A heavy silence settled in the hut. The priestess, Yang Mei, stood still, gazing at the boy without moving. Her hand trembled as she held the hot herbal bowl, as if she'd forgotten how to set it down. Lin Rui's eyes were open, focused on her, his features showing no confusion, but an unusual calmness.
She approached him with cautious steps, bent to his level, and placed her hand on his forehead, feeling his temperature. Then she listened to his pulse and observed his breathing. Everything was normal, better than before he was afflicted. She looked at his neck; the black mark she had monitored daily was gone.
She unconsciously sighed, then murmured as if to herself:
"How… this is impossible. His pulse was barely audible…"
But before she could finish, his voice came:
"Were you worried about me?"
She suddenly raised her gaze to him. His voice's tone was unfamiliar; calm, steady, unlike that of a sick young man who had just emerged from death. She stepped back slightly and looked at him again. He looked like "Lin Rui"… but something about him had changed.
Silence stood between them for a moment, then she asked him in a low voice:
"Lin Rui… Are you okay? Do you hear me?"
He nodded and said calmly:
"...Yes, I hear you."
But she didn't smile, nor did she relax. There was something unspoken in this place… yet clearly felt.
Less than an hour later, the entire clan had heard the news. Everything started with Priestess Yang Mei's scream from the cliff hut, followed by a commotion in the narrow passages leading to the square. The children, who were playing near the mulberry trees, suddenly stopped. One of them, panting, exclaimed:
"I heard the Priestess scream! Something happened to the boy!"
Moments later, someone ran out from behind the huts, their face excited:
"Lin Rui… he opened his eyes!"
Other voices, full of innocence and astonishment, rose:
"The chieftain's son is alive!"
"He didn't die! He didn't die!"
Behind them, women began emerging from their homes, and men exchanged bewildered glances. Some stood disbelieving, while others immediately headed towards the hut. The hut, which for months only the Priestess dared approach, now became the center of the clan.
In distant corners of the square, two young men, second-tier clan leaders, exchanged glances. One said with an incredulous tone:
"This is impossible… I was there when the body was laid out; he was dead."
The other replied with a more cautious tone:
"The Priestess never officially confirmed his death… she said the body was dying."
"But he hasn't moved for months! Who comes back from that?"
Silence. All eyes began to turn towards the cliff hut. And for the first time in a long while… the name "Lin Rui" echoed in the air, not as a funeral, but as a huge question mark.
In the chieftain's house, Li Song stood on the stone balcony, observing the rain touching the edges of the village roofs. He was a man in his late fifties, his back hunched from too many losses, and lines of worry, more than grey hairs, etched his face. He held a warm cup of tea, yet to be tasted.
Then he heard the sound. It wasn't clear at first… just whispers, children's shouts from afar. But he heard it:
"Lin Rui… he woke up!"
His hands froze. A second passed… perhaps two. Then he said, his voice barely escaping his mouth:
"My son…?"
His hand trembled, and the cup slipped from his fingers, shattering on the ground. He didn't wait. He turned and ran… with all the energy left in his body. The guards in the square noticed, followed him, but dared not call out. It was not a time for words.
"Five months…" he muttered between ragged breaths as he ran, "Every day I visit the hut… every day I leave without hope…"
His feet touched the mud, but he felt nothing. "Is it possible? Is this time it?" He crossed the square, approached the dirt path leading to the cliff hut, and his heart pounded as it hadn't in years.
Li Song entered the hut, breathing heavily as if the air had betrayed his body after the run. He stopped at the threshold. The man's eyes quickly scanned the interior, as if fearing they wouldn't find what they sought.
Then… he saw the boy. Sitting on the mat, his back resting against the wooden wall, a pottery cup in his trembling hands. His face was still pale, his eyes sunken, but there was a stillness in them… a kind of calm he hadn't seen since his illness.
The boy slowly raised his gaze towards his father. He didn't speak immediately. Then… he smiled. A small, weak smile, yet sincere.
"Father?"
The voice wasn't strong… but it pierced the man's heart like an arrow.
Li Song took one step forward, then stopped. He sobbed. His hand rose to his face, as if trying to stifle the sound, then he collapsed to his knees before the boy. He reached out his hands, took his son's hand, then the other… then his face. He began to caress his slack cheeks, brushed strands of hair from his forehead, placed his palm on his chest.
"My God… you're here… you've returned… returned to us, my son…"
He wasn't speaking to his mind, but to his heart. He didn't care how or why. Now… only now, his son was breathing.
The boy—now inhabited by Xuan Lin—didn't move. He continued to stare at the features of the man kneeling before him, at the hands clutching his, at the eyes filled with tears and hope. He didn't know him. He had never lived a day with him. He had only heard his voice through the memories residing in this new body.
Yet… he felt something strange. Warmth. A warmth he had never known in the "Heavenly Time Palace." In his previous life, power surrounded him, servants, followers, loyalists… but he had never experienced this kind of attachment. This man… loved him sincerely.
"These feelings..." he whispered inwardly, "They are not like those I left behind…"
His heart in another time was cold, logical, coated in caution. But now… something was slowly melting inside him, unsettling his old rigidity.
"Is this… a real family?"
He didn't know how to answer. But, without realizing it, he gently squeezed the old man's hand… And for the first time since his return, he closed his eyes, surrendering to this new feeling… belonging.