CHAPTER 6: CHAPTER 6

Ethan’s eyes fluttered open, consciousness returning to him like a slow tide washing over a barren shore.

He had no idea how much time had passed—it could have been hours, days, or even weeks for all he knew.

The first thing he noticed was that the crushing pain that had overwhelmed him before losing consciousness had dulled to a more manageable, though still persistent, ache throughout his entire body.

Groaning softly, Ethan sat up straight on the cold floor where he had been lying motionless.

His movements were stiff and awkward, like those of a man who had been bedridden for far too long. Every joint protested the motion, and his muscles felt weak and unsteady.

His gaze immediately swept toward where his door should have been, and confusion washed over him. Was it all just a nightmare? he wondered desperately. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew better.

The sensation was still there—vivid and undeniable—the memory of that wooden barrier slamming into his body with devastating force, the explosion of pain, the helpless flight through the air.

Turning his head with considerable effort, Ethan looked at the wall directly behind him. There it was, clear as day—the unmistakable impression of his body carved into the wooden planks, a human-shaped indentation that told the story of his violent collision.

The outline was perfect, from his shoulders down to his hips, pressed deep into the wood like some macabre piece of art.

But something was different. The area around the impact site was spotlessly clean—all the debris, splinters, and dust that had been scattered everywhere after his crash had been meticulously removed. Someone had taken the time to clean up the mess while he lay unconscious.

CREAK

The sound of his door opening made Ethan’s head snap toward the entrance, sending a fresh wave of pain shooting through his neck.

But this time, there was no violent pounding, no overwhelming force—just the simple, normal sound of a door being opened by someone who actually understood the concept of using a handle.

A figure stepped through the doorway with casual ease, and Ethan’s blood ran cold. The silhouette, the build, the way the person moved—it was exactly the same as the blurry figure he had glimpsed in those final moments before pain and unconsciousness had claimed him.

"I am sorry for that," the figure spoke in a slow, steady voice, as calm and untroubled as if he had done nothing more controversial than accidentally stepping on someone’s foot.

There was no urgency, no panic, no indication whatsoever that he had recently committed what amounted to attempted murder.

Ethan stared at this new arrival—though ’new’ wasn’t quite accurate, since this was clearly the same person who had nearly killed him. The man who was now standing in his hut, offering apologies as casually as someone might comment on the weather.

The stranger was handsome, though not in the ridiculous, otherworldly way that cultivation novels often described their protagonists.

He wasn’t some "peerless jade beauty" or "heaven-defying divine appearance"—just genuinely, naturally good-looking in a way that would make him stand out in any crowd. His features were well-proportioned and pleasant, the kind of face that inspired trust rather than awe.

Beyond his appearance, there wasn’t much else particularly notable about the man’s physical presence.

He stood at roughly six feet tall with long black hair tied back neatly, dressed in simple but well-maintained robes that marked him as someone of at least moderate standing within the sect hierarchy. His posture was relaxed and confident, showing no signs of guilt or nervousness about what he had done.

Most remarkably, the expression on his face appeared to be one of genuine remorse.

His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, his mouth turned down in what looked like sincere regret, and his eyes held what seemed to be actual concern for Ethan’s wellbeing.

Before Ethan could gather his wits enough to speak—his mind still reeling from the surreal nature of this encounter—the figure’s voice cut through the silence again.

"I am really sorry about what happened," he continued in that same maddeningly calm tone.

"Look, I’ve repaired the door that broke down during our... incident. Unfortunately, that beautiful carving your body made in the wall—I’m afraid that’s beyond my ability to fix."

Ethan listened to these words with a mixture of disbelief and mounting rage. Beautiful carving? This maniac was talking about the impact crater left by his near-death experience as if it were some kind of artistic masterpiece! The casual way he discussed the "incident"—as if accidentally demolishing someone’s door and nearly killing them was just a minor social faux pas—made Ethan’s blood boil.

Anger burned in his chest like molten metal, but the expression on his face remained pale and carefully neutral.

As much as every fiber of his being wanted to scream curses at this bastard, to demand answers, to fight back against this injustice, Ethan knew that would be suicide.

The best thing—the only smart thing—he could do in this situation was to accept whatever this man was saying, no matter how ridiculous or infuriating it might be.

Even though rage was consuming him from the inside, even though he had nearly died because of this person’s actions, Ethan simply didn’t have the power to do anything about it.

At most, he might be able to spit out a few angry curses before the man standing in front of him casually ended his life permanently. And Ethan was absolutely certain that this stranger possessed more than enough strength to kill him—the ease with which he had demolished that door and sent Ethan flying like a ragdoll was proof enough of that.

More importantly, this man actually appeared to genuinely feel sorry about what had happened. His remorse seemed real, not feigned or mocking.

He was apologizing for the situation and the trouble he had caused, which was more consideration than Ethan had received from anyone else since arriving in this frozen hell.

Despite his limited experience with the people of this cultivation world, Ethan found himself making a conscious decision to trust this stranger.

It wasn’t as if he had any other viable options available to him—antagonizing someone who could kill him with a casual gesture would be the height of stupidity.

This guy must be fundamentally kind and naive, Ethan thought, trying to convince himself of this charitable interpretation. Or maybe I’m the naive one for believing it.

Swallowing his pride and his anger, Ethan turned toward the man and forced the words out through gritted teeth: "It’s... fine."

Though he tried to keep his voice level and accepting, there was still unmistakable pain threading through his words—both physical and emotional.

The simple act of speaking made his ribs ache, and the taste of blood was still faint in his mouth.

Ethan attempted to push himself up from the ground, but his battered body had other ideas. His legs gave out almost immediately, and he collapsed back down onto the floor with an undignified thump.

The fall wasn’t as catastrophic as it would have been that morning, though—his condition had apparently improved somewhat during his period of unconsciousness.

Suddenly, a horrifying thought struck him like a bolt of lightning. His duty! The daily cleaning of the Ancestral Tomb!

He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d lost consciousness, but something deep in his gut—call it instinct or just desperate fear—told him that he had been out for more than a day.

Panic flooded through his system as the implications hit him. He had missed his assigned duties! The elder had been very clear about the consequences of failing to follow the rules, and adding twenty years to his already impossible sentence was not something he could afford.

Despite his body’s protests, despite the pain shooting through every muscle and joint, Ethan began struggling desperately to get to his feet.

He had to get to the tomb, had to fulfill his obligations, had to avoid any additional punishment. From the moment he had transmigrated into this world, his existence had been nothing but suffering and injustice—he couldn’t handle any more setbacks.

Seeing Ethan’s frantic attempts to stand and rush toward the door, the stranger spoke up once again, his voice carrying a note of what sounded like amused understanding.

"You’re new here, right? That’s why you don’t know."