"Why… why the hell can't I open my damn eyes?!"
It wasn't just darkness—it was blank. A complete void. No light, no vague outlines, not even the faint red blur of eyelids filtering through sunlight. Just pitch-black nothingness, an eternal ink-stained canvas.
He tried to lift his arms—nothing. He struggled to shift his legs—also nothing. His entire body was stiff, bound, immobile. A chilling realization gripped him.
He was tied up.
'What the actual hell?! Who the hell tied me up?!'
Panic bloomed in his chest like a wild flame. His thoughts turned into a frantic scramble. Who would kidnap him? Who would want to kidnap someone like Wu Zhu?
He wasn't rich, wasn't influential, wasn't even slightly important in the grand scheme of things. He didn't own a company. He didn't have a fan club. Hell, he didn't even have a job.
He was a regular guy with a failing sense of direction, a caffeine addiction, and a roommate with too many conspiracy theories and not enough brain cells.
Wait—
'Jake…'
A cold shiver ran down his spine. That name alone felt like a curse.
'Don't tell me that bastard Jake did this!?'
He tried to shout, scream, swear with every word in the uncensored dictionary, but all that came out were muffled grunts. His mouth was gagged. Probably with one of Jake's stinking socks, if he knew him well enough.
Even worse, it was working—his words were useless, his protests pitiful.
He forced his mind to rewind, desperate to recall the last memory before all this chaos. Where was he last?
The images came in flashes.
A dimly lit room. His desk. The screen glowing with distorted imagery. The shrill cries of some digital ghost.
Yes. That game.
The title alone was stupid: The Most Horrific Game. What kind of name was that? It sounded like it came from a twelve-year-old who just discovered the word "edgy."
But, being the curious idiot he was, Wu Zhu had downloaded it anyway. It was on sale. He thought, How bad could it be?
And that's when everything went downhill.
He remembered launching the game, smirking at the ridiculous splash screen. His confidence was at an all-time high—until the opening scene. The ambiance? Oppressive. The soundtrack? Crawled into your skull like a cold centipede. The visuals? Not even gory—just wrong.
The worst part? He wasn't alone… or rather, he was alone.
Jake, his ever-loyal roommate and relentless critic of horror games, refused to play. But he did agree to "support" Wu Zhu by tying himself to a chair nearby. Why? Because, apparently, "shared trauma builds stronger friendship."
Jackass logic.
So there Wu Zhu sat, controller in hand, a trembling mess, while Jake sat there calmly like some deranged monk—probably enjoying his suffering and his too.
He could handle jumpscares, sure. He'd survived haunted house attractions, he'd watched entire horror trilogies without flinching… okay, maybe with a little flinching.
But this game? This was different. It chewed at your nerves, gnawed on your thoughts. And the moment that thing—whatever it was—crawled out of the TV screen with its twitching limbs and ancient chant—
His brain had blue-screened.
He passed out.
Like a damn coward.
The shame alone made him want to scream, but that shame was nothing compared to the vengeance brewing in his gut.
'Just you wait, Jake. Next time, I'd make you sleep alone in a room with baby cries playing on loop, horror music in reverse, and maybe even some random ancient Sanskrit just for flavor. And I'd lock the door.'
'You wanna play games? You'll play games.'
But right now, all he could do was squirm like a worm on a hook.
The ground beneath him felt strange. Not the cold ceramic of his apartment tiles. No, this was rough—coarse and oddly warm.
Wood?
'Why is the floor wooden? Shouldn't it be tiles? Are we… not home?'
His squirming paused.
A creeping thought slithered into his head.
'Don't tell me he kidnapped me somewhere remote!?'
His thirst for revenge shot to nuclear levels.
Three weeks. No, three months. Jake was going in the haunted house. No escape. Full surround sound. Locked windows. Fog machine.
Driven by rage and mild paranoia, Wu Zhu started wiggling again—harder, faster. He twisted his arms, strained his legs, until finally—
Thud!
His head slammed into something solid.
White-hot pain bloomed in his skull. It felt like a dozen needles exploded in his brain. He wanted to scream, cry, anything—but his gag silenced him. The only sound he could make was a pathetic, nasal whimper and labored breathing through his nose.
Muffled breaths turned to desperate panting.
He was done. Done with this game. Done with Jake. Done with whatever dimension he'd been yeeted into.
'JAKE!!! PLEASE!!! I TAKE IT BACK!! I WON'T EVER MAKE YOU WATCH HORROR MOVIES!! I SWEAR!! I'LL EVEN WATCH THOSE CRAPPY ROMCOMS YOU LOVE! JUST LET ME OUT!!'
But of course, no one answered.
There was no reply. No chuckle. No witty jab. Not even a sarcastic comment from his captor.
Silence.
A silence so complete, it rang in his ears.
Wait…
'Where the hell is Jake?'
He stopped squirming.
There was no shuffling. No breathing. No restrained laughter in the background.
Nothing.
Just the sound of his own heart, pounding like a war drum in his chest.
He didn't know where he was. Didn't know why he was bound. Didn't even know if this was a prank anymore.
For the first time… a genuine sliver of fear slipped through the cracks of his annoyance and embarrassment.
Then.
As if hearing the desperate scream echoing in his thoughts, the sharp tap of footsteps rang through the room.
His ears twitched.
They were faint at first, like someone cautiously testing the floorboards, but they were real—blessedly real. Wu Zhu's heart leapt like a trapped frog suddenly given hope. Relief washed over him in waves.
'Jake! That bastard finally came back!'
He didn't even care anymore—he was ready to throw away his pride, grovel at Jake's feet, maybe even throw in a back massage.
He'd even apologize in full Japanese bowing style if it meant getting out of this horror house prank. "Please forgive me, senpai," level of groveling.
The sound of something creaking broke through the silence.
A door? A window?
Whoosh.
A gust of wind swept into the room, threading icy fingers across his bare skin. The chill wasn't just cold—it was unnatural. It slithered down his spine, settled deep into his bones, and made him shiver like a washing machine on its final spin cycle.
'Wait a second... wasn't the apartment sealed tight?'
'Isn't this wind a little too cold?' he thought, suspicion flickering. 'Where the hell are we?'
The footsteps resumed.
This time, louder. Closer. Each step landed with purpose, like the one walking wasn't in a hurry—because they knew exactly where he was.
Then… silence.
The footsteps stopped.
Wu Zhu tensed. He could feel it now—someone was standing right beside him. But there was no laugh, no snarky voice, no sarcastic "Gotcha!" from Jake.
Just oppressive silence.
He swallowed hard. Maybe Jake was mad. Like, really mad. Maybe he finally snapped because of all the games and pranks. But this level of salt? Wasn't it a bit too much?
Come on, bro. You didn't have to go full serial killer over a horror game.
'Jake!! Come on, man! Just ungag me, I'll apologize! I'll even do that deep bow thing! With full regret and background music! Just say something!!'
And then—it happened.
A hand touched his head.
It wasn't a soft pat. It wasn't a playful flick.
It was a firm grip.
The hand was large, rough, calloused. This wasn't Jake's noodle-thin gamer hand. No, this was the hand of someone who lifted iron for breakfast and drank protein shakes like holy water. This was a gym rat's hand.
'Who the hell is this?!'
The grip tightened.
And then—
Pain.
White-hot, soul-tearing, unholy pain.
It felt like his skull was being crushed in a vice made of agony. His nerves lit up like fireworks, his body spasmed, and he screamed through the gag—a high-pitched, muffled wail that sounded like a dying animal.
'AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!'
His jaw clamped down from the sheer intensity, and he bit into the cloth in his mouth, hard. A metallic taste filled his mouth.
Blood.
He'd bitten his lip clean through.
But that pain? That was nothing compared to what came next.
His mind snapped.
Suddenly, images flooded his vision—no, not just images. Memories.
Except they weren't his.
Foreign scenes passed through his consciousness in rapid bursts: a boy meditating under a waterfall, his body glowing with energy. A blade flashing in moonlight as someone clashed against a beast the size of a mountain.
None of it made sense.
He wasn't seeing them—he was experiencing them. As if his soul had been yanked from his body and shoved into someone else's life.
'What the hell is happening?!'
Before he could even make sense of it, the visions twisted again.
This time… they were his own memories.
His mom's cooking. His dad's dry jokes. His childhood bike crash that made him afraid of gravel paths for five years. His high school crush rejecting him on Valentine's Day. That one time he almost went viral for sneezing like a trumpet.
Everything.
College, failures, video games, tears, awkward bathroom moments—even his solo "relaxation" sessions in the dead of night. He saw them all.
'Why… WHY is that memory so detailed?!'
He could even feel the post-nut clarity washing over him like a cold shower. He nearly died from shame then and there.
'WHY ARE THESE MEMORIES COMING BACK?! WHO THE HELL IS THIS GUY?! IS HE TRYING TO KILL ME?! IT WAS JUST A GAME, BRO!! I DIDN'T MEAN TO PLAY IT!!'
'JAKE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!—Wait no, your mom's hot, not a bitch, I didn't mean that! That's beside the point!!!'
He couldn't take it anymore. The pain was too much. The shame, unbearable. His soul felt like it was being torn apart by divine judgment.
Then—just as the screaming in his head reached its crescendo—the hand let go.
The pain vanished.
Just like that.
It was so sudden, so jarring, that Wu Zhu lay there twitching, blinking tears through the blindfold. His entire body was covered in sweat, breath ragged like he'd run a marathon through fire.
He wasn't sure if he was alive or dead. Maybe this was purgatory. Or maybe he'd awakened some cursed bloodline that specialized in cringe attacks.
But then, hope returned.
He heard a faint shuffle. The ropes binding his wrists were being loosened. Then his ankles.
The guy was untying him.
Relief burst through his chest like sunlight.
'Thank you! You're not so bad after all!! I swear on my half-eaten ramen I will never prank anyone again! Even if I have to face a thousand horror games, I'll turn a new leaf!'
The blindfold slipped away.
Light stabbed his eyes like daggers. He groaned, twisting his face into something between a demon and a dying frog.
"GAHHHHH—Bro!! That was a prank from hell! I swear, I am done! No more horror, no more trolling—just peace and wholesome romcoms from now on!"
Sunlight poured in from the open window and door. Dust motes danced in the light like tiny spirits. The room wasn't one he recognized—it was rustic, wooden, strangely ancient-looking. Definitely not his apartment.
He tried to sit up.
Bad idea.
His body screamed in protest. Every joint ached like rusted gears. He felt like someone had yanked him out of retirement at 97 years old.
"Arghhh—damn, I feel like a grandpa doing yoga! What kind of demonic bondage session was this?!"
He rolled on the ground, groaning dramatically.
He didn't even care how stupid he looked.
He was free.
"This isn't your world... Wu... Wu Zhu, is it?"
The voice rang out low and calm, yet it held the weight of something terrifying beneath the surface—like a calm sea hiding a trench that went deeper than thought itself.
It was the same voice—the same voice that had dragged his soul across a battlefield of pain and torn through his memories like tissue paper.
Wu Zhu groaned, his head pounding like a drum, but he forced his eyes open through sheer will. His body still ached, like his muscles had been torn and put back together wrong. His vision swam for a moment, but soon settled on the silhouette of the speaker.
The man before him stood still, serene, dressed in a long black robe that looked like it belonged in a historical drama. It flowed around his lean form with elegant precision, cinched at the waist with a crimson sash.
His pale complexion gave him an ethereal air, and his features were sharp—almost too perfect, like he'd been carved from stone by a god in a particularly romantic mood.
But the most striking feature was his hair—jet black and cascading like a midnight waterfall down to his back. His eyes were blood-red, sharp and gleaming like rubies under moonlight.
Cold and dangerous, and yet... there was a strange, inexplicable warmth within them. Something that made Wu Zhu's heart settle just a little.
He stared for a long second before croaking out, "What do you mean this isn't my world? Are you cosplaying or something? What is this? A prank sequel? Are you trying to mess with me again?"
He spat the words out, bitter and exhausted. "You're with Jake, aren't you? Just how much more does that guy want me to suffer? Just let me say sorry already and be done with it, damn it!"
The man let out a soft laugh. It wasn't mocking. It wasn't derisive. It was... amused. Pleasant, even. Wu Zhu blinked. Why the hell was this guy so goddamn good-looking? Where had Jake picked up such a visually elite being?
"You'll believe me soon enough," the man said gently, his crimson gaze never leaving Wu Zhu. "Step outside this shed and you'll see it for yourself. I have no reason to lie. Besides... I'm fairly certain you've transmigrated."
That word made Wu Zhu pause.
His eyes widened slightly. "Oh, is that so?" he said, narrowing his eyes, flashing a smug, shit-eating grin. "And I suppose next you'll tell me I'm the chosen one? Do I get a system too? Is this Earth's backyard or something? Because you're tossing out anime words like you just finished watching ten isekai in a row."
He looked like he had caught the man in a lie. Like he'd just exposed a magician's trick.
But the man only smiled again. There was something exasperated yet fond in that expression.
"You must've seen the memories of this body's original host," he said calmly. "When I searched through your soul, I saw them. And I saw yours, too. Every memory. Each and every one."
Wu Zhu's smug grin died.
The blood drained from his face.
"W-wait... you mean every memory?" he asked slowly, panic rising. "Even the, uh... the private ones?"
The man chuckled softly, this time clearly amused. "Yes. Even the ones in... what did you call it? Incognito mode?"
Wu Zhu let out a strangled cry of humiliation and slapped a hand to his forehead. "You saw the search history?! Even the incognito ones?! That's not fair! That's illegal in some places!! You violated a sacred boundary!"
"You're an amusing one," the man replied, shaking his head. "You find yourself in another world—your very soul transported across the cosmic veil—and what troubles you most is your... internet history."
"It was very private!" Wu Zhu said defensively, crossing his arms like a child getting scolded. Then he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Well, I guess I've always been good at adapting. And if this is a fantasy world... honestly, it's kind of my dream. I'm a veteran otaku, man. I've been prepping for this since I was twelve."
The man's lips quirked slightly upward. He didn't say anything for a moment, but gave a small, approving nod—as if Wu Zhu's ridiculous reaction had somehow passed some kind of hidden test.
Wu Zhu, now slightly more relaxed, was starting to get used to the surreal atmosphere... until pain stabbed through his skull again like a hot needle piercing his brain.
He gasped, his eyes going wide as another wave of memories surged into him—this time, far clearer and more vivid than before. They weren't fragmented. They were whole. And this time... he remembered everything.
The original owner of this body... his name had also been Wu Zhu.
He was a prodigy, a once-in-a-century genius with talent that shocked the heavens themselves. He had been hailed as an immortal seed, destined to reach the apex of cultivation across the Central Continent. His clan had been among the most powerful, prestigious in both strength and honor.
But that all crumbled the moment he fell in love with the wrong woman.
She was a vixen in every sense. Beautiful beyond reason. Graceful and kind—on the surface. He got engaged to her, loved her, trusted her. And she betrayed him. Not just him—his entire family.
She was a spy sent by a rival clan. With the help of a demonic cultivator, she framed the Wu Clan, manipulated events, and turned the entire continent against them. A purge began, swift and merciless. His clan was annihilated—every last member slain under the banner of "justice."
But Wu Zhu? He wasn't killed. He wasn't even framed. He was simply discarded—tossed aside like garbage into a remote, forsaken land.
And from there... he clawed his way back.
Using nothing but raw determination and
latent talent, he eventually entered the prestigious Seven Strike Martial Sect of the southern region. But fate was cruel once more.
He made one mistake.
He laid eyes on another woman—another beauty, jade-skinned and ethereal: Miss Ling Xue. But she was already being pursued by a young master.
The very man standing before him.
Zheng Xie.