During lunchtime, Zeyin and Ren headed to the cafeteria, which was in full swing. Plastic trays clattered, people laughed around the tables, and the smell of burnt rice and curry filled the air. Zeyin and Ren sat at a corner table, half-heartedly prodding the steamed vegetables on the tray.
"Hey Ren, did you read the new Heaven's Dragon Path chapter?" he asked.
Ren didn't respond at first, but then he smirked and said, "Yeah. The author finally revealed the MC's master. Turns out he was that drunk old man from chapter 1."
Suddenly, Zeyin felt someone tapping his shoulder from behind. He turned back and saw his classmate, Wei Ming. "Hey Zeyin, if you don't mind, can I sit here with you guys?" He looked at him and said, "Of course! you can, you don't need to ask me."
"Thanks." Wei Ming took a seat.
"Right, where was I? Oh yeah—the MC's master. I was so surprised, I reread the first chapter." Ren said.
"What are you guys talking about?" Wei asked curiously. Then Ren looked at him and said, "We are talking about MC's master from Heaven's Dragon Path, that old drunken beggar from the first chapter."
"What?! That random beggar? This is crazy. I always felt he wasn't just a random background character. Every old man in a cultivation novel is either a big shot in disguise or the MC's long-lost grandfather."
The trio chuckled under their breath. Around them, other students were having lunch and chatting.
Wei's gaze drifted out the window, lost in thought. The sky was bright but distant, like a faraway land. "You ever wish…" he murmured, "you could actually go there?"
Ren blinked. "Go where?"
"To one of those worlds," Wei said. "You know. With flying swords and spirit roots. Where, if you're lucky, you find a broken sword and suddenly you're the heir to the forgotten sect."
Ren scoffed. "Sure, until you get your dantian shattered by the young master of a local clan for bumping into him."
"Only extras get wiped out like that." Zeyin grinned. "The MC survives, gets stronger, and shows up later to beat the crap out of everyone."
"What about you, Zeyin?" Wei asked, leaning forward. "Don't tell me you've never thought about it. You've read more manhua than both of us combined."
Zeyin hesitated, then shrugged. "Of course I've thought about it. Who hasn't? But come on—it's just fiction. Fun to dream about, but nothing beyond that."
"Real life sucks sometimes," Wei muttered.
"Yeah," Zeyin replied softly. "No abilities, no cheats. Just exams, bills, and disappointment." Then he looked up, and a glint of amusement flashed in his eyes. "But if I could get transmigrated… I'd want to start with a body that wasn't already dying."
"Agreed," Ren nodded. "And no weird systems that make you do things like bark like a dog."
"Man, I wish I could transmigrate," Wei said.
Ren smirked. "If only."
Suddenly, the bell rang, and lunchtime was over. Students started heading towards their classrooms. "Looks like the break is over," Ren said. The three made their way back to the classroom.
During class, the low buzz of conversation, the rustle of papers, and the screeching sound of chalk on the blackboard. Overhead, a slow-moving fan spun lazily, barely pushing the warm afternoon air. Students leaned forward in their chairs, half-listening to the words of the teacher, their minds elsewhere on everything but the lesson.
Meanwhile, Zeyin sat at the back of the classroom, his chin resting on his hand, eyes glazed with a distant focus. He wasn't thinking about the lesson. His mind was buried deep in the pages of the novel he'd read late until last night.
After a few hours, a bell rang in the distance. The teacher sighed and closed the textbook. "Alright, class dismissed." Chairs started to scrape across the floor. Students grabbed their bags and moved out of the classroom. Zeyin lingered for a moment, watching the sunlight scatter across the desks. Ren and Wei were already halfway out of the classroom. Zeyin caught up with them in the hallway.
"Wait up, you two." He yawned. "Don't leave the main character behind."
Wei glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. "Says the guy who zones out in the last period like a side character."
Zeyin scoffed. "Zoning out? I was meditating —training my soul perception."
"Right. And I was secretly circulating my Qi while trying not to drool on my desk."
The three laughed as they made their way out of the school building. Their footsteps were light under the warm afternoon sun. Long shadows trailed behind them, the golden light giving everything a calm, easy feeling. As they walked through the familiar streets of their neighborhood, the conversation flowed easily.
So," Ren began, "have you guys read Demonic Sect's Dishwasher Turned Overload yet? Sounds dumb, but it's actually hilarious."
"Oh god," Zeyin groaned, "what kind of manhua are you reading these days?"
Wei laughed so hard that he had to stop walking for a second. "Just Imagine it! 'With my mighty bristles, I shall sweep away the heavens!'"
Zeyin grinned. "Some manhua writers really have no shame."
He let out a long sigh, eyes filled with mock disappointment. "And neither does the author… seriously, making me say stuff like this? What's with these ridiculous lines? And don't even get me started on 'Demonic Sect's Dishwasher Turned Overlord'—what kind of crackhead title is that? Honestly, I think the author's high on something. Don't you agree, readers?"
As they were walking, they passed the usual corner shop where they usually came to buy snacks, and there was an old lady who waved at them, and they waved back. They continued talking about plot holes, fan theories, power scaling, and which manhua had the best fight panels. It was a kind of conversation they had a hundred times before, but somehow it never got old.
Eventually, they came to the usual spot where they'd go their separate ways.
"Well, see you guys tomorrow, bye." Wei chuckled and gave a lazy salute before heading off.
"Same to you," Zeyin said with a mock seriousness.
Ren gave a quick nod down the road he was heading. "Later, man."
"Later." And then it was just Zeyin, walking back to his home.
Soon, he reached home. "I'm home!" he called out. His mom's voice came from the kitchen, "Alright, go wash up! Dinner will be ready after some time, don't be late~"
He stepped into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and then looked at himself in the mirror. Water running down his chin as he stared at his reflection —an ordinary high school student, a bit weary, wondering about tomorrow, with eyes that always seemed to dream just beyond the present.
He dried himself off, went into his room, and put on a T-shirt and shorts before flopping down into his chair. His computer started up, and in no time, he started looking for any new updates for his favorite novel. For the next hour, Zeyin lost himself reading and searching for new novels. As he was scrolling through the chapters, he heard his mom call again. "Zeyin! Dinner is ready, come eat!"
He got up from the chair and went to the dining room. The table was set —steamed rice, stir-fried greens, braised chicken wings, soup, and braised tofu. His dad was already seated and scrolling through the news on his phone.
"You're late," his dad muttered without looking up.
"Sorry, I was busy reading the new chapter," Zeyin replied as he sat.
His mom rolled her eyes, "You and your obsession with novels, at least have some rest instead of reading all the time."
The dinner was unremarkable but comforting. His parents talked about work, his studies, and a neighbor's dog that had gone missing again. Zeyin listened, nodded, and threw in a few jokes. It was quite peaceful.
Later that night, after brushing his teeth and shutting down his computer, Zeyin went to bed. The room was only lit by the soft light of his desk lamp. He pulled out the manhua he had been reading, Heir of the Fallen Realm, and let the pages pull him back into the narrative.
But tonight, he didn't get far.
His eyelids grew heavy. The lines grew fuzzy. And before he knew it, the book fell from his grasp onto his chest.
He was asleep.
Somewhere in the endless stretch of space,
There was no sound, scent, or air—yet somehow, it wasn't suffocating. A single figure stood at its center — a silhouette cloaked in black, facing away. The figure neither moved nor breathed; the cloak moved as if in a breeze that didn't exist. Stars twinkled along its edges.
The figure raised a hand.
Snap.