Muan Gai

And again you wake up in a cold sweat, with ragged breath and a cry on your lips.

You've had that dream again. That same one. Where the protagonist commits his revenge over and over, reveling in your suffering. And you can neither scream nor move. Terrifying pain pierces your body, bones shatter, your chest burns. You lose consciousness again and again, but the nightmare never ends.

Your eyes are feverishly wide, darting around the room, trying to comprehend: is this a dream, or is it already reality?

Sometimes this becomes a problem.

You keep sitting on the bed, trembling. You're burning with fever, and the fear won't go away. It has seeped into your skin, into your bones, into your very soul. You feel your heart pounding somewhere in your throat, your fingers convulsively clutching the edge of the blanket.

— Shen?

The unexpected voice caught you off guard. Your body jolted. You turned and saw the worried, renowned swordsman. He sat across from the bed, watching the cursed elder of Black Lotus Peak intently.

— What… — you caught your breath. — What are you doing here?

Mu'an Gai didn't answer immediately. He looked at you — at your dilated pupils, at your sweat-damp hair clinging to your forehead, at your trembling fingers that still hadn't let go of the blanket.