In the bustling sprawl of Shenzhen, where skyscrapers clawed at the smog-choked sky like the fingers of ambitious ghosts, Lin Xiao lived a life as unremarkable as the rain-slicked alleyways he navigated each morning. At twenty years old, he was the sort of young man who blended into the crowd—slender build, dark hair perpetually tousled from hurried sleeps, and eyes that carried the quiet weariness of someone who'd long since stopped dreaming of lottery tickets or viral fame. He worked the graveyard shift at a nondescript electronics assembly plant on the outskirts of the city, soldering tiny circuits into motherboards destined for smartphones that would end up in the hands of people far luckier than he. His days blurred into nights, punctuated only by the acrid tang of flux and the distant hum of the metro.
Lin Xiao's family was a threadbare tapestry of survival. His father, a retired factory worker with lungs scarred by decades of chemical fumes, spent his evenings coughing over mahjong tiles in the cramped living room of their two-room apartment. His mother, ever the pillar, hawked knockoff scarves at the wet market, her voice a constant, weary melody haggling over pennies. And then there was his cousin, Li Wei—two years his senior, with a shark's grin and a knack for turning every family gathering into a showcase of his own mediocrity elevated to grandeur. Li Wei worked the same plant but on the day shift, where his silver tongue had earned him a supervisory role over the new hires. It was Li Wei who never let Lin Xiao forget his place.
That morning, as the first chapter of Lin Xiao's unremarkable existence teetered on the edge of fracture, began like any other. The alarm on his cracked phone buzzed at 5:45 AM, a shrill reminder that the world didn't care for his exhaustion. He rolled off the thin mattress in the corner of the living room—his "room" since his parents claimed the bedroom—and splashed cold water on his face from the communal sink. The mirror, fogged and flecked with age, reflected a face that could have been handsome if not for the perpetual shadows under his eyes.
"Xiao! Breakfast!" his mother's voice called from the kitchenette, where a single gas burner hissed under a pot of congee. She was already dressed in her market apron, graying hair pinned back with a clip that had seen better days.
"Coming, Ma," Lin Xiao muttered, pulling on his faded uniform—navy blue coveralls with the company logo embroidered crookedly on the chest. He shuffled over, accepting the bowl she thrust at him. It was thin, watery rice porridge with a scattering of pickled vegetables, the kind of meal that sustained but never satisfied.
His father glanced up from the morning paper, a free tabloid folded to the classifieds. "Any luck with those job applications? The ones for the tech firms?"
Lin Xiao shook his head, spoon halfway to his mouth. "Not yet, Ba. They all want degrees or connections. I'll keep trying."
A snort from the doorway. Li Wei sauntered in, fresh from his own shower, towel slung over his shoulder like a trophy. He was broader than Lin Xiao, with the easy confidence of someone who'd always landed on his feet. "Connections? That's rich coming from you, cousin. Last I checked, your biggest connection is me—and even I can't pull strings for a guy who shows up late half the time."
Lin Xiao's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. It was the same dance, every morning Li Wei dropped by on his way to the plant. Their mothers were sisters, bound by blood and bitterness, and Li Wei treated the apartment like an extension of his ego.
"Leave him be, Wei," Lin Xiao's mother interjected mildly, though her eyes flicked with that familiar mix of pride and resignation. "Xiao's doing his best. Not everyone's cut out for barking orders."
Li Wei laughed, a bark that echoed off the peeling walls. "Auntie, I'm just saying—life's about grabbing what you can. I got promoted last month, remember? Supervisor now. Pays enough to think about that scooter I've been eyeing. What about you, Xiao? Still dreaming of coding games or whatever it was you studied in that community college dropout program?"
It wasn't a program; it was a two-year certificate in basic programming that Lin Xiao had scraped together night classes for, only to find the job market as welcoming as a locked gate. He forced a smile, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, still dreaming."
The conversation sputtered out as Li Wei wolfed down his share of the congee, slapped Lin Xiao on the back a little too hard—"Keep grinding, little cousin"—and headed out, his laughter trailing like exhaust fumes. Lin Xiao finished his meal in silence, the words burrowing into him like splinters. He grabbed his backpack—stuffed with a thermos of tea, a dog-eared sci-fi novel, and his work credentials—and stepped into the pre-dawn chill.
The walk to the metro was a gauntlet of street vendors firing up their carts, the air thick with the sizzle of dough frying in oil and the sharp bite of chili. Lin Xiao wove through the early risers: office drones in rumpled suits, students yawning over breakfast buns, and the occasional migrant worker hauling crates on a bicycle. His mind wandered to the novel in his bag, a dog-eared copy of *Dune* he'd found at a secondhand stall. In those pages, Paul Atreides bent worlds to his will, artifacts of ancient power humming with secrets. If only, Lin Xiao thought, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets against the damp wind.
The metro ride was a sardine can of humanity—bodies pressed close, the rhythmic clack of tracks underscoring fragmented conversations.
"Did you hear about that startup in Futian? They're hiring coders like crazy," a young woman in a crisp blouse said to her companion, a man with earbuds dangling like forgotten jewelry.
"Yeah? What's the catch? Probably slave wages," the man replied, scrolling his phone. "My brother's in tech—says it's all nepotism now. You need an uncle in the party or something."
Lin Xiao stared at the floor, the mosaic tiles blurring as the train lurched. Nepotism. Connections. The words echoed Li Wei's jabs. He pulled out his phone, thumbing through job alerts: *Junior Developer—Bachelor's Required.* *AI Tester—Experience with TensorFlow Preferred.* Delete, delete. His own attempts at side gigs—freelance bug-fixing on shady apps—netted him maybe fifty yuan a week, enough for an extra bowl of noodles.
By the time he clocked in at the plant, the sun was a pale smear on the horizon. The assembly line hummed to life, a mechanical heartbeat that drowned out thought. Lin Xiao took his station: a bench cluttered with spools of wire, a magnifying lamp, and a conveyor belt spitting out half-assembled boards. His fingers moved on autopilot—snip, solder, inspect—each circuit a tiny rebellion against the monotony.
"Yo, Lin! You see the game last night?" His workstation neighbor, a burly guy named Zhang Wei with a tattoo peeking from his sleeve, leaned over during the mid-shift lull. Zhang was the plant's unofficial morale officer, always with a story or a smoke.
Lin Xiao nodded absently, wiping sweat from his brow. The air was thick with the ozone tang of heated metal. "Yeah, that last goal was brutal. How'd your bets go?"
Zhang groaned, rubbing his neck. "Lost twenty on that ref call. Wife's gonna kill me. Speaking of, you still single? My sister's friend—nice girl, works at the bank—asked about you."
Lin Xiao chuckled dryly. "Tell her thanks, but I'm married to this bench."
The two shared a laugh, but it faded quick. Zhang glanced around, voice dropping. "Heard Li Wei's strutting again. Told the floor manager you're slacking on quotas. Thinks it'll get him another pat on the back."
Lin Xiao's grip tightened on the soldering iron. Of course. Li Wei, always the ladder-climber, stepping on toes to reach the next rung. "Let him. Quotas are quotas."
But the seed of resentment took root, festering through the hours. By lunch— a stale baozi scarfed standing up—Lin Xiao's thoughts had soured. Why him? Why always the invisible one, the reliable ghost in the machine? He imagined, in fleeting bursts, a life where he called the shots: a corner office, a sleek apartment, Li Wei begging for favors. Foolish, but it warmed him against the factory's chill.
The shift dragged into overtime, as it often did when orders piled up from overseas clients chasing holiday deadlines. Lin Xiao's eyes burned, his back a knot of protest, but he pushed on. It was past 2 AM when the foreman finally called it, the line grinding to a halt like a weary beast. Colleagues trickled out, muttering about buses missed and feet aching, but Lin Xiao lingered, wiping down his station out of habit. The plant was a cavern of shadows now, fluorescent strips flickering overhead.
That's when he found it.
Tucked behind a pallet of discarded components—warped boards and frayed cables—was a small crate, unmarked and splintered at the edges. It hadn't been there that morning; shipments came through the loading dock, not materializing in corners like forgotten props. Curiosity, that rare intruder in his routine, tugged at him. He pried the lid with a stray screwdriver, the wood giving way with a splintery crack.
Inside, nestled in foam peanuts that smelled faintly of salt and age, was an object that defied cataloging. It was a sphere, no larger than a baseball, its surface a seamless swirl of iridescent black—like oil on water, but alive, shifting with impossible geometries. Fractal patterns danced across it, edges folding into dimensions that made Lin Xiao's vision swim. He reached out, hesitant, and his fingers brushed it.
The world didn't explode. No alarms blared. Instead, a voice— not heard, but *known*— bloomed in his mind, crisp and devoid of inflection, like a program reciting code.
**[System Initialization: Complete. Host Interface Established. Welcome, Lin Xiao. You have been selected as Vessel for the 10th-Dimensional Nexus Artifact. Intelligence Quotient: Transcendent. Purpose: Orchestration of Multiversal Convergence. Directive: Assimilate Anomalous Entities Across Dimensional Membranes.]**
Lin Xiao staggered back, the sphere clutched in his palm, now warm against his skin. It pulsed faintly, syncing with his heartbeat. "What... what the hell is this?" he whispered, voice echoing in the empty bay.
The response came instantaneous, a cascade of text overlaying his vision like augmented reality, blue hologlyphs unfurling in the air before him.
**[Anomaly Detected: Verbal Query. Clarification Protocol Engaged. The Nexus Artifact is a relic from the 10th-Dimensional Overvoid, a construct engineered beyond the constraints of baseline cognition. It interfaces directly with your neural architecture. No physical harm will occur. Query for elaboration?]**
He blinked, heart hammering. This had to be a hallucination—too many late nights, fumes from the solder. But the sphere felt real, solid, and the words... they weren't words. They were *understandings*, concepts slotting into place like puzzle pieces from a dream. "Elaborate," he managed, sinking onto a stool, the cold metal grounding him.
**[Elaboration: The Artifact grants access to Parallel Membranes—designated as Planes, Universes, or Dimensions. These are fictional constructs manifested as tangible realities: sourced from narrative archetypes including cinematic simulations, ludic environments, and literary simulations. Host Capability: Extraction of Essences. Essences are quantifiable resources—knowledge, artifacts, biological templates, energetic matrices—harvestable upon mission completion. Difficulty Calibration: Tiered from Q (Minimal Resistance) to SSS (Cataclysmic Opposition). Progression Unlocked Sequentially. Initial Tier: Q. Acceptance Required for Activation.]**
Lin Xiao's mind reeled. Fictional universes? Like *Dune*, but real? Missions? It sounded like one of those web novels his coworkers devoured on breaks—isekai tales of ordinary schmucks whisked to fantasy worlds, slapping faces and hoarding treasures. But this... this was in his head, precise and mechanical, no flair or humor to soften the edges.
"Acceptance?" he echoed, glancing at the exit. The plant was silent, but he felt exposed, as if cameras watched from the vents.
**[Affirmative. Verbal or Neural Affirmation Triggers Integration. Rejection Results in Memory Purge and Artifact Dissolution. Probability of Host Survival Post-Rejection: 87.3%. Estimated Quality of Life Delta: Negative 12.4%. Recommendation: Proceed.]**
Survival? Quality of life? The numbers chilled him. This thing—this *system*—calculated him like a variable. But the alternative... back to the line, to Li Wei's smirks, to congee and quotas. He swallowed, throat dry. "I accept."
A surge, like electricity without the burn—his nerves alight, synapses firing in symphonies he couldn't comprehend. The sphere dissolved into motes of light, absorbing into his palm, leaving a faint, silvery scar like a stigmata of code.
**[Integration: 100%. Host Synchronization: Optimal. Primary Directive Assigned. Plane Designation: Randomized from Archive—'Warcraft: Azeroth Lowlands Variant.' Objective: Neutralize Anomalous Scourge Outbreak in Eastern Plagelines. Extraction Target: One (1) Vial of Holy Water Essence. Difficulty: Q. Entry Vector: Neural Immersion. Duration: Subjective 72 Hours. Risk Assessment: Minimal. Depart?]**
Lin Xiao's breath caught. Warcraft? The game his old roommates had obsessed over in college, elves and orcs clashing in pixelated glory. Now... real? His hands trembled, but a thrill—sharp and unfamiliar—stirred in his chest. "Depart."
The world folded.
---
He awoke—no, *materialized*—in a mist-shrouded valley, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay. Towering pines loomed, their needles whispering in a chill wind, and in the distance, the low moan of... something. Undead? His body felt the same—coveralls traded for rough leather armor, a simple sword at his belt—but knowledge flooded him: basic Azeroth lore, combat primitives, the system's overlaid HUD marking threats in red wireframes.
**[Insertion Complete. Timer: 71:58:12. Primary Vector: Eastern Plagelines. Proceed to Outbreak Epicenter—Coordinates Locked.]**
Lin Xiao—no, *adventurer Lin*—gripped the sword's hilt, its weight reassuring. The path wound through brambles, the ground squelching underfoot. He moved cautiously, the slow pace of his real life bleeding into this one: each step measured, ears straining for the snap of twigs.
Voices drifted on the wind—harried, human.
"...by the Light, they're everywhere! Pushed back from the abbey again!"
A cluster of figures ahead: ragged militiamen in tabards stained with ichor, huddled around a flickering campfire. Their leader, a grizzled captain with a scarred jaw, barked orders. "Form up, you lot! We've got paladins inbound from Stormwind, but till then, it's us against the rot. Jenkins, scout the ridge—quiet-like!"
One of the men, a lanky youth with a spear, nodded shakily. "Aye, Cap. But... what if they're already through? Heard tales of the Scourge raising the dead mid-battle."
"Stow it," the captain snapped, though his eyes darted to the shadows. "We're Alliance. We hold. For Lordaeron."
Lin Xiao approached slowly, hands visible, the system's translation matrix rendering their Common as flawless Mandarin in his ears—then English, if he willed it. "Excuse me," he called softly, stepping into the firelight. "I'm... passing through. Heard about the outbreak. Can I help?"
The camp went still, hands twitching toward weapons. The captain's eyes narrowed, appraising the stranger in mismatched armor. "Help? You a sellsword? Or one of them warlocks playing at heroism?"
"Just a traveler," Lin Xiao said, forcing calm. The system's prompts flickered: *Social Interface: Trust Metric 34%. Suggestion: Offer Aid.* "I know a bit about purging... unclean things. Let me join the scout."
Murmurs rippled through the group.
"He's got that look—fresh off the boat from Kul Tiras, maybe," one militiaman whispered to another, a stout woman with a crossbow. "But Light knows we need bodies."
"Aye, but if he's a spy..." the youth—Jenkins—hissed back.
The captain weighed it, then grunted. "Fine. You go with Jenkins. Spot the rotters, don't engage unless they swarm. We link up at the ridge beacon. Move!"
And so Lin Xiao moved, falling in step with Jenkins as they slipped into the underbrush. The youth was all nerves, spear clutched white-knuckled. "Name's Tom Jenkins, from Southshore. You? Never seen your tabard."
"Lin Xiao," he replied, scanning the treeline per the HUD. *Anomaly Density: Rising.* "From... far east. Call it a pilgrimage."
Jenkins chuckled nervously. "Pilgrimage to a plague? Bold. Me, I signed up thinkin' it'd be glory and ale. Now it's just... this." He gestured vaguely at the mist, where faint groans echoed like wind through graves.
The ridge crested abruptly, revealing the plaguelands below: a scarred expanse of withered fields, dotted with shambling silhouettes. At the center, a ruptured barrow mound spewed greenish fog, skeletal hands clawing from the earth.
"Light preserve us," Jenkins breathed. "That's no skirmish—that's a full rising!"
Lin Xiao's pulse quickened, but the system chimed: **[Tactical Overlay: Primary Threats—12 Ghoul Variants, 3 Abomination Progenitors. Neutralization Vectors: Fire, Blunt Force. Extraction Node: Barrow Core.]**
"Signal the camp," Lin Xiao said, voice steadying. "We hit it now, before it spreads."
Jenkins blew a quick horn blast—three sharp notes—and torches flared behind them as the militia charged down the slope, the captain's roar cutting the night: "For the Alliance! Burn the filth!"
The battle unfolded in chaos Lin Xiao could scarcely process at first—slow, visceral, nothing like the plant's sterile rhythm. Ghouls lunged, their flesh sloughing in putrid sheets; he swung the sword clumsily, the blade biting into decayed muscle with a wet thunk. Ichor sprayed, burning his skin like acid, but the system narrated clinically: **[Essence Harvest Partial: Ghoul Core—1/5.]**
"For Southshore!" Jenkins yelled beside him, spear skewering a leaping horror. "You fight like you've got the Light in ya, Lin!"
"Or just luck," Lin Xiao grunted, parrying a claw that raked fire across his arm. The pain was sharp, grounding—realer than any factory blister.
The captain barreled through, mace crushing skulls with holy-etched fury. "Push to the mound! The core's the heart—smash it, and the rest crumble!"
Militia banter flew amid the fray: "Oi, watch your flank, Mary!" the stout woman called, loosing bolts that pinned limbs. "These bastards don't stay down!"
"Aim for the eyes—er, sockets!" another laughed hysterically, axe cleaving a torso.
Lin Xiao pressed forward, the system's guidance a ghostly whisper: *Optimal Path: Left Flank, 7 meters.* He dodged, rolled—amateurish but effective—and reached the barrow's lip. Inside, a pulsating orb of necrotic slime throbbed, tendrils feeding the risen dead.
With a yell he didn't know he had in him, Lin Xiao plunged the sword down. The blade sank, the orb bursting in a geyser of foul vapor. The ground shuddered; ghouls worldwide collapsed mid-lunge, dissolving to bone dust.
**[Objective Complete. Extraction: Holy Water Essence Vial Acquired. Dimensional Recall Initiated in 5...4...3... Reward Allocation: +1 Vitality Point. Host Feedback: Analyze?]**
The world unfolded again, the plaguelands fading like mist burned by dawn.
---
Back in the plant, Lin Xiao slumped against the pallet, gasping. The scar on his palm itched, and in his mind's eye, a ethereal vial shimmered—extractable at will. The clock read 2:03 AM; subjective hours compressed to minutes. His arm bore a faint scar, pink and healing, from the ghoul's claw.Exhaustion warred with exhilaration. He'd done something. Saved... people? In a game world, but it felt etched into his soul.[Post-Mission Debrief: Performance—Adequate. Tier Progression Unlocked: Q to A Available. Next Directive Pending Host Request. Rest Cycle Recommended.]He staggered home on the empty metro, the vial's essence a warm glow in his thoughts. Sleep came fitful, dreams of Azeroth mingling with Shenzhen's neon.Morning brought normalcy's mask. Breakfast chatter with his parents, Li Wei's absence a small mercy. But at the plant, whispers greeted him."Hey, Lin—you hear? Some idiot left a crate out last night. Foreman chewed out the loaders."Lin Xiao nodded mutely, soldering with hands that remembered a sword's weight. Zhang leaned in at break. "You look wrecked, man. Rough night?""Something like that," Lin Xiao said, a secret smile tugging his lips. The system hummed dormant, waiting.And as Li Wei passed later, flashing his supervisor badge with a wink—"Keep up, cousin"—Lin Xiao met his eyes evenly. For the first time, the jab glanced off. He had worlds now. Secrets that spanned dimensions.The face-slapping, he sensed, was only beginning.[System Notification: Idle Mode Engaged. Host Vitality: 101%. Await Further Commands.]