'The Book of Stories.'
Dao Qitian rolled the name around in his mind like he might examine a complex mathematical equation. Even now, years after that fateful paper cut, the memory of those ancient pages filled him with equal parts wonder and unease.
'The Book contains what it calls stories which appears like a novel but it actually and precisely predicated my previous universe's demise.'
That was the thing that still made his enhanced intellect reel. Every "story" in that cursed tome had read like fiction—heroes and villains, epic battles, tragic endings. Standard fantasy fare that any reasonable scientist would dismiss as entertainment. But buried within those seemingly fictional narratives were precise astronomical data, quantum field equations, and entropy calculations that perfectly matched his own research into universal collapse.
The book had known. Somehow, impossibly, it had known that his reality was living on borrowed time.
Dao Qitian had spent months after the discovery convinced he'd found some kind of divine treasure. A cosmic artifact that could simulate reality with 100% accuracy, predicting every possible outcome across infinite timelines. The mathematics alone required to achieve such precision should have been beyond even theoretical possibility.
But then he'd discovered the flaw.
None of the stories accounted for his interference.
Every prediction, every precisely calculated outcome, every "fictional" narrative played out exactly as written—until the moment he got involved. Then the stories became useless, their perfect accuracy crumbling like sand. Characters who should have died lived. Events that were supposed to unfold in specific ways twisted into entirely new patterns.
'Almost like it shows the original story but cannot account for my interference considering I know the future.'
That realization had shaken him more than the universe's impending doom. If the book truly could simulate reality perfectly, why couldn't it account for one variable? What made him different from every other factor in existence?
'And strangely in every story he never finds his 'character' almost like he shouldn't exist.'
Qitian had searched through thousands of pages, millions of words describing countless worlds and realities. He'd found stories that perfectly matched his home universe, stories that depicted this cultivation world down to the smallest detail, stories about places and people he'd never even imagined. But nowhere—not once—had he found any mention of someone like himself.
It was like the book recognized every possible element of reality except for him specifically.
'Did I transmigrate with it?' he wondered, not for the first time. 'Or did it follow me here somehow?'
The questions multiplied every time he thought about it, each one spawning three more in an endless fractal of confusion. Right now though, he had more immediate concerns. Like figuring out whether twelve years of agony had been worth anything at all.
Qitian closed his eyes and tried his first attempt at meditation.
In his previous life, he'd practiced various forms of mindfulness and concentration techniques as tools for enhancing cognitive performance. Nothing mystical or spiritual—just scientifically proven methods for optimizing neural pathways and improving focus. But this felt different. More... substantial somehow.
He wanted to confirm if his quantum soul encoding of all of humanity's knowledge had actually worked.
The theory had been sound enough. If consciousness could be reduced to quantum information patterns—and his research strongly suggested it could—then those patterns could theoretically be compressed and stored within soul-space during dimensional transition. Like creating a backup drive for an entire civilization's accumulated wisdom.
But theory and practice were very different things.
Qitian regulated his breathing, letting his awareness sink deeper into his own mental landscape. The meditation technique came surprisingly easily, like his enhanced soul already knew the pathways to follow. Within moments, he'd achieved a state of focus that should have taken months of practice to develop.
'Actually pretty rare for a child my age,' he noted with clinical detachment, even as part of his mind marveled at the ease of it all.
After a while, he seemed to be able to access... something. A vast repository of information that felt both familiar and foreign. Equations and formulas and theoretical frameworks swirled through his consciousness like a digital library made manifest.
But something was wrong.
'It feels like a knowledge bank, not a thorough mastery and comprehension of all things.'
Qitian frowned, probing deeper into the quantum archive embedded in his soul. The information was definitely there—every textbook he'd ever read, every research paper, every breakthrough insight from humanity's greatest minds. But accessing it felt like consulting an external database rather than drawing on internalized understanding.
'That's a given considering how compressed the data was...'
The realization was both disappointing and expected. You couldn't compress the entirety of human knowledge into quantum patterns without losing something in the translation. Mastery required more than just information—it needed experience, intuition, the kind of deep understanding that came from years of practical application.
Still, having access to humanity's complete scientific archive was hardly something to complain about. Even if he had to treat it like an incredibly advanced reference library rather than instinctive knowledge.
Dao Qitian became excited because with this knowledge he would use it as leverage to forge a path unique to himself.
Cultivation typically followed established routes—ancient techniques passed down through generations, rigid hierarchies of power that rarely allowed for innovation. But he wasn't bound by this world's limitations. He could combine quantum physics with cultivation theory, merge scientific methodology with mystical practices, create entirely new approaches to power that no one would see coming.
'Let's see how well their traditional methods stack up against applied quantum mechanics,' he thought with growing anticipation.
Just as he was getting excited about the possibilities, he felt a strange pull—like someone had attached invisible hooks to his consciousness and was gently tugging him somewhere else entirely.
His awareness shifted.
Suddenly he found himself in an enclosed space that was completely dark except for a single source of light. A golden book hovered in the void before him, emanating warm radiance that pushed back the surrounding shadows. The same book that had changed everything. The same tome that had shown him the truth about reality's fragile nature.
But this wasn't the physical world anymore.
He was deep within his soul!
'Soul Visualization!'
Shock rippled through every fiber of his being. This technique was supposed to be advanced—something that only Soul Condensation Realm experienced cultivators can achieve.
Yet here he was, a twelve-year-old boy who'd been "awakened" for less than a day, casually accessing his soul realm like it was the most natural thing in the world.
'Is this because of my quantum-enhanced soul structure?' he wondered, studying the strange space around him. 'Or is it the book's influence?'
The soul realm stretched out in all directions, vast and seemingly infinite. But unlike the chaotic void he might have expected, this space felt organized. Structured. Like someone had taken the abstract concept of consciousness and given it architectural form.
Shelves materialized out of the darkness as his attention focused on them—endless rows of crystalline structures that hummed with stored information. His compressed knowledge archive, made manifest in visual form. Each shelf contained entire fields of study: quantum mechanics glowing with silver light, nano-engineering pulsing with microscopic energies, mathematics stretching in complex geometric patterns that hurt to look at directly.
But dominating everything was the golden book.
It hung suspended in the center of the space like a small sun, casting warm light across his mental landscape. Up close, he could see that its pages were turning slowly, constantly, displaying stories that shifted and changed even as he watched.
Qitian reached out tentatively, then paused. In his previous life, he'd only ever seen the book in physical form. What would happen if he touched it here, in the depths of his own soul space?
'Only one way to find out.'
His spiritual fingers made contact with the book's glowing surface.