Cultivator in the Apocalypse

As he stared at the phone on the bedside table, Xu Feng's eyes brimmed with unspoken apologies. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice a faint echo in the room. The words were difficult to articulate on paper, but the sentiment weighed heavily on his heart. He was sorry for leaving, for not taking Xu Zeng's place in this world, and for abandoning him in this life.

Tears welled in his eyes as he struggled with his conflicting emotions. In this strange world that should be familiar, he was a stranger to himself, torn between two lives and two versions of himself.

As the tears streamed down his cheeks, Xu Feng's body seemed to react instinctively, moving energy through his meridians. It was almost as if his emotions had triggered an automatic response within him. Exhausted and drained from the day's labor, he couldn't help but take stock of his condition.