“How many did you actually eat?” Fang Zhiyi stared at Little Hei, who was still hiccupping.
Little Hei replied, "Five or six, I guess. There are way too many transmigrators in this world..."
“Wait, aren’t you afraid that thing will chase us?”
“Relax. There’s no way it can find me now. I even tossed it my real body—that should buy us some time at least.” Little Hei smacked his lips. “Besides, the ones I ate weren’t that thing. Those systems all belong to other random bastards.”
“Boss, can you maybe make fewer enemies?” Fang Zhiyi looked a little speechless.
Little Hei chuckled. “Forget it. The systems those transmigrators have are the cheapest kind. You think just anyone can get a high-level system? Nonsense. They have a failure rate built in.”
“How long do we need to wait?” Fang Zhiyi asked helplessly.
Little Hei shook his head. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I left a bunch of clones this time. As long as one of them finds the location of that thing... we just have to wait.”
Seeing Fang Zhiyi fall silent, Little Hei added, “Fine, I still think it’s—Damn!”
Fang Zhiyi followed his gaze and turned around. A massive, pitch-black entity was already closing in on them.
“Didn’t you say it would buy us time?” Fang Zhiyi’s scalp tingled. Given Little Hei’s current state, picking a fight with that thing was no different from suicide.
“How the hell was I supposed to know?” Little Hei yelled. “In that case, let’s just...” He seemed to make up his mind, and right in front of that thing, he dove straight into a passage.
Even so, Fang Zhiyi felt something strike Little Hei’s body, sending violent tremors through his own form, too.
The world spun. Fang Zhiyi felt himself plummeting straight down from the sky.
A strange sense of despair washed over him.
Until he suddenly snapped his eyes open and sat up, gasping for air. He started checking his body, but just as his hand touched his stomach, he froze. Body?
Little Hei’s weak voice echoed in his ears. “Stop dazing. This time I’m counting on you.”
“What’s going on?”
“That thing can’t enter the world itself, so it sends transmigrators in for it—got it?” Little Hei explained. “As long as you can handle the people it sends, we’ll be safe for now... especially in a world like this.”
“What do you mean, ‘a world like this’?” Fang Zhiyi had just started to ask when someone nearby said in surprise, “He’s alive! Little Wuzi is alive!”
Fang Zhiyi jerked his head up and looked around. First, he saw a startled monk, then several people gathered around him.
Their clothes were ragged, clearly ordinary villagers.
“Little Wuzi, hurry and thank the master! If it weren’t for his chanting, you’d have been gone!” one person said to Fang Zhiyi. He looked back at the monk, and in that single glance, he saw the monk’s face full of bewildered confusion.
“Amitabha. This young benefactor (patron) was not meant to die. A joyous and auspicious event indeed,” the monk said.
Little Hei chimed in at that moment. “Timing worked out—this guy was about to croak, and we didn’t have any other choice. You get it, right?”
“Master Tripitaka, Little Wuzi might still be a bit out of it. This old man will offer his thanks on his behalf!” An elderly man bowed deeply to the monk.
Fang Zhiyi’s mind exploded. Tripitaka? A Journey to the West world? Understanding dawned. For him and Little Hei, this was the safest kind of world. That thing would be dead if it tried to cause trouble here.
“I only did what little I could. No need for thanks. Please, old sir, rise.” Tang Seng reached out to help the old man up.
Knowing the inside story, Fang Zhiyi watched the scene unfold.
“Wait, he just accepted it like that?”
Little Hei answered, “This world isn’t the same as the one you visited before. It’s still related to Journey to the West, but you have to understand—there are countless Journey to the West worlds out there. No two are exactly alike.”
Fang Zhiyi curled his lip.
When word spread that Little Wuzi was alive, some villagers came to check on him, but most came just to see the miracle-working monk. They also prepared some food.
The food was meager. Fang Zhiyi had millet porridge, while Tang Seng ate coarse rice. For that era, an ordinary family willing to offer coarse rice to honor Tang Seng was already high-standard treatment.
As Fang Zhiyi listened to them talk, he pieced together the original host’s background—no parents, raised on charity meals, barely scraping by. But he’d fallen ill with a strange sickness a few days ago. That must have been when he took over.
“So that means I’m pretty much a zombie?” Fang Zhiyi mumbled to himself, just joking.
But Little Hei said, “You know... in the Journey to the West world, everything about a mortal’s fate is fixed. After the original host died, his soul went straight to the underworld. And you took over his body... Huh.”
Fang Zhiyi smacked his thigh suddenly. “That means we just exploited a loophole, didn’t we? The original owner is already dead, so down in the underworld, they won’t find me on the records!”
Little Hei laughed. “Now you get it. Don’t blame me for picking you some random mortal. It had to be this way—unless you want to fight the underworld head-on.”
Fang Zhiyi only then noticed that his smack had made the villagers, who had been chatting with Tang Seng, all stare at him. He nodded and bowed sheepishly. “You go on, you go on. I just thought of something happy.”
“That Little Wuzi has always been slow-witted. Master, pay him no mind,” the old man said, then turned to Fang Zhiyi. “Little Wuzi, go get some rest. When you’re better, remember to come thank the master. If it weren’t for him, you’d already be reporting to King Yanluo!”
“That’s right! That’s right!” the others chimed in.
Fang Zhiyi curled his lip. He stood up and went to sleep. Despite his alert mind, his body wasn’t holding up.
And rationally, he knew: don’t get tangled up with Tang Seng in any way. That guy was practically a VIP at the table—anyone stuck with him would probably end up as cannon fodder.
He was here to lay low, not to court disaster.
But the hard, earthen bed made it impossible to get comfortable no matter how he lay.
“Make money! Make money! Starting tomorrow, I’m going to make money!” Fang Zhiyi growled viciously and then closed his eyes to sleep.
He didn’t know how long had passed when sudden cries of weeping woke him. Fang Zhiyi forced his eyes open. It was still night.
“Who is it?” he muttered irritably, sitting up. But as his mind cleared up a bit, he realized the cries were coming from outside. He could hear shouting and the sound of things breaking and smashing.
In the village, several bodies lay on the ground, their faces frozen in expressions of deathly terror.
A band of mountain bandits glared fiercely at the monk who sat in meditation.
“Monk, you got any valuables on you?”
Tang Seng opened his eyes slightly and sighed. “I am a man of the cloth. I have no gold or silver.”
m back to his original world. In the end, he realized he had overthought things. [Hey, why is Shen Manni, the female lead, acting strange? Shouldn't she be fawning over the male lead at this point?] [Zhou Qiaoqiao, are you sick? Weren't you supposed to break off your engagement today?] [Damn it! An Youyi, please do your job as an undercover agent and sell my information to the protagonist, you idiot!] ... At this moment, Xu Mo himself didn't know that these female leads had already heard his inner thoughts. Then they decided not to play by the rules. Xu Mo: Please respect my profession as the big villain!
nd fell into a coma while saving his younger sister from an out-of-control car. He became a vegetable. No one knew that his consciousness had crossed into a world of cultivation. Over the course of sixty years, he began as the lowest kind of mine slave, struggling to survive amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood. By sheer chance, he eventually obtained the complete memories of a fallen Immortal King. Alchemy, medicine, formations, feng shui, physiognomy, artifact forging… Every great inheritance of the cultivation world was now his. But when he opened his eyes again, he discovered that ten full years had passed in the modern world. To pay for his treatment, his father had sold the family’s shop and house, leaving himself covered in lasting injuries and illness. His mother had cared for him day and night, and more than half of her hair had already turned white. His younger sister, who had been only fifteen back then, was now twenty-five. To help repay the family’s debts, she had been forced to lower her head and put on a smiling face in places of glittering lights and endless revelry. Only then did Chen Xuan understand that what he had lost was not merely ten years. He had lost the life his entire family was meant to have. The good news was that he had brought back the memories of an Immortal King’s entire lifetime. The bad news was that his soul had returned alone—his cultivation had not come with him. Spiritual energy was scarce, resources were depleted, and the modern world still had firearms, surveillance, capital, and laws. If he wanted to protect his family, break free from everyone’s control, and become truly invincible beneath the heavens, he would have to start all over again.
he colors of other people’s emotions. Light red meant anxiety. Gray meant exhaustion. Orange meant excitement. Yellow... meant repression. At the same time, he could gain unlimited control over one of those colors. Pale cyan: relaxation. Using this ability, he started offering “two-yuan hugs,” spending an afternoon exchanging emotional-color experiences with others. Then came his final female customer of the day— a girl whose emotional color was pure black... —— A week later, Xu Chuan had become skilled at using pale cyan—Relaxation—treating it like a bottle of menthol balm whenever he needed it. That was when he discovered he had unlocked another unlimited emotional color: Purple, the color of fear. So these emotional colors refresh every week? Fine, I take it back—I’ll never call you useless again... —— Much later, after Xu Chuan had accumulated countless emotional abilities, one night, he suddenly found himself inside someone else’s dream. There, he could use the emotional colors he possessed to paint. And in her dream, he painted her a shower of pink shooting stars, spreading across the depths of the night sky...
s the Eldest Princess, renowned for her cold and aloof detachment, became the most docile of lambs, obeying his every command without question. But when the final move was played on the chessboard, as Gu Chenghan seized everything and ascended on the verge of apotheosis, that very Princess suddenly embraced him from behind, her tone carrying a dependence never heard before: "Wait... you haven't yet... commanded me to love you forever." Gu Chenghan froze abruptly. She... hadn't been hypnotized?! ... [The Eldest Princess's Diary] [When my soul was extracted, becoming the sole spectator outside my own shell] [At first, there was overwhelming fury, until I saw] [How he used my sword to effortlessly shatter my inescapable doom] [How he wielded my authority to eradicate fatal conspiracies I had never even detected] [Like a deity, he rescued me from the deep mire I was trapped in] [If not for those annoying vixens, he and I would be a match made in heaven] [I think I am ill, gravely ill] [My deity should belong to me alone] ... "Hypnosis? Oh, it succeeded, my dear Master." "Only this time, it's my turn to hypnotize you."
