Pain. That was the last thing he remembered.
The squeal of brakes, a flash of headlights, the sickening crunch of metal—then silence.
But death was not the end.
When Wang Tang next opened his eyes, it wasn't to the sterile white of a hospital room or the black void he'd imagined death to be. Instead, he was wrapped in warmth, swaddled in silk, lying in an ornate crib carved from something that looked like glowing jade. Soft lanternlight flickered overhead, casting gentle shadows across rune-etched walls. Outside, two moons floated above the horizon.
At first, he thought it was a dream.
But then came the clarity—a rush of memories:
Feeding a rescued snow leopard, pruning a jungle orchid that bloomed once every five years, cataloging his personal insect collection that stretched across three glass rooms. His past life as a zookeeper and researcher, dedicated to protecting Earth's endangered flora and fauna, came back with perfect clarity.
The reality struck hard and fast: he had been reincarnated.
And this time, into a body not of his choosing. He was now a baby in an unfamiliar world.
---
By the time he could walk, Wang Tang had already grasped the basics of his situation. His name remained the same—Wang Tang—and he was the only child of a powerful noble family. His father, Wang Ju, was the IronLord of the Earth District, a title that sounded as heavy and oppressive as the name implied. From the hushed whispers of maids and the deep bows of armored visitors, Wang Tang understood that his father governed Zones 321 to 330, a major swath of territory filled with biomes and dangers yet unknown to him.
But none of that mattered to Wang Tang.
Not the riches. Not the titles. Not even the legacy that his father so obviously intended to pass down.
What mattered to him… were the creatures.
---
Wang Tang's fascination began early. While other children cried for toys, he reached for lizards sunning themselves on the stone tiles of the garden. While nobles' children played with magic crystals, he sat for hours watching ants build their hills and birds carry twigs to their nests.
"I want to understand you," he whispered to a two-headed squirrel he spotted on the wall one morning. "Not own you. Just… know who you are."
It wasn't just animals. Plants, too, enthralled him. The way vines twisted toward light, the silent strength of moss clinging to stone, the scent of an opening flower just before dawn—everything was full of life, motion, and unspoken stories.
By age four, his room had been transformed into a miniature jungle.
Much to the dismay of the housekeepers, Wang Tang kept dozens of insects in jars with holes punched into the lids, each labeled with careful handwriting. A small pond had been constructed at his request in the corner of the room, where frogs croaked during the night. A window box overflowed with carnivorous plants that he fed with captured flies.
And if one were to search under his bed, they might find a sleeping creature that looked half-rabbit, half-armadillo, curled safely under a blanket.
---
Despite his strange habits, Wang Tang was brilliant. He learned to read the local language faster than any child his age. He devoured every book he could find—not about war or strategy, but about the world's ecosystems, magical fauna, spiritual forests, and ancient migratory patterns of skybeasts.
And when the estate's elder librarian brought him a battered old bestiary titled The Forgotten Creatures of Zone 328, he hugged the man's leg and thanked him with tears in his eyes.
"Young master," the librarian chuckled, "you're going to become a scholar."
"No," Wang Tang corrected, eyes burning with quiet excitement. "I'm going to become something no one's ever been before."
---
His father, of course, had other plans.
Wang Ju, tall and commanding with iron-gray hair and a permanent frown, believed his son was destined to inherit the IronLord's mantle.
"You must lead our people," he would say over dinner, voice firm but not unkind. "When you come of age, you will take control of Zones 321 to 330. Your world will be one of walls, watchtowers, and order."
Wang Tang would nod respectfully.
"Yes, Father."
But inside, he whispered,
My world will have waterfalls, glowing vines, and sleeping dragons under warm sunlit skies.
He would do as he must—for now. But his path was already set.
---
By the age of six, Wang Tang was sneaking away from swordsmanship classes to observe migrating butterfly swarms near the outer gardens. He bribed the kitchen staff for scraps of meat to feed a fox-spirit pup that lived under a hollow tree near the estate. He learned to make poultices from flower petals and drew diagrams of animal anatomy in his notebooks when the tutors weren't looking.
He met the estate gardener, Master Hui, during one of these escapades. The old man, missing three fingers on one hand and with knees that cracked like dry wood, caught him trying to take a clipping of a rare red-leafed plant.
Instead of scolding him, Hui asked,
"Why that one?"
Wang Tang looked up, wide-eyed.
"Because it leans away from the sun. I think it absorbs mana better in shadow."
The old man stared for a long moment… then chuckled.
"Well damn," Hui muttered. "You're either a genius or a pain in my back."
From then on, Hui became one of the few people who truly understood Wang Tang's heart. He taught him how to graft plants, how to listen to the root system by feel, and even how to spot which insects were venomous by the shade of their wings.
"Books are good," Hui would say, squatting beside him in the soil. "But nature doesn't always read them."
---
At eight years old, Wang Tang began keeping secret journals.
Each entry detailed a creature he observed—its behavior, diet, magical affinity, and social patterns. He started naming them based on personal impressions, like Mistdancer, Bristlefoot, and Leafwhisper. Some creatures had never been recorded in the official bestiaries, meaning they were either undocumented or believed extinct.
"I'll find more," he wrote one night by candlelight, scribbling fervently. "And when I create my world, I'll bring them all there. No cages. Just space to live… and be free."
That dream, that singular vision, became his obsession.
---
By the time he turned ten, Wang Tang's secret collection had grown. Not in terms of ownership—he never captured creatures just to possess them. Instead, he had formed bonds. A skittish tree-hopper beast that only let him touch it. A vine serpent that slithered into his windowsill every evening for a slice of honeyfruit. A floating jelly-bug that danced in the air when he hummed.
Each one was special.
Each one reminded him of Earth—of all the animals he failed to save… and now had a second chance to protect.
He stood in his garden that night, gazing at the sky with its twin moons glowing silver.
Only six more years until he turned sixteen.
Only six more years until he could create his own world.