Chapter 1: Prologue

The world seemed to distort as a churning feeling rose in the pit of his stomach, making him want to retch.

His head was pounding, his temples throbbed as his heart thundered in his chest. It was beating so hard as though it wanted to get out of his ribcage.

His lungs were burning with the lack of air, his senses were blurred. He vaguely heard a distant beeping sound. He sucked in a deep, greedy and desperate breath. 

His eyelids felt extraordinarily heavy and his limbs weak.

He struggled to open his eyes and peer at his surroundings.

As soon as he opened his eyes with great difficulty he was greeted by the sight of an unfamiliar colourless white room and the beeping sound gradually became clear.

At first he was calm, or so he tried.

His sight darted all over the room that felt so unfamiliar to him. He opened his mouth to make a sound only to find that all he could do was wheeze.

Hia throat felt parched like the dry sand of an unforgiving desert. He wheezed and tried to stand up.

He looked at the hands that felt so strange yet familiar like his own except for the absence of calluses he'd gained from years upon years of painting. From the paint brush. The hands were pale, unnaturally so, slender and seemed so frail he tried lifting his hands and found that they were entangled by some sort of strange translucent wires and a fluid flowed in it.

He was confused. Appropriately confounded and a little scared. This place was strange and definitely not the country he was so intimately familiar with.

He reached out to touch the weird mask that supplied him air of breath.

Just as he touched it a startled gasp broke the ghastly silence of the seemingly lifeless room.

Just where was he? And where was he himself?

His head snapped to the direction of the sound as already weak his hand shook while the mask rested on his face.

"I'll call the doctor!"

The strange woman dressed in white clothes and a white cap (was that a cap?) said breathlessly as she hastily ran out.

It took him a second to realise that the language she spoke wasn't English yet he understood her perfectly.

That set off a wave of panic in him. Where was he?! 

He tried to sort out the irregular pattern of his breathing yet it yielded no result. The noisy thoughts in his mind served to make him even more panicked than he already was.

More importantly, where was he? Did something happen to him?!

A chaotic pattern of footfalls approached where he was present as the closed door burst open and a group of people entered, nearing him.

Seeing those strangers dressed in while near him, his hackles rose and his body tensed.

"Who are you?" He finally managed to ask hoarsely. His words were immediately followed by a fit of cough. His voice was the same but strange.

"Don't worry Young Master, we are doctors." The man in the forefront spoke soothingly.

The confused him further, doctor? Why'd he need doctors?

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Young Master Lin, doctors. You can rest assured it's just some check up. It doesn't matter if you are feeling a bit confused, it's normal after being in vegetative state for so long."

Wait what? Vegetative state? What was that?

And who's Young Master Lin?

"What are you talking about?" He asked. "Who's Young Master Lin? Where am I?"

The so-called doctors exchanged glances. No one spoke up for a while.

Finally, the previous doctor took the lead and said, "It seems Young Master Lin is suffering from short-term memory loss, but worry not. We are sure you'll recover soon."

He was at a loss for words.

"You are Lin FenXiang, second youngest son of Lin Family of Beijing and ex-captain of the first special ops team of China. You were caught up in a crossfire while trying to annihilate a group of dangerous terrorists and got injured in the process," the doctor sighed. "You are currently in the first city hospital of the imperial capital. All injuries have been taken care of, but as you've been in vegetative state for so long your body is weaker than it was before. You should rest, we'll go and inform your family of your awakening."

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Captain? team? China? What was going on? What Lin FenXiang? What family?!

"What?" He voiced out his thoughts.

"Rest, Young Master don't pressurise your brain too much for now."

"Wait minute!" He said. "Please tell me what's year is this?"

The doctor looked at him with sympathy and spoke, "It's 24th of sixth month and the year's 2022."

With that the team went back to check him up and left shortly after, leaving him with the chaotic thoughts that seemed endless.

Somehow, he'd travelled to a whole new time. He was at least 600+ years ahead of his time! 

He was in future, in an unfamiliar country with an unfamiliar but somehow heavyweight identity!

His thoughts soon turned far too chaotic for him to bear and he found himself loosing consciousness out of exhaustion.

★★★★★

"Drystan!" The desperate voice in his dream was coloured in worry and distress. As the rapid sound of footfalls sounded from behind him, he felt himself fall as he lost consciousness.

He awoke with a start, gasping for breath as he did so.

"Careful A'Xiang, you're still weak." A gentle voice reminded him with a name not his.

He was Drystan Meyer, an orphaned painter who had just an empty mansion and the long passed down knowledge of painting in his possession, a painter who'd found his muse but now gone was his life as Drystan Meyer. Now, he had somehow replaced Lin FenXiang in this modern world.

He had been flooded with the memories of the original owner of this body who by a serendipity looked like him but his life was nothing like Drystan's.

While Drystan was born in a declining noble family. He later became orphan and was forced to use his passion for painting as a source of income to support himself.

Lin FenXiang was a man (he was 23) born with a golden spoon shoved in his mouth since a young age. He was taught with strictness and corrected with love and later became an outstanding man with high-standing position in society.

He had what Drystan never knew was like to have –– a family, people who had his back.

Drystan envied him. But what use was the envy? Life is never fair, is it?

Oh, he did have something FenXiang didn't.

He was an artist and the greatest desire of an artist aside from being famous was to find their muse, their source of unending inspiration.

Most artist spend the entirety of their life in search of their muse but never find them.

He was one of those extremely lucky ones to have found his muse, someone to call his own. Whom he loved with passion and tributed later part of his life in painting him and his glorious beauty, his splendor and his perfection. Painting him down to make him eternal. For the late generations to know of his devotion and their love.

Unfortunately, now Drystan had lost him and that knowledge alone was more than enough to break him.

However, for as long as he lived, he still breathed, he'd never forget <i>him</i> , his touch, his care, his tender affection.

For so long as he lived, he, Drystan Meyer (or was it Lin FenXiang?) would forget himself but not his beloved.

"A'Xiang, A'Xiang, are you uncomfortable somewhere?" The gentle woman asked hoarsely, concern lacing voice.

The gentleness of her voice was warmed his heart.

Now that he'd replaced the original owner he'd try his best to never let his family suffer, of course that is without losing himself in the process.

"I'm fine, mom. Just tired."

"Then rest son," she said pressing him lightly on the bed. "Rest more. You deserve it."

Yes, Mrs. Lin. Lin FenXiang deserves the rest he has gone to. He thought as a itch to rose in his heart. But rest assured Mr. Lin I'll look after your family in your stead.

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