In a small village, surrounded by evergreen mountains, a celebration was happening.

Today, the Zhang Clan’s young master was finally found after being missing for almost six months. The old Patriarch's face looked visibly younger when he heard the news and exclaimed, “Good, good, good” three times in a row, barely able to contain his excitement. He then proceeded to give out red packets to all of the younger generations.

In a small but elegant courtyard, next to the main house, the old Patriarch's son and the son's wife lived. Even though celebrations and fireworks exploded throughout the village, they still hadn’t relaxed. Yes, their son was home, but he had been in a coma ever since he was found out deep in the woods. Afraid to break the spirit of the old Patriarch, they decided to bury the news by hiding their son away under the pretense of “recovering from injuries.”

A woman in her thirties dressed in a red robe stood worriedly next to a bed where a pale young man was sleeping. She couldn’t help but light incense and hold her hands together, praying to Buddha that her son might recover soon.

As pungent incense drifted and the woman murmured with clasped hands, the young man suddenly stirred.

Letting out a gasp in surprise, the woman quickly ran over and touched the forehead of her son, as if she wanted to discern if what she saw was an illusion. Her eyes brimmed with tears of joy when she noticed the pupils flicker under the eyelids on the young man. Barely able to contain her happiness and excitement, she ran out of the room to find her husband.

‘Dad?’ The young man thought to himself. ‘Argh, why does my head hurt so much.’

The young man sat up with great difficulty while trying to get his bearings. A moment later, he held up his left hand, as if he assumed would happen. But alas, nothing did.

“Aia?" The young man called out like he expected his hand would answer him, but only silence greeted him.

Confused, he looked up from his hand and noticed his surroundings. He had never seen anything like it. Foreign, antique furniture, wooden mesh windows, and red lanterns made the young man feel like he had traveled back to the ancient past.

Utterly dumbfounded at the view, he put down his hand in a daze.

‘What the-… Where the hell am I?’

Hello, Lucian, you’re in a cultivation world called Holy Dao World. Specifically, you’re in the mortal realm, one of the countless realms.

“Who’s there?” The young man, Lucian, shouted in fright and looked all around him.

I’m Unknown Novelist. I created this world to help me become a better writer.

Stumped by this information, Lucian didn’t know what to say. He was sure that he was going crazy.

‘First, I wake up in an ancient Chinese house, and now I hear voices?’ Lucian thought to himself.

‘This must be a bad dream. I'm still in cryostasis, waiting for dad to wake me up. Yes! That's it. The Erudite-program dad talked about; this must be it.' Lucian tried to reason to himself.

No, this isn't a virtual teaching program. This is a real world. I took you out of your novel, to help me become better at writing different genres.

“Wait! You can read my mind?” Lucian shrieked in a panic.

Yes, and so much more, but let’s not waste too much time on this. You should know that this is not a dream, you're not on Earth anymore, and I don’t want to waste any more words in this chapter trying to convince you pointlessly. But don’t worry. If you survive ten genres, then I’ll send you back to your novel, where you can begin your journey. So, why don’t we get started?

Lucian paled in the revelation that he was not on Earth and that he also had to experience ten "genres," whatever that entailed, to go home. He was sure that he was going crazy, but everything told him that this was real. More real than any VR-teaching program could ever be. From sight, smell, and touch, to the bad breath in his mouth, this world didn't feel any different from the one he used to know.

“Are you God?” Lucian asked in a quavering voice, but alas, it seemed the so-called "writer" had disappeared.

“Who’s a god?” a rough voice asked from outside.

Startled, Lucian looked in the direction of the voice.

A middle-aged man, wearing a black silk robe, walked into the room. His long black hair hung loosely over his shoulders.

“Who were you talking to?” the middle-aged man questioned again as he scanned Lucian from head to toe.

Frightened by the sudden appearance of the stranger, Lucian asked in a mellow voice, “Who are you?”

The middle-aged man froze in his steps, and then he widened his eyes in surprise, as grief clouded his face.

“You… Don’t recognize me?” The middle-aged man uttered.

But before Lucian could reply, a woman also walked into the room. It was the same woman who had been praying for the young man’s recovery. With a motherly smile, she walked over to Lucian and reached out to him, but only find him backing away in a startle.

Similarly, the woman froze halfway. First, shock painted her face, but it was then replaced by confusion to finally ending on shock and despair.

Lucian switched his gaze between the middle-aged man and the woman and then replied, “No, I don’t know you. Who are you? Where am I?”

Suddenly, Lucian heard water dripping.

The woman, still frozen with her hand reached out, had tears trickling down the side of her cheeks as she looked in grief at the young man, who was supposed to be her son. Yet, now he had forgotten them.

Not knowing what to do with herself, she stood in a daze watching the familiar face except the foreign eyes that it contained.

A loud wail of grief hoarsely resounded throughout the courtyard as the woman plonked down on the floor and hugged her knees.

“My son, my son, my son.” She kept repeating, and tears washed the floor.

With a sigh, the man also tried to contain his grief, but as he was the next Patriarch of the clan, he fought down his feelings, locking them away deep in his heart.

He crouched down next to the woman and gently embraced her.

“My son! Do you not recognize us?” The woman hollered in grief and looked up at Lucian.

Awkward, but also strangely guilt-ridden, Lucian averted his eyes. He had no idea how to handle this bizarre situation.

After a few minutes passed, the woman sobs died down due to the efforts of her husband. Lucian didn't know what the man told the woman, but somehow it made her stop crying, and with it, a newfound hope flickered in her eyes.

Once she stood up once more, her swollen eyes, with a mixture of sadness and motherly love, looked at Lucian and said, "Lucian, my son. You may not remember me, but you will always be my son. My only boy. What you’ve forgotten, I will remember for you. You are Lucian Zhang, a member of the Zhang Clan in Evergreen Village in the Evergreen Mountains. You were lost, but now you are found.”

As the woman talked, she cautiously approached Lucian and sat on the edge of Lucian’s bed.

“Your mother is right. You are my son, and nothing changes that. New memories can be made to replace the old and lost. I’m your father, Zhang Hui, and this is your mother, Bing Ling." The middle-aged man, Zhang Hui's rough voice rang out in the room. It was as if he was reassuring himself of something rather than informing Lucian.

"I am?" Lucian could only ask in doubt. He knew very well who he was. He was Lucian Nox Praeco, thirteen-year-old, and son of a respected scientist. A thousand questions hurdled through his mind as he stared absentmindedly at the couple in front of him.

Taking Lucian’s statement as a sign of acceptance, the Bing Ling said lovingly, “Of course you are. Now come, you must be hungry. Maybe some food and a look around will help jog your memory.”

With that, the woman shuffled out of the room with silent footsteps.

Only Zhang Hui stood motionless as he looked deeply into Lucian’s eyes as if he was searching for something.

After a moment of hesitation, he turned around, and with his back facing Lucian, he said, “Don’t make your mother sad. Go. Have some food, and we’ll talk later. You’re thirteen, so it’s time you picked your cultivation method.”

Then he walked out the door.

Alone once more, Lucian sat in a state of confusion.

‘What the hell. This gotta’ be some sick joke.’ Lucian thought to himself and then stood up.

He needed to get back home and back to his family. With this in mind, he stood up to find out where he was.

 

Outside the room, Lucian was greeted by a small courtyard with a banyan tree in the middle. Small bonsai trees stood neatly arranged against one of the walls of the yard, revealing the tender care that they received. In the room adjacent to the bedroom that Lucian woke up in, he could smell food cooking.

When he walked inside, he saw Bing Ling wrapping dough around some meat and then steamed them in a bamboo basket over a stove. Her forehead glistened with sweat as the hot steam wafted against her face.

“Oh, Lucian, you’re here. The dumplings are ready in a minute. Have some tea while you wait.” Bing Ling said when she noticed Lucian walk in the door.

Lucian saw where Bing Ling pointed at, and then took a seat at the delicately carved table.

“Zhang Hui said something about cultivation. What is that?” Lucian asked as he poured himself a cup of green tea.

Without looking back, Bing Ling focused on making dumplings, and said, "All of those from the younger generations must pick a suitable cultivation method once they reach thirteen years of age. It’s the family rule and tradition.”

This explanation was, however, useless to Lucian, and then chose to rephrase the question and asked, "Well, what is cultivation?"

This time, Bing Ling looked up from her dumplings and gawked at Lucian as if he was an alien. But when she remembered that he had “amnesia,” she quickly regained her composure.

“Cultivation is the process of drawing in spiritual energies called qi. When humans cycle qi through their meridians, it strengthens their muscles, skin, and organs, making them stronger, healthier, and have longer lives. Once you go through the Qi Condensation, you can begin to collect qi in your Dantian.”

This information only left Lucian, with more question.

“Stages? Dantian?”

As if expecting the question, Bing Ling continued, “Yes, there are nine major stages, with three substages to each major stage. The first is Qi Condensation stage, where you gather qi in your body.

"The second is Foundation Establishment, where you've gathered enough qi to turn it into liquid in your Dantian. The third is Core Formation, where you condense the qi into a core.

"When you reach the fourth stage, you’re a Nascent Soul. Nascent Soul is where you break your core to produce your nascent soul.”

As Bing Ling continued, the more skeptical Lucian grew. This talk about nascent soul, qi, spiritual energy, and Dantians, all seemed like a bunch of nonsense to him. As a respected scientist’s son, his convictions lay in scientific facts with foundations in testable hypotheses that could be either proven or disproven.

“Well, if you ever reach Nascent Soul, then you can take over as the Patriarch from your father. No one in the Zhang Clan has reached Nascent Soul before the age of seventy, and your father is the first to reach it by forty.”

As Bing Ling said this, she lifted the lid of the bamboo basket, and with a slight exclamation, she said, “Oh! It looks like they’re finished. They’re your favorite pork dumplings. Enjoy, sweetheart.”

***

At the other end of the Zhang Clan, a hunchbacked old man with a worn gray robe watered his orchids with delicate care. As the old man carefully studied the leaves on the flowers, a young man walked into the courtyard and bowed respectfully, even though the old man wasn’t able to see it.

The elder set down his watering can and turned around with the help of his walking stick, his long eyebrows nearly covered his eyes, even though he raised them due to the intrusion of the young man.

“So?” The hunchbacked elder asked in a faint voice.

The young man kept his submissive attitude, slightly bowing as he addressed the elder.

“We don’t know what happened. Lucian should be dead, burned, and his ashes dispersed in the wind.”

The elder's eyebrows lowered threateningly, but his voice didn’t change, “So, you’re incompetent?”

The young man shuddered, but kept his head bowed, “I will personally investigate what went wro-“

“Never mind.” The elder said dismissively. “End him. This time for good. No more mistakes or I’ll find someone more suitable.”

“Yes, elder!” The young man saluted with cupped fist and then quickly turned around, almost stumbling out of the courtyard.

The old man turned back to his orchids, and then he said in a worried tone, “Dear oh, dear. What do we have here? Insects; ruining my flowers. We can't have that."

With that, he touched the leaf of the orchid, where the small ant crawled, and the flower burst into flames. Soon after, only ashes were left, which spread into the wind.

“There. Much better.” The elder said with satisfaction.