Beneath a starless sky, the black destrier thundered through the veil of relentless rain, shattering the night's silence. Li Yongyi stirred from a dreamlike haze, the ghostly glow of a computer screen still lingering in his mind's eye. A searing pain erupted in his chest, as though his soul had plunged into an abyss of frost, trembling with agony.
He realized, with a start, that his body was no longer his own—a frail form, barely more than an infant's, cradled in the arms of a woman astride the galloping steed. The heavens parted, and through the folds of her cloak, Li glimpsed the distant horizon under fleeting moonlight. A shiver seized him.
Far off, a silent host of armored knights stood motionless, their towering warhorses snorting clouds of vapor that stirred the leaves. Clad in iron plate, their helms masked their faces, and their right pauldrons bore flowing sleeves adorned with intricate white cloud patterns, glinting faintly under the stars. The rain lashed their armor, scattering droplets that shimmered like a halo in the dim light.
*Knights of the Shadowgallop*, Li thought, the name surfacing in his mind as if whispered by the wind.
A woman's voice, urgent and low, reached his ears: "Knights of the Shadowgallop." Her words were cut short by a piercing whistle—a streak of radiant light, like the claw of a spectral tiger, slashed through the night. The steed screamed, its hooves severed by the arcane bolt. The woman, clutching Li, tumbled from the falling beast, rolling to shield him with her body as a hail of arrows loosed by the ironclad knights arced toward them.
"Larkling…" she whispered, her voice breaking as the arrows descended.
*Clang!*
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Ten Years Later, Tianqi Era, Guanwing City
The sharp rap of knuckles on wood jolted Li Guanyi from his reverie. "Young apothecary, come to your senses!" called an old man from behind the counter of the largest apothecary in Guanwing City.
Sunlight spilled across Li's face as he looked up, offering a sheepish smile to the elderly woman waiting for her herbs. He took her prescription, turning to the rows of lacquered drawers behind him. The woman's gaze lingered, appraising the thirteen-year-old boy—taller than most his age, his face slightly sallow but his eyes bright with clarity and spirit.
"A fine lad," she mused, noting his skill in the arcane arts of healing and divination. *Pity he's burdened with a sickly aunt and no kin to support him.* She tucked his name into her mental ledger of eligible youths to share at the village gossip tree: *Li Guanyi*. A name as unassuming as it was distinct.
As he handed her the bundled herbs, his warm smile softened her heart further, elevating him in her private ranking of marriageable prospects. *Li Guanyi*, she repeated to herself, stepping into the sunlit street where carriages rolled over cobblestones and silk-clad scholars and veiled maidens passed by.
The world had fractured three centuries ago, and Chen's eastern realm, with its lush rivers and poetic beauty, thrived despite a defeat to the rival Xuan Kingdom a decade prior. Guanwing City, a mere day's ride from the capital Jiangzhou, buzzed with life. Yet Li's thoughts drifted to that rain-soaked night ten years ago.
In the apothecary's backroom, he shed his azure robe and parted his inner garments. There, etched upon his chest, was a mark only he could see—a Bronze Cauldron of the Ancients, its surface traced with coiling dragon and fish-bird motifs. Within it, a crimson radiance pulsed, surrounded by writhing black veins, like serpents dancing around a sacrificial fire. A curse, ancient and barbaric, born of that fateful night.
This *Curse of the Serpent's Vein* had awakened his mind at two years old, shattering the veil of infancy to reveal memories of another life. The Cauldron had bound the curse, sparing him from death, though its spasms wracked him with pain. Lately, the curse's flare-ups grew more frequent, and despite his aunt's tireless search for a cure, no healer could unravel its mystery.
Li's gaze lingered on the Cauldron's inner glow—its jade-like essence nearly brimming after a decade. A month and a half ago, he had glimpsed a pattern to its growth, a faint hope that its completion might purge the curse. But hope was fragile, and the din of commotion outside snapped him back.
Tying a gourd-flask to his belt, he stepped toward the door, lifting the curtain. "Chen, what's—"
A thunderous *crash* silenced him. The apothecary's hired guards flew through the air like ragdolls, slamming into the wall beside him, blood spraying from their lips. The carved door shattered inward, and a towering man in a parrot-green robe, a hero's scarf bound around his head, stormed inside. His iron-belted waist bore a curved blade, and his grip seized Li's collar, hoisting him off the ground.
"Bolder than brass, harboring a fugitive of the crown!" the man roared, his tiger-like eyes sweeping the room. "Courting death, are you?"
Li's breath caught, his face flushing as he struggled. Beyond the splintered door, a young scholar astride a steed watched calmly, his sword glinting at his side. His right sleeve, inked with delicate cloud patterns, swayed in the breeze—a chilling echo of that rain-drenched night ten years ago.
*(End of Chapter)*