Chen Fan closed the door to his room, the soft click of the latch followed by a quiet sigh of relief. Only in this small, private space did the tension in his shoulders finally begin to ease. The room was spartan, containing little more than a single bed and a desk tucked into the corner. In the center of the floor lay a 2×1.5 black yoga mat, orbited by dumbbells, grip strengtheners, sandbags, and other simple workout equipment. This was his sanctuary, a space for both rest and relentless practice. Chen Fan dropped his school bag and shed his uniform, then sat cross-legged on the yoga mat. Fan’d come straight home for this: to practice. To claw back the Blood Qi Value the nightmares had stolen from him over the past two nights. Fan was at an age of explosive growth; his Blood Qi Value should have been soaring. For a practitioner his age, a drop in Blood Qi was almost unheard of, short of severe injury or illness. The situation was critical. Fan had to get it under control, and quickly. After quieting his thoughts, Chen Fan took a deep, centering breath and silently recited the command in his mind, “The 13th set of radio exercise, start!” His body began to flow through a sequence of movements. The forms were reminiscent of yoga but with a sharp, disciplined edge that felt closer to gymnastics. “The Tianxia Wumeng's 24th Form of Body Refining Technique,” he recalled. The masters of the Lianmeng were said to have created it by drawing from ancient yoga, ancient martial arts, and ancient Qin Na, designing it as the perfect foundation for any martial arts beginner. The version he practiced now was the 13th revision, its effects several times more potent than the original. The world had fractured more than three hundred years ago. Rifts had torn through the sky and split the earth, disgorging hordes of strange and terrifying monsters that had irrevocably altered the course of human history. When most thermal weapons proved largely useless against the monstrous tide, humanity began to search for a new source of strength. Perhaps it was the existential threat of extinction, but something seemed to snap within the human genome. A genetic lock was broken, and individuals began to develop a level of personal power that had once been unthinkable. And so, the age of martial arts was born. It developed at a staggering pace, advancing with each passing day. Now, it was a societal norm. Everyone practiced martial arts, everyone cultivated their strength. But even so, on the front lines of the war for habitable space, humanity remained at an absolute disadvantage. News of another fallen city was an almost daily occurrence, and the human population continued to dwindle. “You were born into an age of chaos; you must shoulder its responsibilities.” “You practice not for yourselves, but for the rise of humanity. Every one of you is a spark on the martial path…” The words of his class teacher often echoed in Chen Fan’s mind. — — — Whew! Chen Fan eased out of his final stance, sitting back down on the yoga mat to regulate his breathing. Fan had performed the 24th form of the Body Refining Technique three times without pause. A fine sheen of sweat coated his skin, and his once-pale face now held a healthy flush. If the nightmares would just stop, Chen Fan thought, a week should be enough to recover the lost Blood Qi Value… Fan still had no idea what was causing them. Fan'd searched online, but the usual culprits—sleeping position, diet, illness, or psychosis—didn’t seem to fit. Fan had ruled out the first three. Could it truly be psychological stress from the approaching college entrance exams? Chen Fan wasn’t sure. In theory, with two lifetimes of exam experience, his mental fortitude should have been ironclad. The reality, however, felt very different. Chen Fan’s thoughts began to drift as his body relaxed. As his mind wandered, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. A yawn escaped him. His eyelids grew heavy, his head lolled, and his body slumped onto the mat as sleep claimed him without a fight. — — — Ash-grey sky. Earth the color of rust. A thin, cloying mist coiled around everything. The atmosphere was a suffocating blend of depression, despair, and desolation. This was the first thing Chen Fan saw. The same dream again… A feeling of complete helplessness settled over him. Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Fan frantically clawed at the skin of his arms, his face, trying to jolt himself awake, but it was useless. Fan was a prisoner here until the nightmare decided to release him. Ugh… Ugh… Ugh… A strange, wet sound reached him, like someone choking, accompanied by a faint rustling, a dragging noise. It’s coming… A silent dread seized Chen Fan’s heart. Moments later, the grey mist to his left parted, and a tall, rigid humanoid figure appeared before him. Its skin was a waxy, corpse-like white, its eye sockets sunken and empty—two dark pits in its skull. A deep gash split its face, revealing the greyish bone and dark, clotted flesh beneath. The figure moved with a stiff, sluggish gait. It wore the tattered, filth-caked remains of what looked like a defense team uniform. It was a near-perfect replica of the zombies from the movies of his past life. — — —

Chapter 2: He Reclaimed His Stolen Strength