. Alone beneath the ancient stars, he felt the cool kiss of the dew-covered grass upon his feet—a moment of pure, unburdened solitude.
Unbeknownst to him, as he leapt into the unknown, his father drew his final breath. The weight of years—of hatred and unspoken rage—had consumed the man at last
Thus, the boy stepped into the world no longer burdened by the hand that had bound him. Now, he was held only in the hand of God."
Li's face twitched slightly.
"Li, what is it that you have remembered?"
Li swallowed hard and looked on, troubled. A stirring rose within him—a hunger to uncover the truths of his past and the riddles of this strange world. Yet something in the tale had felt... familiar. As though he had lived it once, or dreamed it deeply.
"Master Paduk, I…"
"Thy heart remains uncertain. So I shall go on. Remember—he is but a frail boy, indistinct from others, as yet unnamed by fate. Upon reaching the edge of the mountain, he slid down in silence, lest his father stir—though now he never shall.
The path was long and treacherous, yet he feared not the fall, only the delay between him and the land of his dreams.
Along the descent, he passed a monstrous arachnid—venomous and vast. When he beheld it, it did not move. Yet once his gaze turned away, its venom struck forth, splashing upon his face.
His sight began to dim, but still he pressed on, desperate for even a sliver of chance to reach the valley below.
At last, his foot touched the earth, and he cleansed the poison from his skin with the cool, misted blades of tall grass. But then came the swarm—the pack bugs, born of a forgotten world. Like the bloodseekers of old, they sensed his isolation, and a hunger awoke in them.
The boy fled into the winding forest that threaded between the mountains, hoping to lose them in the maze of shadow and root. Yet they gave chase, and soon, they descended once more upon him, feeding as they pleased. Li, of the life on the Lost World, what are the deadliest to humans?"
Li replied,
"The mosquitoes,"
"Correct, and what are the common symptoms of their hunger?"
"Bumps? Swelling?"
"Yes indeed, swelling."