Zhang Yanjun led his niece to the quiet garden pavilion tucked beside a lotus pond. The farther they walked, the fainter the voices of servants became, replaced instead by the gentle rustling of bamboo leaves and the cheerful chirping of birds greeting the morning.
The pavilion stood on a small stone platform overlooking the water. Clusters of white lotus blossoms floated lazily across the pond, their fragrance mingling with the scent of blooming osmanthus carried by the cool breeze. Sunlight filtered through the carved wooden lattice, scattering delicate patterns across the polished floor.
Lianhua soon arrived carrying a lacquered tray with a porcelain teapot and two jade-green teacups. She poured the tea in practiced silence before bowing respectfully.
"I'll be waiting outside if Young Miss needs anything."
With that, she quietly withdrew, leaving uncle and niece alone.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Zhang Yue wrapped both hands around the warm porcelain teacup, letting the comforting heat seep into her cold fingers.
Only now, with the panic settling, did she allow herself to study the man seated across from her.
He looked... strangely familiar.
Straight brows that naturally carried authority.
Calm, watchful eyes that seemed to miss nothing.
A posture so upright that even while sitting at ease, his back remained perfectly straight.
Unlike her grandfather, whose presence was overwhelming, Zhang Yanjun possessed a quieter kind of authority. The sort that didn't need to announce itself.
What surprised her most was his smile.
It was gentle.
Patient.
Almost disarming.
Somehow, it didn't seem to belong on the face of a man who had spent his life on battlefields.
Her gaze lingered.
She had seen that face before.
Not in person.
In an ink portrait hanging in the Zhang family's ancestral hall.
She couldn't remember exactly how many generations separated them.
Five?
Six?
More?
Whatever the number, one thing was certain.
A man whose portrait occupied the ancestral hall wasn't merely another member of the family.
He had earned his place there.
The realization sent another ripple through her already chaotic thoughts.
If this world truly belonged to the body she now occupied, then this man was probably the only person who genuinely cared whether she lived or died.
If anyone could explain what had happened to her...
It would be him.
"Uncle, can I ask you something?"
Zhang Yanjun smiled gently. "You never needed my permission."
She nodded.
"What happened to me? You said I was in some accident. What kind of accident?"
The smile slowly disappeared from Zhang Yanjun's face.
After a long pause, he answered.
"We found you beneath a cliff."
His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed him.
"You were barely alive."
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Zhang Yue studied him quietly.
Then, with a crooked smile, she asked,
"So... did I accidentally fall...or was I trying to find out whether people could fly?"
His fingers paused around the teacup.
For a fleeting moment, pain crossed his face.
He looked away.
"What happened before we found you doesn't matter anymore."
"It matters to me."
Another silence stretched between them.
"You disappeared one day." He said at last. "The Qing family assumed you had run away. No one bothered looking for you."
His voice grew heavier.
"We only heard about it nearly a week later. By the time we found you... you were lying unconscious beneath the cliff."
He never answered her question, whether she decided to harm herself or not.
He didn't have to.
Zhang Yue lowered her gaze.
"So..."
""So I really wasn't important enough for anyone to notice I was gone."
"You were."
His reply came without hesitation.
"You always were."
Zhang Yue let out a quiet laugh.
"Well, Qing family clearly disagreed."
Zhang Yanjun sighed.
"You were born into two extraordinary bloodlines. The expectations placed upon you were... immense. But you never awakened any abilities. The Qing family couldn't accept that."
She frowned.
"What about my parents? Were they able to accept me or were they…"
"No, no, not at all."
He shook his head immediately.
"Your parents are a different matter."
He stared into the lotus pond for a long moment before continuing.
"Your parents were exceptional people. They carried responsibilities that ordinary people could never understand. Their marriage was arranged long before either of them wanted it. They were proud and stubborn. And terrible at understanding each other."
A faint smile tugged at Zhang Yue's lips.
"So they spent their married life arguing?"
"Frequently. But they tried to make it work. They truly did."
His eyes met hers.
"When you were born, they adored you."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"But you never awakened. The pressure surrounding both of them only grew heavier after that. They carried burdens neither of them had chosen."
She exhaled slowly.
"What do you mean by 'awakened'?"
Zhang Yanjun looked at her for a moment.
"You truly don't remember?"
She shook her head.
He paused for a moment before continuing.
"In this world, everyone is born with Spiritual Essence. The difference lies in how they cultivate it."
He lifted his teacup, turning it slowly between his fingers.
"Some awaken as sorcerers. They cultivate their Spiritual Essence to weave spells, draw formations, refine pills and elixirs, summon spirit beasts, and command the forces of nature."
Zhang Yanjun's voice remained calm, as though he were explaining something as ordinary as farming.
"Their strength lies not in the body, but in how they shape Spiritual Essence into countless forms."
He set the cup down.
"Others awaken as warriors."
For the first time since the conversation began, Zhang Yanjun extended an empty hand.
Then,
A ripple spread through the air.
Like heat shimmering above a summer road.
Golden-orange light gathered around his palm, threads of radiance twisting together until they condensed into the hilt of a sword.
Metal sang softly as the blade took shape.
Flames the color of molten amber coiled along its edge without consuming it.
At the same time, his dark eyes brightened, his pupils turning a brilliant crimson that seemed to glow from within.
Zhang Yue forgot to breathe.
"What?"
She lurched upright so abruptly that her chair scraped loudly across the floor.
The sword looked real.
Too real.
The flames danced as though alive, yet not a single curtain stirred from the heat.
Zhang Yanjun rested the blade casually across the table.
"Like your mother and I, warriors temper their bodies with Spiritual Essence instead of weaving spells. Our weapons become extensions of our will. Our strength surpasses ordinary people, and many of us form contracts with spirit beasts."
He smiled faintly.
"When sorcerers stand behind the battlefield, warriors stand before it."
With a flick of his wrist, the flaming sword dissolved into countless sparks of light.
The particles drifted through the air like fireflies before disappearing completely.
Nothing remained.
Not even ash.
Silence settled over the pavilion.
Zhang Yue stared at his empty hand.
Then at the space where the sword had been.
Then back at him.
One word escaped her lips before she could stop it.
"...Magic."
Not stage magic.
Not sleight of hand.
Not CGI.
Real magic.
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
She had expected many things after drinking wine with a suspicious deity.
Amnesia.
Hallucinations.
Maybe even time travel.
But this?
A world where people conjured blazing swords from thin air...
A world where spells, spirit beasts, and impossible powers existed...
She slowly sank back into her chair.
"...I really transmigrated."
Every web novel she had laughed at.
Every fantasy drama she'd binge-watched after work.
Every ridiculous cultivation story she'd sworn could never happen.
She was sitting inside one.