Hatching
“Haa… haa…” Jin Shu panted, his breaths ragged as his Qi reserves drained rapidly. He’d made a critical mistake—the scroll had already consumed half his energy, and now the egg was greedily siphoning what little remained. If he didn’t provide enough Qi, the binding would fail, and worse, the creature inside might die. But it was too late to stop now; he’d leapt onto the tiger’s back, and there was no dismounting.
“Haa… Nano… do you… know how much… more Qi it needs?” he gasped, each word a struggle.
“There is no way to calculate that,” came the monotone reply.
His vision began to blur, dark shadows creeping in at the edges. At least he recognized the signs of Qi exhaustion—he’d pushed himself to this point just yesterday while training with his father. But knowing didn’t make it any easier. As the last thread of his Qi funneled into the egg, the world around him vanished into darkness.
For the third time in forty-eight hours, Jin Shu collapsed into unconsciousness.
***
Jin Shu dreamed. In his dream, a rough-tongued ball of cotton bounced around, its small body warm and soft as it licked his face before finally curling up on his chest.
The sensation stirred a memory—a distant echo of the past. He was reminded of the kitten he had once tried raising in the orphanage he grew up in.
The dream shifted. The cavern and the playful creature on his chest faded away, replaced by the cold, oppressive sight of barred windows and the dim, gray walls of the orphanage.
Jin Shu was no longer himself. He was ten years old again, his body aching with the familiar throb of freshly inflicted bruises. The dull pain in his ribs and the sting in his knuckles told him all he needed to know: he'd been in a fight.
He glanced around the small, cramped room. He was lying on a tiny cot, barely large enough for a child his size. Two other boys lay groaning on the floor, older than him by a couple of years, maybe twelve or thirteen.
He remembered them well—bullies who had ganged up on him earlier that night. They had tried to take something precious from him: the tiny kitten he'd found shivering outside in the cold.
They wanted to steal it, intending to give it to one of the girls they liked. But Jin Shu wouldn’t let them.
The fight had been brutal. Despite his size, Jin Shu hadn’t gone down easily. He never did. He had learned early on that in a place like this, you either fought back or became a target. And while the older boys were bigger, Jin Shu was faster—and a better fighter.
“Mew.”
The soft sound brought his attention to the kitten curled on his chest. Its snow-white fur stood out against his tattered shirt, and its tiny blue eyes gleamed with trust.
“Don’t worry, Whitey,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but determined. He reached up to stroke the kitten’s head gently, his bruised fingers trembling. “I won’t let them take you. Not ever.”
The boys crawled out of the room, their bodies battered with deeper, darker bruises than his own.
But the next day, they returned—with one of the caretakers.
They’d tattled on him.
The caretaker was a towering, overweight man with a permanent sneer etched into his face—the meanest of the four who ran the orphanage. Jin Shu couldn’t remember any of their names, not the children he grew up with, nor the caretakers who loomed over their lives like storm clouds.
But this day? He remembered this day.
Even though he knew this was a dream, his mind raced with fear as the big man approached him.
He tried to run. Tried to save Whitey.
But the man was faster than he looked, grabbing Jin Shu with a force that made him feel small and helpless. With meaty hands, he pried the tiny kitten from Jin Shu’s grasp.
“No! Give her back!” Jin Shu’s ten-year-old voice cracked with desperation, tears threatening to spill.
But the man didn’t listen. He never did.
Jin Shu had had enough. He refused to relive the rest of this memory.
The dream dissolved, the edges of the scene blurring and fading until it was nothing but darkness.
***
He woke with a start, his eyes snapping open as he gasped for air.
The cavern around him was dim and still, but his focus wasn’t on his surroundings.
It was on the tiny creature curled up and sleeping peacefully on his chest.
A dark silver tiger cub, its fur shimmering faintly like polished metal, rested its head near his heart. Silver wings, folded neatly at its sides, rose and fell with each of its breaths. A faintly glowing mark, like a delicate rune, shimmered on its forehead.
The memories of the dream slipped away, fading like mist in the morning sun, leaving him with nothing but the sight before him.
Adorable. Peaceful.
A strange connection pulsed between him and the cub, an unspoken bond that made it clear this was what had hatched. Yet it didn’t resemble a typical Winged Tiger—not in color, at least. Winged Tigers were known for their vibrant orange coats with black stripes and expansive white wings. But this one was entirely unique—a shimmering blend of dark and light silver with bold black stripes running across both its body and delicate wings. A golden mark shaped like the character for "king" (王 Wáng) glowed proudly on its forehead, radiating an almost regal aura.
The cub was astonishingly small, more like a kitten than a tiger cub. It could almost fit in his palm. Then again, Jin Shu had never seen a baby tiger before, so perhaps this wasn’t as unusual as it seemed.
As he pondered its size, the tiny tiger stirred, blinking its eyes open for the first time. Bright gold irises, the same hue as the mark on its forehead, met his gaze. It looked up at him with wide, curious eyes, as if trying to understand the connection they shared.
The little creature was easily the cutest animal Jin Shu had ever seen. Squirrels had been his favorite—until that devil in the forest ruined them for him. But now, he had a new favorite.
“Hi,” Jin Shu greeted warmly, extending a hand toward the tiny tiger.
“Mew!” The cub mewed happily, pressing its small head into his palm with a soft purr before licking his hand with its rough tongue.
“I should give you a name now that you’re bound to me, right?” he asked. The cub tilted its head, letting out another curious mew in response.
“Since you’re silver, I’ll call you Yin’er.” The cub chirped with excitement, bouncing and fluttering its wings as if it understood him.
If Yin’er was a typical Winged Tiger, she shouldn’t be able to understand human speech—Wild Beasts rarely did. Yet, as a Spirit Beast bound to him, it made sense that she could comprehend him, even though such understanding usually only developed with age.
Nano’s voice broke into his thoughts. “The connection between you and the tiger cub is most interesting. The Qi you infused into the egg has intertwined your souls. Fascinating! This bond will serve as a constant beacon—you’ll never be separated.”
Jin Shu stretched and stood, brushing himself off after realizing he’d passed out atop a pile of bullets. He looked around at the gleaming metal surrounding him. “I wish I had a way to bring all these bullets back—there must be thousands.”
“From a quick estimate, there are 10,283 bullets of varying calibers. You’ve already loaded 17 into your weapon’s magazine. For an exact count, you’d need to sort them physically.”
“Mew!” Yin’er scampered off toward the eggshell remnants, returning moments later with a small ring clutched in her teeth. She pranced up to Jin Shu and dropped it at his feet.
“What’s this?” he murmured, squatting to pick up the ring. He realized it wasn’t a ring at all—it was too small for his fingers.
“Mew?” Yin’er tilted her head, clearly puzzled.
“It’s an earring,” Nano commented.
He examined the matte black surface, noting faint runes etched into it. Curious, he funneled a strand of Qi into the inscriptions.
A blinding white light exploded from the earring, forcing Jin Shu to shield his eyes. When the light faded, his jaw dropped. The bullets, the nest, the pedestals holding Earth artifacts—everything had vanished, leaving behind only the barren, rocky cavern.
“Where did everything go?” Jin Shu turned in circles, half-convinced he’d imagined it all.
“The earring stored the items,” Nano explained. “It appears to be a spatial artifact.”
“But there’s no space gem. Is it the runes?” He glanced at his hands, but the earring had disappeared. “Where’d it go?”
“Check your ear.”
“What?” Jin Shu reached up and felt the cold metal on his right earlobe. “How?”
“It likely moved there after you activated the runes.”
“How do I check what’s inside?”
“You ask us, but who are we supposed to ask?”
“Hah! True. Maybe if I activate the runes again…” Jin Shu sent a tendril of Qi to his earlobe. The moment it touched the earring, his vision swirled, and he felt himself pulled into another space.
He gasped. He stood in a boundless, star-lit expanse where countless objects floated in the air. Bullets, Earth artifacts, and unidentifiable treasures shimmered faintly, as if waiting for his command. Energy radiated from some of the items, their nature foreign yet intriguing.
A thrill ran through him. This realm felt infinite, brimming with secrets to uncover. Yin’er perched on his shoulder, her golden eyes glowing in the dim starlight. As he gazed at the mysterious artifacts, a thought nagged at him: whatever lay here may hold key information relating to his reincarnation.