I have a confession to make.
Some people grow up feeling like they have a guardian angel watching over their shoulder—some beautiful, winged entity whispering sweet words of encouragement and guiding them away from oncoming traffic.
Me? I grew up with Mr. Soul Ripper and Mr. Bad Luck on my speed dial.
Seriously, in my previous life, before a literal brain tumor finally punched my ticket out of the modern world, I had close calls with the afterlife so often that the Grim Reaper and I practically had a handshake routine.
I used to genuinely imagine Death standing at the end of my street, casually leaning against a lamp post, giving me a friendly little wave like an overly enthusiastic neighbor welcoming me to a backyard barbecue.
*"Oh, hey, Xiu Liang! Nice to see you again! Came close with that rogue delivery scooter today, huh? No worries, buddy, I've got a seat saved for you whenever you're ready! Take your time!"*
So, when that absolute scam artist of a digital System forced me into this second life under the guise of a "glorious transmigration opportunity," I already knew the fine print was going to screw me over. I knew it in my bones.
This second life wasn't going to be some grand, epic romance where I become the untamable immortal ruler of the heavens. It was going to be short, tragic, and entirely nonsense.
And the worst part? In this cultivation world, if you die a particularly gruesome death by a high-realm royal, they don't just kill your body.
They can literally disintegrate your soul! Your entire consciousness? Poof. Gone. Swept into the cosmic dustbin like a shattered ceramic mug.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to curl up into a pathetic little ball, shed tears of profound self-pity, and file a formal complaint with whatever celestial HR department allowed this to happen.
What? You think I'm being overly dramatic? You can't relate to my profound, existential sentiment?
Well, let me paint the current picture for you, and we'll see if you aren't ready to update your will, too.
=====°°°°°
The Office of Doom and Deep Breathing
Right now, I am sitting in a room.
It isn't just any room. It is a massive, intimidating space stuffed to the brim with ancient scrolls, intimidating legal ledgers, and a whole bunch of high-tier imperial bureaucracy that I don't know, don't understand, and absolutely do not want to be blamed for.
Judging by the sheer amount of expensive dark wood and the oppressive aroma of raw, unadulterated political authority, this is the private office of the Crown Prince.
And why, you ask, am I currently vibrating with enough terror to power a small metropolis?
Because the Crown Prince *left*.
He walked out of the room, closed the heavy lacquered doors, and left me inside completely unattended.
My mind, which has been thoroughly conditioned by decades of watching dark psychological thrillers, high-stakes anime, and historical dramas where the innocent protagonist gets framed within the first twenty minutes, immediately went into overdrive.
*Oh god,* I screamed internally, my eyes darting frantically around the room.
*This is a trap. It has to be a trap! He's trying to see if I'll steal a scroll! Or maybe... maybe he's currently in the hallway picking out the specific, rusty torture implements he wants to use on me! Like those underground dungeon scenes where they bring out the whips, the hot irons, and the weird truth serums!
God, I can't even imagine how painful it is! I have a remarkably low pain tolerance! I stub my toe on a coffee table and I'm out of commission for a business week!*
I was currently seated in a highly uncomfortable, intricately carved wooden chair directly in front of the Crown Prince's massive desk. It felt less like a seat and more like an electric chair waiting for someone to flip the switch.
*If that stupid toaster of a System were here right now,* I thought, my fingers desperately clutching the fabric of my trousers, *I would scramble across reality, grab its little digital throat, and strangle it to death. Where is my 24/7 customer support?! Where are my cheat codes?!*
While I was entirely lost in the depths of my own wild, terrifying imagination—revolving mostly around various scenarios involving dungeon dampness and life imprisonment—the heavy wooden doors suddenly groaned.
*Creak.*
My mind snapped back to reality with the speed of a rubber band cracking against a wrist.
The Crown Prince entered the room.
The temperature in the space instantly plummeted into the negatives. He didn't say a word as he glided across the floor, his heavy, gold-embroidered silk robes rustling softly like the wings of a predatory bird. He rounded his desk and sat smoothly in his high-backed throne of a chair.
I immediately fixed my eyes on the edge of the desk. I did not look at him. I did not dare to break the primary rule of survival again.
I had already used up my lifetime quota of accidental staring contests earlier in the hallway.
But even though my eyes were aggressively glued to the wood grain, the silence in the room was deafening. It was just the two of us.
Just me, a terrified fraud in a clearance-rack tunic, and the most dangerous teenager in the entire Yang Kingdom.
Worse yet, I could physically feel his gaze. It wasn't just a regular look; it was a heavy, intense, heated stare that felt like a localized laser beam burning right through my forehead.
"What's your name?" he asked.
The voice was entirely cold, dropping into the quiet room like a block of solid ice hitting a marble floor.
"I-I am X-Xiu L-Liang, your highness," I stammered out, my vocal cords temporarily betraying me by executing a perfect three-part harmony of pure panic.
"Where did you come from, Xiu Liang?" the Crown Prince interrogated, leaning forward slightly. The majestic, suffocating aura radiating from his body expanded, pinning me to my seat.
"And who are you really? Do not answer us with lies... or you will be punished accordingly."
The emphasis on *punished accordingly* sent a literal electric jolt of terror straight down my spine. Images of the rusty dungeon irons flashed through my brain in vivid, high-definition quality.
*Tell the truth!* my survival instincts screamed.
*The truth is so stupid and pathetic that no one could possibly mistake it for a grand political conspiracy!*
"I-I'm from Ye City, your highness!" I blurted out, my voice rising a pitch as I desperately tried to maintain an air of absolute, pathetic honesty.
"I am honestly just a beggar! A total commoner! I just happened to help Lady Xiaofan when she was being harassed by that awful, arrogant young master of the Tang Family! I didn't have a grand plan! I didn't know she was a secret agent! I'm telling the truth, yo—"
Before the final syllable could clear my lips, the Crown Prince suddenly stood up.
My heart did a backflip and died. *Oh god, this is it. He doesn't believe me. He's calling the executioner.*
"Stop," the Crown Prince commanded quietly.
I froze, clamping my mouth shut so hard my teeth clicked.
"You have passed," the Prince stated, his cold eyes tracking the sheer, unadulterated terror radiating from my face.
"You are telling the truth. We accept your explanation."
"Huh?" I blinked, my brain entirely failing to process the sudden shift in the narrative arc.
*Wait, really? Just like that? No polygraph test? No truth serum? No demands for a spiritual blood oath?*
But before I could internally celebrate my miraculous escape from the dungeon, the Crown Prince took a step around his desk, his towering figure casting a long, heavy shadow right over my chair.
"However," he continued, his voice dropping into a deep, dangerously smooth cadence that made my ears feel entirely too hot.
"We have something for you to do. And whatever it is, you do not possess the right to complain."
He stopped mere inches away from me, his majestic, oppressive aura flaring up with a terrifying, hypnotic intensity that left me completely captivated and entirely unable to move a single muscle.
"Because from the very moment you entered our palace," the Prince whispered, his striking blue eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding, possessive grip, "you became our property. Your life belongs entirely to me."
*...Excuse me, what?*
My modern, fifty-year-old democratic sensibilities wanted to raise a flag of protest.
*Property?! Boss, I think we skipped a few steps in the standard employment contract! Where are the labor laws?! Where is the human resources department?!*
But my cowardly, survival-oriented physical body just sat there, nodding like a broken bobblehead while my face turned a pristine shade of ghostly white.
Before I could even attempt to digest the fact that I had apparently just been legally classified as an imperial knick-knack, the Crown Prince clapped his hands sharply.
The doors immediately swept open, and a group of high-ranking palace maidservants filed into the room in a synchronized, silent wave.
The Prince began instructing them in a low, rapid tone. My brain was so thoroughly fried from the sheer emotional whiplash of the last five minutes that the words just sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher to my ears.
*Wah-wah, imperial arrangements, wah-wah, take him away.*
The next thing I knew, two of the maidservants were politely but firmly guiding me by my elbows, leading me out of the office and down a labyrinth of grand, twisting palace corridors that I had never seen before.
=====°°°°°
The Devil in the Details
Xiu Liang followed the maids with dragging, shaky steps, his head completely bowed as he internally wept over his new status as "royal property," entirely oblivious to the world around him.
Consequently, he completely missed what happened the absolute second the doors closed behind his retreating figure.
Back in the pristine, scroll-filled office, the cold, majestic, and intimidating facade of the Crown Prince completely melted away.
He stood by his desk, his sharp, striking blue eyes staring at the empty doorway where the delicate, wildly expressive youth had just disappeared.
And then, slowly, a thoroughly devilish, deeply wicked grin spread across the Crown Prince's incredibly handsome face.
Crown Prince Thought's:
*What an utterly fascinating, ridiculous little creature. From the moment he looked into our eyes, he has been vibrating like a trapped bird, yet his thoughts are so loud they practically echo in the room. Property? Yes. Every single bit of you belongs to this prince now. And make no mistake, Xiu Liang... I will savor every single bit of you.)*
If poor, fragile, fifty-year-old-soul Xiu Liang had even a single inkling of the dark, insatiable, predatory thoughts currently bouncing around inside the Crown Prince's highly cultivated mind, he wouldn't be following the maids to his new quarters.
He would have shattered the nearest imperial window, activated whatever desperate burst of adrenaline his mortal body could muster, and sprinted back to the slums of Ye City without a single second thought.
Unfortunately for him, his tutorial mission was still active, his System was still acting like a piece of vintage kitchen hardware, and the Crown Prince had officially decided that his new "property" looked incredibly delicious.