Jiji's head throbbed like a war drum. Dum… dum… dum… Each pulse of pain dragged him up from the darkness until his whole body jerked awake. He groaned, clutching his temples.
"Ow, ow, ow…" His voice cracked. He blinked hard, forcing his eyelids apart, but even that felt like peeling dried glue. His vision swam in a haze of white and faint gold.
"Huh? Hurt? Why am I hurting?" He whispered to himself. Then he froze, his thoughts tumbling over each other. "Wait. Am I… still alive? Didn't I… didn't I just get hit? Those lights, that truck…"
His heart skipped. He pushed himself upright with shaky arms, his breath rattling in his throat.
"Does this mean I survived?" he murmured.
Before he could convince himself, a soft but urgent voice called from outside the room.
"Young Master Ji! Young Master Ji, are you awake? The Master is summoning you!"
Jiji stiffened. "Huh? Master? Summoning… who? Young Master Ji?" His head whipped left and right, as if there might be another "Ji" hiding in the room.
The door slid open with a creak. A girl rushed in, carrying a lacquered tray. She looked around seventeen or eighteen, cheeks round and rosy, her big dark eyes glistening like ink under candlelight. A simple peach-colored hanfu wrapped her small frame, the long sleeves swaying as she hurried to the table. Strands of glossy black hair slipped loose from her bun, brushing against her flushed face.
She set the tray down carefully—clink, clink—placing a steaming bowl of porridge, pickled vegetables, and a bamboo cup of tea. "Young Master, please eat," she said, voice both gentle and hurried. "And… please don't be disheartened. It is true the Heaven Flame Sect's envoy ignored you, but it isn't your fault. Your wood spiritual root is simply not suited for their sect. Who knows? The next immortal might come searching for a disciple with wood roots exactly like yours. Heaven's will is mysterious. Do not lose hope, Young Master Ji."
Jiji blinked. He hadn't heard half of what she said because his brain tripped on the words. Spiritual root? Wood? Heaven Flame Sect?
He pressed his palm to his forehead. "Wait, wait, wait. What the heck did I just hear? Spiritual root? Cultivation sect? Don't tell me…" His breath hitched. "Don't tell me this is a cultivation world?!"
Jiji had read too many novels and watched a lot of Chinese dramas. Those words… he couldn't be mistaken. If he was, he'd be a snail.
The girl, thinking he was still shaken, smiled nervously and pushed the porridge closer. "Please eat, Young Master. Food will help you recover."
But Jiji's mind was spiraling. "No way… I actually transmigrated? This isn't just some dream? I didn't just read too many novels?" His stomach twisted. "And… I wasn't accepted into a sect? Out of all the things that could follow me from my old life, rejection has to be one of them?"
He let out a short laugh. "Unbelievable."
Then he cracked his neck slowly, letting the tension ease. "So be it," he muttered, eyes narrowing with a spark of mischief. "I've read enough of these damn novels to know what comes next. Don't panic. Play it cool." Suddenly, he'd mumble. There'll be another chance. There's always another chance."
The girl froze mid-step. "Y-young Master?"
"What?" Jiji raised a brow.
She just… stared at him.
"What? Do I have dirt on my face?" He rubbed his cheek.
Still, she stared.
"Oy." He frowned.
Finally, she blurted, "Young Master Ji, I thought… I thought you had to be accepted into a sect because you always said you'd rather die than work!"
Jiji blinked. "Huh? Wait, what do you mean by work?" Did I blurt what I thought? He mumbled to himself.
The girl, cheeks puffing in exasperation, launched into a dramatic speech. "Young Master, don't you understand? All your life, you've been sheltered, treated like jade, never lifting a finger, never touching a broom! The family let you live like a carefree flower because everyone believed you'd ascend into the immortal path. But now… now that you've been rejected, if fate does not open Heaven's gate for you, then…"
She clutched her sleeves, voice trembling as though announcing a calamity. "Then… you must help the family. That means—yes, Young Master—it means you must work! Truly work! With your own hands! You must sweat! You must toil! You must experience what the servants experience! If you are not destined for immortality, you must shoulder mortal duty!"
Jiji's whole world seemed to freeze. "Work? Again? Even in this world?"
He rubbed his chin, trying to salvage the situation. "Well… maybe it's not so bad. I'm still a young master, right? That probably means some kind of managerial position. Something where I order people around, sign papers, drink tea, you know… the good life."
The girl looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.
Before Jiji could ask further, a sharp knock rattled the door. Knock! Knock!
"Young Master Ji, let's go!" a deep voice barked.
Jiji shot to his feet, heart pounding. "Right. This is it. Finally, the path is opening."
The girl just stood there, stunned, watching him stride out like a man marching to glory.
Outside, a tall man in a black mask waited. His robes were plain but spotless, his posture stiff as stone. Without a word, he turned and gestured. Jiji followed, anticipation boiling in his chest.
"This must be it," Jiji thought. "My big managerial debut. Maybe they'll give me a study, a desk, a feathered brush. I'll sit in a tall chair while servants bow. Not bad. Not bad at all."
But then—
The masked man stopped before a side door. He slid it open to reveal a small, dim storage room. Inside, a wooden mop leaned against the wall. A wooden bucket sat beside it, half-filled with murky water. The air smelled faintly of soap and mold.
Jiji froze. His mouth fell open. "Huh?"
The masked man turned toward him. His tone was polite, but each word felt like a knife. "Young Master, the family head has decided. Since Heaven has closed the immortal path to you, you must first walk the path of the common folk. Only by starting from the very bottom can you understand the lives of workers. Only then will you grow wise and worthy of greater responsibilities. You must learn diligence, humility, and the honor of labor. Sweep the floors. Mop the halls. Wash the buckets. From hardship comes clarity."
Jiji's jaw worked soundlessly.
The masked man continued mercilessly. "It is only right that you earn your worth through sweat. The lowest position is the strongest foundation. From the filth of the earth, a lotus blooms. And from the humblest task, a leader emerges. In the years to come, you may one day guide others—but only after you have held a broom yourself."
Each sentence smashed Jiji's hopes into dust.
"W-what? Where's the managerial position? Where's the seat of authority?!" Jiji's thoughts raced. "What happened to drinking tea and looking down on everyone else?!"
For a fleeting moment, Jiji swore he saw the masked man's eyes gleam with amusement, as if smirking behind that cloth.
Finally, the man clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Good luck, Young Master." His voice carried a mocking cheer, almost singing the words. "Do your best!"
SLAM.
The door shut tight, sealing Jiji inside with the mop, the bucket, and the smell of soap.
Jiji stood there, stunned, staring at the tools of his new "destiny."
"…Unbelievable."