Li Zhen awoke to the familiar weight of the sword at his side, the cold steel offering both a comfort and a reminder of his unending journey. The day ahead stretched out before him, uncertain, filled with the echoes of the past and the haunting sense of the versions of himself he had yet to confront. But as he lay there in the quiet of his solitary camp, something shifted. A heaviness seemed to settle over him, a shadow that did not belong to the world of the waking.
The air around him thickened, and the world grew distant, as if he were no longer fully a part of it. His body felt heavy, his limbs numb. Slowly, imperceptibly, his vision began to blur, his senses dulled, and he found himself slipping away—into something deeper, something darker.
It was not sleep, not in the way that the body and mind naturally rest. No, this was something far more unsettling. It was as if he had been pulled into a realm that existed between waking and dreaming, a place where time and space bent in ways he could not understand. The ground beneath him seemed to dissolve into nothingness, and he was suspended in a place of pure void, drifting through the infinite dark.
But then, in the distance, a figure appeared—familiar, yet entirely foreign. A man cloaked in shadows, his form flickering like a reflection on a broken mirror. Li Zhen's heart skipped a beat as the figure stepped forward, its movements deliberate, its presence undeniable.
It was him.
Or at least, a version of him.
This version was not the man who had abandoned the sword or the one who had sought power at any cost. No, this version was different. There was an eerie stillness to him, a quiet that bordered on the unnatural. His eyes were closed, as if he were asleep, lost in a dream that had no end.
Li Zhen felt a cold shiver run down his spine. He knew, instinctively, that this was no ordinary version of himself. This was the man who had chosen to die and never wake again. The man who had abandoned the world, choosing peace in the deepest sleep rather than confront the reality of existence.
The figure spoke, its voice soft but clear, echoing through the void. "You are a fool to keep waking."
Li Zhen's breath caught in his throat as the words hit him with the force of a blow. The figure's voice was familiar, yet distant, like a dream that lingered just out of reach. It was him, but not him. It was the part of him that had decided, in some other life, to let go completely—to surrender to the nothingness.
"You wake every time," the figure continued, his voice laced with a strange, almost mocking calm. "You walk the earth, chasing your fate. But what is fate but a cycle? What is life but a dream within a dream?"
Li Zhen took a step forward, his sword clutched tightly in his hand, but the figure did not move. "What are you talking about?" Li Zhen's voice was firm, but it trembled slightly, betraying the uncertainty that had begun to take root in his heart.
The figure opened his eyes, and what Li Zhen saw there made his heart skip a beat. There was nothing behind those eyes. No life. No fire. Only an empty, hollow void. And in that emptiness, Li Zhen could see something—the creeping suspicion that perhaps this was the final version of himself, the one who had chosen to remain asleep forever.
"I chose to die," the figure said, his tone almost reverent. "I chose to leave behind the pain, the struggle. I chose the peace of the grave, the peace of sleep that never ends. There is nothing to fear when you are no longer awake. You cannot be hurt, you cannot be lost."
Li Zhen took another step forward, his heart pounding in his chest. "You—" he struggled to find the words. "You gave up. You gave up everything."
The figure smiled, but it was a sad, hollow expression. "No. I freed myself. I freed myself from the chains of existence. I became one with the void, with the silence that holds all things. There is no past, no future, no regrets. There is only the endless sleep."
Li Zhen's mind raced as the figure's words pierced through him like cold steel. He had fought so hard to stay alive, to find meaning in a life that had already been lost. And now this version of himself, this 'Zhen of the Sleeping Grave,' was telling him that death—complete, eternal death—was the true peace, the final release from the endless cycle of suffering.
A sense of dread settled over Li Zhen's chest. Could it be true? Could peace only be found in death? Could he ever find the strength to give up the sword, to abandon the very core of his identity, and choose to surrender to the void like this version of himself?
"Why do you keep waking?" The figure's voice was a soft whisper now, as though the words themselves were not meant to be spoken but rather felt. "Why do you keep walking down this path, when you know where it will lead? You have seen enough versions of yourself to know the truth."
Li Zhen shook his head, but the words of the figure lodged themselves deep within his mind. They gnawed at him, turning over and over like a splinter buried in his soul. Was it true? Was there any point to this endless journey, this eternal fight? Had he truly chosen the right path, or was he simply a fool chasing a phantom?
The figure took a step closer, and his face seemed to blur, shifting between countless versions of Li Zhen. "You seek meaning, but you will only find more of yourself. Every path you take leads you back here. To me. To the grave."
The words rang in Li Zhen's ears, and he felt his resolve beginning to waver. The path he had chosen—the sword he carried, the fight he waged—had it all been in vain? Had it led him to this place, this moment, where the only way forward seemed to be surrender?
"No," Li Zhen whispered fiercely, shaking his head. "I will not be you. I will not surrender."
The figure's smile deepened, and he tilted his head slightly, as if studying Li Zhen with a mix of pity and amusement. "You say that now. But when the weight of your choices becomes too much to bear, when the burdens of your past lives crush you, you will see that there is only one way out. Only one way to be free."
And with those final words, the figure began to fade, his form dissolving into the darkness, leaving Li Zhen alone in the void once more.
Li Zhen stood frozen for a long moment, the weight of the vision pressing down on him. The silence around him was deafening, and his mind was awash with questions. What was real? What was truth? And could he really continue down this path, knowing that the end might be nothing more than an endless cycle of suffering?
But then, from the depths of his soul, something stirred—a spark of defiance. He clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword and took a deep breath. No matter what this version of himself had chosen, he would not follow that path. He would not give up. He would find his own way forward.
With a final, resolute step, Li Zhen woke from the dream, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind spinning with the weight of what he had seen.
And as he rose to face another day, he knew this much for certain: The path ahead was unclear, the future uncertain, but he would walk it as himself—and no one else.