[“A Poisoned Guest…”]

There were four of them.

Two brutes led the way, responsible for a door that was now rather skewed on its track. There weren’t the rough, unwashed sort you might expect skulking in alleyways or lurking at the edge of a dimly lit tavern. No, these men were polished, their fine clothes and well-groomed appearances whispering of wealth and discipline rather than desperation. That didn’t make them any less intimidating. If anything, it amplified it.

They were built like well-fed brick walls, the kind of men you’d imagine shrugging off a battering ram as a mild inconvenience. Their glares carried the weight of storm clouds, heavy enough to make even solid stone tremble. One bore a scar slashing across his lips, as though he’d once tried to catch a blade with his mouth and nearly succeeded. Or maybe a sword, given the thick blades hanging from their belts.

This setting was really going to take some getting used to.

The young courtesan from earlier hovered at the threshold, restless but refusing to enter. She seemed reluctant to be there. Her gaze flitted around the room but never met mine, which suited me fine. There were only so many people who could have slipped poison into the wine. Technically, it hadn’t been my wine—well, not the me inhabiting Liang Feng—but that hardly endeared her to me.

For what it was worth, the fourth figure was seemingly the one meant to hold my attention.

He wasn’t as physically imposing as the two men bracketing him, but he carried himself with an deliberate air of authority as he strode inside. Mid-forties, sturdy build, and watchful eyes that missed nothing. His posture spoke volumes: martial artist. Had to be. The way he measured the room said something else, though—manager, maybe, or Jianghu’s version of a meticulous accountant? Someone accustomed to keeping order, whether through ledgers or violence.

Important.

For a moment, I found myself half-expecting another blue screen to flash before my eyes, conveniently offering up his name and a brief dossier. It didn’t appear. Perhaps it only revealed information I already knew? Or perhaps it was limited to situations that directly impacted my actions, like the ominous warning that had kept me from leaping out the window earlier.

The rules of this world remained unclear, its systems inconsistent. And that, would pose a problem.

I knew the moment I tried to open my lips, only for three options to flicker before my eyes:

Curse out your would be murderers Mock them Threaten them with your name

[Conversation Mode: Liang Feng.]

In the brief time I was busy staring at those holographic words, some unseen timer must’ve run out, leaving Liang’s hand—my hand—to move of its own accord.

“You showed up just in time,” Liang—no, really, I swear it was him—said as he reached for the jar of wine. The words carried a familiar edge, sharp as broken glass but twice as careless. He swirled the jar in the air with a nonchalance that bordered on insulting. “The alcohol you serve here doesn’t really do it for me. Got anything stronger? Something with a real kick? I want to feel truly dead in the morning—not just like I’ve been sampling some off-the-shelf poison.”

Damn it.

Where Victor Moore’s default choice had always been a cautious mix of let’s be reasonable and please don’t kill me, Liang Feng seemingly favored a default closer to fuck you. It wasn’t even aggressive, really. It was the kind of effortless arrogance that made you want to punch him, just to see if his face could manage an expression other than smug.

Which, as it happened, wasn’t an ideal observation.

[Hostile Route #2 Chosen.]

The manager didn’t so much as flinch. His hand flashed, a blade drawn and swung so quickly that I barely registered the movement before the jar in my hand was severed cleanly in two. The bottom half crashed to the ground, spilling its contents with a splash that felt louder than it should have been.

The man sheathed his sword with a deliberate click, leveling me with a gaze that was equal parts unimpressed and calculating. The look alone was enough to send my pulse skittering, but Liang—damn him—simply shrugged.

“Just as well,” he said, tossing the jagged neck of the jar aside. It thudded against the floor, rolling lazily to a stop. “That swill was better for watering plants than drinking anyway. Though—” he glanced at the spreading stain on the carpet “—that’s going to stain something awful, you know?”

“No worries,” the manager replied smoothly, his voice calm, but his words carrying a weight that made me sit a little straighter. Me, not Liang. He lounged just the same. “A few carpets are a small sacrifice in this line of work. Sometimes, the guests get messy. Sometimes, they get rowdy and end up leaving more than a little lightheaded.” The emphasis on the last word was as heavy as the sword at his hip. “Either way, whatever happens in here is always paid for out of the customer’s pockets.”

And there it was, the moment I wanted to interject, to steer things in a safer direction. Something placating, like, No need for violence. I’m sure we can reach an understanding. But the options I were presented with were nothing like that.

Curse out your would be murderers Mock them Threaten them with your name

Was this a damned joke? How am I supposed to—

Once more, the invisible timer ran out.

“Fortunately,” Liang said, and I realized, not for the first time, that his brand of diplomacy was going to get us both killed, “I have rather deep pockets. Deep enough to swallow this entire place whole.”

Fuck. A second to think. A fucking second to think while I figured things out was all I asked for.

And there they were again, my options, slightly different this time:

Demand an explanation Toss a handful of coin at them Invite them to a game of Zhēngfú

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

I barely had a second to think before selecting the least aggressive option.

And just like that, I could feel my soul flinch as intentions mixed, my body moving with perfect, unruffled confidence. My hand swept toward the Zhēngfú board as if we’d been discussing nothing more consequential than the weather. “So,” I—Lian—said, “how about we set aside these petty grievances and enjoy a friendly game?”

For a moment, silence hung in the room like the aftermath of a misplayed lute chord. And then one of the brutes stepped forward to flip the entire table over.

Game pieces, teacups, and the last remnants of the wine all went crashing to the floor.

I stared at the mess, feeling a twinge of loss that was only half about the Zhēngfú board—I really had hoped to test what game mechanics were active in this world. The other half was reserved for my rapidly dwindling hopes of turning this into a conversation instead of a confrontation.

Liang Feng was writing my obituary faster than I could salvage it.

“I don’t think you understand your situation here, mister,” the brute growled, his voice as rough as the scar slashed across his lips. “No one threatens the young miss. Least of all under this roof.”

There was no choice this time. Maybe it was because I—the Victor Moore part—was stunned to silence.

Liang, however, just clicked his tongue, a sound so dismissive it could have stripped paint. He didn’t even glance up, his eyes fixed on the scattered game board with an air of theatrical annoyance. “And I don’t think you understand the rules of Zhēngfú,” he said, gesturing to the chaos. “That was an illegal first move.”

This time, I didn’t see the blade until it was already there, its edge a whisper from my face. A stinging pain bloomed along my cheek, and the warmth of blood began its slow trickle down to my jaw. For the second time that night, death leaned close enough to brush my skin with its cold breath.

My heart kicked once, hard. Maybe it was the smell of my own blood, sharp and metallic, that pulled something dark and reckless from the depths of me. Or maybe it wasn’t me at all. Maybe it was Liang Feng, some deeper, more dangerous part of him slipping through when my nerves frayed thin.

[Dominance trait activated.]

[Player choices overruled.]

Before I even registered the motion, my hand slapped the blade aside, the metal ringing like a struck bell. I was on my feet, like a puppet dancing on unseen strings, I stepped closer, my eyes never leaving the man before me.

It wasn’t until I opened my mouth that I realized the ugly, low sound I’d been hearing was my own laughter.

“Try that again,” I said, my voice steady and cold, the kind of calm that prickled at the edges of madness. “Go on. Don’t miss this time.”

Those words weren’t mine. They couldn’t be mine. They carried a weight and certainty so absolute that it made my skin crawl. Those were the words of someone dangerous. Of someone who would smile in the face of death and call it a friend.

Liang’s lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile that I was horrified to feel stretching across my own face. “Because if you do,” he continued, his tone soft as silk but no less cutting, “it’ll be your body they find scattered across every corner of the city by morning.”

In that moment, I understood two things about my new reality.

The first was that being “in control” of Liang Feng was like trying to steer a wild horse down a narrow road. I could nudge him, sure. But when the reins slipped, they slipped hard.

The second was the more sobering truth: I truly was in another world.

Jianghu wasn’t a place where laws kept you safe. It was a world of might makes right, where respect wasn’t given—it was claimed.

And now, a clenched fist struck me across the side of the head with the kind of force that could unseat a lesser moon. The world spun wildly, the floor rushing up to meet me in an unforgiving embrace. My vision blurred, and the sharp tang of blood filled my mouth, more trickling from my nose.

Heavy steps came closer, their rhythm a drumbeat of impending doom. Words were spoken, but they drowned in the twists of my swirling mind. Another bad end loomed, careening towards me with the inevitability of a poorly made choice in a game I should have mastered.

[Critical choice!]

And then, the world around me crawled to a halt as that blue screen once more flickered to life before me:

Fight Curse out your would be murderers Threaten them with your name

Underneath, an ominous timer came into view, slowly ticking down.

00:20…

At least I knew it was there this time.

00:19…

Shit.

My eyes snapped back to the screen—the only part of me that could move as the rest of the world remained in tar-like slow-motion.

[Fight][Curse out your would be murderers][Threaten them with your name]

Where the hell was my preferred: Apologize profusely and hope for the best?

00:17…

Think.

I hadn’t spent years of my life on Dao of the Divine just to die on my first encounter.

There was a line here. A thread. There had to be.

I just needed to find it.

00:15…

My thoughts were a whirlwind, spinning and scattering like papers in a storm.

And then, as I blinked through the haze clouding my vision, I could see it.

Sloppy. All of this was too sloppy…

00:13…

Chaotic as everything seemed, I knew this story.

Liang Feng’s family was far from insignificant. They weren’t imperial or sect royalty, but they were a name with weight, capable of sending ripples through the game’s narrative. And this place—this brothel—was more than it seemed. I’d spent countless hours piecing together its role in the shadowed corners of the game’s world, its whispered ties to one of my favorite characters.

00:11…

As these thoughts flickered through my mind, there it was—the telltale shimmer of a blue screen, hovering before my hazy eyes, its light cutting through the chaos. A piece of the notes written by my own hands, years ago, appearing before me.

The Silk Veil Pavilion Category: Establishment Notoriety: ★★★★★ Description:

Hidden in plain sight within the bustling city of Zhuoyang, The Silk Veil is an opulent brothel that caters to the elite of the martial world… On the surface, it’s a haven of pleasure and indulgence… but beneath the surface, it serves as one of the Emei Sect’s most lucrative and secretive enterprises… A single night within The Silk Veil’s perfumed halls could unravel a merchant’s trade secrets or uncover the schemes of a rival sect…

The text went on, but I already knew it by heart. And this wasn’t Zhuoyang.

00:09…

Nor was this the famed Silk Dew Pavilion, with its gilded halls and veiled whispers. This was a fledgling branch in a neighboring province, a foothold precariously balanced on ambition and intrigue. Still, losing it over something as ham-handed as a shoddy assassination would be a crippling blow to the Emei Sect, rippling out to reshape the region’s balance of power for years to come.

00:07…

It was laughable, honestly. The Emei Sect was known for thinking twice, acting once. No respectable member of its ranks would risk offending the Feng family—least of all Mei Faolang. Not here. Not in a place where their influence was still taking root, every new client a brick in their foundation.

It really was shitty writing. Unless, of course, this wasn’t their plan at all.

00:05…

A spark caught in my thoughts, a thread pulling taut.

What if the plot ran deeper?

00:04…

I could see it. Something larger moving behind the scenes.

A secret I’d never discovered.

00:03…

The realization sent a thrill coursing through me, cutting through the pounding ache in my head.

Maybe this assassination attempt wasn’t as sloppy as I thought.

00:02…

But there was no time to think about that now.

00:01…

I made my choice, and the world moved once more.

A hand reached out to drag me to my feet, but Liang swatted it away as if brushing off a bothersome fly. Blood dripped down his chest, vivid against the white of his robes, but he looked utterly unbothered, even lounging as if he’d chosen to bleed dramatically for effect.

“You really have no idea who I am, do you?” Liang’s voice was slick with mockery, his gaze sweeping over the gathered figures with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. They couldn’t know. That was the only way all of this made sense.

Now, if I can only—

“All your heads will roll by morning, you stupid dogs.”

I froze even before Liang had finished the sentence. That part hadn’t been included in [Threaten them with your name].

Shit.