[74th Year of the Ox, Month when the Peach Blossoms Bloom, Fourth Day. Loading…]

Maybe it was fitting, that the last dream I had as I died was of Dao of the Divine. I’d spent more hours trying to beat that game than I had trying to fix the tangled mess that was my life. I knew more about its sprawling world, its intricate characters, than I did about myself.

Maybe that’s why, when the soft, silken voice whispered in my ear, “And your family business, how are they going?” the response slipped out as effortlessly as breath.

It wasn’t really mine, of course. It was his—the scripted answer of the character I now found myself inhabiting—and I remembered it word for word. I’d seen this cutscene a hundred times before.

“So-so,” I replied, my voice deeper than it had ever been, rich with sultry confidence. “My brother has found some new investment out west. We are not going through with the deal with the Wu family because of it. It will put a strain on my pocket money for now, but in a year or so…”

The woman beside me stirred, her soft hair brushing my lips as she shifted closer. Her amber eyes caught the dim light, wide with surprise. “You’re not going through with it?” she asked, her tone thick with disbelief.

There it was. Genuine surprise, breaking through her carefully practiced allure. It wasn’t hard to notice once you knew what to look for, but the me in this scene—the foolish, privileged third-son—wasn’t supposed to.

“No,” I continued, following the script with the lazy grace of someone who had no idea what was coming next. My hand reached out to pull her closer. “We are—Hey, where are you going?”

But I already knew. Before her feet hit the floor, before she slipped on her robes, I knew. There was only one place she could go, one purpose her movements served. She was heading to the brothel’s young mistress, carrying my careless words to ears that would weaponize them. It was one of hundreds of such moments scattered across Dao of the Divine, each a small thread weaving the larger narrative of Jianghu’s fate.

This scene had always bothered me. Not because I found myself inhabiting the mind of a spoiled, brainless merchant son—some Jianghu version of a trust-fund brat—but because there was nothing I could do to change it. No matter how many times I encountered this moment, no matter how much I wanted to act differently, the outcome was always the same.

[Initializing soul transfer…]

“They’re going to burn this place, you know,” I murmured to the night. It felt strange, hearing words with such weight when my own voice had always been so... ordinary. But this wasn’t my voice. It was his, the character’s, as powerless in this moment as I had ever been.

“They’re going to burn this place down,” I repeated softly, the words a quiet rebellion against the inevitability of the script. “They’ll burn her, and you, and everyone else in this town, once they’ve gotten what they need. All to cover their tracks and placate my family. She’s going to suffer—more than you can imagine—because of what you’re about to do.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The words hung in the air, a truth spoken in a world where it didn’t matter. I had whispered this same warning to the screen countless times in the past, hoping, absurdly, that it might change something. It never did.

For more than the crumbling power of the orthodox sects or the slow unraveling of an unremarkable merchant family, it was her story that haunted me. Mei Faolang—one of Dao of the Divine's most tragic characters, the kind that stirs sympathy even as the game cruelly denies you the chance to save her. That was why this scene lingered in my memory, why it prickled beneath my skin even now.

And yet, I could do nothing to keep it from happening. This was merely a dream.

[Progress 84%… Senses enabled.]

With a sigh, I stretched my arm upward, my fingers flexing as if to pluck something unseen from the air. Then, I frowned, twisting my hand. Everything felt… real. Too real. For a dream, the edges were too sharp, the sensations too vivid. The game’s usual flatness of texture and sound was replaced with richness, depth. The bed curtains above me were woven of the finest silk, their soft shimmer catching the faint light. The mattress beneath me was impossibly plush, cradling me like a cloud. Through a half-open window, the warm glow of paper lanterns spilled into the room, their light swaying gently in the evening breeze. Outside, I could hear the rhythmic clatter of wagon wheels, the murmur of midnight vendors haggling over goods, and the distant, patient chirp of early summer cicadas.

Even the smells were alive here: the sweet tang of wine lingering in the air, interwoven with the cloying perfume that clung to the fabric of the room. I blinked, drawing myself upright. The sensation of my body, the soft press of silks and the cool air against my skin, was startlingly vivid. It wasn’t like any dream I’d ever had.

Then I saw her.

Standing frozen by the door, bathed in the dim lantern light, my bedmate of this past night was draped in nothing more than sheer robes. Her silhouette was a study of sharp curves and soft shadows, an image far beyond the suggestive innuendo that Dao of the Divine ever dared. Her hand hovered by the doorframe, her lips parted, and her amber eyes were wide, locked on me as though I’d said something unspeakable. Which, well, I had.

[Error. Scenario failed to load properly. New fate-strand started…]

“What did you just say?” she asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and something sharper—fear, maybe.

It was the kind of reaction you’d expect when someone shattered one of the game’s most scripted moments. And yet, there was no scripted dialogue option here, no glimmering choices in the corner of my vision to guide me. Free-talk actions had never been a thing in the game, and—more to the point—this felt too damned real. The silk was too soft, the lantern light too warm, the faint ache in my head too persistent. Dreams don’t get this many details, right?

My heart pounded, slow and heavy, a bass drum marking time as realization settled over me like a second skin. This wasn’t the game. This wasn’t a dream.

“My name is Victor Moore,” I murmured to myself, testing the words like they might not fit anymore. They still felt true, but... distant. Like a name you hear in an old story, familiar and faded. “And I died trying to save a junior at work.”

That part felt true, too. I could still remember the cold snow, the warm blood spilling from my chest, the fading hum of sirens in the distance.

But instead of the nothingness I’d expected—or hoped for—I woke up here. Not as myself, but as a deadbeat son in Dao of the Divine.

[Welcome, Player, to “the Final Playthrough.”]

[Initializing: Tutorial Phase one…]