King of the Immortal City

Ye Mo awoke.

He struggled to open his eyes, his fingers twitching, and found himself clutching a broken plank, lying upon a cold, damp stretch of sand on the beach. His cheek was pressed into the fine, moist grit, stinging with pain.

A gust of wind and wave swept in, stirring the sea into white-capped foam. The icy water crashed over him in relentless waves, laced with the tang of salt and bitter brine, slapping against his face. He breathed in the acrid scent of the sea.

His entire body felt as though it had been battered to pieces, limp and aching, not a single spot free from pain. He had no idea how long he had lain half-submerged on this shoreline before regaining consciousness.

He choked on a mouthful of salty, fishy seawater, hacking violently. A searing, burning pain lanced his chest, as if his lungs were aflame.

He let go of the battered plank, fatigue and soreness weighing on his limbs, and forced himself to roll over and sit up on the sand. His coarse martial garment, soaked through, clung to his skin, chilling him to the bone.

Ye Mo gazed around in bewilderment.

Before him stretched an unfamiliar crescent-shaped bay, its beach carpeted with fine white sand, scattered with shells and conch. The deserted expanse was eerily silent, no trace of another soul.

This was clearly an island; inland, a small range of hills rose, blanketed in towering trees, wild and uninhabited.

Far out, the endless blue sea met the equally unbroken blue sky, tranquil and cloudless, with a few seabirds wheeling low above the waves, hu