Chapter 1: Transmigration (1)

“I’m giving you a terrible review.”

The room had no windows or lights, and the lighting was dim. Sitting in the middle of the room, Wen Yingchao pressed a hand against his throbbing temple and spoke through a splitting headache.

“So this is how you do things? Forcing someone to transmigrate into a book without any warning?”

“Sorry, Host,” a voice sounded inside his head. “May I ask if you’ve ever heard a certain rumor?”

“If a character in a novel shares your exact name, you’d better memorize the entire book to avoid transmigrating into it.”

“We’ve even thoughtfully equipped you with a system for this extremely rare occurrence. Just think about it. Isn’t that incredibly considerate of us?”

Wen Yingchao: “…”

Considerate my ass.

Who would take some internet joke seriously?!

“Even if I have to transmigrate into a book, couldn’t you at least give me some warning? I’ve become the protagonist’s doomed dark moonlight, for crying out loud!”

Wen Yingchao gritted his teeth as he enunciated each word. “D-O-O-M-E-D!”

Just last night, he had been dozing off while reading a book he’d picked up for some bedtime entertainment. His hand had slipped, and the book had smacked him right in the face with a thwack. The impact jolted him fully awake. Clutching his sore nose, he moved the book aside, only to discover that everything around him had changed.

A secret chamber, a coffin, and a system in his head.

He was going to call the police!

What kind of nonsense was this?!

And that wasn’t even the worst part. The real headache was that the original owner of this body was the protagonist’s long-dead dark moonlight, someone the protagonist could never forget no matter how hard he tried.

How bad was it? Every time the protagonist made progress in life, he would drag Wen Yingchao out to trample all over his memory again. At the very least, he’d resurrected him only to kill him again no fewer than eight times. Even the ending was no exception.

Wen Yingchao was the quintessential ill-fated tool character, diligently haunting the protagonist’s nightmares.

Here’s a joke: His face and voice are still with us.

How delightfully hellish.

At that moment, he was lying inside an ice coffin, yet the surrounding temperature wasn’t particularly cold. He looked more like someone who had just clawed his way back from the dead.

Actually, that description wasn’t entirely wrong.

In the original novel, the original owner had been thoroughly dead for a long time, having perished in the Battle of the Nether Abyss near the very beginning of the story.

So…

What kind of ridiculous resurrection was this?!

Although Wen Yingchao had treated the novel as bedtime reading, his memory was pretty good. He had only just finished reading it, so all the major and minor plot points were still fresh in his mind.

Which was precisely why he couldn’t figure out where this resurrection of the dark moonlight had come from.

System: “It’s perfectly normal that you don’t know. According to the original story’s timeline, we’re now in the fourth year after the ending.”

Wen Yingchao: “…Huh?”

When? How many years later?

The system paused before continuing. “Besides, there’s something even more important I haven’t told you yet.”

Wen Yingchao: “Such as?”

System: “Such as the fact that the protagonist, Gu Mowan, is about to come looking for you.”

Wen Yingchao: “…”

Wen Yingchao: “???”

Heaven itself wanted him dead!

System: “Host, what are you doing?”

“Packing up and preparing to run for my life,” Wen Yingchao replied.

He still remembered exactly how Gu Mowan had treated the original Wen Yingchao in the novel.

Even after stabbing his already-cold corpse more than a dozen times, Gu Mowan had repeatedly questioned whether he had really killed him, whether he was truly dead. No matter what happened, he always suspected that Wen Yingchao had returned, as though he couldn’t rest until he’d dug up the grave and checked another two or three times.

Anyone reading that would want to yell, What a lunatic!

And he wasn’t going to run?!

Although he’d said he was packing, Wen Yingchao didn’t actually have anything to take with him.

He had arrived empty-handed, and even the novel that should have accompanied him had mysteriously vanished.

Aside from the ice coffin he’d apparently risen from, this place looked more like a secret chamber.

The lighting was so dim that he could barely make out numerous yellowed sheets of paper scattered across the floor, their writing blurred and indistinct.

There were also various bottles and jars arranged on a nearby table, but he had no time to investigate them now.

“Um, Host,” the system said. “There’s something I need to remind you of.”

“What?”

“The exit of this secret chamber only opens in one direction, and the protagonist has already discovered the entrance.”

Wen Yingchao: “…”

In other words, the moment he stepped outside, he’d inevitably have an intimate encounter with Gu Mowan, and then—

He didn’t even dare imagine what would happen next.

What kind of fate awaited him?

“Would it still be in time for me to climb back into the coffin and pretend I’m dead?”

Wen Yingchao looked around. There wasn’t a single place where he could hide.

Thinking about the various methods Gu Mowan had used in the novel, he figured that even pretending to be dead wouldn’t save him. He let out a laugh that was more bitter than amused.

“System, you’ve done a wonderful job.”

The system played dead and didn’t respond.

Wen Yingchao asked again, “So what’s going on here? Where am I? How did I come back to life? Why is Gu Mowan coming to find me? The least you could do is give me some information.”

The system continued playing dead.

Wen Yingchao: “I’m seriously going to give you a terrible review!”

“Sorry,” the system replied stiffly. “My current functions do not include anything like ‘foresight.’ I can only provide technical assistance.”

“You’ll have to investigate the relevant information about this world yourself.”

In other words, the system had no idea either.

It knew absolutely nothing, yet it had dragged him here to transmigrate into a novel. Impressive.

Time was running out, and Wen Yingchao no longer had the patience to complain. He went straight to the point.

“Technical assistance? What exactly do you mean by that?”

The system answered, “For example, you can draw a card…”

The voice in his head abruptly cut off.

A beam of light spilled in from directly ahead of Wen Yingchao, falling squarely on him. In the dim secret chamber, it was especially dazzling.

Wen Yingchao instinctively raised a hand to shield his eyes.

His other hand was still resting on the edge of the ice coffin, half his body submerged in darkness. His clothes were thin, and his hair hung loose and disheveled. Perhaps because he had only recently come back to life, he looked terribly frail, the exposed bones of his wrist sharply defined beneath his skin.

And the person standing at the entrance to the secret chamber was none other than the protagonist of this novel: Gu Mowan.

For some reason, despite this being their first meeting, Wen Yingchao was certain of the man’s identity.

Now that the moment had finally arrived, Wen Yingchao found himself unexpectedly calm.

Perhaps he knew there was nowhere left to run. Slowly, he lowered his hand, allowing Gu Mowan an unobstructed view of his face.

Gu Mowan said nothing. He simply stood motionless in the doorway, silent.

Wen Yingchao felt a little awkward. He genuinely didn’t know whether he should say something first or what he ought to do if the other man suddenly attacked him.

In the end, Gu Mowan was the first to lose his patience.

Wen Yingchao hadn’t even realized what was happening when the world spun violently before his eyes. By the time he regained his senses, he had already been slammed hard onto the floor, pain pulsing through the back of his head in waves.

Gu Mowan’s icy hand was clamped around his throat. With the slightest increase in pressure, he could end Wen Yingchao’s fragile life.

Even at this point, Wen Yingchao’s expression remained remarkably calm.

It was as though he had lost the ability to express emotions. From the moment he had encountered Gu Mowan, all the joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness that belonged to him seemed to have vanished without a trace.

Gu Mowan’s hand was even colder than Wen Yingchao’s body.

And Wen Yingchao was supposed to be the one who had only just returned from the dead.

“Your hand is shaking.”

Wen Yingchao’s voice was faint and weak. It was like a silken thread, so fragile that it seemed impossible to grasp, as though his final breath might dissipate at any moment.

Wen Yingchao knew that with this face, telling Gu Mowan that he wasn’t the original person would never work. The other man would never believe him and would most likely assume he was playing some kind of sinister trick.

Besides, Wen Yingchao had no idea whether behaving in ways that contradicted the original owner’s personality would cause the system, which was currently playing dead, to retaliate against him.

Thinking this over, Wen Yingchao tilted his head slightly, letting his gaze fall on the papers scattered across the floor.

The original novel was set in the future, where handwritten manuscripts on paper like these had become exceedingly rare.

His small movement didn’t escape Gu Mowan’s notice.

Gu Mowan finally spoke. “Don’t move.”

Wen Yingchao obediently maintained his position.

It seemed that his resurrection was an unexpected bonus for Gu Mowan. Otherwise, when they first met, Gu Mowan wouldn’t have frozen in place. He would have attacked him immediately.

And the real reason Gu Mowan had come here was obvious: those papers scattered across the floor.

What was so special about them?

As someone who had only just arrived in this world, Wen Yingchao naturally had no idea. But he knew how to use that uncertainty to his advantage and carve out some room for survival.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to remain puzzled for long. Gu Mowan soon gave him an answer.

The person pinned to the floor with a hand around his throat was clearly Wen Yingchao.

Yet the one breathing rapidly, desperately trying to appear calm while failing miserably to hide his agitation, was Gu Mowan.

Gu Mowan tugged at the corner of his mouth and spoke in a low voice.

“I knew it would turn out like this. You’re still alive. How could someone like you possibly die just like that? How could you leave yourself without a single backup plan?”

“It took me so long, so damn long, to finally accept the fact that you were dead. And now you’ve actually dared to appear in front of me again. Wen Yingchao, you’re truly vicious.”

Wen Yingchao couldn’t take it anymore.

He turned his head back toward Gu Mowan. The other man’s grip tightened in response, digging into his throat until he could barely breathe.

He answered honestly, “But I really did die.”

Gu Mowan let out a laugh. “I know.”

“That’s precisely what makes you even more despicable. Consciousness-resurrection experiments are now explicitly prohibited, yet who would’ve thought you’d become their very first test subject? Should I call it fate, or should I pity you for ending up in such a miserable state?”

Wen Yingchao wanted to shake his head but discovered that he couldn’t.

How strange. Gu Mowan’s mental state seemed even worse now than it had been at his most unstable point in the novel.

But by the time the story was nearing its conclusion, he should have more or less recovered.

Now, however, there was something disturbingly abnormal about him.

“However, you…”

After finishing that sentence, Gu Mowan paused again, looking puzzled. “You really know nothing about the experiment?”

Does his mental state seem normal again? Wen Yingchao wondered.

“Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

The breath Wen Yingchao had been struggling to draw still wouldn’t come. Before he could even react, Gu Mowan grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up. A sharp rrrip sounded, presumably from some part of his clothing tearing.

Then Wen Yingchao was tossed aside again, landing beside the ice coffin with a painful thud.

Wen Yingchao: “…”

Gu Mowan, are you insane?!

His emotions finally came rushing back after that fall. He couldn’t help cursing inwardly.

He’d already thought the protagonist was crazy while reading the novel, but he’d seen plenty of even more unhinged characters in fiction. After all, there had been an entire dimension separating him from them.

Now that he was experiencing this firsthand, it was practically a death sentence.

While grumbling inwardly, he had just managed to stand up beside the ice coffin when a coat suddenly flew toward him and landed over his head.

“Put it on,” he heard Gu Mowan say.

A large section of the clothing over Wen Yingchao’s chest had been torn open, so he wasn’t in a position to refuse. He quickly slipped into Gu Mowan’s coat.

He wasn’t foolish enough to ask why Gu Mowan had decided to spare him. That would have been completely unnecessary.

Throughout the process, Gu Mowan watched him intently, as though afraid that the moment he let his guard down, Wen Yingchao would slip away right under his nose.

As soon as Wen Yingchao finished putting on the coat, Gu Mowan swiftly reached out and clamped a hand over his mouth.

Wen Yingchao felt something being pushed into his mouth. He looked up at Gu Mowan and met a pair of eyes that seemed to be smiling mockingly at him.

“Swallow it.”

His tone was unequivocal, more command than request.

I can’t swallow this, Wen Yingchao thought.

Although he had been forcing himself to stay alert, this body had been dead for far too long. He had only just awakened, and his condition was already so poor that he was on the verge of collapse. He pressed the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but the cloyingly sweet substance had already begun to melt.

“Refusing to swallow? That’s unfortunate. Have you never experienced this before? I’ve learned a lot over the years. I’m not the same person I used to be.”

Wen Yingchao stared silently at Gu Mowan.

Gu Mowan’s expression abruptly changed.

He withdrew his hand in disbelief and stared at the streak of blood that had suddenly appeared across his wrist.