Chen Xing — a 22-year-old youth from modern-day China — had just graduated from university.
During his four years of study, he worked hard enough to earn the school's scholarship nearly every year. His major was anime design, chosen out of passion, and now he was in the midst of job hunting.
In his own words, his personality was:
> "I'm very straightforward — a little too stubborn. Once I've decided something, even eight bulls couldn't drag me back."
He didn't have a girlfriend. Most of the beautiful girls he met were homebodies immersed in their own worlds, and since he wasn't interested in that type, he simply stayed single.
His appearance was decent — not strikingly handsome, but with a kind of quiet resilience. He stood at about 1.75 meters, an average height.
His parents had been senior staff members at a private company. A few years ago, they traveled to Sichuan for vacation, but tragedy struck: the devastating earthquake hit. Their hotel collapsed, burying them beneath the rubble. They died together, leaving Chen Xing, then a high school student, without close relatives.
They had left behind a three-bedroom apartment and ¥100,000 in savings. That money helped him finish high school and attend an ordinary provincial university.
He chose anime design because of his deep love for Japanese animation. To better study its style, he even learned some Japanese. Over the years, he became deeply familiar with all kinds of anime, from shōnen epics to subtle slice-of-life works.
But now, the inheritance was almost gone — less than ¥10,000 remained.
It wasn't that he couldn't find a job, but he refused to accept work that didn't match his skills.
> "If I can't find something I'm satisfied with, I won't waste my degree for a meager salary."
He didn't see this as arrogance — it was pride in the sweat and effort he'd poured into the past four years.
Looking at the resume folder in his hands, he shook his head. He was on his way to an interview, but his confidence wavered. The company favored graduates from prestigious universities, and although his anime design skills were solid, hiring managers seemed more concerned with diplomas than actual ability.
In short, standing out was… difficult.
> "Forget it. I'll try anyway. If I give up now, I give up all hope."
He tightened his grip on the folder, looked at the bustling traffic, and his eyes grew firm.
---
"Little one, don't run too far!" A gentle female voice pulled Chen Xing out of his thoughts.
A young woman, perhaps 27, walked ahead with a smile. Behind her, about five or six meters away, ran a pink-cheeked little girl, no more than four or five years old.
"Mom, hurry up!" The girl's voice was crisp and innocent, her laughter like silver bells.
Chen Xing's heavy mood lightened as he watched the child approach. She was like a porcelain doll — adorable enough to melt anyone's heart.
But suddenly—
"Ah! No!" The young mother's expression changed in horror.
Chen Xing looked up sharply — a black wooden chopping board had slipped from a second or third-floor balcony and was plummeting straight toward the little girl.
The girl froze, startled by her mother's shout.
Without thinking, Chen Xing sprinted forward. He snatched the girl into his arms and shielded her with his body.
A split second later— CRACK! —the board smashed into the back of his head.
---
"Call an ambulance!" the woman's desperate cry rang out, mingled with the little girl's sobs.
Chen Xing's vision blurred. His consciousness began to drift, as though his spirit were lifting from his body. Something warm and unseen wrapped around him, pulling him upward and away.
Somewhere in the distance came a brittle, crystalline sound — like glass shattering.
A voice followed, strange and ageless despite its childish tone:
> "The host candidate is too weak. I'll have to find him another body… Yes, the nearest compatible vessel will do."
---
Far away, under the silent night sky, in a small, remote village…
Space itself seemed to crack like a mirror. A jagged rift opened in midair, emitting an eerie sound. From it, a strange square seal emerged, covered in ancient, beast-like carvings. Its copper-green surface radiated a faint light before shrinking to the size of a dice and vanishing into the darkness.
---
In a dilapidated wooden hut — the kind with sliding paper doors and straw mats seen in rural Japan's older days — a frail boy lay motionless on a bed of dry grass in the corner. His clothes were ragged, his skin pale. He wasn't breathing.
> "Perfect. Not dead yet… suitable for the host."
Pain flooded Chen Xing's body. It was as if foreign energy was forcing its way into his veins. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were unbearably heavy. Again and again, he failed.
Time blurred — darkness, pain, loneliness — until at last, his eyes snapped open.
He found himself staring at a dim wooden ceiling, its beams rough and uneven.
> "Wait… wasn't I hit by a chopping board? How did I end up here? This isn't a hospital. And… this doesn't look like anywhere in modern China."
Yet, despite the confusion, one thought eased him: At least that little girl is safe. I hope she grows up happy.
Before he could gather himself, a voice spoke directly into his mind:
> "You haven't died."
His heart skipped a beat. He tried to speak, but no sound came out.
> "No need to strain your eyes — I'm in your spiritual sea," the voice continued. It was a girl's voice, but with an ancient weight behind it.
Chen Xing, an avid anime reader, recognized the term — in cultivation and fantasy stories, the sea of consciousness was the inner world of the mind and soul.
> "If you want to speak, just think it," the voice instructed.
Tentatively, he formed the thought: Who are you?
> "I am the unique divine artifact of this world. You died — and I brought you across."
The childish voice sounded almost smug.
Chen Xing's mind reeled. Artifact? Was that… the seal from before?