Yin Zhe

Chapter 11: The Breath That Burned

The judge's voice echoed through the air. "Contestant 107… Yin Zhe!"

Silence. Only the faint sound of wind brushing over the arena walls could be heard.

The judge frowned, repeating, "Contestant 107, Yin Zhe!" Still no answer.

The crowd began to whisper. Hmm? Where's he? One man snorted, hmph, saying, "He's probably late. Some genius, huh?"

Another protest came from the front rows. "Who gets late to something like this? This is the Shattered Star Competition! What kind of idiot wastes an opportunity like that?"

The judge sighed, ready to move on, then a voice rang out weakly from behind the line. "H-here…"

Heads turned. It was Yin Zhe.

He looked… strange. His whole body twitched lightly as if every breath touched something deep inside him. Even his robe brushing against his arm made him shiver. His steps were uneven, the sword he held dragging behind him with a shing… clunk.

His face was calm, but his eyes carried a glazed warmth, like someone trying too hard to stay focused.

Hmmm… ahhh… escaped his throat as he adjusted his stance. The crowd blinked, confused.

In truth, Yin Zhe had been cultivating all night. Using the Nine Breaths Circle Reactive Technique, he didn't just absorb pills like normal cultivators, he sniffed them. He'd discovered that by placing a spirit essence pill near his nose and breathing deeply, he could draw the essence straight into his core. The process felt too good. Like every breath massaged his veins from inside.

He had already reached the peak of Stage Two, Root Awakening Realm. His dantian pulsed with spiritual energy, thicker and heavier than before, his core slightly larger. Only two pills remained in his pouch now.

He didn't expect cultivation to feel like this. The technique was powerful, but dangerously addictive. Each breath begged for more.

He clutched the sword Elder Chen Niao had gifted him, the Roaring Cat, blade humming lightly as if sensing his unstable spirit. Vmmmmm.

His steps wobbled as he entered the arena. The crowd murmured again, their thoughts running wild.

"Did he… overdo it last night?"

"Look at his face, it's like he hasn't slept for days."

"Hmph. Probably doing something else, not cultivating."

System messages flickered in his mind.

> Suspected RP +47

Mocked RP +36

Cursed RP +24

Yin Zhe blinked through the dizziness. Hah… they're all misunderstanding again. He ignored the stares, focusing on keeping his trembling body still.

He thought back to his long walk earlier that morning. It took me two hours just to get here… ridiculous.

Every step had been a struggle. His body was too sensitive, the air on his skin, the fabric against his chest, even the sunlight felt like hands brushing across him. His pace slowed so much that even an old woman with a cane and a snail on the ground passed him.

He'd gathered RP from passersby without even trying. By the time he reached the palace gates, his total had grown past 3,000 RP.

As he finally reached the Iron Vein Spirit Palace, he had spotted Elder Chen Niao standing to the side with his own sword, Laughing Steel, resting on his shoulder.

The old man's eyes lit up when he saw Yin Zhe. "Ah, you came," he said warmly. Then he started another lecture about sword intent and the purity of form.

For thirty long minutes.

Yin Zhe stood there, body twitching, trying to endure both the elder's words and his own overcharged nerves. The man even handed him a scroll titled Falling Leaves, Nine Forms of the falling leaves Path.

Each form, he explained, carried the rhythm of nature, strike like drifting leaves, but cut like silent storms. Yin Zhe listened, half-dazed, half-grateful, half-wishing for the man to stop. Hmph.

When the elder finally waved him off, Yin Zhe nearly ran.

That's how two hours vanished before he even reached the competition grounds.

Now standing inside the barrier-covered arena, he realized his RP gain stopped the moment he stepped in. The transparent array blocked all external feedback from the crowd.

Hmm… so no reactions from outside? he thought. His gaze flicked across the hundred or so other competitors. Their eyes burned with focus, their stances sharp.

No matter. I'll just make the people in here react instead.

He smiled faintly. A plan started forming in his head.

Boom. A sudden pulse of energy drew his attention. One of the judges lifted a hand, releasing a small burst of spiritual light that echoed across all the arenas.

Then, a voice, calm yet amplified like thunder, rolled through the entire palace.

"Before we begin, hear the rules," the voice said.

It was Elder Xuan Yi, the alchemist. His robes shimmered gold, sleeves long enough to sweep the floor. His tone was steady, but his words were strange.

"Competitors must not act recklessly. Remember, sometimes even we, the judges, may not save you if a fight goes wrong."

The crowd murmured.

He continued, voice slightly mischievous, "Accidents can happen… we might lose focus, an itch, a sneeze, maybe a fart, and boom, someone dies."

Pfft! Someone in the stands burst into laughter before clamping their mouth shut.

The contestants stared in disbelief. Even Yin Zhe tilted his head. Did he just say fart?

The elder took a long sip from his tea, smiling calmly. "What? I'm old. Happens to everyone."

Then his expression turned serious again. "I say this not to joke. You must understand, the Shattered Star Competition is not a playground. In this world, hesitation kills. Mercy kills. And arrogance kills faster."

His words weighed heavy across the crowd. Even the wind grew quieter.

He placed his teacup down gently. Clink.

"The path of cultivation is built on corpses and regret," he said. "Know your limits. Step back when you must. He who retreats today may live to swing tomorrow."

He raised one hand and declared in a voice that made the ground hum.

"May the competition… BEGIN!"

BOOM!

Chapter 11: The Breath That BurnedChapter 3: The Boy in the Pink Fluid (Part 1)

Thud… drip… hiss…

The wood had the breathing of a half living being. There were thick green leaves and leaves that bore mist, and these strange blue birds that were murmuring somewhere above the fog. Fallen branches were overbrushing cold breeze, with the aroma of wet moss and metal in it.

Then, crackle.

There was a slight sparkling through the trees. The roots were oozing pink liquid that shone in the early morning light. There was a boy who lay there, naked, the body smeared with that funny sticky stuff. His chest heaved feebly, his breath was disjointed.

"Hhhh... ahhh..." And his voice was coarse and untried.

The world was too bright when he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times. He could recall no history, no name, no kin. Nothing. His mind was a blank sheet. But something kept on rushing through him like a runaway code.

He looked at the trees. Identified species: Quercus spiritis.

He looked at the soil. Mineral composition: 32%. 14% spiritual residue.

He looked at himself. Form: man, about sixteen years, healthy, no aberrations.

He froze, confused. "W-what... hmmm..." He made attempts to make words, but they were strange.

His eyes lowered to his naked breast. He followed his ribs with his fingers. He was familiar with all the names clavicle, sternum, pectoral. His brain echoed them like information on a screen. It was all... working... I muttered, he said... staring lower. Hmph."

The lad laughed at himself in an entropy fashion. Then he himself saw his image in a piece of torn glass with the ferns. It was a sharp but unknown face, with dark eyes, and a messy head of black hair, dripping on to the pink goo.

"Hmm... not too bad," he murmured. Not many changes... and I would be ideal.

He pushed himself up — thud — feet sinking into the wet grass. Around him were pieces of broken glass, strange metal tubes, and faint trails of steam. The pink liquid around them pulsed like veins. He didn't know what it was, yet his mind already understood too much — formulas, functions, structures — all of it came naturally, like remembering a dream you didn't live.

He frowned. "Why do I know all this?"

He walked slowly in a circle, the mud squelching under his feet. Every sound — crunch, hiss, pop — felt too sharp. Every smell too detailed. It was like his mind had been built to notice everything.

Then the real confusion began.

He thought of words like reincarnation, rebirth, isekai, transmigration. He didn't know where they came from, yet they floated in his brain like familiar songs. "So… did I die? Was I reborn? Where's my system?" He looked around as if expecting something to appear in front of him.

Nothing.

"Hmmph… figures," he muttered, half annoyed.

His brain tried to reason scientifically. "If this is a new reality, I must adapt. Test my surroundings. Observe." He looked up — tall trees, thick fog, no sign of civilization. "So this is… the Spirit Dynasty? Or… whatever world this is."

He felt a strange pull deep in his chest, like energy waiting to move. It wasn't blood or air. It was something else — something glowing inside. He pressed his hand against his chest. "Energy detected… composition unknown…"

Then the air shifted.

A faint mist began crawling through the forest floor. It thickened fast, swallowing trees, smothering light. The boy's eyes darted around. "What's this?"

The fog wrapped around him — hissss — cold and heavy. He coughed, waving his hands. "Visibility reduced… fifty percent… hhh." His mind was analyzing even as fear crept in.

From inside the fog, something clicked. Metal.

He turned his head sharply. "Who's there?"

A whisper cut through the air. Then—wham!

Something hard slammed into his skull. He gasped, staggering. His eyes widened as he saw it — the handle of a sword, dripping with condensation, right before darkness swallowed him.

"Ugh—ahh…"

Before he fell, he heard a voice — rough and annoyed. "This mist skill is really useful for catching perverts wandering naked in the forest."

The words weren't English. They weren't even close. Yet he understood them perfectly.

He tried to respond, but his tongue felt heavy. "I'm… not…"

Then the world went black.

CHAPTER 2 — THE BOY IN THE PINK FLUID (Part 2

Drip… clatter… thud.

The sound of wheels bumping over wet ground dragged him back from darkness. His head throbbed. Hnnng… He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling above was wood—rough, damp, moving.

He tried to sit up. Clink. Chains tugged against his wrists. "Tch…" His voice came out hoarse.

He was lying in a small iron-bar cell built inside a moving carriage. The space smelled of wet hay, sweat, and rust. Rain pattered on the roof in uneven beats—tap-tap-tap-tap.

He looked down. A torn gray robe clung to his skin. "Huh… not naked anymore. Someone's idea of mercy."

He listened—really listened. The horses ahead snorted every few seconds. The wheels hit stones in an irregular rhythm. Ka-thunk… ka-thunk. Beyond that, faint rustling of trees brushing against the carriage walls.

His brain started crunching numbers on its own.

Sound delay from hooves to echo—less than a second. That meant tall trees on both sides.

Raindrop angle—thirty degrees. Wind from the east.

Ground vibration—uneven. Probably a dirt road.

Conclusion: forest terrain, night, light rainfall, three horses, two drivers.

He blinked. "Hmmm… why do I even know this?"

A voice came from the next cell. "Hey! You're awake!"

The boy turned. A round-faced guy sat cross-legged behind the bars, grinning through the dim light. "Name's Bao Zi. What's yours?"

The boy frowned. The words reached him clearly, but something inside twisted. Processing language pattern… tonal shifts… grammar set. In less than a breath, he understood.

"Bao Zi," he repeated softly. Then his thoughts tangled. Bao… bomb? Explosive? Is he going to explode? Wait—what's a bomb? His brain flashed with images of metal shells and fire. Then another thought slid in—What's a god? Is that edible?

Instantly, information poured into him—definitions, myths, stories about gods from hundreds of worlds. His eyes widened. "Ahh…"

Bao Zi squinted.

"Uh... you okay there, friend?"

The boy remained silent and still processing. he remained silent until Bao Zi leaned over.

"Do... you... understand... me?" he spoke gradually, separating his words.

The boy blinked twice.

"Yes. I... understand."

"Good! Then what's your name?" Bao Zi smiled, and a prisoner is too proud to smile too much.

The boy hesitated. No name came to mind. He did turn word after word, sound and meaning, until one word was right. Yin Zhe.

He lifted his chin.

"My name is Yin Zhe."

Bao Zi nodded.

"Weird name, but suits you."

"Hmph." Yin Zhe gave a faint, dry laugh.

"Thanks."

Then it happened. Ding!

There flashed before his eyes a light, transparent and floating. A blue square with flaming symbols was floating in the air. He jerked back. Thud! The chains rattled.

"What the--hissss--what is that?"

Everywhere he went the square trailed him. As words crossed it his eyes enlarged:

[Welcome, Host. Initialization of the system is finished.

[Naming Checked: Yin Zhe].

[Loading Core Protocol 0.1 - Adaptive Evolution Interface.

It is real, it is real... the system is real.

Bao Zi blinked.

"What system? You hit your head too hard?"

Yin Zhe looked up at him in surprise.

"You don't see it?"

"See what?"

"The screen... right here!"

Bao Zi looked at the air between them.

Brother, there is nothing there. Just wood and your face all twisted to the ugly.

"Hmmm..." Yin Zhe made a sigh, trying to restrain himself. The panel that was glowing still remained silent. He studied the letters. They appeared very old, but his brain knew them immediately.

Another line appeared:

[Congratulations to Host Yin Zhe. System bound successfully.]Chapter 3: The Boy in the Pink Fluid (Part 1)

Thud… drip… hiss…

The wood had the breathing of a half living being. There were thick green leaves and leaves that bore mist, and these strange blue birds that were murmuring somewhere above the fog. Fallen branches were overbrushing cold breeze, with the aroma of wet moss and metal in it.

Then, crackle.

There was a slight sparkling through the trees. The roots were oozing pink liquid that shone in the early morning light. There was a boy who lay there, naked, the body smeared with that funny sticky stuff. His chest heaved feebly, his breath was disjointed.

"Hhhh... ahhh..." And his voice was coarse and untried.

The world was too bright when he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times. He could recall no history, no name, no kin. Nothing. His mind was a blank sheet. But something kept on rushing through him like a runaway code.

He looked at the trees. Identified species: Quercus spiritis.

He looked at the soil. Mineral composition: 32%. 14% spiritual residue.

He looked at himself. Form: man, about sixteen years, healthy, no aberrations.

He froze, confused. "W-what... hmmm..." He made attempts to make words, but they were strange.

His eyes lowered to his naked breast. He followed his ribs with his fingers. He was familiar with all the names clavicle, sternum, pectoral. His brain echoed them like information on a screen. It was all... working... I muttered, he said... staring lower. Hmph."

The lad laughed at himself in an entropy fashion. Then he himself saw his image in a piece of torn glass with the ferns. It was a sharp but unknown face, with dark eyes, and a messy head of black hair, dripping on to the pink goo.

"Hmm... not too bad," he murmured. Not many changes... and I would be ideal.

He pushed himself up — thud — feet sinking into the wet grass. Around him were pieces of broken glass, strange metal tubes, and faint trails of steam. The pink liquid around them pulsed like veins. He didn't know what it was, yet his mind already understood too much — formulas, functions, structures — all of it came naturally, like remembering a dream you didn't live.

He frowned. "Why do I know all this?"

He walked slowly in a circle, the mud squelching under his feet. Every sound — crunch, hiss, pop — felt too sharp. Every smell too detailed. It was like his mind had been built to notice everything.

Then the real confusion began.

He thought of words like reincarnation, rebirth, isekai, transmigration. He didn't know where they came from, yet they floated in his brain like familiar songs. "So… did I die? Was I reborn? Where's my system?" He looked around as if expecting something to appear in front of him.

Nothing.

"Hmmph… figures," he muttered, half annoyed.

His brain tried to reason scientifically. "If this is a new reality, I must adapt. Test my surroundings. Observe." He looked up — tall trees, thick fog, no sign of civilization. "So this is… the Spirit Dynasty? Or… whatever world this is."

He felt a strange pull deep in his chest, like energy waiting to move. It wasn't blood or air. It was something else — something glowing inside. He pressed his hand against his chest. "Energy detected… composition unknown…"

Then the air shifted.

A faint mist began crawling through the forest floor. It thickened fast, swallowing trees, smothering light. The boy's eyes darted around. "What's this?"

The fog wrapped around him — hissss — cold and heavy. He coughed, waving his hands. "Visibility reduced… fifty percent… hhh." His mind was analyzing even as fear crept in.

From inside the fog, something clicked. Metal.

He turned his head sharply. "Who's there?"

A whisper cut through the air. Then—wham!

Something hard slammed into his skull. He gasped, staggering. His eyes widened as he saw it — the handle of a sword, dripping with condensation, right before darkness swallowed him.

"Ugh—ahh…"

Before he fell, he heard a voice — rough and annoyed. "This mist skill is really useful for catching perverts wandering naked in the forest."

The words weren't English. They weren't even close. Yet he understood them perfectly.

He tried to respond, but his tongue felt heavy. "I'm… not…"

Then the world went black.

CHAPTER 2 — THE BOY IN THE PINK FLUID (Part 2

Drip… clatter… thud.

The sound of wheels bumping over wet ground dragged him back from darkness. His head throbbed. Hnnng… He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling above was wood—rough, damp, moving.

He tried to sit up. Clink. Chains tugged against his wrists. "Tch…" His voice came out hoarse.

He was lying in a small iron-bar cell built inside a moving carriage. The space smelled of wet hay, sweat, and rust. Rain pattered on the roof in uneven beats—tap-tap-tap-tap.

He looked down. A torn gray robe clung to his skin. "Huh… not naked anymore. Someone's idea of mercy."

He listened—really listened. The horses ahead snorted every few seconds. The wheels hit stones in an irregular rhythm. Ka-thunk… ka-thunk. Beyond that, faint rustling of trees brushing against the carriage walls.

His brain started crunching numbers on its own.

Sound delay from hooves to echo—less than a second. That meant tall trees on both sides.

Raindrop angle—thirty degrees. Wind from the east.

Ground vibration—uneven. Probably a dirt road.

Conclusion: forest terrain, night, light rainfall, three horses, two drivers.

He blinked. "Hmmm… why do I even know this?"

A voice came from the next cell. "Hey! You're awake!"

The boy turned. A round-faced guy sat cross-legged behind the bars, grinning through the dim light. "Name's Bao Zi. What's yours?"

The boy frowned. The words reached him clearly, but something inside twisted. Processing language pattern… tonal shifts… grammar set. In less than a breath, he understood.

"Bao Zi," he repeated softly. Then his thoughts tangled. Bao… bomb? Explosive? Is he going to explode? Wait—what's a bomb? His brain flashed with images of metal shells and fire. Then another thought slid in—What's a god? Is that edible?

Instantly, information poured into him—definitions, myths, stories about gods from hundreds of worlds. His eyes widened. "Ahh…"

Bao Zi squinted.

"Uh... you okay there, friend?"

The boy remained silent and still processing. he remained silent until Bao Zi leaned over.

"Do... you... understand... me?" he spoke gradually, separating his words.

The boy blinked twice.

"Yes. I... understand."

"Good! Then what's your name?" Bao Zi smiled, and a prisoner is too proud to smile too much.

The boy hesitated. No name came to mind. He did turn word after word, sound and meaning, until one word was right. Yin Zhe.

He lifted his chin.

"My name is Yin Zhe."

Bao Zi nodded.

"Weird name, but suits you."

"Hmph." Yin Zhe gave a faint, dry laugh.

"Thanks."

Then it happened. Ding!

There flashed before his eyes a light, transparent and floating. A blue square with flaming symbols was floating in the air. He jerked back. Thud! The chains rattled.

"What the--hissss--what is that?"

Everywhere he went the square trailed him. As words crossed it his eyes enlarged:

[Welcome, Host. Initialization of the system is finished.

[Naming Checked: Yin Zhe].

[Loading Core Protocol 0.1 - Adaptive Evolution Interface.

It is real, it is real... the system is real.

Bao Zi blinked.

"What system? You hit your head too hard?"

Yin Zhe looked up at him in surprise.

"You don't see it?"

"See what?"

"The screen... right here!"

Bao Zi looked at the air between them.

Brother, there is nothing there. Just wood and your face all twisted to the ugly.

"Hmmm..." Yin Zhe made a sigh, trying to restrain himself. The panel that was glowing still remained silent. He studied the letters. They appeared very old, but his brain knew them immediately.

Another line appeared:

[Congratulations to Host Yin Zhe. System bound successfully.]Chapter 3: The Boy in the Pink Fluid (Part 1)

Thud… drip… hiss…

The wood had the breathing of a half living being. There were thick green leaves and leaves that bore mist, and these strange blue birds that were murmuring somewhere above the fog. Fallen branches were overbrushing cold breeze, with the aroma of wet moss and metal in it.

Then, crackle.

There was a slight sparkling through the trees. The roots were oozing pink liquid that shone in the early morning light. There was a boy who lay there, naked, the body smeared with that funny sticky stuff. His chest heaved feebly, his breath was disjointed.

"Hhhh... ahhh..." And his voice was coarse and untried.

The world was too bright when he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times. He could recall no history, no name, no kin. Nothing. His mind was a blank sheet. But something kept on rushing through him like a runaway code.

He looked at the trees. Identified species: Quercus spiritis.

He looked at the soil. Mineral composition: 32%. 14% spiritual residue.

He looked at himself. Form: man, about sixteen years, healthy, no aberrations.

He froze, confused. "W-what... hmmm..." He made attempts to make words, but they were strange.

His eyes lowered to his naked breast. He followed his ribs with his fingers. He was familiar with all the names clavicle, sternum, pectoral. His brain echoed them like information on a screen. It was all... working... I muttered, he said... staring lower. Hmph."

The lad laughed at himself in an entropy fashion. Then he himself saw his image in a piece of torn glass with the ferns. It was a sharp but unknown face, with dark eyes, and a messy head of black hair, dripping on to the pink goo.

"Hmm... not too bad," he murmured. Not many changes... and I would be ideal.

He pushed himself up — thud — feet sinking into the wet grass. Around him were pieces of broken glass, strange metal tubes, and faint trails of steam. The pink liquid around them pulsed like veins. He didn't know what it was, yet his mind already understood too much — formulas, functions, structures — all of it came naturally, like remembering a dream you didn't live.

He frowned. "Why do I know all this?"

He walked slowly in a circle, the mud squelching under his feet. Every sound — crunch, hiss, pop — felt too sharp. Every smell too detailed. It was like his mind had been built to notice everything.

Then the real confusion began.

He thought of words like reincarnation, rebirth, isekai, transmigration. He didn't know where they came from, yet they floated in his brain like familiar songs. "So… did I die? Was I reborn? Where's my system?" He looked around as if expecting something to appear in front of him.

Nothing.

"Hmmph… figures," he muttered, half annoyed.

His brain tried to reason scientifically. "If this is a new reality, I must adapt. Test my surroundings. Observe." He looked up — tall trees, thick fog, no sign of civilization. "So this is… the Spirit Dynasty? Or… whatever world this is."

He felt a strange pull deep in his chest, like energy waiting to move. It wasn't blood or air. It was something else — something glowing inside. He pressed his hand against his chest. "Energy detected… composition unknown…"

Then the air shifted.

A faint mist began crawling through the forest floor. It thickened fast, swallowing trees, smothering light. The boy's eyes darted around. "What's this?"

The fog wrapped around him — hissss — cold and heavy. He coughed, waving his hands. "Visibility reduced… fifty percent… hhh." His mind was analyzing even as fear crept in.

From inside the fog, something clicked. Metal.

He turned his head sharply. "Who's there?"

A whisper cut through the air. Then—wham!

Something hard slammed into his skull. He gasped, staggering. His eyes widened as he saw it — the handle of a sword, dripping with condensation, right before darkness swallowed him.

"Ugh—ahh…"

Before he fell, he heard a voice — rough and annoyed. "This mist skill is really useful for catching perverts wandering naked in the forest."

The words weren't English. They weren't even close. Yet he understood them perfectly.

He tried to respond, but his tongue felt heavy. "I'm… not…"

Then the world went black.

CHAPTER 2 — THE BOY IN THE PINK FLUID (Part 2

Drip… clatter… thud.

The sound of wheels bumping over wet ground dragged him back from darkness. His head throbbed. Hnnng… He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling above was wood—rough, damp, moving.

He tried to sit up. Clink. Chains tugged against his wrists. "Tch…" His voice came out hoarse.

He was lying in a small iron-bar cell built inside a moving carriage. The space smelled of wet hay, sweat, and rust. Rain pattered on the roof in uneven beats—tap-tap-tap-tap.

He looked down. A torn gray robe clung to his skin. "Huh… not naked anymore. Someone's idea of mercy."

He listened—really listened. The horses ahead snorted every few seconds. The wheels hit stones in an irregular rhythm. Ka-thunk… ka-thunk. Beyond that, faint rustling of trees brushing against the carriage walls.

His brain started crunching numbers on its own.

Sound delay from hooves to echo—less than a second. That meant tall trees on both sides.

Raindrop angle—thirty degrees. Wind from the east.

Ground vibration—uneven. Probably a dirt road.

Conclusion: forest terrain, night, light rainfall, three horses, two drivers.

He blinked. "Hmmm… why do I even know this?"

A voice came from the next cell. "Hey! You're awake!"

The boy turned. A round-faced guy sat cross-legged behind the bars, grinning through the dim light. "Name's Bao Zi. What's yours?"

The boy frowned. The words reached him clearly, but something inside twisted. Processing language pattern… tonal shifts… grammar set. In less than a breath, he understood.

"Bao Zi," he repeated softly. Then his thoughts tangled. Bao… bomb? Explosive? Is he going to explode? Wait—what's a bomb? His brain flashed with images of metal shells and fire. Then another thought slid in—What's a god? Is that edible?

Instantly, information poured into him—definitions, myths, stories about gods from hundreds of worlds. His eyes widened. "Ahh…"

Bao Zi squinted.

"Uh... you okay there, friend?"

The boy remained silent and still processing. he remained silent until Bao Zi leaned over.

"Do... you... understand... me?" he spoke gradually, separating his words.

The boy blinked twice.

"Yes. I... understand."

"Good! Then what's your name?" Bao Zi smiled, and a prisoner is too proud to smile too much.

The boy hesitated. No name came to mind. He did turn word after word, sound and meaning, until one word was right. Yin Zhe.

He lifted his chin.

"My name is Yin Zhe."

Bao Zi nodded.

"Weird name, but suits you."

"Hmph." Yin Zhe gave a faint, dry laugh.

"Thanks."

Then it happened. Ding!

There flashed before his eyes a light, transparent and floating. A blue square with flaming symbols was floating in the air. He jerked back. Thud! The chains rattled.

"What the--hissss--what is that?"

Everywhere he went the square trailed him. As words crossed it his eyes enlarged:

[Welcome, Host. Initialization of the system is finished.

[Naming Checked: Yin Zhe].

[Loading Core Protocol 0.1 - Adaptive Evolution Interface.

It is real, it is real... the system is real.

Bao Zi blinked.

"What system? You hit your head too hard?"

Yin Zhe looked up at him in surprise.

"You don't see it?"

"See what?"

"The screen... right here!"

Bao Zi looked at the air between them.

Brother, there is nothing there. Just wood and your face all twisted to the ugly.

"Hmmm..." Yin Zhe made a sigh, trying to restrain himself. The panel that was glowing still remained silent. He studied the letters. They appeared very old, but his brain knew them immediately.

Another line appeared:

[Congratulations to Host Yin Zhe. System bound successfully.]Chapter 3: The Boy in the Pink Fluid (Part 1)

Thud… drip… hiss…

The wood had the breathing of a half living being. There were thick green leaves and leaves that bore mist, and these strange blue birds that were murmuring somewhere above the fog. Fallen branches were overbrushing cold breeze, with the aroma of wet moss and metal in it.

Then, crackle.

There was a slight sparkling through the trees. The roots were oozing pink liquid that shone in the early morning light. There was a boy who lay there, naked, the body smeared with that funny sticky stuff. His chest heaved feebly, his breath was disjointed.

"Hhhh... ahhh..." And his voice was coarse and untried.

The world was too bright when he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times. He could recall no history, no name, no kin. Nothing. His mind was a blank sheet. But something kept on rushing through him like a runaway code.

He looked at the trees. Identified species: Quercus spiritis.

He looked at the soil. Mineral composition: 32%. 14% spiritual residue.

He looked at himself. Form: man, about sixteen years, healthy, no aberrations.

He froze, confused. "W-what... hmmm..." He made attempts to make words, but they were strange.

His eyes lowered to his naked breast. He followed his ribs with his fingers. He was familiar with all the names clavicle, sternum, pectoral. His brain echoed them like information on a screen. It was all... working... I muttered, he said... staring lower. Hmph."

The lad laughed at himself in an entropy fashion. Then he himself saw his image in a piece of torn glass with the ferns. It was a sharp but unknown face, with dark eyes, and a messy head of black hair, dripping on to the pink goo.

"Hmm... not too bad," he murmured. Not many changes... and I would be ideal.

He pushed himself up — thud — feet sinking into the wet grass. Around him were pieces of broken glass, strange metal tubes, and faint trails of steam. The pink liquid around them pulsed like veins. He didn't know what it was, yet his mind already understood too much — formulas, functions, structures — all of it came naturally, like remembering a dream you didn't live.

He frowned. "Why do I know all this?"

He walked slowly in a circle, the mud squelching under his feet. Every sound — crunch, hiss, pop — felt too sharp. Every smell too detailed. It was like his mind had been built to notice everything.

Then the real confusion began.

He thought of words like reincarnation, rebirth, isekai, transmigration. He didn't know where they came from, yet they floated in his brain like familiar songs. "So… did I die? Was I reborn? Where's my system?" He looked around as if expecting something to appear in front of him.

Nothing.

"Hmmph… figures," he muttered, half annoyed.

His brain tried to reason scientifically. "If this is a new reality, I must adapt. Test my surroundings. Observe." He looked up — tall trees, thick fog, no sign of civilization. "So this is… the Spirit Dynasty? Or… whatever world this is."

He felt a strange pull deep in his chest, like energy waiting to move. It wasn't blood or air. It was something else — something glowing inside. He pressed his hand against his chest. "Energy detected… composition unknown…"

Then the air shifted.

A faint mist began crawling through the forest floor. It thickened fast, swallowing trees, smothering light. The boy's eyes darted around. "What's this?"

The fog wrapped around him — hissss — cold and heavy. He coughed, waving his hands. "Visibility reduced… fifty percent… hhh." His mind was analyzing even as fear crept in.

From inside the fog, something clicked. Metal.

He turned his head sharply. "Who's there?"

A whisper cut through the air. Then—wham!

Something hard slammed into his skull. He gasped, staggering. His eyes widened as he saw it — the handle of a sword, dripping with condensation, right before darkness swallowed him.

"Ugh—ahh…"

Before he fell, he heard a voice — rough and annoyed. "This mist skill is really useful for catching perverts wandering naked in the forest."

The words weren't English. They weren't even close. Yet he understood them perfectly.

He tried to respond, but his tongue felt heavy. "I'm… not…"

Then the world went black.

CHAPTER 2 — THE BOY IN THE PINK FLUID (Part 2

Drip… clatter… thud.

The sound of wheels bumping over wet ground dragged him back from darkness. His head throbbed. Hnnng… He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling above was wood—rough, damp, moving.

He tried to sit up. Clink. Chains tugged against his wrists. "Tch…" His voice came out hoarse.

He was lying in a small iron-bar cell built inside a moving carriage. The space smelled of wet hay, sweat, and rust. Rain pattered on the roof in uneven beats—tap-tap-tap-tap.

He looked down. A torn gray robe clung to his skin. "Huh… not naked anymore. Someone's idea of mercy."

He listened—really listened. The horses ahead snorted every few seconds. The wheels hit stones in an irregular rhythm. Ka-thunk… ka-thunk. Beyond that, faint rustling of trees brushing against the carriage walls.

His brain started crunching numbers on its own.

Sound delay from hooves to echo—less than a second. That meant tall trees on both sides.

Raindrop angle—thirty degrees. Wind from the east.

Ground vibration—uneven. Probably a dirt road.

Conclusion: forest terrain, night, light rainfall, three horses, two drivers.

He blinked. "Hmmm… why do I even know this?"

A voice came from the next cell. "Hey! You're awake!"

The boy turned. A round-faced guy sat cross-legged behind the bars, grinning through the dim light. "Name's Bao Zi. What's yours?"

The boy frowned. The words reached him clearly, but something inside twisted. Processing language pattern… tonal shifts… grammar set. In less than a breath, he understood.

"Bao Zi," he repeated softly. Then his thoughts tangled. Bao… bomb? Explosive? Is he going to explode? Wait—what's a bomb? His brain flashed with images of metal shells and fire. Then another thought slid in—What's a god? Is that edible?

Instantly, information poured into him—definitions, myths, stories about gods from hundreds of worlds. His eyes widened. "Ahh…"

Bao Zi squinted.

"Uh... you okay there, friend?"

The boy remained silent and still processing. he remained silent until Bao Zi leaned over.

"Do... you... understand... me?" he spoke gradually, separating his words.

The boy blinked twice.

"Yes. I... understand."

"Good! Then what's your name?" Bao Zi smiled, and a prisoner is too proud to smile too much.

The boy hesitated. No name came to mind. He did turn word after word, sound and meaning, until one word was right. Yin Zhe.

He lifted his chin.

"My name is Yin Zhe."

Bao Zi nodded.

"Weird name, but suits you."

"Hmph." Yin Zhe gave a faint, dry laugh.

"Thanks."

Then it happened. Ding!

There flashed before his eyes a light, transparent and floating. A blue square with flaming symbols was floating in the air. He jerked back. Thud! The chains rattled.

"What the--hissss--what is that?"

Everywhere he went the square trailed him. As words crossed it his eyes enlarged:

[Welcome, Host. Initialization of the system is finished.

[Naming Checked: Yin Zhe].

[Loading Core Protocol 0.1 - Adaptive Evolution Interface.

It is real, it is real... the system is real.

Bao Zi blinked.

"What system? You hit your head too hard?"

Yin Zhe looked up at him in surprise.

"You don't see it?"

"See what?"

"The screen... right here!"

Bao Zi looked at the air between them.

Brother, there is nothing there. Just wood and your face all twisted to the ugly.

"Hmmm..." Yin Zhe made a sigh, trying to restrain himself. The panel that was glowing still remained silent. He studied the letters. They appeared very old, but his brain knew them immediately.

Another line appeared:

[Congratulations to Host Yin Zhe. System bound successfully.]Chapter 3: The Boy in the Pink Fluid (Part 1)

Thud… drip… hiss…

The wood had the breathing of a half living being. There were thick green leaves and leaves that bore mist, and these strange blue birds that were murmuring somewhere above the fog. Fallen branches were overbrushing cold breeze, with the aroma of wet moss and metal in it.

Then, crackle.

There was a slight sparkling through the trees. The roots were oozing pink liquid that shone in the early morning light. There was a boy who lay there, naked, the body smeared with that funny sticky stuff. His chest heaved feebly, his breath was disjointed.

"Hhhh... ahhh..." And his voice was coarse and untried.

The world was too bright when he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times. He could recall no history, no name, no kin. Nothing. His mind was a blank sheet. But something kept on rushing through him like a runaway code.

He looked at the trees. Identified species: Quercus spiritis.

He looked at the soil. Mineral composition: 32%. 14% spiritual residue.

He looked at himself. Form: man, about sixteen years, healthy, no aberrations.

He froze, confused. "W-what... hmmm..." He made attempts to make words, but they were strange.

His eyes lowered to his naked breast. He followed his ribs with his fingers. He was familiar with all the names clavicle, sternum, pectoral. His brain echoed them like information on a screen. It was all... working... I muttered, he said... staring lower. Hmph."

The lad laughed at himself in an entropy fashion. Then he himself saw his image in a piece of torn glass with the ferns. It was a sharp but unknown face, with dark eyes, and a messy head of black hair, dripping on to the pink goo.

"Hmm... not too bad," he murmured. Not many changes... and I would be ideal.

He pushed himself up — thud — feet sinking into the wet grass. Around him were pieces of broken glass, strange metal tubes, and faint trails of steam. The pink liquid around them pulsed like veins. He didn't know what it was, yet his mind already understood too much — formulas, functions, structures — all of it came naturally, like remembering a dream you didn't live.

He frowned. "Why do I know all this?"

He walked slowly in a circle, the mud squelching under his feet. Every sound — crunch, hiss, pop — felt too sharp. Every smell too detailed. It was like his mind had been built to notice everything.

Then the real confusion began.

He thought of words like reincarnation, rebirth, isekai, transmigration. He didn't know where they came from, yet they floated in his brain like familiar songs. "So… did I die? Was I reborn? Where's my system?" He looked around as if expecting something to appear in front of him.

Nothing.

"Hmmph… figures," he muttered, half annoyed.

His brain tried to reason scientifically. "If this is a new reality, I must adapt. Test my surroundings. Observe." He looked up — tall trees, thick fog, no sign of civilization. "So this is… the Spirit Dynasty? Or… whatever world this is."

He felt a strange pull deep in his chest, like energy waiting to move. It wasn't blood or air. It was something else — something glowing inside. He pressed his hand against his chest. "Energy detected… composition unknown…"

Then the air shifted.

A faint mist began crawling through the forest floor. It thickened fast, swallowing trees, smothering light. The boy's eyes darted around. "What's this?"

The fog wrapped around him — hissss — cold and heavy. He coughed, waving his hands. "Visibility reduced… fifty percent… hhh." His mind was analyzing even as fear crept in.

From inside the fog, something clicked. Metal.

He turned his head sharply. "Who's there?"

A whisper cut through the air. Then—wham!

Something hard slammed into his skull. He gasped, staggering. His eyes widened as he saw it — the handle of a sword, dripping with condensation, right before darkness swallowed him.

"Ugh—ahh…"

Before he fell, he heard a voice — rough and annoyed. "This mist skill is really useful for catching perverts wandering naked in the forest."

The words weren't English. They weren't even close. Yet he understood them perfectly.

He tried to respond, but his tongue felt heavy. "I'm… not…"

Then the world went black.

CHAPTER 2 — THE BOY IN THE PINK FLUID (Part 2

Drip… clatter… thud.

The sound of wheels bumping over wet ground dragged him back from darkness. His head throbbed. Hnnng… He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling above was wood—rough, damp, moving.

He tried to sit up. Clink. Chains tugged against his wrists. "Tch…" His voice came out hoarse.

He was lying in a small iron-bar cell built inside a moving carriage. The space smelled of wet hay, sweat, and rust. Rain pattered on the roof in uneven beats—tap-tap-tap-tap.

He looked down. A torn gray robe clung to his skin. "Huh… not naked anymore. Someone's idea of mercy."

He listened—really listened. The horses ahead snorted every few seconds. The wheels hit stones in an irregular rhythm. Ka-thunk… ka-thunk. Beyond that, faint rustling of trees brushing against the carriage walls.

His brain started crunching numbers on its own.

Sound delay from hooves to echo—less than a second. That meant tall trees on both sides.

Raindrop angle—thirty degrees. Wind from the east.

Ground vibration—uneven. Probably a dirt road.

Conclusion: forest terrain, night, light rainfall, three horses, two drivers.

He blinked. "Hmmm… why do I even know this?"

A voice came from the next cell. "Hey! You're awake!"

The boy turned. A round-faced guy sat cross-legged behind the bars, grinning through the dim light. "Name's Bao Zi. What's yours?"

The boy frowned. The words reached him clearly, but something inside twisted. Processing language pattern… tonal shifts… grammar set. In less than a breath, he understood.

"Bao Zi," he repeated softly. Then his thoughts tangled. Bao… bomb? Explosive? Is he going to explode? Wait—what's a bomb? His brain flashed with images of metal shells and fire. Then another thought slid in—What's a god? Is that edible?

Instantly, information poured into him—definitions, myths, stories about gods from hundreds of worlds. His eyes widened. "Ahh…"

Bao Zi squinted.

"Uh... you okay there, friend?"

The boy remained silent and still processing. he remained silent until Bao Zi leaned over.

"Do... you... understand... me?" he spoke gradually, separating his words.

The boy blinked twice.

"Yes. I... understand."

"Good! Then what's your name?" Bao Zi smiled, and a prisoner is too proud to smile too much.

The boy hesitated. No name came to mind. He did turn word after word, sound and meaning, until one word was right. Yin Zhe.

He lifted his chin.

"My name is Yin Zhe."

Bao Zi nodded.

"Weird name, but suits you."

"Hmph." Yin Zhe gave a faint, dry laugh.

"Thanks."

Then it happened. Ding!

There flashed before his eyes a light, transparent and floating. A blue square with flaming symbols was floating in the air. He jerked back. Thud! The chains rattled.

"What the--hissss--what is that?"

Everywhere he went the square trailed him. As words crossed it his eyes enlarged:

[Welcome, Host. Initialization of the system is finished.

[Naming Checked: Yin Zhe].

[Loading Core Protocol 0.1 - Adaptive Evolution Interface.

It is real, it is real... the system is real.

Bao Zi blinked.

"What system? You hit your head too hard?"

Yin Zhe looked up at him in surprise.

"You don't see it?"

"See what?"

"The screen... right here!"

Bao Zi looked at the air between them.

Brother, there is nothing there. Just wood and your face all twisted to the ugly.

"Hmmm..." Yin Zhe made a sigh, trying to restrain himself. The panel that was glowing still remained silent. He studied the letters. They appeared very old, but his brain knew them immediately.

Another line appeared:

[Congratulations to Host Yin Zhe. System bound successfully.]Chapter 3: The Boy in the Pink Fluid (Part 1)

Thud… drip… hiss…

The wood had the breathing of a half living being. There were thick green leaves and leaves that bore mist, and these strange blue birds that were murmuring somewhere above the fog. Fallen branches were overbrushing cold breeze, with the aroma of wet moss and metal in it.

Then, crackle.

There was a slight sparkling through the trees. The roots were oozing pink liquid that shone in the early morning light. There was a boy who lay there, naked, the body smeared with that funny sticky stuff. His chest heaved feebly, his breath was disjointed.

"Hhhh... ahhh..." And his voice was coarse and untried.

The world was too bright when he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times. He could recall no history, no name, no kin. Nothing. His mind was a blank sheet. But something kept on rushing through him like a runaway code.

He looked at the trees. Identified species: Quercus spiritis.

He looked at the soil. Mineral composition: 32%. 14% spiritual residue.

He looked at himself. Form: man, about sixteen years, healthy, no aberrations.

He froze, confused. "W-what... hmmm..." He made attempts to make words, but they were strange.

His eyes lowered to his naked breast. He followed his ribs with his fingers. He was familiar with all the names clavicle, sternum, pectoral. His brain echoed them like information on a screen. It was all... working... I muttered, he said... staring lower. Hmph."

The lad laughed at himself in an entropy fashion. Then he himself saw his image in a piece of torn glass with the ferns. It was a sharp but unknown face, with dark eyes, and a messy head of black hair, dripping on to the pink goo.

"Hmm... not too bad," he murmured. Not many changes... and I would be ideal.

He pushed himself up — thud — feet sinking into the wet grass. Around him were pieces of broken glass, strange metal tubes, and faint trails of steam. The pink liquid around them pulsed like veins. He didn't know what it was, yet his mind already understood too much — formulas, functions, structures — all of it came naturally, like remembering a dream you didn't live.

He frowned. "Why do I know all this?"

He walked slowly in a circle, the mud squelching under his feet. Every sound — crunch, hiss, pop — felt too sharp. Every smell too detailed. It was like his mind had been built to notice everything.

Then the real confusion began.

He thought of words like reincarnation, rebirth, isekai, transmigration. He didn't know where they came from, yet they floated in his brain like familiar songs. "So… did I die? Was I reborn? Where's my system?" He looked around as if expecting something to appear in front of him.

Nothing.

"Hmmph… figures," he muttered, half annoyed.

His brain tried to reason scientifically. "If this is a new reality, I must adapt. Test my surroundings. Observe." He looked up — tall trees, thick fog, no sign of civilization. "So this is… the Spirit Dynasty? Or… whatever world this is."

He felt a strange pull deep in his chest, like energy waiting to move. It wasn't blood or air. It was something else — something glowing inside. He pressed his hand against his chest. "Energy detected… composition unknown…"

Then the air shifted.

A faint mist began crawling through the forest floor. It thickened fast, swallowing trees, smothering light. The boy's eyes darted around. "What's this?"

The fog wrapped around him — hissss — cold and heavy. He coughed, waving his hands. "Visibility reduced… fifty percent… hhh." His mind was analyzing even as fear crept in.

From inside the fog, something clicked. Metal.

He turned his head sharply. "Who's there?"

A whisper cut through the air. Then—wham!

Something hard slammed into his skull. He gasped, staggering. His eyes widened as he saw it — the handle of a sword, dripping with condensation, right before darkness swallowed him.

"Ugh—ahh…"

Before he fell, he heard a voice — rough and annoyed. "This mist skill is really useful for catching perverts wandering naked in the forest."

The words weren't English. They weren't even close. Yet he understood them perfectly.

He tried to respond, but his tongue felt heavy. "I'm… not…"

Then the world went black.

CHAPTER 2 — THE BOY IN THE PINK FLUID (Part 2

Drip… clatter… thud.

The sound of wheels bumping over wet ground dragged him back from darkness. His head throbbed. Hnnng… He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling above was wood—rough, damp, moving.

He tried to sit up. Clink. Chains tugged against his wrists. "Tch…" His voice came out hoarse.

He was lying in a small iron-bar cell built inside a moving carriage. The space smelled of wet hay, sweat, and rust. Rain pattered on the roof in uneven beats—tap-tap-tap-tap.

He looked down. A torn gray robe clung to his skin. "Huh… not naked anymore. Someone's idea of mercy."

He listened—really listened. The horses ahead snorted every few seconds. The wheels hit stones in an irregular rhythm. Ka-thunk… ka-thunk. Beyond that, faint rustling of trees brushing against the carriage walls.

His brain started crunching numbers on its own.

Sound delay from hooves to echo—less than a second. That meant tall trees on both sides.

Raindrop angle—thirty degrees. Wind from the east.

Ground vibration—uneven. Probably a dirt road.

Conclusion: forest terrain, night, light rainfall, three horses, two drivers.

He blinked. "Hmmm… why do I even know this?"

A voice came from the next cell. "Hey! You're awake!"

The boy turned. A round-faced guy sat cross-legged behind the bars, grinning through the dim light. "Name's Bao Zi. What's yours?"

The boy frowned. The words reached him clearly, but something inside twisted. Processing language pattern… tonal shifts… grammar set. In less than a breath, he understood.

"Bao Zi," he repeated softly. Then his thoughts tangled. Bao… bomb? Explosive? Is he going to explode? Wait—what's a bomb? His brain flashed with images of metal shells and fire. Then another thought slid in—What's a god? Is that edible?

Instantly, information poured into him—definitions, myths, stories about gods from hundreds of worlds. His eyes widened. "Ahh…"

Bao Zi squinted.

"Uh... you okay there, friend?"

The boy remained silent and still processing. he remained silent until Bao Zi leaned over.

"Do... you... understand... me?" he spoke gradually, separating his words.

The boy blinked twice.

"Yes. I... understand."

"Good! Then what's your name?" Bao Zi smiled, and a prisoner is too proud to smile too much.

The boy hesitated. No name came to mind. He did turn word after word, sound and meaning, until one word was right. Yin Zhe.

He lifted his chin.

"My name is Yin Zhe."

Bao Zi nodded.

"Weird name, but suits you."

"Hmph." Yin Zhe gave a faint, dry laugh.

"Thanks."

Then it happened. Ding!

There flashed before his eyes a light, transparent and floating. A blue square with flaming symbols was floating in the air. He jerked back. Thud! The chains rattled.

"What the--hissss--what is that?"

Everywhere he went the square trailed him. As words crossed it his eyes enlarged:

[Welcome, Host. Initialization of the system is finished.

[Naming Checked: Yin Zhe].

[Loading Core Protocol 0.1 - Adaptive Evolution Interface.

It is real, it is real... the system is real.

Bao Zi blinked.

"What system? You hit your head too hard?"

Yin Zhe looked up at him in surprise.

"You don't see it?"

"See what?"

"The screen... right here!"

Bao Zi looked at the air between them.

Brother, there is nothing there. Just wood and your face all twisted to the ugly.

"Hmmm..." Yin Zhe made a sigh, trying to restrain himself. The panel that was glowing still remained silent. He studied the letters. They appeared very old, but his brain knew them immediately.

Another line appeared:

[Congratulations to Host Yin Zhe. System bound successfully.]Chapter 3: The Boy in the Pink Fluid (Part 1)

Thud… drip… hiss…

The wood had the breathing of a half living being. There were thick green leaves and leaves that bore mist, and these strange blue birds that were murmuring somewhere above the fog. Fallen branches were overbrushing cold breeze, with the aroma of wet moss and metal in it.

Then, crackle.

There was a slight sparkling through the trees. The roots were oozing pink liquid that shone in the early morning light. There was a boy who lay there, naked, the body smeared with that funny sticky stuff. His chest heaved feebly, his breath was disjointed.

"Hhhh... ahhh..." And his voice was coarse and untried.

The world was too bright when he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times. He could recall no history, no name, no kin. Nothing. His mind was a blank sheet. But something kept on rushing through him like a runaway code.

He looked at the trees. Identified species: Quercus spiritis.

He looked at the soil. Mineral composition: 32%. 14% spiritual residue.

He looked at himself. Form: man, about sixteen years, healthy, no aberrations.

He froze, confused. "W-what... hmmm..." He made attempts to make words, but they were strange.

His eyes lowered to his naked breast. He followed his ribs with his fingers. He was familiar with all the names clavicle, sternum, pectoral. His brain echoed them like information on a screen. It was all... working... I muttered, he said... staring lower. Hmph."

The lad laughed at himself in an entropy fashion. Then he himself saw his image in a piece of torn glass with the ferns. It was a sharp but unknown face, with dark eyes, and a messy head of black hair, dripping on to the pink goo.

"Hmm... not too bad," he murmured. Not many changes... and I would be ideal.

He pushed himself up — thud — feet sinking into the wet grass. Around him were pieces of broken glass, strange metal tubes, and faint trails of steam. The pink liquid around them pulsed like veins. He didn't know what it was, yet his mind already understood too much — formulas, functions, structures — all of it came naturally, like remembering a dream you didn't live.

He frowned. "Why do I know all this?"

He walked slowly in a circle, the mud squelching under his feet. Every sound — crunch, hiss, pop — felt too sharp. Every smell too detailed. It was like his mind had been built to notice everything.

Then the real confusion began.

He thought of words like reincarnation, rebirth, isekai, transmigration. He didn't know where they came from, yet they floated in his brain like familiar songs. "So… did I die? Was I reborn? Where's my system?" He looked around as if expecting something to appear in front of him.

Nothing.

"Hmmph… figures," he muttered, half annoyed.

His brain tried to reason scientifically. "If this is a new reality, I must adapt. Test my surroundings. Observe." He looked up — tall trees, thick fog, no sign of civilization. "So this is… the Spirit Dynasty? Or… whatever world this is."

He felt a strange pull deep in his chest, like energy waiting to move. It wasn't blood or air. It was something else — something glowing inside. He pressed his hand against his chest. "Energy detected… composition unknown…"

Then the air shifted.

A faint mist began crawling through the forest floor. It thickened fast, swallowing trees, smothering light. The boy's eyes darted around. "What's this?"

The fog wrapped around him — hissss — cold and heavy. He coughed, waving his hands. "Visibility reduced… fifty percent… hhh." His mind was analyzing even as fear crept in.

From inside the fog, something clicked. Metal.

He turned his head sharply. "Who's there?"

A whisper cut through the air. Then—wham!

Something hard slammed into his skull. He gasped, staggering. His eyes widened as he saw it — the handle of a sword, dripping with condensation, right before darkness swallowed him.

"Ugh—ahh…"

Before he fell, he heard a voice — rough and annoyed. "This mist skill is really useful for catching perverts wandering naked in the forest."

The words weren't English. They weren't even close. Yet he understood them perfectly.

He tried to respond, but his tongue felt heavy. "I'm… not…"

Then the world went black.

CHAPTER 2 — THE BOY IN THE PINK FLUID (Part 2

Drip… clatter… thud.

The sound of wheels bumping over wet ground dragged him back from darkness. His head throbbed. Hnnng… He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling above was wood—rough, damp, moving.

He tried to sit up. Clink. Chains tugged against his wrists. "Tch…" His voice came out hoarse.

He was lying in a small iron-bar cell built inside a moving carriage. The space smelled of wet hay, sweat, and rust. Rain pattered on the roof in uneven beats—tap-tap-tap-tap.

He looked down. A torn gray robe clung to his skin. "Huh… not naked anymore. Someone's idea of mercy."

He listened—really listened. The horses ahead snorted every few seconds. The wheels hit stones in an irregular rhythm. Ka-thunk… ka-thunk. Beyond that, faint rustling of trees brushing against the carriage walls.

His brain started crunching numbers on its own.

Sound delay from hooves to echo—less than a second. That meant tall trees on both sides.

Raindrop angle—thirty degrees. Wind from the east.

Ground vibration—uneven. Probably a dirt road.

Conclusion: forest terrain, night, light rainfall, three horses, two drivers.

He blinked. "Hmmm… why do I even know this?"

A voice came from the next cell. "Hey! You're awake!"

The boy turned. A round-faced guy sat cross-legged behind the bars, grinning through the dim light. "Name's Bao Zi. What's yours?"

The boy frowned. The words reached him clearly, but something inside twisted. Processing language pattern… tonal shifts… grammar set. In less than a breath, he understood.

"Bao Zi," he repeated softly. Then his thoughts tangled. Bao… bomb? Explosive? Is he going to explode? Wait—what's a bomb? His brain flashed with images of metal shells and fire. Then another thought slid in—What's a god? Is that edible?

Instantly, information poured into him—definitions, myths, stories about gods from hundreds of worlds. His eyes widened. "Ahh…"

Bao Zi squinted.

"Uh... you okay there, friend?"

The boy remained silent and still processing. he remained silent until Bao Zi leaned over.

"Do... you... understand... me?" he spoke gradually, separating his words.

The boy blinked twice.

"Yes. I... understand."

"Good! Then what's your name?" Bao Zi smiled, and a prisoner is too proud to smile too much.

The boy hesitated. No name came to mind. He did turn word after word, sound and meaning, until one word was right. Yin Zhe.

He lifted his chin.

"My name is Yin Zhe."

Bao Zi nodded.

"Weird name, but suits you."

"Hmph." Yin Zhe gave a faint, dry laugh.

"Thanks."

Then it happened. Ding!

There flashed before his eyes a light, transparent and floating. A blue square with flaming symbols was floating in the air. He jerked back. Thud! The chains rattled.

"What the--hissss--what is that?"

Everywhere he went the square trailed him. As words crossed it his eyes enlarged:

[Welcome, Host. Initialization of the system is finished.

[Naming Checked: Yin Zhe].

[Loading Core Protocol 0.1 - Adaptive Evolution Interface.

It is real, it is real... the system is real.

Bao Zi blinked.

"What system? You hit your head too hard?"

Yin Zhe looked up at him in surprise.

"You don't see it?"

"See what?"

"The screen... right here!"

Bao Zi looked at the air between them.

Brother, there is nothing there. Just wood and your face all twisted to the ugly.

"Hmmm..." Yin Zhe made a sigh, trying to restrain himself. The panel that was glowing still remained silent. He studied the letters. They appeared very old, but his brain knew them immediately.

Another line appeared:

[Congratulations to Host Yin Zhe. System bound successfully.]Chapter 3: The Boy in the Pink Fluid (Part 1)

Thud… drip… hiss…

The wood had the breathing of a half living being. There were thick green leaves and leaves that bore mist, and these strange blue birds that were murmuring somewhere above the fog. Fallen branches were overbrushing cold breeze, with the aroma of wet moss and metal in it.

Then, crackle.

There was a slight sparkling through the trees. The roots were oozing pink liquid that shone in the early morning light. There was a boy who lay there, naked, the body smeared with that funny sticky stuff. His chest heaved feebly, his breath was disjointed.

"Hhhh... ahhh..." And his voice was coarse and untried.

The world was too bright when he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times. He could recall no history, no name, no kin. Nothing. His mind was a blank sheet. But something kept on rushing through him like a runaway code.

He looked at the trees. Identified species: Quercus spiritis.

He looked at the soil. Mineral composition: 32%. 14% spiritual residue.

He looked at himself. Form: man, about sixteen years, healthy, no aberrations.

He froze, confused. "W-what... hmmm..." He made attempts to make words, but they were strange.

His eyes lowered to his naked breast. He followed his ribs with his fingers. He was familiar with all the names clavicle, sternum, pectoral. His brain echoed them like information on a screen. It was all... working... I muttered, he said... staring lower. Hmph."

The lad laughed at himself in an entropy fashion. Then he himself saw his image in a piece of torn glass with the ferns. It was a sharp but unknown face, with dark eyes, and a messy head of black hair, dripping on to the pink goo.

"Hmm... not too bad," he murmured. Not many changes... and I would be ideal.

He pushed himself up — thud — feet sinking into the wet grass. Around him were pieces of broken glass, strange metal tubes, and faint trails of steam. The pink liquid around them pulsed like veins. He didn't know what it was, yet his mind already understood too much — formulas, functions, structures — all of it came naturally, like remembering a dream you didn't live.

He frowned. "Why do I know all this?"

He walked slowly in a circle, the mud squelching under his feet. Every sound — crunch, hiss, pop — felt too sharp. Every smell too detailed. It was like his mind had been built to notice everything.

Then the real confusion began.

He thought of words like reincarnation, rebirth, isekai, transmigration. He didn't know where they came from, yet they floated in his brain like familiar songs. "So… did I die? Was I reborn? Where's my system?" He looked around as if expecting something to appear in front of him.

Nothing.

"Hmmph… figures," he muttered, half annoyed.

His brain tried to reason scientifically. "If this is a new reality, I must adapt. Test my surroundings. Observe." He looked up — tall trees, thick fog, no sign of civilization. "So this is… the Spirit Dynasty? Or… whatever world this is."

He felt a strange pull deep in his chest, like energy waiting to move. It wasn't blood or air. It was something else — something glowing inside. He pressed his hand against his chest. "Energy detected… composition unknown…"

Then the air shifted.

A faint mist began crawling through the forest floor. It thickened fast, swallowing trees, smothering light. The boy's eyes darted around. "What's this?"

The fog wrapped around him — hissss — cold and heavy. He coughed, waving his hands. "Visibility reduced… fifty percent… hhh." His mind was analyzing even as fear crept in.

From inside the fog, something clicked. Metal.

He turned his head sharply. "Who's there?"

A whisper cut through the air. Then—wham!

Something hard slammed into his skull. He gasped, staggering. His eyes widened as he saw it — the handle of a sword, dripping with condensation, right before darkness swallowed him.

"Ugh—ahh…"

Before he fell, he heard a voice — rough and annoyed. "This mist skill is really useful for catching perverts wandering naked in the forest."

The words weren't English. They weren't even close. Yet he understood them perfectly.

He tried to respond, but his tongue felt heavy. "I'm… not…"

Then the world went black.

CHAPTER 2 — THE BOY IN THE PINK FLUID (Part 2

Drip… clatter… thud.

The sound of wheels bumping over wet ground dragged him back from darkness. His head throbbed. Hnnng… He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling above was wood—rough, damp, moving.

He tried to sit up. Clink. Chains tugged against his wrists. "Tch…" His voice came out hoarse.

He was lying in a small iron-bar cell built inside a moving carriage. The space smelled of wet hay, sweat, and rust. Rain pattered on the roof in uneven beats—tap-tap-tap-tap.

He looked down. A torn gray robe clung to his skin. "Huh… not naked anymore. Someone's idea of mercy."

He listened—really listened. The horses ahead snorted every few seconds. The wheels hit stones in an irregular rhythm. Ka-thunk… ka-thunk. Beyond that, faint rustling of trees brushing against the carriage walls.

His brain started crunching numbers on its own.

Sound delay from hooves to echo—less than a second. That meant tall trees on both sides.

Raindrop angle—thirty degrees. Wind from the east.

Ground vibration—uneven. Probably a dirt road.

Conclusion: forest terrain, night, light rainfall, three horses, two drivers.

He blinked. "Hmmm… why do I even know this?"

A voice came from the next cell. "Hey! You're awake!"

The boy turned. A round-faced guy sat cross-legged behind the bars, grinning through the dim light. "Name's Bao Zi. What's yours?"

The boy frowned. The words reached him clearly, but something inside twisted. Processing language pattern… tonal shifts… grammar set. In less than a breath, he understood.

"Bao Zi," he repeated softly. Then his thoughts tangled. Bao… bomb? Explosive? Is he going to explode? Wait—what's a bomb? His brain flashed with images of metal shells and fire. Then another thought slid in—What's a god? Is that edible?

Instantly, information poured into him—definitions, myths, stories about gods from hundreds of worlds. His eyes widened. "Ahh…"

Bao Zi squinted.

"Uh... you okay there, friend?"

The boy remained silent and still processing. he remained silent until Bao Zi leaned over.

"Do... you... understand... me?" he spoke gradually, separating his words.

The boy blinked twice.

"Yes. I... understand."

"Good! Then what's your name?" Bao Zi smiled, and a prisoner is too proud to smile too much.

The boy hesitated. No name came to mind. He did turn word after word, sound and meaning, until one word was right. Yin Zhe.

He lifted his chin.

"My name is Yin Zhe."

Bao Zi nodded.

"Weird name, but suits you."

"Hmph." Yin Zhe gave a faint, dry laugh.

"Thanks."

Then it happened. Ding!

There flashed before his eyes a light, transparent and floating. A blue square with flaming symbols was floating in the air. He jerked back. Thud! The chains rattled.

"What the--hissss--what is that?"

Everywhere he went the square trailed him. As words crossed it his eyes enlarged:

[Welcome, Host. Initialization of the system is finished.

[Naming Checked: Yin Zhe].

[Loading Core Protocol 0.1 - Adaptive Evolution Interface.

It is real, it is real... the system is real.

Bao Zi blinked.

"What system? You hit your head too hard?"

Yin Zhe looked up at him in surprise.

"You don't see it?"

"See what?"

"The screen... right here!"

Bao Zi looked at the air between them.

Brother, there is nothing there. Just wood and your face all twisted to the ugly.

"Hmmm..." Yin Zhe made a sigh, trying to restrain himself. The panel that was glowing still remained silent. He studied the letters. They appeared very old, but his brain knew them immediately.

Another line appeared:

[Congratulations to Host Yin Zhe. System bound successfully.]