Chapter three

Luo Feng had come to accept his fate as Chen Wei, the sick and frail boy. For a moment, he had thought the tome could be the answer to his plight, but days had passed, and he had spent every waking moment staring at it, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

He had tried prying it open many times, but his weak body lacked the strength. He sighed, turning his head to see the tome lying on the table, still emitting its dark energy, a constant reminder of his impotence.

He could have just died when he had the chance. Why had the deities condemned him to this pitiful existence? Perhaps they were punishing him for his past sins. He had rained terror on the people, relishing in their misery and fear. He had felt powerful, like a king, even though he wasn't one. Those were the good days, when people bowed at his feet, desperate to avoid his wrath.

His thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the door opening. A woman entered, carrying a tray with food. She was the second person he had seen since waking up, and her presence only deepened his sense of misery.

Unable to move, his eyes followed her as she approached. Her smile was cold, devoid of genuine warmth. She set the tray on the table, then noticed the tome. With a look of disgust, she tossed it to the floor.

"It's time to eat, young master," she said with a smirk that sent a shiver down his spine. A sudden wave of fear washed over him, a reaction that seemed to belong to Chen Wei.

'Was Chen Wei afraid of this woman?' Luo Feng wondered as she came closer.

She lifted him with a roughness that made his bones ache, and he groaned in pain. Her giggle was chilling as she leaned in, whispering in his ear, "You're going to be like this forever—sickly, disgraceful, and your mother's hated child. My son, Zhao Hao, will soon be a member of the Chen family."

His eyes widened in horror at the mention of that name. 'Zhao Hao'The very man who had killed him in his previous life. He couldn't let a Zhao Hao take the place of this innocent boy, too.

With a surge of anger and desperation, he bit the woman's arm. She screamed and jumped back, shocked by the uncharacteristic defiance.

"You little shit," she snarled, her eyes burning with rage. She slapped him hard, the force of the blow knocking him back onto the bed.

His body went limp, but his mind was alight with fury. In her anger, she grabbed him again, her fingers digging into his jaw painfully. "You can't do anything. You're going to die soon, just like the doctor said, and I'll make sure it's quick." She released his jaw with a shove.

"Now eat!" she commanded, grabbing the bowl of porridge from the tray. She stirred it with a spoon, testing its consistency before bringing a spoonful to his lips. The porridge was light and slimy, making him cringe.

With forceful hands, she tried to shove the spoon into his mouth, but he resisted, clamping his lips shut. "Not eating will only make you die faster. Just eat it!" she snapped, spilling hot porridge onto his clothes in the struggle.

She sighed in frustration and slapped him again, but this time he held his ground. "Eat it!" she screamed, forcing the spoon at his mouth. The porridge finally slipped past his lips, and he swallowed it, hating every moment.

When she finally left, Luo Feng sat there, feeling more like a statue than a person. His eyes fell to the tome on the floor. It was glowing with a mysterious purple light, and to his amazement, it began to open. The dark energy radiating from it pulsed through the room.

His mouth opened slightly in shock at the sight. Groaning, he tried to pry himself off the bed.

Each movement was agony. He strained, muscles trembling, as he pushed himself upright. Memories of Chen Wei's life flashed before his eyes: the endless suffering, the isolation, being the hated child, and now being replaced. Despair mingled with his own anger, fueling his determination.

He managed to get to his feet, though his legs wobbled beneath him. The room spun as he took a shaky step forward. With a cry of pain, he stumbled and fell to the floor, his frail body unable to support him.

He lay there, panting, staring at the tome just out of reach. The dark energy it emitted seemed to call out to him, a beacon of hope amidst his suffering. He stretched out a trembling hand, fingers straining toward the tome.

His vision blurred, and darkness began to encroach on the edges of his sight. With one final, desperate effort, he extended his hand further, fingertips brushing against the tome's cover. The dark energy surged, and the world went black as he slipped into unconsciousness.

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