Hahaha…
(Inner monologue)
Wait… what kind of story did I get transmigrated into?
Kami said it's one of the books I enjoyed… but which one? There are so many. So many books I've read over the years, novels and fan-made stories alike, spanning genres, worlds, adventures, battles, and impossible romances. I've devoured them all—the kind where heroes save kingdoms, or cultivators grow to unthinkable power, or adventurers stumble across treasures that should have been locked away forever. Fantasy worlds, epic quests, magic, mythical creatures, secrets hidden in temples long forgotten, and dungeons no one sane would dare enter—I've read them all. I've lived in them all… at least in my mind.
Now I'm here. My body, fully functional. My hands, my legs, my senses alive for the first time in decades. And I'm staring at a forest that could have stepped straight out of one of my novels. Trees that reach higher than any building in the cities I've read about. A river so clear it reflects the sunlight like molten glass. Moss and grass so vivid, so alive, that it almost feels like the forest itself is breathing.
And I… I'm part of it.
Hehehe…
What if it's not even the right story? What if Kami made a mistake? She could have transmigrated me into a cultivation world with strict sects and power hierarchies. Or a story where adventurers are constantly dying in labyrinths with impossible traps. Or maybe even one of those romantic fantasy novels where everyone falls in love in the first chapter and somehow manages to get embroiled in political intrigue. I blinked a few times, trying to process it.
My eyes are the only thing that used to function in my previous life. Every time I tried to imagine the world, it was through sight alone. Through stories. Through the pages I had held in my hands, the screens I stared at for hours, the words that built landscapes in my mind. And now… this is it. Everything I've imagined. Everything I've longed to touch, to see, to explore. And it's all real.
The thought made my chest tighten—not in fear, but in excitement. A real forest. Real trees. Real sunlight filtering through the leaves. I can feel the grass beneath my feet, soft and damp with morning dew. I can smell the river, sharp and fresh, alive with movement. I can hear the wind, rustling the trees, carrying a symphony of sounds I've never truly heard before. And I can move. Every muscle, every joint, every fiber of my body obeying my mind. I can stretch, run, jump, spin, tumble, and fall without the invisible walls of paralysis holding me back.
And yet… there's the question again. Which story is this? Adventure? Cultivation? Fantasy? Something fan-made? Something original? Something I had scribbled ideas for in the back of my notebook but never finished? My heart skipped a beat at the possibilities. I've read countless stories that began like this: a young protagonist awakening in a strange world, unsure of their purpose, often told that they are "chosen" or "the key" to some grand prophecy. But those were always someone else's stories. Those were never me.
Now, though… it is me.
Hahaha…
I could practically feel my mind racing faster than my body. The kind of excited panic that comes from knowing your life has changed forever. I've spent years in a body that couldn't respond to my thoughts, that couldn't move, that couldn't reach out and touch even the simplest pleasures of life. And now, I have the freedom I dreamed of for decades. Yet here I am, standing in a forest, wondering if I accidentally got transmigrated into a story about flying swords, magical beasts, treasure-filled dungeons, and deadly sects.
But something about this forest… this moment… tells me it's more than just a story I've read. It's alive. The air hums with life. The river sings. The leaves sway in patterns I could never have imagined. My feet press into the earth, and I can feel its texture, its age, its memory. Every step I take feels like I'm walking on a world that has always been waiting for me, even before I existed.
I can't help but laugh again. "Hehehe… Kami… really? Did you really bring me here?" My voice echoes softly through the trees, bouncing off the trunks in a way that makes me smile. There's no one here to hear me, yet it feels like the forest itself is listening, responding with a gentle rustle of leaves and the quiet babble of the river.
I take a few steps, then spin, arms wide, just because I can. I can. I really, really can. "I—this… this is insane! I can actually move! My hands! My legs! My body!" My voice cracks on the words, carried along by tears I can't stop from falling. They stream down my face freely, unashamed, a tangible symbol of my relief and joy. "I—I never thought I'd feel this… I never thought I'd… experience this!"
And then, my mind wanders to the stories. I've read thousands of them, yet they all blend together sometimes. There are worlds where adventurers climb mountains to reach legendary temples. There are cultivation novels where disciples train for decades to unlock their spiritual power. There are fantasy epics where every river, mountain, and forest holds a secret, a challenge, or a treasure waiting for the brave—or the foolish. And now… I'm standing in a world that could be any of them, or all of them at once.
Could this be the one? Could this be my story?
Hehehe… if it is, then it's mine. All mine. And for the first time, I get to write it with my own hands. Every choice, every step, every adventure, every failure, and every success is mine. Not dictated by someone else. Not bound by missions or commands or timelines. Not even by memory of what I've done before. This is the purest kind of freedom I've ever known.
I run my fingers through the long grass, marveling at its softness. I crouch by the river and let my hands dip into the cool, rushing water. It feels alive—moving, flowing, endless—and I can feel it. I can feel the water against my skin in a way that no story, no book, no imagination could ever convey. I close my eyes for a moment and just breathe, letting the sensation sink into every nerve.
And then I laugh again. Loud this time. Unrestrained. I run forward, feeling my legs carry me effortlessly. I leap over fallen logs, spin in circles, roll through the soft grass. My body, so long ignored, responds perfectly to my will. I feel strength I've never known, muscles that remember motion even though my mind has been trapped for decades.
"I—hahaha… this is real! This is really real!" I shout into the forest, letting my voice carry as far as it can. "Kami… thank you… for giving me this chance! I… I won't waste it!"
I pause, looking around. The forest is alive with details that no book could ever capture fully: the patterns of veins in leaves, the subtle colors in flowers I've never named, the texture of bark, the way sunlight dances on the river like liquid gold. Every element feels deliberate, intentional, as though the world itself was designed to awaken in me a sense of wonder I had forgotten even existed.
And then the question strikes me again, unavoidable: which story is this?
Adventure? Definitely adventure. There are the rivers, the forests, the promise of mountains beyond the trees. Cultivation? Perhaps—the forest feels almost like it's alive with hidden energy, with life force that hums beneath the surface, waiting for someone perceptive enough to notice. Fantasy? Absolutely. Every element—the river, the trees, the sunlight—feels magical, imbued with more than just natural beauty. But which story…? That I cannot tell.
And yet… it doesn't matter.
Because it's mine. Mine to explore, mine to live, mine to shape. Every sensation, every experience is untouched by previous lives, by commands, by expectations. I am free. Truly free.
I lift my head to the sky, letting sunlight warm my face. "I… I can do this," I whisper, voice trembling with exhilaration. "I can live. I can explore. I can… finally have an adventure. My adventure. No restrictions. No orders. No limitations."
Tears stream again, and I laugh through them, helplessly, wildly, because after decades of silence, of immobility, of wishing for even the simplest freedom, I am alive. Every fiber of my being screams it. Every muscle, every nerve, every sense revels in it.
I raise my coiled fist to the sky, trembling with excitement. "Let's go! Adventure awaits! Let's see this world, really see it!"
The forest seems to respond, leaves rustling in rhythm with my heartbeat, the river sparkling as if cheering me on. The birds call overhead, and even the wind feels alive, brushing my hair against my face, carrying the scent of possibilities.
And in that moment, for the first time in my life, I am not a reader anymore. I am not trapped inside a body that refuses to move. I am not waiting on someone else's mercy.
I am a living, breathing, moving part of the story.
And it is finally my own.
♤