The following days passed slowly, like the waves rolling in and out along the shore. The fishing village kept its modest rhythm, marked by the shouts of men at sea, the constant scent of dried fish, and the deceptive calm of a routine that would never know the true violence of the outside world.
Ye Wu, however, did not rest.
Even trapped in the fragile body of a child, even limited by his circumstances, he had already begun to plant seeds. Not seeds of cultivation, nor friendship—but of information.
Every manipulator who survives understands that ignorance is the first poison, and knowledge is the only antidote. If he could not fight yet, then he would learn. Everything. About everyone.
He began observing each villager with the patience of a predator lying in wait. Old Lao Min, the fisherman who had "adopted" him, was indeed simple, but his calm demeanor hid old wounds. He had the eyes of someone who had buried a child. The woman, Aunt Mei, had the fragility of one who had lost more than she could bear. Perhaps that's why they treated him like something precious. A substitute, a last chance.
Ye Wu accepted the care. Slept under their roof, ate at their table, smiled politely when needed. But he didn't let his guard down.
He would never trust anyone again.
Even in small bodies, traitors are born great.
At night, in absolute silence, he sat in front of the extinguished fire while the elders slept. That was where he trained. Eyes closed, body still. In the deep ocean of his consciousness, the Crimson Lotus floated like a living jewel, its first petal still glowing intensely. It was proof that he was still himself—Ye Wu, the one who survived death, who had tricked time and fate.
But something bothered him. A sense of stagnation. As if he were trapped between the past and the future, without enough strength to begin again, and without the freedom to burn everything around him.
The Lotus seemed alive, yes—but silent. As if waiting. As if testing the depth of its new host.
And that irritated him.
"I am the creator of this damned Lotus… not its puppet."
Even if he couldn't cause the chaos he desired just yet, Ye Wu wouldn't stay idle. He began searching the village for information—not just for strategic purposes, but also for something more basic and urgent: discovering who the body he now inhabited belonged to.
His name, his age, his past.
His steps took him to discreet conversations, attentive ears, and furtive glances. In the village's makeshift market, he overheard an old woman say:
— "Little Wu is lucky… after the fire in the neighboring village, I thought no one had survived…"
Ye Wu froze. Fire?
Other clues surfaced little by little. A boy named "Ah Wu" had been brought in by a fisherman after a bandit attack on the coast. They said he was an orphan. They said he had been unconscious for days. They said… many things.
But nothing solid.
It was as if that body were an empty vessel, so erased from history that not even the village knew enough to piece him back together. Perhaps he had been just a background character on the world's grand stage. An insignificant boy.
Ye Wu didn't know whether to feel relief… or frustration.
— No memories, no inheritance, no weight… a pure beginning. But knowing nothing also means not knowing what dangers I face. And that's dangerous.
Still, he continued his plan.
He discovered where the supply warehouse was, where the fishermen hid their nets, the blind spots between huts, the trails that led to the woods. He communicated with a mute girl, the blacksmith's daughter, using only gestures—and saw in her eyes the fear of something unspoken. He watched two brothers who fought every day over a drunk, absent father. He began to build a map, not of the village, but of the weaknesses of every soul within it.
He knew he might need them one day.
And then, on a seemingly ordinary afternoon, something changed.
Lao Min, the old man, brought news.
— "Little Wu," he said with a grave voice, sitting beside him, "the village chief wants to see you tomorrow. He said he wants to know who you are."
Ye Wu raised his eyes. His instinct kicked in instantly.
— "Why?"
— "He said strangers always bring trouble. And that maybe you need to be… 'recognized' by the village, if you want to stay here."
The boy fell silent for a moment.
"Recognized," huh?
He knew this game. They were starting to grow suspicious. Maybe the chief was someone with a sharper sense. Maybe someone who knew how to see through masks.
That was… inconvenient.
But also an opportunity.
— "Alright," he replied, feigning hesitation, "I'll go."
Lao Min smiled, relieved. — "Don't worry. He's just an old man, curious. He won't hurt you."
Ye Wu didn't answer. He just smiled back, gently.
That night, when he dove into his consciousness and faced the Crimson Lotus once more, he felt something different. A subtle tremor. Not from the second petal, not from any real advancement…
But a response. As if it were listening to his plans.
And for the first time in days, he dreamed.
In the dream, he stood alone in a field of flowers as red as blood. The Lotus, gigantic, opened its petals to the gray sky, each one pulsing with an emotion. And at the center… a mirror. As he approached, he saw his reflection.
But it wasn't the child's face.
It was Ye Wu's—the real one, the old one.
He stared at himself, and the reflection smiled
.
A smile full of promises.
Note from the Author
English is not my first language, and I'm still learning. This fanfic is something I'm writing just for fun and personal satisfaction. I appreciate your understanding and patience with any mistakes along the way!