Lin Yu's eyes flew wide open, his breath catching roughly in his throat as a wave of disorientation washed over him with the force of an unexpected wave. The world around him was somehow essentially wrong—completely, impossibly wrong in every conceivable way.
The soft, comforting hum of his apartment's air conditioner was missing, replaced with an unnerving stillness; the soft light of his laptop screen, which normally offered a point of focus, was nowhere to be seen, plunging him into darkness.
Even the stack of student essays, which had been waiting patiently for him to attend to and grade them, had disappeared entirely from his vision, contributing to the confusion that washed over him.
Unlike more comfortable accommodations, he found himself stretched out on a firm and unforgiving wooden bed, which provided little by way of comfort or softness. He was covered with a sheet of rough linen that grated against his skin with a harsh roughness, producing an unpleasant sensation.
The atmosphere around him was heavy with the damp smell of old parchment and the stale smell of ink, and it was nearly suffocating. The room itself was stark and Spartan, with a low, oppressive ceiling that seemed to weigh down upon him, and it was lit by a single, guttering oil lamp that cast wavering shadows on the walls, giving the room the feel of something lifted directly from the pages of some ancient drama.
As he lay there, his heart started to beat fiercely, pounding as a flood of strange memories poured into his mind, each one arriving with a sharper, more intense clarity than the last.
He found himself no longer living in the familiar world that he used to know; all the surroundings and experiences that had come to shape his life were totally gone. He, Lin Yu, a seemingly common high school teacher from the 21st century, was now trapped in circumstances that he could never have imagined—he had somehow transmigrated into a completely different world.
The shocking reality hit him with the power of a thunderbolt, coming unexpectedly and sending his mind into a raging storm of confusion and downright denial. He knew he was no longer living in his own body but had instead assumed the body of another person who shared the same name, Lin Yu, a low-ranking scholar living in the Xu Dynasty.
This new world was one that was populated by cultivators, where men and women alike had unbelievable powers that could effortlessly reduce towering mountains to nothing but rubble and cut through raging rivers with nothing but a simple wave of their hand.
What lay before his eyes was not a temporary dream nor the fantasy of a virtual game; it was the cold and unrelenting reality he now had to confront, and the gravity of this reality was undeniably frightening.
Lin Yu slowly began to raise himself from his previously lying down position, and in the process his hands were shaking visibly as he grasped the edge of the bed with a firm grip. His clear and profoundly disturbing recollections of his predecessor began to flood his mind and create a grim and ominous image reflecting the past in a vivid form.
It was impossible for him not to disregard the nagging feeling that he was no more than a low-ranking scholar, merely a single figure lost in the myriad numbers of cog-like entities comprising the massive bureaucratic apparatus of the Xu Dynasty. His role within this massive system was to supervise various activities, take meticulous and precise notes, and report on what was achieved in the state of Zhenxun, which was a remote and hostile place located on the periphery of a massive empire.
At first glance, the assignment seemed quite basic and very simple—made up of duties that involved supervising trade activities, keeping an eye on the population's growth, and guaranteeing that taxes were being efficiently paid and without complications.
But if one looked closer, one would find oneself realizing that the truth was far removed from such; the issues and consequences involved in performing these duties were much greater than any form of paperwork he had ever committed himself to his entire previous life.
In his previous life as a scholar, his degree of control was not only humorously minor but also nearly laughable in terms of its scope and magnitude. Suddenly, he was in charge of a group of mortal guards who were technically supposed to be at his disposal, but quite unfortunately, they were poorly trained men with rusty spears, and their allegiance, at best, was questionable and very unstable.
When pitted against the powerful cultivators who populate this world, those guards were frightfully outmatched; these powerful individuals had the ability to overwhelm them with ease, perhaps even with a mere flick of their fingers.
The Xu Dynasty's system of governance was particularly cruel and unforgiving in nature. Scholars, such as the highly reputed Lin Yu, were left with the daunting task of being held responsible for every single event that unfolded within their respective areas of jurisdiction.
One slight misstep—whether it was an uprising against the authority, a scandal that would besmirch their reputations, or even a crime that was not reported—could result in disastrous repercussions for them.
If an unforgivable offense was proven to take place within the borders of Zhenxun state, Lin Yu and the other scholars would face dire consequences: they might be subjected to demotion from their ranks, banished into exile, or even worse than the aforementioned.
The governor, as the topmost official in the state's complex political system, would most likely be subjected to the harshest kind of punishment conceivable: the death penalty. Even the idea of such a terrible prospect sent shuddering spasms coursing through Lin Yu's body, leaving him uneasy and on edge.
It slowly dawned on him that his very existence, in its entirety, no longer belonged to him alone to command or dictate. Rather, he found himself relating to his condition as being similar to that of a puppet, utterly at the mercy of the capricious whims and lofty expectations of a system that demanded absolute perfection from a human being who, in fact, had no real authority to perform or realize those intimidating expectations.