I woke up in a haze.
A dull ache throbbed at the back of my head, rippling outward like circles spreading across water. I instinctively reached up to touch the sore spot.
The heaviness in my mind made it hard to open my eyes.
The air carried the scent of herbs… and flowers.
Somewhere in the distance, birds were calling.
The bed… felt a little too firm.
A sleeve brushed lightly against my cheek.
Slowly, I forced my eyes open.
Through my blurred vision, I saw a wide sleeve draped over my arm—beneath it, another layer of long fabric.
Huh?
When my gaze shifted to the unfamiliar surroundings, the drowsiness in my eyes vanished, widening with sudden clarity.
Huh?
My heart skipped. I shot upright.
Pain flared from the wound, making me wince.
After a brief wave of dizziness, I looked around.
I blinked. Rubbed my eyes.
Still there.
This wasn't a dream.
…Where am I?
_
It was a small mountain cave.
The interior was simple, almost austere.
A low wooden table.
A meditation cushion.
Two or three shelves stood near the bed.
They weren't filled with books, but with dried herbs, animal bones, and a few objects that looked suspiciously like… art pieces? Or maybe tools whose purpose I couldn't even guess.
Glowing stones were embedded in the walls, casting a soft light that kept the cave from falling into darkness.
Outside the cave entrance, sunlight blazed brilliantly.
Wild greenery and blooming flowers stretched into the distance, scattering dappled patches of light across the ground.
The sunlight was too bright.
The edges of the leaves shimmered with a faint golden outline—like someone had run them through Photoshop.
Even the air looked strange.
The blue was too pure.
The green too vivid.
As if the HDR setting had been cranked all the way up.
The vibrant, almost surreal landscape stood in sharp contrast to the unease tightening in my chest.
I forced myself to observe my situation carefully.
—
I was sitting at the edge of the bed.
The "bed" was nothing more than a flat slab of stone covered with animal fur.
The pillow was another piece of hide stuffed with cotton.
…Primitive living?
This body wasn't mine.
These hands weren't mine either.
I stared at the slender, jade-like fingers in front of me—fair, delicate, almost luminous.
A simple silver ring rested on the middle finger of my left hand.
My chest was… significantly larger than my original body's.
The clothes I was wearing came in layers—four of them—resembling ancient women's robes.
The outermost layer was a pale blue, silk-like gauzy robe with wide sleeves, slightly translucent in the light.
Beneath it was a white long robe with fitted cuffs.
Under that, a thinner white inner garment.
And closest to my skin, a more fitted underlayer.
These clothes were anything but ordinary.
Despite all the layers, I didn't feel stuffy or weighed down.
The fabric was smooth and comfortable to the touch.
Cool at first contact—then gradually warming.
Was it regulating my body temperature?
Or did this world come with built-in climate-control nanotechnology?
_
This body's hair was jet black, falling all the way to the waist.
There were no ornaments pinned into it, no ribbons or clasps.
Even though I had just gotten up from bed, it wasn't messy at all—still smooth and perfectly in place.
Huh?
What amazing hair quality.
I tried taking a slow, deep breath.
The air in my chest felt cool.
It was as if fine threads slipped in through my nose, streamed into my lungs, then dispersed along my blood vessels to my limbs.
My fingertips tingled faintly.
Not from cold—but like a mild electric current running just beneath the skin.
My heartbeat was slower than usual, yet each thud landed heavy and resonant, like the beat of a drum.
This… spiritual energy?
Or were my concussion aftereffects acting up again?
I experimented by moving my hands and feet, twisting slightly at the waist.
This body was incredibly flexible.
I could even bend backward with ease.
This… borrowed body…
What a strange, wondrous sensation.
_
So… this is transmigration, isn't it?
And not just any kind—this is soul transmigration.
I sat back down on the edge of the bed and carefully retraced what I had done before losing consciousness.
I got off work and picked up dinner on the way home.
After eating, I washed up, took a shower, and rinsed away the fatigue of the day.
Then I turned on my computer, ready to write.
I hadn't even written more than a few hundred words.
My vision began to dissociate.
I had injured my head some time ago.
Ever since then, whenever I overthought things or wrote for too long, these symptoms would appear.
The world would feel unreal—like I was watching everything through a television screen.
Sometimes it even felt as though my consciousness was drifting away from my body.
I shook my head.
But my awareness still began to float, beyond my control.
It was as if some invisible force was pulling at me.
I tried to steady myself through sheer willpower, but it was useless.
In the instant before everything went dark, I thought I saw myself slumped over my desk.
Whether I lived or died… I didn't know.
And when I woke again, I was here.
—
A sudden sigh escaped me.
I had been writing for over a year.
My work was neither a hit nor a failure—just lukewarm.
Thankfully, there were still readers who left comments and feedback. That was the only reason I kept going.
I had written transmigration stories before.
But I never imagined I would become the protagonist of one.
What is this, exactly?
When I tried to define my protagonist, was someone else defining me in turn?
There are still so many things in our world that science cannot explain.
Perhaps other worlds truly exist—we simply have no way of understanding them.
Just like now.
If this is a novel's world, trouble will surely arrive soon.
If this is a real alternate world, then the former owner's acquaintances will inevitably come looking for her.
As someone accustomed to modern conveniences, can I really survive in this crisis-ridden otherworld?
I looked around at my surroundings, and my heart suddenly felt heavy.
Well… I'm already here.
No matter what, the first priority is survival.
First, I need to figure out what kind of world this is.
Only then can I decide my next move.
_
My gaze shifted to my surroundings.
I walked toward the mouth of the cave.
Outside, the scenery was radiant.
Sunlight poured over me, warm and comforting.
The air was fresh and natural, clearing away some of the gloom in my heart.
On either side of the cave entrance were two enclosed plots of farmland.
One side was planted with what looked like medicinal herbs—some of them even in bloom.
The other side grew vegetables and fruits.
The flowers, herbs, and produce all looked slightly wilted.
Should I water them first?
There was a water jar beside the fields.
I scooped up a few ladles and sprinkled the water over both plots.
Something strange happened.
The wilted plants visibly revived before my eyes.
They became vibrant and dewy, not a trace of their earlier drooping state remaining.
Was that… the effect of the water?
Or were these plants not ordinary species to begin with?
—
Beyond the farmland stood clusters of trees, tall and small alike.
Wildflowers bloomed among lush green grass.
It was a peaceful, idyllic pastoral scene.
I stood quietly, breathing in the fresh, natural air.
My eyesight was far sharper than before.
I could see the feathers on distant birds in perfect detail, each strand distinct.
With a body this exceptional, why would its original owner abandon it?
Was it an accident?
Or something deliberate?
What kind of world is this?
And why have I come here?
_
I returned to the cave and walked toward the source of the light along the wall.
Several small glowing stones were embedded there.
Could these stones be something extraordinary as well?
I leaned in for a closer look.
As expected—they were luminous pearls.
Are luminous pearls worthless in this world?
Or are they simply so common that they can be casually set into a wall for lighting?
—
I moved closer to the low table.
On its surface lay brush, ink, paper, and an inkstone.
A stack of yellow talisman papers.
Several thin bamboo slips.
And a small knife.
There was also a sheet of paper covered in writing.
I picked it up and examined it.
At first glance, I couldn't understand a single character.
But after focusing for a while, the meaning gradually became clear.
It was a very strange sensation.
Was it some residual awareness left behind in the objects?
Or the lingering consciousness of the body's original owner?
Something was allowing me to read it.
It said:
"Level-one demonic beasts: unsuitable, edible but without effect.
Level-two demonic beasts: barely acceptable, edible with negligible effect, meat tender and flavorful.
Level-three demonic beasts…"
Was this written by the original owner?
The handwriting was neat and orderly, carrying a faintly ethereal quality.
It read almost like a coded record.
But what exactly was being documented?
_
I sat cross-legged on the meditation cushion, staring at the items laid out on the table.
Based on the countless web novels I'd read—and a bit of author's intuition—I reached for one of the yellow talismans and examined it carefully.
It was blank.
The material was neither quite paper nor quite anything else. Tougher than paper, yet not as durable as hide. It wasn't exactly leather, but compared to plant or animal skin, it felt more fragile.
It didn't seem cheap.
If I remembered correctly, parchment could cost anywhere from twenty to a hundred U.S. dollars per sheet.
This talisman paper had a faint fabric-like texture, yet lacked the softness and flexibility of cloth.
Was the original owner secretly wealthy?
Or were talisman papers like this actually inexpensive here?
I set the talisman down and picked up one of the bamboo slips beside it.
Some were long, some short.
Some had writing on them; others were blank.
I focused carefully on the tiny characters carved into one of them.
But no matter how I stared, I couldn't make them out clearly.
As I concentrated harder, a line of text suddenly appeared in my mind.
"Spirit-Gathering Array, Banner Three."
I jumped.
My heartbeat quickened.
The bamboo slip slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the table.
What… was that just now?
I tried again.
This time, not only did words surface in my mind, but the faint afterimage of a formation diagram flashed before my inner eye.
A sharp pain exploded in my head.
The luminous pearls in the wall flickered, bright and dim in uneven pulses.
The air felt as though it had been sucked out of the cave.
And then I realized—
A moment ago, there had been birds chirping outside.
Now, there was nothing.
What… is happening?
Residual consciousness?
From the objects?
Or from the body?
—
My gaze shifted to the brush, the inkstone, the liquid ink, and the ink stick on the table.
These couldn't be ordinary either.
At the very least, they weren't something my world could have produced.
From the look of it, this place resembled the cave abode of a cultivator.
Talismans.
Formations.
Was the original owner some kind of cultivator? A Daoist practitioner?
What sort of world is this?
In so many novels, each world follows its own system of rules.
I still don't know whether I transmigrated into a novel.
But one thing is certain—
I am already here.
I let out a soft sigh.
I don't know what kind of world this is.
Nor what kind of person the original owner was.
But I've taken her body.
And inevitably, I will have to live her life.
_
I rose to my feet and walked toward the shelf beside the bed.
Various medicinal herbs and materials were arranged upon it, sorted neatly into categories. Some appeared to be unprocessed bundles of unknown plants. Others had clearly been treated—dried leaves, sliced roots, fruits, and petals—each placed inside small boxes labeled with their names.
In the far corner of the bottom shelf sat a furnace. It resembled an incense burner, yet was much larger than any ordinary one.
Alchemy?
One of the essential skills of a cultivator.
Was this truly a world of immortals and cultivation?
On the shelf opposite were stacks of animal pelts, bones, scales, and feathers of many varieties. Some of the bones and scales shimmered faintly with light.
Artifact refinement?
So she could refine tools as well.
The original owner seemed remarkably versatile.
Did she possess all the foundational skills of a cultivator?
—
Should I start cramming cultivation techniques now—sharpening my skills at the last minute in case of an emergency?
After all, the cultivation world is nothing like the relative peace of the modern one.
Or should I first investigate who the original owner was—what past she had—
So I don't accidentally cross paths with someone I shouldn't?
At that thought, I shook my head with a wry smile.
It doesn't take repeated proof to know:
What is meant to come will come.
What must be dealt with will be dealt with.
Who I am destined to meet, I will meet.
—
Suddenly, my gaze fell on the silver ring on my finger.
If this is truly a cultivation world, then this ring can't be an ordinary ornament.
I ran my thumb over the silver band and tried to pull it off, wanting to examine it more closely.
It wouldn't budge.
The moment I exerted force, an image of the items inside the ring flashed through my mind.
My heart skipped.
All my movements froze.
This… a storage ring?
One of those high-tier spatial artifacts from cultivation novels?
I carefully surveyed what was inside.
Several sets of identical clothing in dark hues.
A few porcelain bottles filled with pills.
Three thick books, their covers worn and slightly tattered, as though frequently handled by their owner.
Several jade tokens.
Jade slips?
Books of the cultivation world?
A few beautiful stones that shimmered faintly, their surfaces glowing as if emitting vapor.
What kind of stones are those?
They look extraordinary.
There were also raw ingredients—unprocessed vegetables still dusted with soil. Whole cuts of meat from skinned animals, the flesh clean and bloodless. An assortment of fruits I couldn't even identify.
All of it remained astonishingly fresh.
Was the original owner skilled in cooking as well?
Did she enjoy fine food?
In one corner, more than a dozen large chests were stacked together.
I focused, trying to open them.
A sharp pain pierced my head.
The images inside my mind vanished instantly.
Is there… a restriction preventing me from accessing them?
The reputation of storage rings was well earned.
They preserve freshness.
They hold vast amounts of space.
Back when I read novels, I always wished for a storage space of my own.
To carry everything I owned without fear of losing it.
To go anywhere alone, unburdened.
Now that I have one—
I feel no joy at all.
_
I ran my fingers over the ring again, focusing on the three books drifting in my mind.
With a single thought, they appeared in my hands.
Oh?
That was easy.
The books were surprisingly heavy.
Their covers were worn and peeling, preserved not by any advanced cultivation method, but by ordinary paper.
So this world has mortals too?
Or are these books simply ancient?
I stared at them quietly, my thoughts spiraling.
How exactly did I transmigrate?
The original owner clearly wasn't an ordinary cultivator.
The clothes I'm wearing—surely they're spirit garments?
They feel expensive.
And the storage ring.
Everything points to serious wealth.
Then again, maybe these items are commonplace here, and it's only my old world that never had anything this strange.
—
I placed the books on the low table and sat cross-legged on the cushion.
Picking up the first one, I ran my fingers over its wrinkled, flaking cover. It had clearly been handled often.
Only two characters were faintly visible on the front.
I focused.
At first, I couldn't read them.
Then suddenly, I could.
Perhaps as long as I concentrate, I can access everything the original owner left behind?
I flipped through a few pages.
It turned out to be something like a Classic of Mountains and Seas—a travelogue of sorts.
It recorded the author's journeys: the wonders of this world, its legends, medicinal herbs, minerals, creatures, cities, races, and taboos.
An astonishing range of subjects.
Anything the writer had seen or experienced was meticulously documented.
No wonder the original owner treasured it.
For someone newly arrived like me, it was invaluable.
At the very least, it gave me a preliminary understanding of this world.
—
The second book was a history text.
It recorded major and minor events that had shaped this world.
It too had been frequently read, though the margins were filled with additional notes in the original owner's hand.
The third book resembled something like a scripture from my world—part Buddhist sutra, part Bible, part Tao Te Ching.
It contained philosophies on self-cultivation, governance, and the ordering of the world.
—
I flipped through the third book absentmindedly.
My eyes moved across the text, yet none of it seemed to register in my conscious thoughts.
It felt as though I wasn't thinking at all—
And yet, somehow, I was thinking far too much.
Suddenly, I stopped turning the pages.
All my awareness snapped back into place.
A dull ache throbbed in my head.
I tried to recall that strange sensation.
Closing the third book, I studied its unassuming cover.
Of course.
This plain, ordinary-looking volume was the most mysterious—and the hardest to comprehend.
I returned the books to the storage ring, stood up, and walked toward the cave entrance.
It was time to step outside.
The moment I crossed the threshold—
A sharp, piercing cry tore through the sky.
I looked up.
A dark shadow was plummeting downward.