Fang Qi wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep.
All he remembered was an ordinary night. There was no heavy rain, no strange dreams, no dramatic events. He closed his laptop, turned off the lights, then lay down—just as he had done thousands of times before.
His consciousness disappeared without warning.
And when it returned, the first thing he felt was a smell.
A bitter aroma that stabbed at his nose—like medicinal herbs boiled for far too long. The air felt stuffy and heavy, making his breathing slightly difficult. Fang Qi didn't open his eyes right away. He let his body remain still, allowing himself to grow accustomed to the unfamiliar sensations.
The bed beneath him was hard.
Not a foam mattress.
More like a wooden board covered with a thin layer of cloth.
He slowly opened his eyes.
A wooden ceiling with dark beams greeted his gaze. There were simple carvings at the corners, but some were cracked, as if the building had not been renovated for a long time. Sunlight entered through a small window beside the bed, bright enough to reveal dust floating in the air.
This was not his room.
Fang Qi didn't sit up immediately.
He moved his fingers first. There was a stiff sensation, as if this body was rarely used for movement. When he took a deeper breath, a slight pain spread across his chest.
Weak—that was his first impression.
Slowly, he got up and sat on the edge of the bed.
This body was lighter than his original one. Too light. When his feet touched the floor, his knees trembled briefly before finally managing to support his weight.
"…"
No sound came out of his mouth. Not because he was shocked, but because there was nothing that needed to be said.
Fang Qi's gaze swept across the room. An old wooden table, a wardrobe with a crooked door, and a water basin in the corner. The clothes he was wearing were loose and plain, pale gray in color.
Clearly not modern clothing.
He stood up and walked toward the basin.
The face reflected on the surface of the water made him pause.
It wasn't his face.
Long black hair tied carelessly, pale skin, and delicate facial features that didn't give off any sense of strength. The young man's eyes looked slightly hollow, as if he often avoided meeting other people's gazes.
A face that was… easily forgotten.
Fang Qi stared at the reflection for a long time, without any excessive emotion.
"Strange," he murmured softly.
Not because the face was ugly.
But because it was too ordinary.
At that moment, something unfamiliar began to surface in his mind.
Not complete memories.
Not clear recollections.
More like blurred fragments that were not connected to one another.
A large family.
A spacious house with an inner courtyard.
Disdainful gazes.
Whispers from servants.
And one thing was consistent in all of those fragments:
This body belonged to a useless young master.
Fang Qi closed his eyes for a moment.
He didn't feel dizzy. There was no sudden pain in his head like the ones often described in stories. The information was simply… there. As if his mind had received raw data without any instructions attached.
He opened his eyes again.
"So this is how it is," he said quietly.
His tone was flat, almost as if he were commenting on the weather.
Fang Qi didn't ask how he had ended up here. That question was too big—and too useless for now. Experience had taught him one simple thing:
When you are in an unfamiliar place, the reactions of the people around you matter more than quick answers.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Young Master?" An old man's voice came from outside. It wasn't loud, but it clearly lacked respect. "Your medicine is ready."
Fang Qi turned toward the door.
"Come in," he said.
The door opened, and a servant in his fifties entered while carrying a wooden bowl. His gaze briefly swept over Fang Qi before shifting down to the floor—a movement that looked polite, yet carried a habit of disdain.
The servant placed the bowl on the table without saying anything.
"How is my condition?" Fang Qi asked.
The servant froze for a moment, as if he hadn't expected the question.
"It's still the same as usual, Young Master," he finally replied. "The doctor said your body has been… weak since birth."
Fang Qi nodded.
There was no exaggerated reaction. No anger. No resentment. He simply stored the information away in a corner of his mind.
"Thank you. You may leave."
The servant hesitated briefly, then gave a shallow bow before leaving.
Once the door closed, Fang Qi picked up the bowl of medicine. The liquid was pitch-black, its smell sharp. He took a small sip, then swallowed without any expression.
Bitter—but not as bad as he had expected.
After finishing, he sat back down on the edge of the bed.
From the window, he could see part of the inner courtyard. Several well-dressed youths were walking by while laughing, their movements light and full of energy. From the way they spoke, Fang Qi could tell one thing:
They did not view the owner of this body as an equal.
"An interesting position," he murmured.
Not a strong position.
Not a safe position.
But a position that was ignored.
Fang Qi didn't feel panic. Instead, a strange calm seeped into his mind. He was already used to being on the fringes—watching without being noticed, listening without being considered important.
He stood up and slowly walked toward the window, supporting himself against the wooden frame.
In the distance, large buildings with curved rooftops stood in quiet grandeur. There were no tall skyscrapers. No power lines. This world felt… old, yet alive.
At that moment, for a very brief instant, a strange sensation crossed his mind.
Like the shadow of something vast.
Not a direct threat.
More like a faint awareness that this world was not as simple as it appeared.
The feeling vanished quickly, leaving Fang Qi alone with his thoughts.
He didn't pursue it.
Not yet.
Fang Qi took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
The first step was already clear:
{ Survive.
Observe.
Do not draw attention. }
Whatever this world was—whatever role this body had played before—Fang Qi had no intention of repeating it.
He opened his eyes and looked out the window once more.
"If this really is the wrong place," he said softly,
"then I'll make sure I don't die the wrong way."
And for the first time since waking up in this body, a faint smile appeared on his face—not a confident smile, nor a cunning one.
Just the smile of someone who had already begun calculating his next steps.