"Murmuring... No... Distant voices... Am... Am I still alive? Ahh, everything seems blurry... Why are the discussions incoherent and distant? Why do I feel wet and sticky? Who cares, I am alive! I am alive..."
Ryan's entire body was filled with joy. His happiness felt like that of a toddler, a betrayal of his seventy-five years of cold demeanor.
So there was a chance for a restart after all...
Ryan forced his eyes open as his gaze fell on a strange-looking woman. Her face was wrinkled with age, her skin darkened from years under the sun. Her eyes were small and sharp, watching him with a calm expression. Strands of gray hair fell loose from her bun, softening her otherwise serious look.
"Where am I?" Ryan's previous happiness disappeared, replaced by weary and confusing thoughts.
"Wonderful... He's so cute!" the old woman said and smiled at him, revealing her unhealthy teeth.
'What language is this? I can understand it?'
This was total confusion for Ryan. He didn't seem to know the kind of language they spoke, but he could understand it. And for some reason, he felt someone had tried to communicate with him in the same language. But who? When?
For now, that didn't matter. He needed to find out where he was and how he got to "wherever this place is." Whether this was the afterlife or not, it was creeping him out, even for a ruthless man like him.
He slowly turned his head and looked around. Now that he looked around, the old woman seemed bigger, and he was in her arms all this while. His whole body felt small, and he didn't like it.
He scowled.
Around him was a the strange interior of a room.
The room was modest but carefully arranged for its purpose. The floor was swept clean and padded with layered straw mats, covered by soft cloths that could be easily replaced. Near the center stood a low wooden bed, sturdily built, with thick quilts folded at the sides in readiness.
On that bed lay a young woman, panting and drenched in sweat, looking much younger than the woman carrying him. Despite her disheveled state, she was radiant, her long black hair clinging to flushed skin, her bright blue eyes fixed on him with an expression of pure joy.
"Why is she looking at me like that?" Ryan scowled inwardly, ignoring her gaze, not even noticing her near-nakedness. He cared little for such things now.
A brazier glowed in the corner, keeping the room warm, its faint smoke mingling with the scent of medicinal herbs that hung from the rafters—ginger, mugwort, and dried roots. Beside the bed, a small table held ceramic bowls, clean cloths, and a basin of warm water. A bundle of cutting tools, carefully wrapped in linen, rested within easy reach.
The lighting was soft and steady... an oil lamp on a wooden stand, its flame shielded from drafts. The walls bore faint stains of long use, but everything was well maintained.
Then another feminine figure blocked his gaze from the woman on the bed. She was much younger than the previous two, maybe a little older than Sammy.
She passed a black piece of cloth to the old woman, who immediately threw it at her face and yelled at her. The immediate reaction seemed to trigger Ryan's nervous system. He felt his heart skip a beat out of fear.
Right... He was close to her chest.
"Don't you know it's a bad omen to clean a newborn baby with black clothing?" the old woman yelled in anger.
Ryan, upon hearing her words, was unsure if he had heard her right. He tried to speak, but words could not come out. It felt as if a lump of flesh was stuck in his throat. Otherwise, he would have asked the old woman to repeat herself.
Well, there was no denying what he heard. She clearly yelled "newborn baby."
Even if he tried to dismiss it as a sentence heard wrong, he would still feel guilty.
Given the look of the surroundings, there was a high chance he was the newborn baby the old woman was referring to. First was the woman lying on the bed, sweating as if she had just run a race.
Second were the herbs that sent a tingling and weird feeling down Ryan's spine every time he looked at them.
Lastly, he couldn't deny the fact that the old woman was literally carrying him in her arms.
If he was actually the baby, did he... transmigrate?
The word "transmigrate" became known to him due to Sammy's help and his cultivation novels. Most protagonists in the novels either died or found themselves in a near-death situation.
Opening their eyes, they found themselves in a world where people spoke a strange language but somehow similar to theirs, and they were also suspiciously able to understand the language.
Come to think of it, this was the exact same thing happening to him. But he couldn't just jump to conclusions yet; the novels were in English, so he couldn't even determine whether the languages used in the novels were the same as this one.
That was absurd to think about; he barely, or rather, never read any of the books to the extent of a dedicated reader. He wasn't the reading type. The books now felt weirdly important.
He did not know why he felt as if the books were important, but from what he could see, there was a great chance he had transmigrated.
"But that is only possible in fictional novels."
***
Some time later, the young girl came back, this time with a white piece of clothing. The old woman collected it and cleaned Ryan with it.
Now everything was becoming clear... the woman wiped his entire body with the clothing, and the white cloth was immediately stained with crimson.
He no longer felt wet and sticky. The old woman thoroughly cleaned his body and gestured to the young woman, who went out of the room again.
The young woman returned and brought the basin of water Ryan had seen earlier and a small stool. The basin was molded out of clay and wide enough to fit a baby.
The old woman sat on the stool and was ready to place Ryan into the basin. She placed him on her lap and cleaned his body again with the cloth.
Ryan slowly turned his gaze to the basin of water, and the reflection he saw was nothing short of amusing and terrifying.
It was his face, but this wasn't the way he looked. He could clearly remember he always had an old, regretful look. I mean, he had just died minutes ago... So what was all this fuss about?
Ryan's reflection in the basin of water showed a typical newborn baby's features. His face was round and soft, with a smooth complexion. His eyes were large and expressive, and his tiny nose and mouth were perfectly formed.
He looked like a healthy and normal newborn, with no visible imperfections or distinguishing features. The reflection was a natural and endearing representation of a baby's appearance, full of innocence and vulnerability.
Instead of the old, regretful look he remembers, he sees a face that is... infantile. His eyes, once worn by the weight of years and regret, now sparkle with the freshness of innocence. The face he sees is untouched by the trials and tribulations of a long life.
Ryan was completely at a loss for what to think. The truth struck him as he felt a sharp pain pierce his chest.
He had actually transmigrated...
Ryan couldn't help but smile, showing his toothless gums to the old woman.
"Ahh... his first smile... What a cute laugh..." the woman remarked with a smile.
Little did she know, Ryan wasn't smiling at her. He was happy and sad at the same time. He was sad because he knew he wouldn't get to see Sammy again, but he knew they would both remember each other.
He was happy because he was given a chance to restart his path again. A chance to turn a new leaf, and the fact that he wasn't transmigrated as an old South American man was also something to be happy about. He was going to start his life anew, from the stage of a newborn baby.
"So... I guess I'm keeping my promise... I'll surely change a new leaf, Sammy..."
But now something was still confusing. If he had actually transmigrated, where and who had he transmigrated to?
****
After a warm, relaxing bath in the basin and his first meal in this world—not technically a meal, but you could say it was milky and came from a young woman—Ryan was resting in the arms of his supposed mother, who had been smiling at him earlier.
He couldn't help but feel better; everyone was so nice to him, perhaps because he was still an infant. If only they knew he had the brain and mindset of a seventy-five-year-old man.
Now the true mystery lay in what kind of world he was in.
Just when he was lost in his thoughts, the old woman started a conversation with his new mom.
"He's really energetic... Those who bear the mark always act like this... I'm sure he's going to be one of those talented high-class men, Ling Feng..."
"Ling Feng? I've heard that name before, but where? Mark? All these seem like something I could relate to or have heard before..."
Ling Feng smiled weakly, holding him close.
"I'm sure he will grow strong… that's why I'll name him after his grandfather."
Her fingers brushed across Ryan's tiny head as she whispered the name.
"Lui Mo Zhen."
Ryan's fragile body froze. The warmth of his newborn flesh felt suddenly cold.
Lui… Lui Mo Zhen?
The name echoed like a curse inside his mind. He knew it... he had heard Sammy speak it with excitement, explaining the tragic fate of a supporting character. Lui Mo Zhen, the loyal friend, the man who would one day end his own life in despair.
"No… no, this can't be true," Ryan screamed inside his mind, though no sound left his infant lips. His tiny fists clenched, his heart burning with anger and dread.
He hadn't just transmigrated. He hadn't just been given another chance.
He had been thrown into a story he barely remembered… as the character destined to die forgotten.