An overwhelming feeling of powerlessness wrapped around him like a shroud, a dense and oppressive weight that ceaselessly bore down on his chest so that he could hardly breathe.
There had been in the life he left behind a feeling of satisfaction, if not fulfillment, that Lin Yu had known. It was not glamorous, he knew, to teach history to uninterested and apathetic teenagers, but it had provided a measure of security and stability that he had grown to depend upon.
He had lived a very quiet and modest life, in which he would savor the slow sipping of his coffee in the still mornings, relish the monotony of grading papers late into the night, and every now and then, he would catch himself daydreaming of the prospect of something bigger and more meaningful.
Sadly, that peaceful life came to a sudden and jarring halt—brought on by a car crash, the blood-curdling squeal of tires mingled with the ghastly crash of glass is still vivid and seared in his memory, refusing to be erased.
He was in a totally different world now, a world that had pushed him into a reality where his once-sharpened expertise as a teacher meant absolutely nothing. The mighty Xu Dynasty had no interest in recognizing his ability to simplify the intricacies and dynamics of ancient cultures with accuracy and clarity. It was interested in concrete results and accomplishments, and this left Lin Yu totally perplexed and without any idea how to deliver the results being asked of him.
With a concerted and careful effort, he slowly got up from the bed, feeling a clear sense of dizziness creeping through his legs as he traversed the small, cramped space towards a cracked bronze mirror that hung uneasily on the wall.
The face staring back at him from the reflective glass was one that he knew well; however, it seemed strangely foreign and unfamiliar at the same time. This image seemed to have a youthful mien, presenting itself as distinctly younger than his own face, perhaps in his mid-twenties, with sharp and chiseled features that caught his attention immediately.
As he started pacing contemplatively around the room, his mind was filled with an incoherent whirl of thoughts about the enormity of the new life that was going to lie before him. The Xu Dynasty was an extensive world filled with powerful cultivators, a world where spiritual energy coursed in abundance through talented and gifted individuals, filling them with immense amounts of power and limitless possibilities.
Legends spoke of cultivators who could soar through the skies, summon storms, or reduce entire forests to ash.
Lin Yu unfortunately did not possess the talent. He had scholarly features. His hair was styled neatly in a classical bun, a traditional look that had been beloved over the years, and his robes, although simple, were impeccably clean and well cared for, which was an obvious testament to the meticulous nature of his predecessor.
Lin Yu passed a hand contemplatively over his face, experiencing a weird sense of déjà vu and half expecting to wake up back in the coziness of his own apartment. But the harsh and chilly reality that stared back at him in the mirror worked to effectively plant him very much in the here and now. This was most definitely not a dream at all.
Lin Yu's predecessor had long held a passionate dream of being embraced into the prestigious ranks of the extraordinary, where he could finally shed the cumbersome chains that tied him to his mortal life.
He wished for the chance to transcend and reach a plane of greatness that appeared within his grasp. Yet that precious dream was eventually crushed by a harsh and unyielding reality: he simply did not possess the fundamental spiritual roots, which are the inborn presents required for the practice of cultivation.
Without these vital spiritual foundations, he was made no different from the ordinary common folk, condemned to live and eventually die as an ordinary mortal in a world of overwhelming forces ruled by the mighty gods.
Lin Yu felt a familiar and uncomfortable knot settle deep within his stomach. He was all too aware that he was not the stereotypical hero. In reality, he was not a genius, nor was he a brave warrior; those were not labels he wore.
Instead, he was first and foremost a teacher, a simple man who had spent his life dedicated to the honorable profession of making sense of the past's complexities, rather than actively influencing what the future held. And yet, here he was, caught up in a role that demanded he skillfully juggle a complicated and deadly game of politics, power struggles, and impending peril.
Even having such thoughts of cultivators, these massive titans capable of smashing mountains to bits with their sheer strength, only further served to increase and cement his crushing sense of inadequacy.
How could he, an average man without particularly exceptional strength, without cultivation and without much influence of his own, ever hope to fight for survival in such an imposing and mighty place?
Even his subordinates among the guards were probably faithful to him, yes, but they were human beings like him, with the same constraints and without strengths of their own to fall back on. In the face of a cultivator, they would be as capable and effective as soapy sheets of paper in the grip of a tempest's fury, without strength and hopelessly swept away.
He spent a moment and with willful purpose moved his body to a sturdy and hardy chair situated alongside a wooden table teeming with an eclectic collection of scrolls, an inkstone upon which several other functions were permanently inscribed, and a battered brush which had probably seen far better times in a past life.
Through the window, the grand and towering hills of Zhenxun province stretched on and on towards a far-off horizon, their shrouded and otherworldly summits dramatically contrasted to inner strife and disharmony hidden beneath his heart's surface but simmering quietly away.
The state was indisputably beautiful, with its luscious and verdant forests that were full of life, and its rivers that shone so brightly beneath the gentle heat of the morning sun. Yet despite this magnificent landscape, Lin Yu found no comfort or solace in the scenery that enveloped him.
The temptation of beauty paled when compared to the fragility of his own life, which seemed to dangle on a fragile thread. Every report he painstakingly drafted, and every decision he painstakingly made, could potentially be his last. With the stakes so high, a single error, or one crime that he unknowingly let pass, would have him hauled before the imperial court, where his fate would be forever sealed.
What he wouldn't give to return to his old life. As a teacher, he'd been free to live simply, to enjoy small pleasures—a cup of tea, a good book, a quiet evening. That carefree existence felt like a distant dream now, replaced by a reality where every moment was a test of survival.
Lin Yu's predecessor, too, had felt that deep and intense yearning for freedom, that deeply rooted need to be free from the myriad restrictions and limitations that society had placed upon him because of his social status.
Yet, without a foundation of spiritual power, and devoid of any type of real authority, those dreams had remained nothing but fantasies, impossible and elusive. Lin Yu felt the frustration simmering within him as he clenched his fists, his fingernails biting painfully into the delicate skin of his palms. He was totally engulfed by a fierce and unbending determination; he did not wish to accept this life that lay before him like an unwanted meal.
He did not want to become just another scholar, no more than a pawn in someone else's game, a man whose future and destiny hung precariously in other people's hands, subject to their unpredictable desires and decisions.
There was a deep and mysterious feeling of absolute helplessness that started welling up inside him, dense and cold like the fall of a stone into a vast and bottomless lake, whose depths went on and on. At that moment, he truly felt like a total stranger in a world that was totally strange and entirely alien to him, just a mortal creature amidst all these mighty gods, and a scholar who had no power at all to change or ordain the path of his own fate.
The sheer weight of the Zhenxun state, a part of the noble Xu Dynasty, and the weight of his own inherent weakness bore down upon him with such force that it seemed as if he could barely breathe. Lin Yu's eyes locked intently on the scrolls that were spread out before him on his desk, the complex records spelling out a land and its intricacies that he had but a surface understanding of, and he found his mind wandering, lost in the consideration of how on earth he would be able to handle this overwhelming circumstance. In a world where brute strength and power were seen as the be-all and end-all, he couldn't help but wonder what, if anything, a man such as he, a man who had none of those things, could hope to do or accomplish.