It was summer. The gymnasium hummed with the echo of sneakers squeaking and palms slapping volleyballs. Sunlight poured in through the high windows of the town's indoor stadium, bouncing off the polished wooden floor. The air was thick with heat and laughter. Everyone was alive with motion.
Except for Ling Ziyang.
At fifteen, fresh out of high school, he stood among his friends on the court, tall and composed. But his presence was ghosted with detachment. He moved with the team, arms raised, body ready, but his focus wandered. When the ball shot toward him, he reacted a beat too late. It smacked hard against his face.
A sharp collective "oof" rippled through the court.
One of his friends jogged over, grinning. "Yo, what's up with you, Ziyang? You've been off these past few days."
Ziyang wiped the sweat from his temple, took the offered hand, and stood. "I don't know, man. I think I need a break."
He stepped out of the gym, the heavy door thudding shut behind him. Afternoon light draped the town in a sleepy gold. He sank onto a bench just outside, elbows on his knees, one foot tapping the concrete in a slow, restless rhythm.
The game inside wore on without him. Then it ended. One by one, his friends filed out, sweaty and laughing, calling goodbyes as they peeled off toward their bikes or the street. Soon, the noise died down.
Only one person remained - Coach Yuze.
He walked out, stood a moment in the doorway, then crossed over and sat beside Ziyang. The bench creaked under his weight.
"Wanna talk?"
Ziyang stared ahead, jaw clenched. "I don't know, Coach. I just... I'm lost."
Yuze gave a dry laugh. "Philosophical today, are we?"
"Oh, a hundred percent." Ziyang pushed himself to his feet, pacing with his hands in his hair. "I'm just pissed off."
He stopped and turned, eyes sharp. "Tell me something. Why are we doing this? Why are we doing any of this?"
Yuze didn't answer.
Ziyang kept moving, voice low but tight. "Every day I come here, you tell me to push harder. Reach higher. I win. People clap. I feel proud. I lose. They still clap. They say I 'tried.' And I'm supposed to feel good about that."
He barked a dry laugh. "You call it a 'friendly' match but expect me to give it everything. For what? To stay fit? A few squats can do that. To build competitiveness? How is it competitive if losing isn't treated as failure?"
He stopped again, locking eyes with the coach. "It's not just you. It's everyone. The world is full of contradictions. Win, and it's great. Lose, and it's still okay. Then what's the point? Why push at all if failure's acceptable?"
He started pacing again, footsteps quick and uneven.
"They say the journey is what matters, not the destination. That happiness is a choice. But how do I know if I'm choosing to be happy, or just pretending, so all this effort doesn't feel meaningless?"
His voice cracked slightly, but he didn't slow. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I do know that failure's part of the process. And it's what we learn from those failures is what teaches us to win. I get that. But lately it all just feels... hollow."
He paused. Took a breath.
"This isn't about volleyball, Coach. This is about everything. Maybe I sound a little childish to you, but I don't want a life where 'good enough' is enough. I don't want a trophy just to prove I did something and a little bit of self-satisfaction."
He turned, fire returning to his face. "I want meaning. Real meaning. I want to matter. I want to make noise so loud the world can't ignore it. I want kids to point at me and say, 'I want to be like him.' I want to be the best of the best. I want my ego to have its chance of truly shining."
Silence settled between them.
Ziyang looked down, shook his head. "Or maybe I'm just ranting."
He grabbed his bag from the bench and started to walk.
"Hey, kiddo," Coach Yuze called out.
Ziyang turned.
Yuze stood, hands in his pockets. "I don't know if I've got answers for all that. But I can tell you this much - people can live without almost anything. But without purpose? They stop being people. They just walk and breathe until they don't anymore."
He met Ziyang's gaze.
"You've got something in you. I see it. I hope you find what it's meant for."
Ziyang held his stare for a beat. Then a faint smile cracked through.
He turned and walked home.
Ziyang strolled through the dusky streets toward the orphanage, his steps slow, arms slack. By the time he reached the gate, night had settled in, warm and quiet.
The old warden stood just inside, arms crossed. "You're late."
Ziyang didn't even stop. "Give me a break, old man. I was stuck in line at the shop getting your favorite ice cream." He tossed over a plastic bag, still cold.
The warden's weathered face cracked into a grin as he caught the package. "You love me too much."
"Pretty sure this counts as bribery," Ziyang said, unable to suppress his own smile.
Back in his cramped dormitory room, he changed out of his clothes, flopped onto his floor mat, and booted up a game. After a few rounds, sleep started to crawl into his limbs. He turned off the console, rolled onto his back, and stared through the window.
The stars were out in full force. A breeze threaded through the room, cool against his skin. He blinked once, then caught it. A streak of light across the sky. A meteor.
He snorted. "Right, wish on the falling rock, like that'll work."
Still, with a lazy grin, he whispered, "I wish... for excitement."
Then his eyes closed, and the world fell away.
Morning sunlight warmed his face, accompanied by a gentle breeze. Ziyang smiled drowsily, savoring the comfort before his brain registered the impossibility. He was pretty sure his window was closed.
And why couldn't he feel his mattress beneath him?
His eyes snapped open to endless blue sky rushing past. The ground sprawled far below, growing larger by the second.
His eyes widened with disbelief and shock.
"WHAT THE-"
On a tranquil mountainside, nestled between ancient pines, a modest shrine stood dedicated to the Almighty. Morning mist clung to the jade-green slopes, and birdsong drifted through the crisp air.
Fifteen-year-old Shen Liangyu knelt before the weathered stone statue, hands pressed together in reverence.
"Honored Almighty," he whispered, "your blessings carried me through my final year of schooling. Now I face new challenges at the academy." His voice wavered slightly. "Please, spare me from those who torment the weak. Specifically, that big nosed, arrogant, privileged piece of- anyway, please, do that. And if it's not too much to ask, grant your humble servant a single friend. I know my dull nature drives others away, but just one is all I ask. Even if they fell from the heavens themselves, I would welcome them with gratitude."
A sharp, distant scream tore through the air.
Liangyu looked up.
"AaaAAAHHH-"
CRASH.
Ziyang slammed into Liangyu with bone-jarring force, sending both tumbling across the shrine's stone platform. Dust clouds erupted around them.
Ziyang blinked, wiggling his fingers and toes. "Huh. That didn't hurt nearly as much as it should have."
"GET! OFF!" Liangyu wheezed from beneath him.
Ziyang rolled aside and studied the boy's appearance. Flowing robes, topknot secured with a jade pin, everything screaming of ancient dynasties. He glanced down at his own clothes, now transformed into elaborate silk vestments embroidered with golden threads.
"Who are you?" Ziyang asked.
"You're the one who crashed into me!" Liangyu coughed, struggling to sit upright. "Who are YOU?"
Ziyang rose to his feet, brushing dust from his sleeves. The landscape stretched endlessly before him. Distant mountains shrouded in mystical fog, everything painted in colors too vivid for his old world. After a moment, the truth finally crystallized.
"Would you look at that! My wish actually came true!" He ran towards Liangyu, grabbing his shoulders, shaking him enthusiastically. "The impossible just happened, buddy!"
"What happened?" Liangyu stammered, still dazed.
Ziyang threw his arms wide, facing the endless expanse of this new realm. "I JUST GOT ISEKAI'D, PEOPLE!"
A crystalline voice of a woman then materialized directly inside his skull, each word ringing with mechanical precision.
[Greetings, Ziyang. Welcome to Wanshou Dynasty.]
"WOAH!" Ziyang's eyes lit up like festival lanterns. "Eastern fantasy AND a system interface? This keeps getting better!"
He turned back to the still-dazed Liangyu, pointing at him with wild excitement.
"LET'S GOOOOO!!"