Counterattack

The moment had arrived for Yu Zheng, the hour ripe for him to unleash his deftly orchestrated counterstrike. In the blink of an eye, Yu Zheng found himself hemmed in, surrounded by a quintet of menacing ruffians. Their attire, unfamiliar and uniform, set them apart from the common pedestrian.

Two of the assailants bore slender frames, their lithe and wiry bodies providing a swiftness that was almost deceptive. The remaining duo, whilst lacking the nimble grace of their companions, made up for it with the sheer brute force that lurked behind their blows.

The fifth member of the group was an imposing figure, a behemoth towering over the rest. He stood there at the mouth of the gloomy alley, a watchful sentinel taking in the unfolding drama, his bulk effectively barricading the only visible escape route.

To seek salvation, Yu Zheng found himself staring at the daunting task of outmaneuvering this gargantuan adversary, his only hope of finding freedom beyond the alley's confines.

As these calculations raced through Yu Zheng's mind, a sudden lull fell upon his assailants. Their previous maniacal laughter ceased, replaced with a murmur of bewilderment.

"Doesn't it feel like he's grown... tougher? Shouldn't he be down by now?" questioned one, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"His skin... it's like iron," another observed, unease creeping into his tone. "And those eyes, they're almost luminous."

The exchange hinted at a shift in the tides of this dark, brutal encounter.

"What in blazes are you chattering about? Just finish the job," scoffed their leader, a note of growing impatience in his gruff voice. They had been assaulting this resilient prey for an uncomfortable duration, yet, astonishingly, he remained conscious.

The temptation to personally shatter the defiant figure's stick-like limbs was intense, yet he had explicit instructions: not to deliver the killing blow. The objective was a brutal beatdown; to etch a potent fear of the outside world into the victim's very soul. A moment of heart-stopping alarm had seized him when one of his slighter accomplices had brought a brick crashing down onto Yu Zheng's skull. But the absence of a splattering catastrophe, and the man's continued resilience, had eased his initial panic.

The leader's words seemed to ground his subordinates, allowing them to shrug off their sense of unease as mere fatigue induced by the relentless assault on their prey. Had they possessed more analytical minds, perhaps they wouldn't be here, relegated to the ignominious task of hired muscle.

Choosing to ignore their fleeting trepidation, they renewed their attack on Yu Zheng. With a swift motion, one of them reeled Yu Zheng in, before propelling him forcefully towards their boss, with a half-jesting, "Boss, why not grace us with your strength? Send this vermin into a brief slumber."

And so, it was a spur-of-the-moment decision, an unexpected maneuver that took everyone on the scene by surprise, Yu Zheng included. Yet, a surge of elation welled up within Yu Zheng, gratitude aimed at the unwitting pawn who had just handed him the golden opportunity he so desired. He had crafted countless scenarios in his mind, each one a different strategy to navigate himself closer to the hulking sentinel blocking the alleyway. But it had never crossed his mind that one of his aggressors would effectively catapult him towards his goal.

Simultaneously, the burly leader readied himself for the impending confrontation. Though taken aback by the impromptu action of his underling, he welcomed the chance to land the coup de grâce. He had grown weary of this extended fracas and yearned for the comforting familiarity of his favorite haunt, to savour the twin pleasures of frothy beer and succulent beef. This day had dragged on long enough, and he was ready to draw it to a close.

And so, he poised himself, his fist drawn back and primed to deliver a decisive blow that would extinguish the defiant spark in his quarry. As soon as Yu Zheng breached his striking range, the leader's clenched fist surged forward, aiming to shroud Yu Zheng's consciousness in darkness with a single, resounding punch.

The next moment echoed with a deafening crunch, as a fist brutally met its target, mangling an unfortunate nose. It felt as if time had crystallized, each onlooker ensnared in a suspense-filled tableau, their eyes wide with anticipation. Then, the silence shattered with a piercing cry of, "Boss!"

The thugs lunged forward as their leader, his strike halted mid-air and his face uplifted skyward, started a slow, dramatic descent, his features crumpled and his consciousness extinguished.

By the time the underlings reached their boss, sprawled inelegantly on the grimy ground with a disfigured face, shattered teeth, and a devastated nose, Yu Zheng was nowhere to be found.

The thugs, huddled around their leader while assessing his condition, struggled to piece together the events. The scene had unfolded with such blinding speed that they had not been afforded even a moment to digest it.

One moment they were primed for their leader's strike, eager to witness the conclusion of their relentless pummeling. The next, they found their boss collapsing, his features brutally disfigured, while their target had inexplicably vanished.

"Chase... Chase that devil!" one hollered, staggering to his feet and dashing from the alleyway in a frantic pursuit of Yu Zheng. But his hurried scan of the street revealed nothing but a desolate expanse, bereft of even a fleeting human silhouette.

———————

"Who... who the heck is this?" Yu Zheng crouched by the bank of a softly gurgling stream, peering at his reflection in the gentle glow of the silver moonlight. His left hand pressed into the moist ground for stability, while his right hand delicately traced the unfamiliar contours of the face staring back at him.

The man in the mirror was not him. He was a virile, muscular figure with stubble adorning his well-carved features, the kind of man whose very presence could incite envy in the stoutest hearts. Yet, the figure before him was a youth of barely seventeen or eighteen summers, his innocence just beginning to be supplanted by the complexities of adulthood.

Suddenly, a faint but insistent ache seized Yu Zheng's consciousness. Memories not his own inundated him, their foreign tide washing over his psyche and leaving him in a state of momentary disorientation. Yet, he clung onto his sanity, enduring the pain with gritted teeth and sheer willpower. The reality that Yu Zheng had apprehensively contemplated had indeed materialized: he had transmigrated, finding himself inhabiting the form of an individual from a strange, distant world that stood far far away from the exalted Immortal Realm he was an inhabitant of.

The omnipotent Realm Lord, Yu Zheng, was now but a memory, his once formidable presence replaced by the youthful figure of a boy. His soul had been inexplicably transported into this new vessel, a child named Lei Zhen.