[”A New Beginning…”]

Even alone in the room, my companion for the night having hurriedly left, my mind struggled to scale the sheer wall of this new reality. I nearly fell out of bed, the uncanny, dreamlike dissonance rattling me with every step as I stumbled toward the full-length mirror dominating the wall.

The more I tried to convince myself this wasn’t real, the more the world betrayed me with its texture, its vividness. Too many sensations, too sharp, too immediate.

The room was a masterpiece of contradictions: old-world opulence rendered in a way that felt almost too perfect. The kind of perfection you only see in fantasies, where wood doesn’t warp with time and fabrics never fray. The furniture was hand-carved, plush with silk cushions, their edges trimmed with golden thread. Elaborate tapestries draped the walls, depicting sprawling mountains, celestial palaces, and figures locked in frozen battle. On a low table sat a tea set, its porcelain thin enough to seem otherworldly. Or perhaps it wasn’t porcelain at all—what did I know about the materials of a world that shouldn’t exist?

Then there was the game board, standing just off-center like a waiting challenge. It wasn’t go, or chess, or even shogi, though it bore a resemblance to them all. Zhēngfú. The game board from Dao of the Divine, as intricate and hauntingly familiar as the rest of this place.

Even the paper screens and wall paintings were not the usual swirling dragons or stylized flora of ancient art. No, here were martial artists, their stances poised and deliberate, facing down mythical beasts that loomed in stark detail. I could practically hear the thunder of their clashes, feel the ripple of power in the air. And yet, there were none of the things historians would make you expect waking up in a place like this. No smell of wood smoke, no damp air, no crude imperfections of an era set centuries—or millennia—ago.

It was too polished, too pristine. Like I’d stepped into an idealized version of the world I’d spent too many hours staring at through a screen.

Then there was the mirror itself.

The frame was polished metal, perhaps bronze or gold—it gleamed richly in the soft light, though I couldn’t tell which. But even if it were solid gold, I don’t think I’d have batted an eye. Luxury suites and fine craftsmanship were just another part of the surreal backdrop at this point. What caught me, held me, was the figure staring back from its depths.

A figure that definitely wasn’t me.

[Loading Data…]

He moved when I moved, sure, but he was too sharp, too striking. Eastern features carved like stone, a strong jawline, and eyes that seemed darker than night itself. He was tall, lean, and built with a kind of effortless grace I could never have achieved, not even with years of grueling effort. And then there were the details—oh, the details.

His left ear was pierced with a simple golden hoop. His long hair, black with the faintest undertone of crimson, was slicked back like a casual declaration of superiority. And there was the necklace: a gaudy gold chain that rested over his bare chest. Who even wore something like that to bed? It was absurd. Ridiculous.

[Calibrating Difficulty…]

And yet, there he was, wearing it.

“Liang Feng,” I muttered under my breath, the name sliding from my tongue like a bitter taste.

[Difficulty set to: Unknown…]

It was him. Of course, it was him. This was the kind of face you’d find gracing the cover of a cheap martial arts romance, staring smolderingly at some hapless heroine. A dangerous look for a dangerous man. Except that in Dao of the Divine, Liang Feng wasn’t dangerous at all. He was a punk. A spoiled, reckless punk with no martial talent and an ego as large as the family fortune he squandered.

And now, somehow, I was him.

[Error. Unknown Scenario. Starting Bonus Failed to Load.]

I ran a hand down my face, only to shudder as he did the same. Yeah, that really was uncanny, but even as my stomach twisted, I couldn’t help the slow, crooked smile that crept across my lips.

“Well, this is interesting,” I said, Liang Feng’s deep, lazy drawl rolling from my mouth like it belonged to me. His smile, confident and natural, stared back at me from the mirror. He was never a character I’d paid much attention to. Yet now, I couldn’t help but feel a sting of sympathy as I saw him frown in time with myself. “Wasn’t this was the night you were supposed to die, though...?”

[Error. Death-check Failed. New fate-strand started…]

My voice trailed off, the words hanging in the still air as I retraced the threads of memory. The flashback scene. I could see it clear as day, burned into my mind from countless hours of gameplay. Liang Feng never made it out of this room. The courtesan—his bedmate for the night—had barely reached the door before he doubled over, blood spilling from his lips. It had been a dramatic display, a stark visual cue that his reckless life had finally caught up to him.

Now, standing here, it struck me differently.

Sloppy. This entire assassination attempt was just that: sloppy.

What if he hadn’t spilled the beans mere seconds before his untimely death? What if this idiot had managed to keep his mouth shut for just a little longer?

[Correcting Scenario…]

I shook my head, tearing my gaze from the mirror as I crossed to the low table where a jar of plum wine sat, nestled alongside the tea set. Two cups waited beside it, one still untouched, the other drained nearly to the dregs. It didn’t take a genius to figure out which one was Liang Feng’s.

I picked up the empty one, tilting it slightly as the scent hit me—a pungent, cloying odor that made my nose wrinkle in protest.

“Damn,” I muttered, holding it at arm’s length. “How much was this moron drinking last night not to notice?” I glanced at the room’s rich furnishings, the traces of perfume still lingering in the air. “Or was it the sweet scent and even sweeter company that had you distracted?”

The thought drew a smirk despite myself, but it didn’t change the facts. The wine had been tampered with, and poorly at that. Even now, the clumsy handiwork of it made my teeth itch. I could almost see the game’s notification, crisp and clear as if projected before my eyes:

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Bitterthorn Category: Common Poisonous Herb Rarity: ★☆☆☆☆

Description:

Bitterthorn is a scraggly, dark-green herb with serrated leaves and a gnarled, woody stem. Its most notorious feature is its pungent, acrid odor, often described as a blend of rotting citrus and charred wood. The smell is so overpowering that it reveals the herb’s presence long before the eye can catch its scrappy form.

When prepared with care, Bitterthorn’s leaves yield a toxic tincture capable of inducing severe nausea, vomiting, and, in higher doses, paralysis or even death. However, its potency is notoriously erratic. A misstep in its preparation often produces a harmless concoction or a poison so diluted it might as well be tea. Despite this, its abundance and accessibility make it a favorite among unskilled assassins and desperate souls lacking better options.

Uses:

* Poison-making: A crude fallback for the inept or underfunded.

* Deterrent: When powdered, its stench effectively repels small animals and pests.

* Cautionary Training: Frequently used in alchemical schools to illustrate the consequences of imprecise tincture-making.

Warnings:

* Handling Bitterthorn without gloves can cause skin irritation or mild burns.

* Ingesting unrefined Bitterthorn often results in immediate retching, alerting the target to the poisoning attempt.

[Basic Player Interface: Enabled.]

I blinked. Even as I waved my hand through the air, the strange screen lingered, immaterial yet palpable, its faint shimmer hovering as if tethered to the poisoned cup itself. It moved when the cup moved. I reached out with more care, prodding at it experimentally, but it remained frustratingly intangible.

“And here I was starting to convince myself this wasn’t a dream,” I huffed, staring at the game-like display ahead of me. It wasn’t until I allowed my focus to drift that the screen faded from sight. Even then, I knew it was there—readily available, waiting.

“Interesting,” I concluded, my voice as languid as the body I inhabited.

Another screen briefly flickered across my vision:

Key event discovered. Proceeding with story…

And what was that supposed to mean?

[Scenario Created: Liang Feng’s Demise.]

I set the cup down carefully, the scrape of porcelain against wood sounding sharp in the stillness of the room. A stillness that wouldn’t last for long. I could hear it now—like a veil pulled aside—the echoes of hurried footsteps thudding closer. My would-be assassin’s attempts may have been sloppy, but that didn’t mean I could afford to be.

[Nightmare Difficulty: Enabled.]

[Character Data: Synchronizing…]

Or so I thought. But despite the hurry I should’ve felt, it was with a strange, deliberate ease that I wandered over to a nearby chair where a pair of sheer robes lay draped. Slipping them over my shoulders, I even took a second to marvel at the fabric—light as air, impossibly smooth. I loosely tied the sash, just enough to maintain a pretense of modesty.

By all rights, I should have been panicking. I had died—actually died—as Victor Moore, gunned down in a dingy parking lot. That memory was vivid, the sting of cold snow and the burn of my own blood pooling beneath me still fresh in my mind. Now, I was here, alive in a way that felt far too real, wearing the skin of Liang Feng, a doomed character from Dao of the Divine.

Liang Feng, who had definitely just been poisoned.

And yet, I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t confused. The storm of emotions I should have felt was absent, dulled to nothing but a faint irritation. Someone had tried to poison me. How annoying.

Was this Liang’s arrogance bleeding through? The attitude of a man who hadn’t known a single hardship in his life. Or had some part of Victor Moore begun treating this as just another playthrough? Whatever the case, the longer I stood here, the clearer it became: I wasn’t dreaming. This wasn’t a hallucination.

I was in Dao of the Divine.

“Reset?” I tried, speaking the word aloud with a flicker of hope. The air remained still, the room silent save for the faint sounds of movement beyond its walls. No pop-up appeared. No option to restart, to return to some save point before things had gone off the rails.

[Error. Reset unavailable during “Final Playthrough.”]

Not that I’d expected otherwise.

I had been given a second chance at life. One last opportunity to beat this shitty game. I wasn’t greedy enough to wish for more.

The hurried sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway now, paired with hushed, urgent voices. They grew louder with each passing second, approaching my door like a tide rushing in. My earlier words—carelessly spoken—had stirred the hornet’s nest. Of course they had. Not only was I still alive, I’d tossed a poorly veiled threat toward everyone working at this brothel.

“You will all burn…”

I looked around, brushing imaginary dust from the robes now tied snugly over my shoulders. If this world was anything like the game—and so far, it felt achingly like it—then Bitterthorn’s effects would wear off if the dosage hadn’t been sufficient to kill me outright. That was its flaw: unreliable, imprecise, and unfit for anyone looking to make a clean kill. The nausea at the back of my throat was already fading.

“Good enough to down a fool,” I mused, taking in my surroundings. “Not good enough to take me.”

The footsteps stopped, just outside the door. Voices lowered to hurried whispers. I tilted my head, curious, as the wood rattled faintly from someone trying to slide it open. I had locked it in passing. Just to fuck with them or buy myself another few seconds? Honestly, I wasn’t even sure at this point. Victor would’ve done the latter, Liang the former.

I spared the half-open window a glance, letting the thought of escape linger at the edge of my mind, only for another blue screen to flicker to life before me:

He who stands on top runs from no one! Category: Status Condition Severity: ★★★☆☆ Although raised as a third son, Liang Feng grew up with the world at his feet. His conviction that any problem can be solved by either coin or mention of his father’s name prevents him from ever fleeing in fear.

“Well, that’s inconvenient,” I said as I made my way back toward the table, the exasperation in my voice at odds with Liang Feng’s languid, almost feline sprawl. “Someone just made an attempt on your life—a successful one at that. Maybe some fear is warranted?”

But even as I said it, I couldn’t deny the sheer comfort of this arrogant calm. Overconfidence was a potent drug, and Liang Feng had clearly been overdosing his entire life. Had I still been Victor Moore, I would’ve been pacing the room at the sound of those voices outside, wringing my hands, and spiraling into a thousand worst-case scenarios.

But Liang Feng? Liang Feng didn’t wring his hands. Liang Feng didn’t pace. Liang Feng didn’t even think about leaving through the window, because Liang Feng didn’t run.

I exhaled slowly, the remnants of Victor’s panic simmering into something sharper, clearer as I took a seat. This composure—arrogant though it was—was exactly what I needed. If I was going to survive in this world—no, if I was going to beat it—I couldn’t afford to fret.

[Synchronization Complete.]

Let them in, I thought, my hands moving languidly toward the Zhēngfú board. My fingers traced the game pieces, resetting the board almost absently, each move deliberate yet automatic. How many hours had I spent mastering Dao of the Divine’s mini-games? Zhēngfú was no exception. Would such knowledge hold any weight now?

[New Scenario Loaded.]

I needed to know where the game ended and reality began—what mechanics I had at my disposal. And it seemed I would have to learn on the fly. I had barely returned the last piece to its rightful place as the door violently slammed open.

[Shifting Mode…]

It was their turn to play now.