A soft breeze rustled through the slightly cracked wooden window shutters, carrying with it the scent of fresh dew and damp earth. Morning sunlight slipped past the gaps in the shutters, casting thin golden lines across the worn wooden floor of the small, modest room. Dust motes danced gently in the air, swirling in rhythm with the early wind. The quiet chirping of birds heralded the arrival of dawn, stirring life into the slumbering village outside.
In a narrow bed pushed against the wall, a young boy stirred beneath a threadbare blanket. His eyes fluttered open, revealing one crimson eye, vibrant and intense like burning embers. His silver hair gleamed faintly in the light, tangled and tousled from sleep. He blinked slowly, confusion knitting his brows.
"Ugh…" he muttered, his voice soft and—strangely—childish. Too childish.
He sat up slowly, feeling an unfamiliar weight, or rather, the lack of it. He looked down at his small hands, pale and delicate. His limbs were short and thin. His chest was flat, his body clearly that of a young child. A chill of unease ran down his spine.
"What… is this?" he whispered, but the voice that came out didn't sound like his own. It was high-pitched, the voice of a boy barely out of toddlerhood.
Panic crept in.
His surroundings were equally unfamiliar. The room was rustic, the walls made of rough wooden planks. A small table stood in the corner with a chipped ceramic bowl resting on it. No sign of modern technology. No flickering screens, no hum of machines. Just silence—save for the soft rustle of wind and distant morning sounds of the village waking up.
"Where am I? This... this isn't my home."
Then, without warning, a searing pain erupted in his head. He clutched at his temple, gritting his teeth as a surge of foreign memories flooded into him like a raging tide. His knees buckled, and he fell forward, gasping as image after image flashed behind his eyes.
A name echoed through the chaos. Ye Feng.
That was the name of the boy whose body he now inhabited. The memories confirmed it. He wasn't dreaming.
"This… is Soul Land," he muttered, sweat beading on his forehead as the pain slowly receded.
He collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily, the influx of knowledge finally settling in his mind like a dust storm calming after a violent gust. His eyes stared at the wooden ceiling above as he processed the truth.
Somehow, he had transmigrated—his soul had crossed into another world. Not just any world, but one he vaguely recognized from a novel or an anime he had once followed long ago. Douluo Dalu, or Soul Land, a place where people cultivated their powers through Martial Souls and Spirit Rings. A world of monsters, spirit beasts, and powerful sects.
The boy whose life he now assumed—Ye Feng—was only six years old. His parents had died three years ago in an accident, leaving him an orphan in a small village called Soul Emperor Village, located on the outskirts of the Heaven Dou Empire.
He let out a soft sigh.
"So... I've become Ye Feng now," he said aloud, his voice still sounding strange in his ears.
The memories were vivid now—he could see the smiling faces of Ye Feng's parents, the pain of their death, and the solitude that followed. The villagers were kind enough, but the boy had grown quiet and reserved after the loss, barely speaking to anyone unless necessary.
"Tomorrow is... the Martial Soul Awakening Day," he recalled, a flicker of excitement threading through the storm of thoughts.
In this world, when a child reached the age of six, they would be taken to the village hall where a Spirit Master would help them awaken their Martial Soul. It was the first step in determining their destiny—whether they could become a cultivator or live an ordinary life.
He glanced toward the cracked mirror hanging on the opposite wall. Pushing himself up, he walked over to it and stared at his reflection. The face that stared back at him was delicate and androgynous, framed by silver-white hair that fell to his shoulders. His skin was pale, untouched by the sun, and his single visible eye gleamed crimson like a hidden flame.
"Silver hair and crimson eyes... Not exactly common," he murmured. "I hope that means something good."
He touched the mirror lightly, trying to steady his thoughts.
"Alright," he whispered to himself. "I'm not the same person I was… but I have a second chance now. I'll live as Ye Feng. I'll grow stronger in this world."
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Ye Feng? Are you awake, child?" came a soft voice from the other side.
It was Old Aunt Mei, a kind elderly woman who had checked in on him regularly since his parents' passing. He hurried over and opened the door.
"I'm awake, Aunt Mei," he said politely, bowing slightly.
The old woman looked down at him and smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Good, good. I brought you some steamed buns. You'll need your strength today. The Spirit Master is already in the village preparing for tomorrow's awakening ceremony."
"Thank you. I'll eat well," Ye Feng replied, taking the bundle she offered with both hands.
"Come by the square after lunch," she said with a wink. "The village children are excited, and we're all curious what Martial Soul you'll awaken. You've always been… special."
Ye Feng gave a small nod, his expression thoughtful. "Yes. I'm curious, too."
As the door closed and he returned to the table, he unwrapped the warm buns and sat down to eat. The memories of Ye Feng's childhood mingled with his own thoughts, forming a strange sense of unity. He wasn't fully Ye Feng, yet he wasn't who he used to be anymore either.
Tomorrow would mark the first step on a long path. Whether it led to power, danger, or glory—he didn't know.
But he was determined to follow it.
"I'll awaken something strong," he whispered to himself, staring at his reflection in the bowl of water. "No matter what it takes… I'll survive in this world."
And thus, the wind outside continued to whisper as the new Ye Feng began his journey—one that would shake the foundations of Soul Land itself.