Chapter 1: Transmigration
~~~
A burning pain exploded across Lu Yan's cheek like a thunderclap on a clear day.
The young man staggered backward, the force of the blow knocking him against the lacquered edge of a mahogany table. His mouth hung open in shock. His vision swam. For a moment, the taste of blood mingled with the bitterness rising in his throat.
He could not speak.
He did not know why.
Before him stood a tall man in a dark Zhongshan suit, imposing and composed, his hand slowly falling back to his side like a sword returned to its sheath. His gaze—cold, sharp, and utterly disappointed—lingered on Lu Yan for only a breath longer before he turned and walked out of the room without a word.
The heavy door closed with a dull thud.
Silence settled into the vast bedroom, broken only by the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the faint rustle of imported curtains shifting under a breeze.
Lu Yan stood frozen.
"What... the hell?" he muttered. "Did I just get slapped into idiocy?"
He clutched his face, the skin already beginning to swell. His fingers trembled as they touched the mark. It was real. Everything around him—the extravagant decor, the marble floors, the intricate carvings on the wardrobe—was unfamiliar, yet oddly... familiar.
He stumbled backward onto the massive bed, the silk sheets rustling beneath him.
"Who am I?" he murmured, voice thick with confusion. His mind was fogged, as though someone had drawn a curtain across his consciousness. The sharp sting of the slap was the only thing grounding him in reality.
He blinked and stared at the ornate ceiling above.
Nothing made sense.
—
Ding.
A mechanical chime echoed through his skull. Lu Yan bolted upright, eyes scanning the room like a hunted animal. There was no speaker. No device. No one else in the room.
"Who's there?" he called, heart racing.
The answer came, not in sound, but in thought.
[Ding! Congratulations, host, on successful transmigration. You are now residing within the world of the novel: Apocalypse Love Chronicles. The Apocalypse Romance System has been activated.]
Lu Yan's lips parted, but no words came. He was too stunned to speak.
[Ding! Apocalypse Romance System is now fully operational. Complete romantic tasks with your designated partner to receive survival rewards, skill upgrades, and more. In this chaotic end-time world, love is your strongest weapon.]
"What... what are you talking about?" he croaked, clutching at his head. "System? Novel? Transmigration?"
The words made no sense—until they did.
It hit him like a landslide.
Transmigration. This wasn't his world. This wasn't his body. That slap hadn't just cracked his face—it had cracked open his entire existence.
He tried to steady his breath.
Think, Lu Yan. What's the last thing you remember?
His mind drifted—dim light, a convenience store, exhaustion so deep it made his bones ache. Working nights, struggling to pay rent, barely surviving in the concrete jungle.
He had just finished a brutal shift. He'd collapsed at home with a cheap boxed meal in his lap. He hadn't even eaten.
He'd tripped.
Fallen.
Hit his head.
Then... darkness.
Before he blacked out, he remembered one last thing: reading a trashy apocalypse web novel on his cracked phone screen.
It had started off promising—gritty survival, crumbling civilization, desperate choices. But halfway through, the plot had nose-dived into degeneracy. The main character became a walking cliché: overpowered, surrounded by brainless beauties, hoarding supplies, treating women like collectibles.
And now he was inside that novel?
Lu Yan stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror across the room.
Tall. Pale. Sharp jaw. The kind of face sculpted by money and maintained with obscene self-care.
He didn't recognize himself.
The novel's MC, if he remembered right, had awakened one month before the Cold Apocalypse began.
His heart sank. What about me?
He stared into space and mentally accessed the system. "System… when does the apocalypse start?"
A small screen materialized in his mind.
[Countdown to Apocalypse: 60 days remaining.]
Lu Yan's blood turned cold.
---
Lu Yan paced the room like a man trapped in a cage. His thoughts raced.
This can't be real. This can't be real. This can't be real.
But it was.
The system hadn't spoken again, but its presence lingered like static in his skull.
He opened the door. Outside was a marble hallway so polished it reflected the chandeliers hanging overhead. This wasn't a home. This was a palace.
He wandered down the corridor, past paintings worth more than his previous life's total earnings. Past housekeepers who bowed silently. Past a grandfather clock older than the Republic.
Downstairs, a butler handed him tea.
He didn't drink it.
He walked past a vast koi pond in the garden, the morning sun glinting off imported tiles and artificial waterfalls. Everything was too perfect.
Too scripted.
So this is Beijing? he wondered. But not the real Beijing. Not the dusty alleys, crammed subways, overworked and underpaid masses. This was a fantasy Beijing—rich, sanitized, curated for drama.
He sat in a lounge chair overlooking the pond. His fingers trembled.
If this is a novel… and I've transmigrated into it… then what's my role? Am I the main character?
No. That didn't fit.
But here, everything was still calm. The sky was blue. The city was alive. The apocalypse hadn't started yet.
Then what was he?
A side character?
A stepping stone?
Or worse… cannon fodder?
He clenched his fists.
If he was stuck in this world, he needed to understand his identity. His assets. His enemies. His chances.
And most of all… when the world would end.
---
[System Notice: Would the host like to integrate the original body's memory? This will greatly assist with adaptation.]
Lu Yan hesitated for only a moment.
"Yes. Do it."
Pain.
If the slap earlier had felt like a firecracker, this was an earthquake. His head felt like it was being split open. He dropped to his knees, clutching his skull, screaming into the marble floor.
It lasted forever.
Then, slowly, the pain faded.
And everything returned—like water rushing into a broken dam.
Memories not his. Emotions not his. But they were his, now.
The boy whose body he now inhabited.
Lu Yan, son of Lu Conghai. Rich beyond imagination. A walking ATM with no brain.
The type of idiot who thought love could be bought with a hundred-million-yuan ring. The type of fool who ignored his father's warnings, thinking his heart was more sincere than a businessman's insight.
She was pretty. Yes. Soft voice, gentle smile. Meng Qingqing.
But behind the smiles were calculation and greed. A woman who played her role perfectly, waiting for the right moment to cut.
And the original Lu Yan? He fell for it. Proposed. Got slapped.
Deserved it.
Lu Yan—the real Lu Yan now—sighed and leaned back against the garden wall.
"What an idiot. What a rich, blind idiot."
He gazed up at the clear Beijing sky.
A sky that would soon freeze over, burying the world beneath endless snow and silence.
[End of Chapter 1]