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Chapter Text

Click-clack-click-clack—

The sound of intense keyboard typing echoed throughout the apartment accompanied by heavy breathings.

Shen Yuan muttered a string of curse words under his breath, each tap fueled by rage toward a web novel he had been obsessively following for years.

Even the blinding lights of his monitor couldn’t stop him. No—not the great Peerless Cucumber, extremely passionate loyal reader of Proud Immortal Demon’s Way.

As usual, today’s agenda included one extremely important task: dragging Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky’s ass straight into the abyss.

At last, he slammed the Enter key with smug satisfaction—like he had just dropped a roast so brutal even Luo Binghe would blush.

His masterpiece of a hate comment lit up as it soared to the top of the comment section. The taste of victory was supposed to be the sweetest thing anyone could ever experience…or so they said.

But instead of seeing the sweet validation he was expecting—people agreeing to him, praising him and backing him up— he was met with something far worse: humiliation.

The replies flooded in faster than the release of GTA5. People were disagreeing—Mocking him, even! laughing at him like mindless NPCS! He gritted his teeth in frustration, snatched the leftover meatbun, and stuffed it into his mouth, preparing for war.

The coldness of the buns seeped through his teeth, but he barely noticed. His eyes were still glued to the screen, seething as he read the bootlicking comments.

Then—he froze.

The author himself had replied.

and he was mocking him.

The swelling rage exploded but not long after Shen Yuan choked. A piece of the cold bun lodged in his throat, sending him into a coughing frenzy.

He staggered to his feet, coughing and gasping for air, his eyes darting towards the monitor. As the world around him spun, with what felt like his last breath, he spat out “Dumbfuck author, dumbfuck novel!”

PROGRAMMING “SHEN YUAN” INTO CHARACTER “SHEN QING—ERRORERRORERRROERRORERRORERRORROROOROROROROROROROERORORORRORORORORORO— Transfer failed.

Initiating backup files..

Transfer complete.

The river flowed gently, humming a soft tune to the world. Birds chirped, their calls drifting on the breeze like a familiar melody.

Warm sunlight pierced through the leaves, landing on Shen Yuan’s face, forcing him to squint.

He groaned, trying to fight off the fuzziness clouding his senses. Slowly, he pried his eyes open, only to be met with the unnerving sight of a pair of bright blue eyes staring down at him.

“Aaaahhh!!!”

He yelped in panic, jerking his body back like a cat caught in a trap, his limbs flailing like a newborn duckling and eventually tripping over his own legs, falling into a bush with a loud rustle.

How humiliating.

“Meow”

The culprit—the cat—the asshole, purred sneeringly, licking its paw leisurely like nothing had ever happened.

Humans have no manners, meow.

Shen Yuan popped his head out of the bushes, face flushed with shame, glaring at the cat.

What the hell—?

Before he could get up, he felt something on his arms. He glanced down…

and saw a massive centipede crawling up his sleeves, just inches from his skin.

An unpleasant scream followed shortly after.

So, I transmigrated into the body of a child,

got humiliated by a damn cat,

and had a centipede crawling on me.

Great. Amazing luck.

What's next? A demon lord chasing after me?

Shen Yuan let out a groan as he finished drawing out a map in the dirt, trying to make sense of what just happened.

The cat thankfully scampered off after his second round of screaming, leaving Shen Yuan to collect himself. After a few minutes of silence. Shen Yuan rose to his feet, brushing off the leaves, and scanned his surroundings in disbelief.

Which novel is this, anyway? Did I just transmigrate into a cultivation novel or something?

As he wandered alongside the river, aimlessly kicking pebbles, a village came into view. The familiar architecture sparked a realization.

Wait...I'm in ancient China?! Holy shit—I can ride swords??

Before his fantasies could take flight—before he could even imagine himself soaring through the skies on a flying sword—the once-bright sky turned ominously dark.

And then, of course, the heavens decided to give him a gift by opening up and dumping an unholy downpour straight on his head.

shit shit shit—what the hell is this god awful luck!?

Drenched and cold, Shen Yuan bolted toward the village, arms over his head in a pitiful attempt to block the rain.

The street, which just moments ago had been bustling with people and the delicious scent of food, had now become nothing but a deserted wasteland. Not a single soul in sight.

Just his luck. His feet splashed violently through puddles as he sprinted down the slippery road, eventually spotting a teahouse in the distance.

Thank god—finally!

Shen Yuan ducked under the roof, panting like a half-drowned dog, then plopped down to the ground with a sigh.

shit…that was exhausting.

soaked to the bone and gasping, he leaned his head back, letting the rain continue to pour just inches away from him. He stared at the grey sky above, his chest rising and falling.

So what am I gonna do now?

In the corner of his eyes, he spotted an elderly woman struggling to cover her small street stove, where—miraculously—there were still a few piping hot meatbuns left.

Because the universe clearly hates him, his stomach let out an aggressive growl. Loud. Hungry. Absolutely not subtle. Shen Yuan tried to suppress it, averting his eyes from the elderly woman struggling nearby with her food cart.

But the longer he sat there, the worse it got—his stomach twisted painfully, and he started squirming uncontrollably. Eventually, his eyes drifted back to the old lady just in time to see her cart catch on a rockand tip over, sending her meatbuns rolling dramatically into the street.

His mouth watered. He was starving—Common sense who? With desperation, he leapt up from where he was sitting and bolted towards the buns like a starving cat. He snatched them off the ground.

The old lady shrieked, trying to chase him, but tripped mid-sprint and slammed face-first to the muddy road. Shen Yuan paused mid-chew and turned around slowly.

There, he saw the old lady on the ground: blood mixing with the water, the sounds of her groaning and her wrinkled limbs flailing. A pang of guilt hit him like a truck.

shit. What have I done..?

Frozen in place, regret bubbling in his guts, he slowly dropped the stolen buns and rushed to help.

Except—plot twist—he was a scrawny little boy now, completely useless in lifting a person twice his size.

Thankfully, the old woman was still conscious, so Shen Yuan grabbed a nearby stick, shoved it into her hand, and helped hoist her up with all of his might.

With the stick as leverage and his tiny support, she finally managed to stand.

The elderly woman exhaled in relief, then turned to thank her “Savior”. Her sweet and grateful expression turned sour the instant she recognized Shen Yuan.

“You little thief!” She shrieked. “ How dare you steal from me and then act like a saint?!” She smacks him with all her strength.

“OW! OW OW OW OW!!”

“I was just trying to help!” Shen Yuan cried, shielding his head.

“Help?! I know your little tricks, brat!”

with a grip stronger than Goku, She twisted his ear and dragged him towards the teahouse while he flailed struggling to break free.

The teahouse master hurried over as he saw the scene that had just unfolded in front of his eyes, sliding the door and offering his arms to steady her—only to get his hand slapped away.

“Don’t touch me! I must discipline this damned brat first!”

A few remaining patrons peeked curiously over their teacups. The teahouse master nervously chuckled.

“ha-ha madam, perhaps you can beat him after drying off? You’re soaked— catch a cold!”

Only then did the elderly woman seem to register the rain soaking through her clothes. A shiver ran down her spine.

Her grip on Shen Yuan’s ear loosened—then vanished entirely as she swayed on her feet and she collapsed with a soft thud.

Shen Yuan stumbled back, clutching his throbbing ear.

damn. that escalated fast.

The teahouse master blinked, then immediately sprang into action.

“All of you get over here!”

The staff members scrambled to lift the old woman, while Shen Yuan stood frozen, watching the chaos unfold like a low-budget soap opera.

Just as they began carrying her away, she groaned and suddenly flailed with surprising strength.

“That damn brat! teach him a lesson for this old woman!”

The staff collectively turned to look at Shen Yuan.

His hair stood on end.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Without thinking, his legs moved on their own. He spun around and hurled his entire body at the door—it creaked open just wide enough for him to slip through, and he bolted without a second glance.

But curiosity betrayed him. He glanced over his shoulder and confirmed his worst fear: two large men were hot on his heels.

WHY ARE YOU CHASING ME BECAUSE OF THAT OLD HAG?!

Thanks to his small size and fast legs, Shen Yuan managed to shake them off with ease.

By the time he stopped running, the rain finally cleared—but he was still drenched, his clothes clinging to his skin uncomfortably.

He has no choice but to find new clothes, something that’s dry that is. He scanned his surroundings and spotted a nearby trash can—dirty and abandoned, but it had potential.

With a reluctant sigh, he hurried over, scavenging through the contents of the can. After a few moments of digging through scraps, he found an old, dirty rag.

It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do. He quickly stripped off his wet, damp clothes, and slipped into the old rag around himself, trying his best to ignore the stench as much as possible.

instant regret.

it clung to his body like a cursed item—rough, vaguely slimy, and reeking of a smell even the trash god would abandon. He gagged.

ugh. I feel like I'm in a zombie apocalypse instead.

He hugged himself dramatically as the cool breeze cut through the alley, shivering with disgust.

“At least I'm dry,” he muttered. “If by dry, I mean ‘dressed in a damn rag that smells like…” He sniffed again, face contorting.

“….smells like public executions ”

With nothing better to do, Shen Yuan wandered through the bustling streets, the shops had reopened, owners advertising their products, offering everything from trinkets and snacks to clothes.

His stomach growled in protest, but his brain was stuck somewhere else—too busy freaking out over this new world. Exhausted and starving, Shen Yuan shuffled forward.

The scent of rain hung heavy in the air and the once dissipated crowd came back alive more than ever.

There’s no pause button for him to click on, and definitely no prince charming coming to sweep his legs off of the ground too.

Lost in his own world, Shen Yuan didn’t notice the faint flicker of blue light in the distance—monitoring him with eerie precision. Watching. Waiting.

Chapter Text

A crowd had gathered around a large bulletin board. Strangely, nobles and commoners stood shoulders to shoulders, their eyes gleaming with excitement. The air buzzed with eager whispers and gossips. 

This piqued Shen Yuan’s curiosity. Without thinking twice, he shuffled closer, eager to see what was going on.

Unfortunately, he was too short to see over anyone’s head—but that didn’t stop him from being nosy. Instead of craning his neck, he slipped through gaps in the crowd, ducking under arms and squeezing through robes. With a shove here and there, he finally made it to the front. 

Let's see what this is about…

Shen Yuan’s eyes scanned the writing before him. 

Thank god I know traditional Chinese, he thought with mild relief. And the smug superiority of someone who actually paid attention in school. 

That relief lasted about two seconds.

His eyes widened like someone had just cursed his entire bloodline. His hands trembled slightly; shoulders stiffening. 

Cang Qiong Sect - Disciple Selection.

  Cang Qiong Sect opens its door for this year's disciple selection.  Recruitment shall be held on the tenth day of the third month. All able-bodied youth, regardless of background, are welcome to compete. 

Besides the writing was a hand-painted image: a majestic mountain stretching into the clouds. A long staircase, narrow and wide, guides small children towards the summit where a lone figure stood, draped in a robe and holding a sword, watching over them as if to decide their fate. 

Shen Yuan stared at it, dumbfounded.

“…Fuck.” he whispered in horror.

Shen Yuan’s eyes lingered on the name. His mind, at first, refused to believe it. There was no way. No freaking way.

“Wait…” He nervously chuckled. “This is Proud Immortal Demon’s way?” He rubbed his eyes and stared at the sign again, blinking like he’d misread it. “No, no. This is ridiculous.”

He scoffed. Maybe it has the same name? Maybe it’s just a coincidence…

His gaze drifted back to the hand-drawn image.

“Proud Immortal Demon’s Way,” he muttered again, this time louder, like increasing volumes might change reality.

“Oh, for the love of—This is where I end up, huh? Some knock-off fanfic version with plot holes the size of China and NPCS powered by two brain cells? Excellent. 10/10” 

He tried to convince himself, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut. It’s all just a coincidence, right? 

Maybe the sect was just named the same, it didn’t actually mean—

He froze. Realization hits him all at once. 

“Oh god,” he whispered, his voice cracked slightly despite his effort to keep it steady. “No way…I’m really here, aren’t I?”

But then, of course, his flight-or-fight reflex has long since been replaced by sarcasm. Because why cry when you can be petty and dramatic instead?

“Wonderful. The famous Proud Immortal Demon’s Way, home to hot men, unhinged personality and trauma that can power up a small country. The ideal place for me to—what? Do exactly what? get tea poured on by the villain?” 

He let out a snort, but it was more haunted than amusing. Deep down, something is gnawing at him. He glanced around, half-expecting someone to pop up and yell, “Surprise! You’re in a hidden camera prank show!” 

But no one came. 

“Well,” he muttered, rubbing his temple, “this is fine. totally fine. I’ve just woken up inside a murder-happy cultivation novel. No big deal.”

He glanced back at the sign, lips twitched into a grimace. “Ah yes, exactly what I dreamt of—no really this is peak fantasy wish-fulfillment. Thanks, universe, really nailed the vibe.” 

A nearby child tugged on his mother’s sleeves, asking what kind of monster cultivators fight. Shen Yuan muttered, “The worst kind, kid. Emotional damage. That’s the boss battle.” 

Before he could spiral into self-pity, a sharp scream pierced the air. Shen Yuan looked up just in time to see a furious nobleman and his sobbing wife in the distance, flailing their arms and yelling for guard.

Not far ahead, a group of scrappy kids bolted down the street, laughing as they vanished into an alley.

”Imagine getting pickpocketed.” Shen Yuan deadpanned. “Tragic. Meanwhile, I'm out here cosplaying as street trash. Life’s fair, clearly.” 

He took a few steps back from the board and groaned, tossing his head dramatically to the sky as both hands clutched the sides of his head.

“Okay, Shen Yuan, think. Step one: don’t die. Step two: try not to die. Step three: Become the camera man. They survive every horror movie.” 

A long sigh escaped from him.

“Guess I'll stick around until the big day. Not like I've got other plans. And, you know, I’d rather not die. not yet at least.” 

Unbeknownst to him, a fine red thread shimmered into existence, wrapped tight around his finger. 

Far off, somewhere in the shadows, the other end gave the faintest tug.

A faint warmth curled through Shen Yuan’s fingertip, a prickling sensation like the start of something magical. but before he could react, the feeling vanished, leaving only the whisper of the cold air behind. 

Shen Yuan exhaled dramatically. Something flickered at the corner of his eyes. He blinked. His gaze snapped to his hands. 

“Was there something?” he thought out loud, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

He held his hand up, rotated it, sniffed it like it would help.

“Nah.”

He slapped both his cheeks lightly, “Yep, 100% losing it..” 

Ugh, I miss my ten-pillow memory foam bed, my life-size luo binghe body pillow and my overpriced AC. This? This is peasant-core. And I? Cultivated in comfort, not whatever this tragic arc is.

Chapter Text

Shen Yuan gave a brittle laugh, tugging at the edge of his filthy rag.

“Peasant-core, huh.”

But the silence that followed stretched too long. Too thin. 

Anyways! Let’s explore the map.

Shen Yuan turned on his heel with mock enthusiasm, striding into the alley like he was loading into a new level. The ground was dusty, uneven, and smelled vaguely of mold—something worse. 

Up ahead, a group of kids were fighting. Actually fighting. Over a half-eaten steamed bun.

Elbows out. Fist flying. One even sank their teeth into another’s arm like a feral zombie. 

Shen Yuan squinted at the scene, almost impressed. “Wow,” he muttered.

“Scrapping for crumbs…is this…foreshadowing?” 

He tried to laugh, but it came out weak.

Too real.

Too close. 

“Nah.” He said out loud, brushing the thought away.

“It’s fine. I don’t need to scramble for scraps. I’m the protagonist. Someone’s gonna come along with a basket full of fresh dumplings any minutes now.”

He patted his stomach, long since silent, and gave a weak smile. 

He waited, and waited—for the kindness he thought was written for him.

A bun. A savior. Something. 

For the chapter break. The reset. The glow arrow pointing him to the next stage.

But nothing came.

Not even the pity of silence.

Only silence. Only the cold.

A voice whispered at the back of his mind. Sharp. Cold. Bitter—not quite his own.

Dreams

are a luxury.

Hope

is a lie.

Kindness?

Don’t make me laugh.

Shen Yuan blinked, shaking off the voice as if it were a chill creeping down his spine.

—✿—

Night had already fallen upon this unfamiliar world.

Shen Yuan’s stomach twisted painfully, each growl louder than the last, a sharp reminder that he hadn’t eaten since... since..

Wait. Had he eaten today? Anything at all?

He couldn’t remember anymore.

His lips were dry.

His throat burned.

His legs trembled.

Everything hurts.

Or maybe it didn’t.

Maybe he was just being dramatic.

This was all part of the setup, right?

He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t.

He’d read survival novels—he knew how this went.

This was the prologue. The gritty beginning before the big turning point.

He just needed to wait it out.

Any moment now, a kind old man would appear, eyes twinkling, offering him tea and a place to call home.

Or a sect leader would descend from the clouds, robe billowing above a gleaming sword, announcing,

“You’re the one I've been looking for.”

That’s how these stories went.

Always.

Still, he clung desperately to that last flicker of hope—this was just an absurd dream.

Any minute now, he’d wake up back in his cluttered apartment, wrapped in his blankets.

The warm glow from his computer screen casting light across the room. The familiar hum of his AC in the background. His snacks, neatly arranged in the snack cart by his monitor.

His phone buzzed with notifications from his account. His Luo Binghe body pillow loyally waiting at the side of his bed.

That was all real.

That life was real.

And this?

This couldn’t be.

Just sleep.

Just get through the night, he told himself.

This is the intermission between scenes. Someone always shows up right after.

But no one came.

At one point, he thought he heard footsteps—light and careful, approaching, His heart surged.

He scrambled to his feet, hope in his throat.

Silence.

No one was there.

Maybe it was just a rat.

Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe the world was screwing with him for fun.

Because that’s what these setup do, right?

Gives you just enough hope to make the fall hurt even more.

To teach the protagonist a lesson.

Classic character arc material.

Oh, Shen Yuan. You're so stupid.

You really thought this was just a filler chapter?

That someone would show up to yank you back into the main plot?

The world didn’t care.

Not about him.

Not about anyone.

No one batted an eye when a child was beaten bloody in the middle of the street.

No one flinched when another was dragged off by a noble, their screams fading into the distance.

Maybe someone did.

Maybe someone looked away,

maybe they muttered something under their breath.

But it doesn’t matter now, does it?

Here,

kindness is a luxury that no one can afford.

Mercy is inconvenient.

And hope?

Hope is a lie.

The morning came.

Was this the next day?

How many days has it been now?

He didn’t know.

He hadn’t slept.

Not even for a second.

Just closed his eyes and waited for the scene to change—for the chapter to end. The skip to trigger.

It never did.

It should have.

His stomach still gnawed at itself. His back ached from lying on the stone.

The world hadn’t changed.

So it wasn’t a dream.

He felt something on his cheek.

He cracked his eyes.

A tickle. No—a weight.

He blinked. Slowly, his vision blurred around the edges.

His brain, still foggy from the night before.

what… is that?

It stared at him.

Long antenna. Glossy black shell. Just sitting there.

On his cheek.

staring at him.

Unmoving.

Why is it not moving?

Feeling sore, he shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure off his spine.

It sent the thing into a rampage.

it skittered across his face. Tiny legs tapped against his skin. Too fast to catch.

Too fast—

GHHK—!

He jerked upright, hands clawing at his face, gagging. Coughing, choking, spitting.

fuckfuckfuckfuck—

get out get out get out get out—

Saliva poured from his mouth, splattering on the stone.

His stomach twisted—and emptied. Violently. Purple fluid splattered out. Something stringy. Something twitching. With legs.

Panting, Shen Yuan clutched at the stone floor. His eyes were wide, tears prickling in the corners. His pupils dilated.

It was a cockroach..?

A damn..cockroach?

Fuck.. that was in my mouth..?

He gagged again.

Vomited again. Again. Again.

Disgusting disgusting disgusting disgusting—

This wasn’t in the transmigration agreement. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Where was the system? The golden finger? The halo?! The kind old man who gives him cheat items and a bath and a bun—

Oh.

Am I…a cannon fodder..?

The thought punched the air from his lungs. His chest squeezed tight.

Shivering and sweating, his mind filled with statics and emptiness.

He couldn’t breathe. The lingering foul smell of his vomits didn’t register.

This can’t be.

No—this isn’t how it’s written.

This is not how it goes!

He was supposed to wake up in a fancy manor. Or in the arms of a mysterious cultivator. Or on a mountain surrounded by clouds and plot conveniences.

Not… this.

Not like this.

He’s the transmigrator.

The protagonist.

The narrative should center around him. Why was it chewing him up and spitting him back out?

He was supposed to be the main character. He has to be! These stories are always like that.

Why did these things happen to him..?

Wasn’t this supposed to be his story?

He laughed.

It cracked. Or maybe it was a sob.

It hurts. Everything hurts.

“Fucking system,” he rasped. “Where are you?”

Silence.

“Aren’t you supposed to guide me to the plot?”

Nothing responded.

Not a ding.

No tutorials.

No light.

“Aren’t you supposed to explain everything? Unlock my skills? Tell me which quest to complete?”

The silence lingered. Bitterness stung his throat. His body trembled uncontrollably. His pride stung.

Shen Yuan collapsed, curling on his side beside the puddle of his own vomit.

The star in his eyes were long gone. 

Ah..what did I do to deserve this.

Just before the darkness claimed him, he thought he saw a faint, flickering light far away—like a spark in the night. Maybe it was the system. Maybe it was hope. But it was gone before he could reach it.

Then his hands flew back to his mouth, bracing for another round of dry heaving.

But nothing came from his mouth this time, just air and saliva.

So this was it.

No second chances.

No OP starter packs.

No cheat skills.

Nothing.

Just him.

Alone.

And a dead cockroach.

He lets out another laugh, weaker this time. Then a sob came. Or maybe neither. Maybe both.

But the sting in his throat wouldn’t let him pretend.

He was awake.

And this was happening. 

This is all real.

Everything was real.

Then the voice returned—no longer a whisper, but a blade pressed deep into his chest.

“You thought someone would bring you dumplings? A warm bed?” 

“Who told you this was just a prologue?” It sneered.

“Who made you think you’re the protagonist?”

“You think this world owes you something just because you showed up?”

“It doesn’t. No one cares. No one ever did.”

“No one asked for your existence.”

“No one asked for your help.”

“Welcome, Shen Yuan.

To Proud Immortal Demon’s Way.”

Shen Yuan’s breath hitched. The bitter truth settled deep. No escape. No plot armor.

“I want to go home.” He whispered. “Mom…Dad…”