Robert's body felt heavy, his mind sluggish and every thought as if it was stuck knee-deep in a mire.

His well-known snores did not wake him up as his internal clock had expected, nor the shrill scream of his elderly mother. In fact, it was the silence that peeved his instincts so much that he couldn't help but roll around.

And more impotantly since when could he even breathe like that?!

With a nose as bulbous and crooked like his he could thank God to NOT be startled awake by his huffing and puffing breaths or suddenly die in his sleep from a lack of oxygen.

But at this moment, in this very instant, he felt tranquil and for the first time in eighteen years he got a spoonful of what others would call: quality sleep. And with a start he jolted ramrod straight, because this just couldn't be!

Aflutter and beffudled he could only gape around, at the moldy ceiling, the thin walls made of... -what exactly he didn't know, maybe bamboo?- and the dirty ground, scarred by scratches and dirty footprints.

This was certainly not his beloved home...

Robert could only squint warily at his surroundings, mabye glare at most.

Ok, ok, relax Robert... Calm down. Maybe you got kidnapped, everything points at that direction. But don't jump to conclusions, not just yet!

That the otherwise demure Robert could keep his shambled mess called mind in one piece was largely achieved through the fact that he was virtually unharmed and there was no discomfort whatsoever.

Whoever it was that took him away did a very neat job in handling his unconscious body with utmost care!

But just as Robert settled into a silent calm a bolt of agony ran through his brain.

Escorting the excruciating headache was a whole portfolio of images, a bit on the bland and blurry side but still remarkable in its vivacity.

And it didn't end there!

No, what followed up where sounds, smells, tastes and countless touches. They contained tongues he had never even heard of, tales of lands that are fabled to be as far as the moon is away, beings that can shatter worlds and, most alarming of all, an idea, a concept, called: Path of Cultivation.

No... No way in hell. Good lord that can't be true.

Robert woefully thought as he clawed at the splintering floor, his nose dripping blood and snot.

Right, he wasn't Robert Nord anymore. His name now reads as follows: Zhu Ling Bo, first son of Zhu Xiao, head of the Red Feather clan, and aspiring cultivator...

God no...