In front of a small house located in one of the narrow alleys of Yancheng City, Shu-ming sat with a small wooden plank placed before him, displaying a few novels he had written earlier.
The main street ahead was bustling with life. Shu-ming remained seated, quietly observing the crowd—some smiled as they walked, while others moved with expressions of sorrow, tension, or anger.
This was his daily habit. He had grown accustomed to watching people from the alley until sunset, after which a few children and adults from the nearby neighborhood would gather so he could tell them stories spun from his imagination.
He enjoyed narrating tales to them from time to time. In exchange, he would receive a few meager copper coins from the children's parents, which allowed him to survive in this cruel world.
It was now noon. The scorching rays of the sun beat down on his gaunt face. Yet hidden beneath that thinness was a handsome face with sharp, sword-like features, hair as black as coal, and eyes that sparkled like stars in the sky. His features were not particularly noticeable due to the poverty that had reduced him to looking like an ordinary man among the masses.
He slowly placed his hand on his cheek, reminiscing about the years he had spent on Earth—sitting comfortably on his couch, scrolling through short videos, writing stories and posting them online, indulging in his hobbies one after another, the most important of which was food: fresh pizza slices, grilled chicken, and a glass of soda.
He never knew hunger back then as he did now. He had left all of that behind nineteen years ago, when a lightning bolt struck him on a rainy day while he was leaning against a streetlight pole, exhausted from running to escape the rain.
Moments later, he opened his eyes to find himself in the body of a newborn infant, only a few months old. He was raised in an orphanage until the age of fifteen, at which point he decided to rely on himself.
He tried selling the books and novels he wrote, but those stories never found a place in the hearts of commoners or nobles alike. Only a very few who bought his books felt any excitement from them. In this world, it seemed there were no entertaining novels to captivate people.
Still, he continued writing them in the hope that one day they would gain appreciation, allowing him to rise as a wealthy man, live a comfortable life, reach the age of eighty, and die like any ordinary person.
But now, that dream was beginning to shatter. He had already accepted his fate as an ordinary commoner. This world resembled ancient China, where people toiled endlessly without rest until the day of their death. Only a rare few who earned the favor of nobles and government officials managed to rise and live as the wealthy.
In fact, he had once considered abandoning writing and turning to cooking. There weren't many of the famous dishes from his previous life here. He had thought about opening a restaurant and preparing those dishes to attract customers and expand his business until he became rich.
However, he gave up on that idea. He felt that writing was his destined path—ever since the moment he was born in his past life. In his consciousness, there was a book that looked like any ordinary book. That same book had been with him in his previous life, and it had come with him to this world as well.
He had once tried uploading a video talking about that strange book in his mind, but people mocked him harshly, calling him crazy and other names.
Yet he ignored them. He had previously attempted to pull that book out of his consciousness but failed, so he surrendered and began writing stories on ordinary paper. Unexpectedly, he was so talented that his stories spread unnaturally across the internet, making him a famous writer.
Now in this world, his books received almost no attention, but he completely ignored that and focused on completing his stories. He had also once successfully brought that strange book out of his consciousness into reality.
Its pages were completely blank. He understood that filling those pages was his responsibility, so he began writing his own stories into that mysterious book.
In this world, ordinary martial arts were widespread. He drew inspiration from those fighting styles and placed a new story inside the book. But unexpectedly, after writing one story and just as the main events were about to unfold, he felt an overwhelming fatigue that left him bedridden for several days.
During those days, he lived in extreme poverty—unable to sleep, treat himself, or even find a single bite to eat. His condition worsened, and had it not been for a kind doctor who passed by and saw his state, he would have died that day.
At first, he thought it was just a normal illness. He resumed writing the story in the book within his mind, this time with full preparations beside him: cheap medicinal pills and herbs sold on the streets, along with a few pieces of stale bread. There was a chance that the book itself was the cause—what normal book would appear in a person's consciousness?!
After writing two more pages and reaching the main events of the story, he fell ill exactly like the first time. This time it was less severe thanks to his preparations, so he managed to overcome the ordeal. He then returned the book to his consciousness and swore never to open it again.
From that day onward, he resumed his normal life: writing books in the morning, selling them on the streets, and telling exciting poems and stories in the evening to his neighbors and the street children.
The sunlight disappeared and night fell. It was now time for the children from the neighboring district and the listening adults to arrive for his stories. Shu-ming began organizing the books in front of him.
He thought to himself, "Hmm, which story should I start with today…?"
He heard the sound of light footsteps approaching. They were the soft footsteps of small children.
Five children entered the narrow alley one after another. "Uncle Shu!"
The moment they saw him, the children shouted with joy in unison. This was their only form of entertainment. After a long, exhausting day of work, they loved listening to the stories Shu-ming told them.
A gentle smile appeared on Shu-ming's face. "Sit down. Today I'll tell you the story of the Immortal Human."
The seating was nothing but a small mat that Shu-ming usually used for sleeping, as he had no house to shelter him from the rain or cold.
The children sat quietly and obediently, excitement clear on their faces. Shu-ming did not begin the story right away. He waited for their parents to arrive, as he was used to the children coming early.
"Shu-ming!" He heard an adult voice calling him. He turned and saw an old man leaning on a cane approaching.
"Uncle Yu! Come, sit down," Shu-ming smiled happily and immediately invited him to sit.
Uncle Yu always gave him food on difficult days and greatly enjoyed Shu-ming's fantasy stories, especially those about immortality and other legends.
One of the children, a seven-year-old boy named Li Wei, stood up from his place. "Grandpa Yu! Come sit next to me," he waved gently with a smile.
"Alright, alright. Who do we have here? Little Li Wei," Uncle Yu said as he approached with his cane, gently patted Li Wei's head, and sat down quietly beside him.
Right after he sat, the children's parents arrived one by one. They exchanged greetings with Shu-ming, tired smiles on their faces. Despite their exhaustion from hard labor, Shu-ming's short stories always helped wash away the day's fatigue.
Some of them offered small gifts to Shu-ming—dry bread, a little soup, or a piece of coarse cloth. They weren't expensive items, but they left a good impression on his heart. Even in their poverty, they still brought him gifts.
Two hours later—Shu-ming finished telling his stories. The children left happily with their parents, followed by Uncle Yu. Now only Shu-ming and his books remained.
He began organizing them and hiding them so they wouldn't be stolen while he slept. Then he sat on the mat wearing incomplete, short clothes, with no blanket to protect him from the night's chill. He took out the soup and dry bread he had just received and began eating. It was his first and only meal of the entire day.
After finishing, he set the bowl aside, lay down on the mat, and without much thought, quietly closed his eyes and fell asleep.
The night passed and the morning sun rose. The bright sunlight struck his face, waking him. Shu-ming slowly opened his eyes, got up, and began stretching his limbs.
His back felt stiff from sleeping on the mat, but he ignored it. He had felt the same sensation many times before and had grown used to it. He started organizing his books, pens, and papers. The feeling of composing a new story or a new poem made this humble life more bearable.
Writing was his only escape from his life. Still, he always felt excited when writing a battle scene. He wished one day to experience the feeling of real combat.
Noon arrived. It was one of the hottest days since he had come to this world. He was grateful to the owner of the house who allowed him to place his goods in front of it. He could hide from the scorching sun in the shade of that house while continuing his sales.
On the main street, a carriage pulled by two fine horses passed by. Several warriors walked around the carriage, wearing ancient Chinese-style robes in fiery red, each carrying a sword at their waist.
The crowd avoided the carriage as it moved. It belonged to someone from the Luo Clan—one of the four great martial clans in Yancheng City.
It was a noble martial clan containing warriors who had cultivated what was known as inner energy, granting them a prestigious position and authority within the city.
Inside the carriage sat a girl with long blue hair, wearing an elegant purple robe embroidered with beautiful symbols. She carried a noble aura. In her hand, she held a book, reading it quietly.
The girl let out a soft sigh. "I've grown tired of reading the same book over and over again." She frowned slightly, closed the book, and placed it on the seat opposite her.
The chief guard walking beside the carriage heard her and said, "My lady, why don't you give up studying and join the ranks of the warriors? You certainly have great talent."
The girl frowned the moment she heard that. She rested her hand on her cheek and gazed out the carriage window. "I want to join the imperial court. It's only natural that I study. Besides, I don't like fighting or killing."
While looking outside, she noticed a young man in simple clothes sitting in front of an old house. Scattered carelessly around him were many books.
"Chief guard, stop here. I want to take a look at those books," the girl said calmly while staring at the books in front of Shu-ming. The carriage stopped at the side of the road.
She stepped down gracefully and walked toward Shu-ming. Three guards surrounded her, securing her movement, which clearly showed her high status within her clan.
She stopped directly in front of Shu-ming. He raised his eyes and saw a young lady standing before him. Because of the guards surrounding her, Shu-ming felt slightly nervous.
"What is the content of these books? And who wrote them?" the girl asked in a gentle and elegant tone.