His name was Lin Ming. He was born on Earth, in a tranquil Southern nation. His parents died young in a traffic accident while he was still an infant, and he was raised by his maternal grandparents in a small house roofed with rusty corrugated iron, nestled behind a cluster of banana trees and an old star apple tree. His life was frugal, perpetually marked by the scent of kitchen smoke, the sound of crowing roosters, and the nightly chorus of frogs from the pond behind the house.
His grandparents were elderly and frail, subsisting on government aid and whatever odd jobs they could find in the neighborhood. He was neither demanding nor mischievous like the children his age. Every morning, he carried a bag of rice with salted sesame seeds to school; in the afternoon, he helped his grandfather chop wood, clean the garden, and assist his grandmother with dinner. He didn't understand the concept of deep poverty, only that if he didn't strive, the next day's meal would be meager.
His grandfather, a former history teacher, always told him stories of the Hong Bang Era, of Dragons and Immortals, and the dream of the Dragon-Fairy lineage. He listened, remembered, and remained silent, never asking a single question. Those stories gradually seeped into him like rainwater into dry earth. His grandmother often said, "Our people's blood carries the Dragon, yet no one remembers how to awaken it."
When he turned eighteen, his grandfather died of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. A year later, his grandmother passed away too. The funeral was simple, with a few neighbors offering aid. He stood silently by the earthen grave, with only three hundred thousand units of currency left in his pocket. Tuition fees were impossible, and his meager rent money was gone. He dropped out, leaving the university lecture halls to begin a life of complete self-reliance.
By day, he was a laborer's assistant; by night, a delivery rider. Sometimes he washed dishes at restaurants, other times he helped unload cargo from warehouses, perched in the back of trucks. His body was thin but tenacious, the thick calluses on his hands forming a protective armor against hardship. He lived quietly, without relatives or close friends. His rented room, with its damp walls, thin blanket, and cold rice, was the only place he called home.
One late July afternoon, the sky was neither sunny nor rainy, only covered by a pale, misty haze. He took the last delivery order of the day, an address in a new building outside the city's ring road. On his way back, as he passed an intersection near a park, he saw a little girl running across the street, clutching an old teddy bear.
A truck from the opposite direction was speeding; its tires shrieked, but it couldn't stop in time.
Without hesitation, he tossed his motorbike aside, sprinted into the middle of the street, wrapped his arms around the girl, and twisted his body to shield her. The force of the impact was so great it sent him flying backward, his body tumbling across the asphalt, blood spilling from his mouth. The child fell onto the curb, suffering only minor scrapes, while Lin Ming lay motionless.
His eyes were wide open, his pupils slowly dilating. The blare of horns, human shouts, and crying faded in his ears. The scenery blurred like a pencil drawing soaked through with water. Sensation left his body. He said nothing, didn't close his eyes, only surrendered in silence.
...
He didn't know how much time had passed, but his consciousness slowly returned.
He was surrounded by formless darkness, devoid of light and sound. The space had no beginning and no end. His body seemed to be suspended in the Void, without any sense of weight or temperature.
In that very moment, a delicate streak of light, thin as a silk thread, appeared before his eyes, radiating layers of cryptic, strange runes. They revolved around one another like silently orbiting stars.
A clear, ethereal sound rang out. It was not a human voice, but a message that resonated directly within his Mind-Sea.
[Dragon-Fairy Lineage System Activated. Soul Synchronization in progress. Complete.]
From the stream of light, a small maiden materialized. Her body was no larger than the palm of his hand, her white hair flowed down to her heels, and her eyes were like two pieces of jadeite. She wore ancient-style clothing, a short ivory skirt with red trimming, and held a tiny bamboo flute. She was not a living person, yet she was no mere illusion.
She sat cross-legged in the air, her legs swinging, her gaze fixed on him.
"You are the chosen one, the one who bears the Dragon's bloodline. The Dragon-Fairy Lineage System has accepted its Master."
He did not reply. He simply stared at the small maiden before him. Her face was beyond human beauty, but her eyes were bright and clear, like moonlight reflected on spring water.
After a few breaths, he spoke, his voice hoarse:
"Who are you?"
"I am the System Spirit. You may call me whatever is convenient."
He was silent for a few seconds, then said:
"I will call you Jade."
The small maiden nodded, showing neither objection nor surprise.
The world gradually dimmed, and a vortex of light swept over his body. He fell into a state of unconsciousness. The next sensations he registered were the blowing wind, the scent of wild grass, and the distant singing of birds.