The Festival of Sessions was split into two distinct areas.

Outside, the streets were alive with color and sound, where mortals wandered freely, indulging in games, performances, and exotic foods sizzling on open grills. Lanterns in hues of gold, crimson, and sapphire floated above the stalls, casting a dreamy glow over the celebration. Musicians played on stringed zithers and wooden flutes, their melodies weaving through the chatter of the crowd.

But the real attraction lay beyond—The Plum Gardens, where only Visionaries were allowed entry.

North, however, wasn’t in a rush.

Instead, he took his time wandering through the outer market, taking in the sheer variety of goods and practices on display.

Rows of stalls and tents stretched as far as the eye could see, their owners calling out to potential buyers. Unlike a normal marketplace, this was a Visionary’s bazaar, filled with items specifically crafted to enhance, strengthen, or modify an Imaginary Island.

…

One stall displayed vials of translucent liquid, labeled as "Midnight Dew", supposedly used to nourish Imaginary Boundaries and expand their growth.

"Boundary Soil from the Thousand-Year Gardens! Perfect for growing plants in your Imaginary Island!"

North stopped at a stall selling "Island Seeds Images"—small, fist-sized spheres that could be planted inside a Visionary’s Imaginary Island to cultivate permanent structures. Some promised to grow into stone fortresses, others into flowing rivers or deep caverns rich in Nether Essence.

There were things here that had never existed in the original Simulator World—items he had never coded, mechanics he had never considered.

North was especially intrigued by these Island Seed Images. The fact that they weren’t expensive made them even more tempting.

Of course, they were expendable one-time-use Images—once planted, they would grow into permanent structures but couldn’t be reused or relocated. But that wasn’t the important part. What made them truly valuable was the sheer variety available. The stall carried at least two dozen different types, each designed to enhance a Visionary’s Imaginary Island in its own way. Some were practical, like an Image that could grow into a bed, a chair, or even a simple wooden house. Others were more specialized, like a small container that functioned like a refrigerator, ensuring that any food stored inside would never spoil.

One of the most interesting ones was a vine seed that, once planted, would grow wine and food directly inside a Visionary’s Imaginary Island. A self-sustaining supply.

North had to actively resist the urge to buy several of them. His pockets weren’t bottomless. After quickly weighing his finances, he realized he only had one and a quarter Rain Coins left, and he needed to spend carefully.

Still, he didn’t want to walk away empty-handed.So, he continued his search for a perfect and in budget resource as he strolled further.

A crowd gathered around a woman demonstrating "Living Mist Formations" that could apparently help shape Imaginary Islands' environments. Next to her, a scholarly-looking merchant sold manuals titled "Ten Methods for Imaginary Island Enhancement Through Environmental Optimization."

Anything that could help him deepen his knowledge of the world and Visionary, North bought it. of course, prerequisite was that it had to be cheap.

Then he paused at a particularly busy intersection of stalls, where merchants tried to outshout each other:

"Thunder Wolf Best Bone Powder! Strengthens thunder-type Imaginary Boundaries! Tested by the Azure Lightning Sect!"

"Crystallized Yellow Dew! Essential for night-blooming spirit herbs! Three drops expand your Island's growing potential!"

"Ancient Wood Essence! Stabilize your Island's foundation! Why build on common soil when you can have millennium-aged spirit wood?"

A gruff man with burn scars—probably from handling thunder materials—thrust a sample toward passing cultivators. "See the quality! Direct from the Thunder Peaks! Your Image will thank you!"

…

There were conditions he needed to meet before advancing to Rank 2, and one of the most important was growing his Imaginary Boundary.

It wasn’t just a passive requirement—it was a process, much like a farmer tending their field. In fact, in some parts of the world, Visionaries were literally called Truth Farmers because of how they cultivated their Imaginary Islands.

The growth rate of an Imaginary Island depended on two major factors.

First, it naturally expanded by a fraction every day—usually an inch, maybe half an inch, depending on the individual. Those whose boundaries grew quickly were considered more talented, as their natural growth gave them a huge advantage. Second, with each Rank increase, the growth rate slowed, halving every time until it eventually stopped altogether. This meant that the faster someone’s Imaginary Island expanded early on, the better their long-term potential.

Simply put, this one detail alone could dictate how far a Visionary could rise.

North had no clue how fast his Imaginary Island was growing yet. And he wasn’t going to just sit inside it and stare at the boundary, waiting to see the difference over weeks. Instead, he bought a measuring tool—a small floating marker, standard equipment for Visionaries, used to track Imaginary Island expansion.

At least now, he’d have a clear way to gauge his progress.

Thereafter, he continued strolling through the lively festival, taking his time to listen, observe, and collect information. There was no rush—opportunities and knowledge were everywhere, and tonight was proving far more enlightening than he had expected.

He came across a stall specializing in Image sustenance - materials necessary for Images to maintain their existence and power.

Just as every Image manifested uniquely, their sustenance requirements varied wildly, each one as distinct as the Image itself. North's own Borrowed Might Image, for instance, required a liter of bloody sweat every week - the essence of effort and struggle condensed into physical form.

Similarly, for some Images, their sustenance was as simple as a rare mineral, a type of qi-infused water, or exposure to a specific elemental force. Such as an Image requiring nine types of spring water, each collected from different mountain peaks at precise moments of the lunar cycle. Others required more exotic fare - morning dew gathered from hundred-year-old spirit flowers, or the breath of meditation masters. Then there were the darker requirements. Images that fed on fear, on pain, on the blood of other Visionaries. Some even required their masters to consume specific items themselves, the Image feeding on the digested meat. The variations seemed endless, each requirement reflecting the fundamental nature of the Image it sustained.

North saw a young woman in blue scholar’s robes stepped forward next, presenting a small silver tablet—likely her Visionary license from the Losutorus Sky Clan. She was Rank 3 Visionary.

“I need fresh Writ Ink, do you have it?” she asked.

“Hold on a second young lady,” The stall owner fumbled through his containers for a good minute before pushing a black ink like bottle toward the woman, but clearly it was no ordinary ink.

The woman tested it on a paper as she let a drop fall down, and in seconds, North saw the ink disappear. Leaving North to wonder what kind of Image she had. The woman carefully examined the liquid for the authenticity before handing over payment, her shoulders relaxing as if a looming concern had been addressed.

Soon, a man in dark-red robes, looking vaguely like a traveling mercenary, stepped forward next. His voice was gravelly, tired. “A Frenzy Lion Blood.”

The vendor’s expression didn’t change as he reached behind the stall, pulling out a clay jug filled with thick, iron-scented liquid. “Fresh, aged no longer than a day,” the vendor explained.

The mercenary listed and inspecting the jug before tossing a small sack of Rain Coins onto the counter.

North quickly moved on, weaving through the throng of festival-goers, but his ears caught onto a loud conversation happening nearby.

A gruff older cultivator stood near a weapons stall, arms crossed, his voice thick with pride.

“My Slash Sword Image,” he boasted, “won’t accept anything less than Iron extracted from battle broken swords.”

His audience—a mix of younger Visionaries and curious onlookers—let out murmurs of interest.

“What happens if you try to feed it normal iron?” someone asked.

The old man snorted. “It rejects it outright. Dulls my sword, weakens my strikes. A true blade must be forged from battle, not raw ore.”

Nearby, a jade beauty in flowing silver robes examined a delicate bottle of golden light, tilting it in her fingers as it cast a faint glow against her skin.

“My Beauty’s Curse Image feeds on the admiration of others.”

…

“Everybody simply calls it Decade Boundary Expansion Soil. Mix it with your Island’s earth, and it helps expand the boundary naturally. No dangerous side effects, no unpredictable reactions. Most Rank 1 Visionaries start with this—safe, reliable, tested by generations.”

North watched as another customer—a young man with a thin, wiry build—stepped forward and purchased a measure of the soil without hesitation. The merchant scooped out a precise amount with a flat wooden shovel, pouring it into a cloth pouch lined with faint inscriptions before handing it over. The transaction was quick, the buyer leaving without a word.

Basic but practical, North thought.

It wasn’t flashy, it didn’t promise miraculous breakthroughs, but it was exactly what he needed—a safe way to test how these resources actually worked without gambling on something too exotic.

North glanced back at the merchant. “How much?”

“Fifteen Nether coins stones per measure, Young Master. Enough for one expansion attempt.”

North nodded, counting out the Nether Coins stones from his pouch. The merchant accepted them with a practiced hand, quickly tucking them away into his sleeves before reaching into a sealed container. He pulled out a kilogram of the white powder, carefully wrapping it in a thin silk-paper packet before binding it with twine.

As he handed it over, the merchant leaned in slightly and took a second look at his face, lowering his voice. “If young master want something stronger, we also carry higher-grade variants, century old or even Millennium year old. More expensive, but far more potent.”

North accepted the package, feeling the slight weight in his hands. He already knew that better resources existed, but he wasn’t about to waste money before seeing how this one performed.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied, slipping the package into his bag before turning to leave.

…

In the next thirty minutes, North had almost completely explored the market, weaving through the last few rows of stalls and taking in as much information as he could. He had spent the past hour and a half here, absorbing the sights, the transactions, and the strange nuances of how this world worked.

Now, as he finally left the outer market behind, the moon stood fully visible in the sky, round and bright, casting its silver glow across the city. There wasn’t a single cloud in sight, and the air had turned refreshingly crisp. A gentle gust of wind swept through the valley, carrying with it the mingled scents of roasting meats, floral incense, and the faint tang of wine from distant pavilions.

North turned his gaze toward The Plum Gardens—the true heart of the Festival of Session.

It should be full by now. He thought.

The entrance was grand yet understated, flanked by tall stone lanterns carved with flowing calligraphy, their inscriptions softly glowing golden. The outer walls were adorned with vines of pink plum blossoms, shimmering faintly in the moonlight, casting a pink glow along the path.

Fortunately, there was no charge to enter. Just a few guards standing at the gate, their expressions unreadable as they scanned the approaching young crowd. Their purpose was clear—to ensure no mortals tried to slip in. As North neared, he passed unhurried, walking with calm confidence—a posture that screamed wealth and status, the unmistakable aura of a young master from a noble clan.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

[Blessed Land Detected: Lustrous Sky Clan's Celestial Mirage]

As he stepped through the threshold, the full splendor of the Plum Gardens unfolded before him. The twilight he'd seen while working here had been transformed. The Islands floated at different heights, with thick streams of water flowing, defying gravity through the air. The verdant bamboo forest in the distance swayed in the wind.

Visionaries(Mostly Young) gathered in elegant groups around tables spread through the gardens filled with pink plum trees and green grass, their jade cups catching the light as they discussed insights and politics matters.

Dancers flew through the air, their flowing robes leaving trails of shimmering light as they performed graceful, otherworldly movements above the gathered audience. Each twirl and step was accompanied by a chorus of stringed zithers, soft percussion, and melodic flutes. There music and motion captivated even those who had long since become numb to mortal performances.

North walked along the stream that wound through the gardens, its water so clear it seemed invisible over the patch of green grass. His real attention, however, was focused on hunting for those elusive pink crystals he'd seen above Fatty and the Protagonist's heads.

Perhaps I had to be closer to someone before I could see their template, he mused, watching the crowds from a distance. There definitely should still be at least a few, if not many, scattered throughout the gathering. After all, the Plum Gardens was filled with ambitious Visionaries—there had to be important figures here. With that in mind, he adjusted his approach. Rather than standing still and staring like an idiot, North casually made his way toward one of the long banquet tables, acting as though he was merely passing by. Moreover, he didn’t know anyone here, and drawing attention to himself would be the worst possible move. To sell the illusion, he picked up a jade cup of wine from a nearby server’s tray. Better to blend in than stand out, he thought, taking a careful sip. The wine was exceptionally good, smooth and subtly sweet with a lingering warmth that spread through his chest. Perfect.

The group he approached had their own entertainment, women twirling gracefully. From time to time, they would drift too close, teasing the gathered young masters, who reached out in amusement, trying to catch them. Yet each time, the dancers slipped through their grasp, graceful and untouchable—like seals slipping through the waves.

North observed all of this as he neared the table, but he didn’t stop.

Instead, he kept walking, staring subtly from the corner of his eye, hoping for something—anything—to appear. Nothing. No templates. No floating crystals. No visible marks that indicated these people were any different from the rest. His disappointment was immediate, but he didn’t let it show. Without hesitation, he adjusted his course, smoothly veering away and making his way toward another table. He drifted between groups like a leaf on the garden's streams, his expression carefully neutral as he passed by the various groups of young Visionaries, nobles, and clan disciples.

A young man in a golden brocade robe, his sleeves embroidered with the emblem of the Giant Sun Clan, leaned forward, his voice filled with confidence.

"The Plum Gardens may belong to the Lustrous Sky Clan, but let’s be honest—this festival is just an excuse for them to remind everyone that they’re still relevant." He chuckled, sipping his wine. "The real power in the region belongs to us—the Giant Sun clan, not the hosts of this gathering."

A silver-haired woman, her features striking and cold, smiled slightly. "That’s a bold statement. You’d say that so openly in enemy territory?"

The young noble waved his hand dismissively. "Hah, what can they do? Challenge me? If they did, I’d crush any of their so-called young talents before the moon sets."

The others laughed, though some exchanged calculating glances.

North slowed slightly, observing. No Templates. For all their wealth and arrogance, they weren’t part of the real story.

A little further down, he came across another group of visionaries, they seemed to be members of various wandering factions, smaller than the dominant clans but filled with talent.

One of them, a tall man with short-cropped hair and a dark blue sash, had his arms crossed as he listened to a shorter guy in black robes ranting.

"I tell you," the short one growled, "that bastard from the Extreme Frost Sect thinks he’s untouchable. Just because he ranked in the top five at the last Grand Exchange, he walks around like we should all bow to him."

The tall man smirked. "You challenged him, didn’t you?"

A brief pause. The shorter disciple scowled. "I lasted a full exchange before he countered me."

"You got folded instantly, didn’t you?"

Silence. The taller disciple laughed, clapping his companion on the back. "Don’t worry. I’ll avenge you properly in the city arena tomorrow."

North took a casual sip of his wine, not stopping. Near the floating pavilion, he caught fragments of another conversation about the Festival:

"The Four Seasons positions are the real prize—"

"Young Master Lin from Azure Cloud Sect is favored for Winter—"

"Don't be so sure. I heard Yue Linxi has been preparing something special..."

North's attention sharpened at the mention of Yue Linxi. This was the jade beauty Fatty had warned about. He lingered, pretending to admire a nearby spirit fountain.

Another group, their robes marking them as inner city residents, discussed recent events:

"Did you hear about the Intuition Image at the Pavilion of Images today?"

"Some unknown young master claimed it. Must be from a powerful background—"

"Strange timing, right before the festival..."

North smoothly moved on, suppressing a smile at hearing gossip about himself.

Little further away, a group of middle-aged men and women—none of them young competitors, but influential elders, merchants, and representatives of powerful families—sat discussing potential investments.

"…No, no, the Bai Clan heir won’t last," one man said, swirling his cup lazily. "Mark my words. He looks impressive, but he lacks mental endurance. When he faces a real opponent, he’ll fold faster than dry paper in the rain."

A woman in lavender robes nodded in agreement. "You’re underestimating the Wild Fang Tribe’s rising star. The boy’s a beast. If the Bai heir is all flash, then Fang Shi is all steel and blood."

"That’s what you think." Another man leaned forward, grinning. "Everyone’s focused on the obvious names, but I’ve got a dark horse in mind."

"Who?"

The man tapped his temple. "Li Yi."

The table fell silent.

Then, a few chuckled. "That kid from the mountain tribes? Please."

"You laugh now, but you won't when he’s standing on the final stage."

Li Yi? The Protagonist. And if these people were discussing him, that meant he was also here.

North passed another table where young masters were discussing power dynamics:

"The Lustrous Sky Clan's influence keeps growing—"

"With this festival, they're practically declaring themselves the dominant force—"

"Be careful who hears you say that..."

Yet none of them had Templates.

Come on, there has to be someone important here. North exhaled through his nose, keeping his movements natural, his steps leading him toward the quieter parts of the Plum Gardens.

Near the bamboo forest, where the crowd thinned and the lantern light flickered softly between the swaying stalks, a man sat alone at a small pavilion. In front of him, a teapot steamed gently, filling the air with a rich, floral scent. The man’s movements were unhurried, his every gesture refined as he lifted his cup, savoring his tea in elegant silence. Beside him, a woman played the guzheng, her fingers plucking the strings with precise, fluid grace. The melody wove through the night, adding a layer of unforgettable beauty to the already picturesque scene.

The man himself looked the part of a perfect young master.

And his aura. As a Rank 1 Visionary himself, North felt it instantly.

A faint but unmistakable pressure. Not overwhelming, but refined. At least Rank 4. Maybe stronger.

He looked like a man who already knew his place in the world—and was simply waiting for the rest of the world to acknowledge it. North started to move closer—then stopped. His heart skipped a beat. Because above the man’s head, floating like a silent declaration from fate itself—Was a pink crystal.

And within it, written in clear, unmistakable text:

[The Heaven's Chosen One]

[Blessed by fate, immune to misfortune, always finds lucky opportunities.]

North stared, stunned.

Well, holy shit. He finally found one of them.

Not just any character, either: The Heaven’s Chosen One.

A title so cliché it made his teeth itch, but at the same time… it held undeniable weight. In any story, this type of person was an absolute force. The kind who rose above all others effortlessly. The kind favored by destiny itself. The kind who could turn a crumbling sect into an unshakable empire or slaughter armies alone without breaking a sweat.

If this world followed any sort of logical narrative progression, then this man was destined for greatness.

…And right now, he’s just sitting here, drinking tea like it’s an ordinary night.

North carefully didn’t move closer. Instead, he positioned himself to observe from a safe distance. He wasn’t the only one. A few other young masters were standing nearby, chatting among themselves while occasionally sneaking glances toward the seated man. They weren’t directly approaching him, but their laughter was louder than necessary, their presence too intentional.

They were trying to linger close without looking like they were lingering.

Sycophants, orbiting a greater star. And then, North noticed something else. His pulse quickened again.

The Heaven’s Chosen One wasn’t the only marked character here. North shifted his gaze slightly—subtly scanning the others standing within this social orbit. And just as he suspected: More pink crystals.

Two of them. The first hovered above a woman standing a few feet away, near the edge of the bamboo grove. Her black robes bore silver embroidery, and her arms were crossed, her expression a careful mask of neutrality—yet her eyes lingered on the Heaven’s Chosen One, sharp and watchful.

Her Template read:

[The Shadowed Phoenix]

[A woman born from ashes, destined to rise—but never without blood on her hands.]

[Marked by tragedy, tempered by ambition. Lives in the shadow of greater figures, waiting for her moment to strike. Often an avenger or a hidden power, underestimated until it's too late. Has a deep connection with The Heaven's Chosen One, whether as an ally, rival, or betrayer.*]

The second belonged to another young man, this one seated among the other young masters, his light green robes flowing lazily around him, his posture almost too relaxed. Unlike the others, he didn’t seem particularly interested in flattering the Heaven’s Chosen One.

If anything, he looked mildly amused, as if watching a story unfold from the perspective of a distant spectator.

His Template read:

[The Serpent Who Smiles]

[A man who moves between truth and deception, his words sharper than any blade.]

[Always watching, always plotting—never without an escape plan. A wildcard, his allegiance shifting based on where the most benefits lies. Can be a loyal strategist or a hidden traitor, depending on the circumstances. Masters the art of knowing more than he lets on. If he smiles at you, you should already be worried.]

North exhaled slowly, keeping his face impassive. This is it. These great characters always gathered together. And now there were three of them here. His gaze flickered around the green bamboo-lit garden, scanning the festival for any sign of Fatty and Li Yi.

Where the hell are those two? Toiling away in some corner? Or that girl Yue Linxi finally did something to them?

He silently wondered, but didn’t care enough. Because at this moment, his attention was locked on something far more important.

[Base Template Archetype: "The Undefined"]

[Due to your Undefined status, you may attempt to acquire new templates.]

[Warning: Templates are not freely given. They must be earned through conditions or taken from others.]

What did that mean, exactly? He could take Templates? How? Through force? Trickery? Murder? And what kind of conditions were required to earn one naturally?

“System!”

“System! Who sealed your mouth shut? Why do you always act like tsundere?”

However much he screamed, the system wasn’t going to answer. That much was obvious. And that left him with one disturbing thought. How am I supposed to steal Templates from these people? His gaze returned to the three powerful figures before him, like two or three rank above him, but his gaze lingered on the glowing pink crystals hovering over their heads.

Could he actually take one of those? Would he have to defeat them? Kill them? Outplay them? The possibilities ran through his mind like wildfire.

But before he could even begin to formulate a plan—

Something slammed onto his shoulder.

Hard.

"WHAT THE—"

He stumbled forward, barely catching himself before he hit the ground face-first. His heart jumped into his throat, his body already preparing for a fight. North’s head snapped to the side, eyes narrowing as he turned to face the assailant—Only to find a girl staring at him.

Her brow furrowed, her head tilted slightly in confused curiosity.

"Ahh!" She gasped in disbelief, "Hey, how did you turn over from Trash to Young Master just in one day? I did not even recognize you."

North blinked, and his eyes rapidly dilated as he recognized her. Apparently, now, even she had a pink crystal and template over her head. A strange one at that.

[The Heaven-Touched Lunatic]

[Warning: Was supposed to be the perfect Connate Lifeform, but Heavens did not tolerate her existence.]

"WTF…??!!!"