North couldn’t believe this. He had been trying to escape Fatty and Li Yi—to slip away unnoticed, to keep himself far from their blood feud with Yue Lingxi. And yet, here he was. Suddenly caught and trapped. And had an injured woman leaning on him, bleeding out, dragging him into her doomed narrative. If this wasn’t bad luck, he didn’t know what else could be.
Somewhere behind them, Li Yi’s voice rang out. “I see blood on the ground. She must be near.”
North’s chest tightened. Their footsteps echoed through the night, too close for comfort. Yue Lingxi’s grip on his shoulder tightened, her glowing fingers digging into his skin. Her breathing had grown ragged, her body trembling from blood loss. She was losing too much, too fast. Her robe, once a pristine white, had turned crimson from the deep gash in her stomach, and more blood continued to seep between her fingers as she pressed against the wound, trying to stop the inevitable.
He could see fear and confusion in her eyes as she tried to threaten him to take her. North didn’t think she would survive the next few minutes unless she received proper healing—or had an Image that could heal herself. And judging by her pained expression, she didn’t.
He sighed. There was no avoiding this anymore. No slipping into the shadows and pretending he didn’t exist. So, he stepped forward. And with Yue Lingxi leaning heavily on him, he moved. The only problem was that Fatty and Li Yi were rapidly tracking her blood.
That meant they were right behind them.
“Where do you want me to go?” North hissed under his breath.
Yue Lingxi's eyes flickered toward him, clouded with pain. Sweat dripped down her forehead, making her face shine in the moonlight. "Anywhere," she rasped. "Anywhere but here."
Her body swayed dangerously, and North had to quickly adjust his stance to keep her from collapsing. Damn it. She's fading fast. How much longer until she passes out completely?
His mind raced through options. They couldn't stay exposed—the moment Fatty or Li Yi spotted him with her, he'd be marked as an accomplice. And he couldn’t just ditch her either. Not because he felt some sudden heroic duty—but because if he tried, she might shave off half his shoulder with sheer spite alone.
Maybe we just circle around until she loses consciousness, he calculated. Then I can bolt when she's too weak to maintain that threatening grip. Still, he had to admire her tenacity—even grievously wounded, her mind remained sharp enough to maintain her threat.
As North half-dragged, half-guided Yue Linxi through darkened alleys, his mind worked on two tracks. One focused on survival—scanning for pursuit, plotting routes, listening for footsteps. The other drifted to darker contemplations.
Why am I so calm about this? He ducked them behind a merchant's cart as voices echoed nearby. There's a dying woman bleeding out on me, and I'm treating it like a puzzle to solve.
"They went this way!" Fatty's voice carried from a street over. "The blood trail's still fresh!"
North pulled them into a deeper shadow, feeling Yue Lingxi's grip weaken slightly. Her breathing had grown more labored, each step leaving a damning trail of blood droplets. He could hear their voices—low, determined, relentless. Their footsteps echoed off the stone roads, swift and confident, like hunters tracking their wounded prey. North should have felt something about this. Guilt. Pity. A sense of moral responsibility. But as he pressed forward, careful not to let Yue Lingxi’s slackening body drag too much, he realized, he felt nothing. No sympathy. No guilt. No unease. Why? Was it the shock? The sheer absurdity of the situation? Or was it simply because this world wasn’t real to him?
Not yet. Not fully.
He had created it. Programmed it. Written the parameters of how things worked. And yet, as he moved through it, as blood from the woman beside him smeared onto his sleeves, he realized something else. This world didn’t feel fake. It felt real. Too real. And yet, his calm remained.
Is it because I don’t see them as people?
Maybe. Maybe to me, they were still NPCs—pre-programmed pieces, filling roles in a story I had left half-forgotten. Or maybe, deep down, he had always been like this.
His grip tightened on Yue Lingxi as she stumbled, nearly dragging him down with her. He cursed under his breath, adjusting her weight, suppressing his irritation.
“Still alive?” he muttered.
Barely, from the way she weakly cursed. “...You wish I wasn’t?” she rasped, her breath shallow.
North rolled his eyes. “I wish for a lot of things, but heavens doesn’t give a damn about that.”
Ahead, the alley forked. One way led back toward the populated areas—risky. The other disappeared into deeper darkness—also risky. He turned toward the darkness. Better the unknown than the predictable.
As they moved deeper into the alley, North’s mind wandered to something else. Her Images. Could he take them? If not all, the rare Wings of Destiny Image would be enough for him to reach at least Rank 6 without any hard work. Also, back in the simulator, when a person was killed, their Images were usually transfer to the victor. A crude but effective loot system. But would it work here? Would her Images transfer to him if she died? The idea gnawed at him, not out of greed, but curiosity. If I kill her, will I get her Images? It was a logical question. But even as he thought about it, he knew the chances were low. This world had already proven itself flawless—no broken mechanics, no obvious exploits, no glitches.
Nothing had worked the way it did in the simulator. It annoyed him. Not because he wanted to kill her and take her power, but because he couldn’t. He was bound by the same rules as everyone else.
A noise—too close. North shoved them both behind a stack of crates, his hand clamping over Yue Lingxi’s mouth, muffling her sudden breath of pain. The sound of footsteps.
Li Yi and Fatty. They had reached the fork in the alley. North barely breathed.
“We’re close,” Li Yi muttered, his voice sharp, deadly. “She’s bleeding too much. She won’t last much longer.”
Fatty let out a bitter laugh. “You finally sound convinced.”
Li Yi didn’t answer.
A moment of pause. A second too long. Then, Li Yi took a step toward the dark alley. North’s heartbeat pounded. Shit. Then, another sound—voices, further down the street. A group of drunken merchants stumbling out of a teahouse, laughing too loudly, cutting through the quiet of the night.
North pushed himself up, feeling the brief relief of the momentary escape, but the weight against his side didn’t move. He glanced down and found her slumped on the cold stone floor. He tried to help Yue Linxi stand, but her legs had lost all strength. Her eyes, once sharp enough to threaten him minutes ago, now couldn't focus on anything. The glowing hand slipped from his shoulder as her consciousness wavered, her body crumpling to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.
Her eyes were unfocused, blinking rapidly, as if trying to grasp onto reality but failing. She was muttering something, soft whispers of jumbled nonsense, her voice weak, delirious. Shock. Her body was shutting down.
"Why didn't he save me?"
"Why?"
"Why? He said he loved me. He would come get me, so why?..."
"...Was it all a lie."
Her mind was unraveling.
The white moon above bathed her in its cold glow, its silver light making her seem almost ethereal—a spirit on the verge of fading from existence.
And below her, Blood pooled. A stark, rich crimson, spreading like ink across the stone.
North’s chest tightened. A strange coldness settled inside him.
What’s the meaning of life if it ends so easily?
One moment, you breathe. The next, you bleed out under the moon. No grand exit. No epic last stand. Just a slow, painful decay into silence.
Yue Lingxi’s body began to tremble. Blood had begun to fill her throat, slipping past her lips, choking her every breath. It leaked from the corners of her eyes, from her ears, from her nose. Her seven orifices spilled out the last breaths of her dying body, her essence draining onto the cold, uncaring ground. North’s fingers twitched. He knelt beside her, taking her hand. It was still warm, still human. He'd never known her story, never understood what drove her into these deadly schemes. But in these last moments, none of that mattered. NPC or not, she could be said to have the same red blood that he had in his veins. She was someone pitiful who was dying alone in an empty street. His grip tightened slightly. A small, insignificant comfort. But it was something.
For a fleeting second, her eyes cleared. The haze vanished. She saw him. And then, the tears came. They gathered at the corners of her eyes, mixing with the blood, spilling silently down her cheeks as she pleaded.
Her lips moved, voice barely a whisper. "I don’t… want to die."
Her breath hitched. "Please… save me."
Her fingers weakly curled around his. "I have to… I have to… see my parents again."
A shaky, broken gasp. "They might… be waiting for me."
Above her head, the pink crystal flickered like a dying flame:
The Tragic Beauty
[Status: Final Scene]
[Template Transfer Initiated]
[The Tragic Beauty Template: Integrating..]
[New Archetype: 'The Tragic Beauty' Has Been Acquired.]
Reconstructing Physical Parameters to Fit New Template.
North suddenly stared at the flood of floating messages with growing horror. His mind stalled for a single, stunned second. Then, Panic. Pure, unfiltered panic. No, no, NO—what in the fuck is happening?!
The first change hit like a wave of burning ice. His chest suddenly felt heavy, constrained by robes that no longer fit quite right. His hips shifted, bones and flesh restructuring themselves with a sensation that wasn't quite pain but made him want to scream anyway. His fingers—slender now, delicate, almost disturbingly dainty—twitched in the air as he lifted them before his face.
His legs felt… longer? Or was it just the proportions of everything shifting?
Holy fuck, am I turning into a goddamn Jade Beauty?!
"No, no, no," North gasped, stumbling away from Yue Lingxi's body. His voice came out higher, softer. Wrong. His hands flew to his face, feeling the subtle changes in bone structure—sharper cheekbones, softer jaw, features rearranging themselves into something more delicate. His heart slammed against his ribs, the pure horror of realization sinking deep into his bones. He could feel it. His body was different. Not entirely—not fully transformed—but enough that he knew if this didn’t STOP RIGHT FUCKING NOW, he might wake up tomorrow with an entirely different set of anatomy.
His hands shook, sweat breaking out over his skin as he forced himself to stare at the system dialogue again, praying to whatever cruel gods were watching that he was hallucinating.
[Template Transfer: 32% Complete]
32%?!
No, no, NO! Turn it back! Turn it back! UNDO! CONTROL Z!
He clenched his fists, his entire body coiled with tension, with dread, with pure existential terror. He could feel it still happening. Tiny, minute changes creeping through his muscles, his bones, his very essence.
STOP! SYSTEM, YOU PIECE OF SHIT, STOP IT RIGHT NOW!
[Gender Characteristics: Adjusting]
[Warning: Process Cannot Be Interrupted]
His breathing turned shallow, a mix of disbelief and sheer horror consuming his entire existence. This wasn’t some random joke. This was a Template Transfer. I’m going to kill that system. I’m going to rip it apart with my bare hands if I have to.
The worst part? Yue Lingxi was dead. Which meant he couldn’t give the template back. He also finally understood what he had to do to acquire these templates to kill these goddamn NPCs. He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling sharply. Okay. Okay, calm down, calm down first. Let’s think logically. He forced himself to go through the facts: He had acquired the "Tragic Beauty" Template. It was actively rewriting his body. The transformation was still incomplete. If he didn’t find another template FAST, he might fully turn into some goddamn ethereal beauty that would attract even more problems than he already had. But, where could he find another template, they exactly didn't grow on trees, nor could he steal them from Fatty or Li Yi.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
I refuse. I absolutely refuse to live like some delicate, tragic fairy in a fucking Xianxia world.
North took a step back, hands gripping his own arms, trying to anchor himself to reality. His breathing slowed, forcing his mind into control. The panic was still there, simmering, coiled around his ribs like a living thing. But panic wouldn’t help him.
Thinking would. Okay, first step—figure out how to STOP this transformation before it reaches 100%.
[Physical Integration: 47% Complete]
[Jade Beauty Characteristics: Manifesting]
[Warning: Original Template Receding]
"Stop," he whispered, but his voice was barely recognizable now. Even his throat had changed, producing tones that could charm birds from trees. His hair was lengthening, darkening, becoming silk-fine and flowing.
His collarbones, sharper, more defined—no, not sharp, graceful.
Everything was trying to turn into something too delicate. Too alluring. Too Divine.
He gritted his teeth and looked down at Yue Lingxi’s lifeless body, her blood still fresh, still warm. This all started with her. And it had ended with her. Now, it was his problem. His curse. North straightened, squashing down the lingering dread in his stomach. He bolted. His feet slammed against the dark cobbled streets, his breath ragged, his body trembling with something more than exhaustion. Run. Just run. Get away from all of this. Behind him, the city stretched on, indifferent to his suffering. Ahead, the night was vast, endless, swallowing him whole. But no matter how far he ran, the system refused to let him forget.
[Physical Integration: 72% Complete]
[Surreal Charm: Catastrophically Increasing]
[Note: Template Adapting To Host]
North wasn’t even sure if he was screaming in his mind or out loud. His chest hurt. Not just from exertion, but from the unnatural weight pressing against it. With every frantic step, he felt a foreign bounce, a shifting pull on his balance that had never been there before. How do women run like this?! His new body was more agile, yes. Faster, lighter, built with an eerie, unnatural grace. But none of that mattered. He couldn’t care less about how elegant his movements had become. Because the rest of him was falling apart.
He didn’t and couldn't think about Fatty and Li Yi. He didn’t think about Yue Lingxi’s corpse, bleeding out under the cold moonlight, waiting for some poor soul to find her in the morning. He didn’t think about what the clan authorities would do once they realized their ‘Tragic Beauty’ had met her fate far earlier than expected. He didn’t think about who would come looking for her murderer.
...
His borrowed courtyard house finally appeared. North practically fell through the door, slamming it behind him. His chest heaved with exertion and panic, the unfamiliar weight there making each breath a reminder of his transformation. With trembling fingers, he loosened the now ill-fitting robes. The mirror. He had to see. Had to know. North stumbled to find the small mirror in his room, then froze, staring at the stranger who looked back. A woman. No. Not just any woman. A Jade Beauty.
Her long, silky hair cascaded in waves, darker than the midnight sky outside. Her eyes, bright and deep, shimmered with a quiet, haunting intensity. Her skin—smooth, flawless, too perfect for anything human—looked like it had been sculpted from polished jade.
Her lips, soft and pale, parted slightly in breathless disbelief. Her delicate shoulders, her slender fingers, the graceful curve of her waist—And her chest…. Even the horror in those eyes somehow made the overall effect more striking.
That’s not me. That’s not me. That’s NOT ME. But the mirror didn’t lie.
And neither did the system.
…
...
After fifteen minutes of struggling, wrestling with his own thoughts, North lay sprawled on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. His body felt heavy, not from exhaustion but from the weight of something heavy pressing down on his chest. His mind spiraled, trying to make sense of it all. Contemplating his future, his next possible steps.
[Template Acquisition Complete.]
[Base Template: Wherever I Stop, A Plot Begins.]
[Available Archetypes: 2]
[Installed Archetype: The Tragic Beauty.]
[Would you like to view your current Template Traits?]
North groaned.
"Do I have a choice?" he muttered, his voice…Lighter. Softer. A slight shiver ran down his spine.
The Tragic Beauty
[A woman whose existence invites both admiration and ruin. The heavens envy her, men desire her, women resent her, fate torments her. No matter where she stands, she is both the heart of adoration and the eye of the storm.]
[The Tragic Beauty is destined for suffering. Love and devotion follow her, but so does betrayal and calamity. A lifetime of fleeting happiness and eternal sorrow awaits.]
[Your mere presence will attract both saviors and executioners alike.]
[Hope is but a temporary illusion.]
[Misfortune is your most loyal companion.]
North listened and stared. His/Her's dainty hands clenched the bedsheets. He/she forced himself to sit up, barely suppressing a flinch at how unfamiliar his own body felt.
Alright. Deep breath. Let’s break this down.
The template is a walking magnet for chaos. People would either fall for tragic beauty, try to protect her, or try to ruin her. Her life would be a constant balancing act between fleeting happiness and absolute suffering. Fate itself seemed determined to see her suffer. There was no “good ending” to this.
North closed his eyes, inhaled sharply, and exhaled through his nose. And then, it suddenly hit him.
Wait. What about my original template?
"System," he spoke aloud, voice still uncomfortably melodious, "what happened to my Installed Archetype: The Undefined?"
To his surprise, the system didn't ignore him unlike other times, and responded immediately:
[Template Interface Accessed]
Available Templates:
[Wherever I stand, A Plot begins (Base Template)]
[The Undefined (Base Archetype)]
[The Tragic Beauty (Acquired Archetype) (Active)]
You may switch between available Templates at will...
North stared at the floating options, hardly daring to hope. Was it really that simple? Was this nightmare reversible? With trembling fingers—still delicate and feminine—he reached out mentally and selected "The Undefined."
The change was immediate.
A rush of warmth flooded his body, like stepping into sunlight after a long winter. His chest flattened, shoulders broadened, hips narrowed. Each shift felt natural, painless—nothing like the violent transformation before. He watched in the mirror as his original features returned, the ethereal beauty melting away to reveal his familiar face.
[Template Shift Complete]
[Original Form Restored]
[Installed Archetype: The Undefined]
[Note: Multiple Templates Now Available]
[Warning: Each Template Carries Its Own Fate]
North touched his face, his real face, letting out a laugh that was properly deep and male. "I can switch between them," he whispered, amazement replacing panic. "The previous templates/Archetypes are not deleted, but stored separately!"
He tried again, selecting "The Tragic Beauty." His body flowed into its jade beauty form smoothly. Then back again to his original self. Each transition was easier than the last, like his body was learning the paths between forms.
[Warning: Each Template Carries Its Own Fate]
It made sense. Too much sense. North swung his legs off the bed, standing slowly, letting himself adjust back to the familiarity of his own body. Everything felt normal again. Real. He glanced at the floating text still hovering in his vision. Relief made him dizzy. He hadn't lost himself—he'd gained options. The tragedy-bound jade beauty was now just one face he could wear, one role he could play, while maintaining his true self underneath.
Instead of being trapped in one template, I can move between them…
He fell back on his bed, now in his original body, letting out a long breath. The panic of the last hour felt distant now, replaced by fascination with the possibilities. He wasn't stuck as a doomed jade beauty—he had choices.
North began to analyze the implications of his new ability. Two completely different identities, he mused. Each with its own advantages and risks.
As his male self, he could maintain his young master facade—mysterious but not attention-grabbing. It was safer, more practical for daily life. But as the jade beauty... that template carried both power and danger. He switched templates briefly, feeling the change wash over him. His jade beauty's body template contained an otherworldly charm that could entrance anyone. His features were somewhat similar to Yue Lingxi. Though, he didn't care much about that. This kind of beauty was a weapon in itself, but also a target. That was why she was dead right now.
Also, according to the system. He wasn’t just switching masks—he was stepping into entirely different roles within the world’s story. What did that mean, then? Could he choose his own destiny by carefully selecting which template to install? Could he avoid the worst fates by staying undefined? Or was the act of switching already sealing his doom in ways he couldn’t see yet?
His lips pressed into a thin line. It was a gamble.
The more he thought about it, the more he saw the possibilities. He could infiltrate places he had no business being. He could disguise himself as someone else entirely. He could manipulate events in ways no other Visionary could.
But I need rules, he realized. Strict ones.
First, never transform where anyone could see. The connection between his identities had to remain absolute secret. Second, use the jade beauty form sparingly. That template carried a tragic fate—every moment in that form risked triggering devastating plot points. Third, develop distinct personalities for each form. His male self could be the calm, strategic young master. The jade beauty... perhaps a mysterious figure who appeared rarely, like a dream.
I could even have them 'meet' occasionally, he thought. Create a public connection between my two forms to explain any similarities.
But the real advantage lay in template acquisition. If he could take templates from others, could he store and switch between them too? Build a collection of identities, each useful in different situations?
The more templates I acquired, the more faces I would have. And the more faces I had, the more threads I could pull from the shadows. It wasn’t just about power—it was about control. Like a puppet master, orchestrating events from behind the curtain, subtly guiding the flow of the world without ever stepping directly into the light. Others fought for strength, fame, or immortality. I would fight for influence. Because power that was seen could be challenged. But power that remained unseen?
That was absolute.
I need to test the limits carefully, he decided. One wrong move and I could end up with a dozen tragic fates all trying to manifest at once.
But first, he thought, switching forms one more time just to confirm he could, I need to master this. Perfect the transformations. Learn each forms' strengths and limitations.
...
...
The moon continued its journey across the sky as North planned, its light falling on features that could change at will, while somewhere in the city, someone had discovered Yue Lingxi's lifeless body—and with it, the beginning of his own complex path.
Li Yi and Fatty stood over Yue Linxi's body, moonlight casting harsh shadows across the scene. The, Li Yi crouched beside her without hesitation, his fingers moving with quickly as he searched her body. He turned over her sleeves, ran his hands through the folds of her robes, checked the hidden seams and fastenings. His breath stayed even, his movements methodical—until they weren’t.
With every passing second, his searching grew more frantic.
"Where is it?" His movements grew more frantic with each empty pocket, each searched fold. "The Wings of Destiny Image—it has to be here!"
His jaw tightened, fingers curling into fists before he forced himself to breathe. Slowly, he looked up at Fatty, who stood a step behind him, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Fatty shook his head. "It’s either destroyed, or the Fourth Young Master sent someone to take it from her," Li Yi muttered, his voice low but sharp, edged with something dangerously close to frustration.
Fatty exhaled through his nose, rubbing his chin as he considered the situation.
"She couldn’t have put the Image in her Imaginary Island," he pointed out. "It still contained your will. That means it had to be taken physically."
Li Yi’s brows furrowed deeper. The logic was sound.
"The Fourth Young Master must have sent someone to intercept her, then," Fatty continued. "If he wanted the Image badly enough, he wouldn’t have left it to chance."
Li Yi pushed himself back onto his feet, dusting off his hands in a slow, deliberate motion. His expression was unreadable, but his silence spoke for itself.
Then, after a moment, "But why let her die?"
There was a hint of something unsettling in his tone—a little grief, perhaps pain, but also something cold. Like a man trying to fit a missing piece into a puzzle that no longer made sense.
"If she was close enough to him to be given this task, then she must have been important to him." He flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off a thought he didn’t want to entertain. "Still—"
Fatty gave a short, humorless laugh. "She lasted as long as she was useful." He glanced down at her body, his expression detached, as though he were looking at nothing more than discarded goods. "She was used and then discarded. What’s so hard to understand?"
There was no emotion in his voice. Just fact. "And now she’s dead in some nameless alley. That’s all there is to it."
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Fatty tugged at Li Yi’s sleeve, voice dropping lower. Urgent. "We need to leave the city tonight."
Li Yi looked at him then—really looked at him.
"It’s not safe here anymore," Fatty pressed. "This is murder inside the Inner City. They’ll use everything in their power to find the culprit. And given her ties to the Fourth Young Master, it could escalate even further.
"Let’s just hope they don’t send anyone to track us down."
Li Yi turned his gaze back to Yue Lingxi’s lifeless body for the last time. She was already a part of the past. And he had learned a very expensive and great lesson. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked off, slipping into the night without a sound. Fatty hesitated for only a breath before following.
The alley remained silent, empty—except for the dead, who had no more say in what came next.