Rebirth to the Pinnacle

The mountains were lush, the waters tranquil, and the fields shone yellow—it was the height of July, the sun blazing in the summer heat. A small bus, having just bumped its way over rutted and rocky roads, finally turned onto a smoother stretch of cement, much to the collective relief of its passengers, who no longer had to endure the jarring ride that felt as though they were flying through clouds.

The bus was cramped, barely accommodating more than twenty people squeezed together, making the space feel all the more confined. If it hadn’t been for the wide-open windows letting in the breeze—warm as it was—some of the more frail passengers would surely have lost their composure and emptied their stomachs from the previous day.

“Keep an eye on your bags, everyone—don’t let anything go missing,” the ticket collector called out, gripping the handrail as she moved through the bus.

“Oof... my head hurts!” groaned Zhang Ye, leaning back against his seat. Suddenly, he slapped his forehead with a heavy hand.

Zhang Ye was clearly a student, about fifteen or sixteen years old, sporting the popular close-cropped haircut of the late nineties. His shirt, a cheap, ill-fitting plaid, somehow suited his fair and handsome face, making him rather striking. At this moment, he held his head in both hands, his fine brows knit tightly, his face quivering imperceptibly. Deep within his skull, pain throbbed and chaotic images flashed, making him feel as though his head might explode.

He clutched at his hair, his fingers white with tension. “Where is this? Why am I