This is a story about a man, lost on the way of life, abducted into another world, forced to... "shudder," develop video games "retches." You sick fucks.
Chapter 1: Welcome to the new world, nothing like the old world
James leaned back in his chair as the victory screen flashed on his computer. He sighed, quickly going through the match in his head.
He came to a miserable conclusion; matchmaking would never find true balance.
It seemed to him that now that he'd exhausted all of the classic and good stand-alone single-player games, the online games he'd started to pass the time with all suffered under the same issue. Either the enemy team would have players much better than those on his team, or his team would be much better than that of the enemy. 80% of games seemed either won or lost in the first few seconds of the loading screen, and the other 20% didn't really make up for the deficit.
He groaned as he stood up, bones and muscles creaking from disuse. He left behind his brightly lit study filled with bookshelves, documents and one absolutely gigantic computer. He'd thought that after retiring early at age 30 through some smart investing his life would truly start. But, just as he'd handed in his decommission and withdrawn enough money from his savings account to buy an apartment in Manhattan, the covid pandemic had started and he'd seemingly been stuck in lockdown after lockdown for nigh two years now.
It had been fun at first, he'd been a bit sick of people anyway. He'd had time to go through his backlog of series, movies, books and video games that he hadn't watched, read, or played because he'd been too busy working in an attempt to not have to do so anymore.
That enjoyment had lasted approximately three months. New to the city, having moved from San Francisco where he'd sold his company, he'd been essentially shot in the knee in terms of social prospecting. The lockdowns and general distrust prevented him from truly developing a social circle in his new environment.
He walked to the kitchen, past the marble island and pulled a cold beer out of the fridge. Then he went to sit down on the balcony, from which one could catch a glimpse of Central Park in between the skyscrapers. It was April and the flowers were starting to bloom. People were once again becoming optimistic about perhaps finally being able to live their lives instead of wearing masks everywhere and not being allowed to leave the house in high regularities. Last summer had been a brief reprieve, before back to usual.
"Would be nice," he sighed as he sipped his drink, lying slumped on the couch taking up most of his grey balcony. He'd read all the books, watched all the shows, seen all the movies. His most constant companion throughout the time had been the countless amazing video games he'd played, some of which he'd even gone through several times. That was saying something considering he had a photographic memory. But now, he'd gone through everything... Only the highest-level games could satisfy him now that he'd consumed so many, and those weren't being released quickly enough to keep his attention for even half the time he had on his hands and nothing to do with.
"If this shit doesn't end soon," he muttered, finishing the beer in one go and looking at the aluminium can in his hands. "I don't know what I'll do." He considered for a moment, before deciding that if he hadn't done anything bad during this whole shitshow, he could at least do this. He whipped his arm back and threw the can off the balcony. It didn't fly particularly high before being picked up by one of the extremely powerful gusts of wind so common at this altitude and flying right back in his face.
Everything went black.
-/-
James did not as much awaken with a groan, as with a muffled scream. He didn't know where he was, what he was doing, or what was happening. All he knew was that he couldn't move and that his eyelids felt heavier than dumbbells. He lay there, on what must have been a wooden floor, for several minutes, trying not to suffocate through the difficulty of simple breathing.
Thankfully he started feeling more in his body soon, normalising his air intake and opening his eyes. This didn't necessarily help, however, as the ceiling that he saw above him wasn't even closely related to anything that he would have expected.
With how bad he was feeling he could have rationalised waking up in his bed, or in a hospital. But what greeted his vision once he finally opened his eyes was a circular wooden roof. The symmetry of its beam structure was beautiful, but the simple aesthetics couldn't gloss over the fact that he'd never seen anything like it. He winced as a sharp stab went through his brain. What did he mean that he didn't see anything like it? He clearly had.
What felt like foreign memories assaulted his mind and he instinctively tried to ward them off. It didn't work and he rolled over so that he was lying down on his stomach, and laboriously got on all fours as his subconscious started haltingly interpreting the new information. This new position offered him a new view of the surrounding space, which didn't manage to make him calm down in the slightest.
Sure, it was nice to become more aware of one's surroundings, information was king and all that. However, when the surroundings didn't resemble anything one had ever seen before, this became a bit of an unfortunate view.
James found himself staring at what looked like a traditional Chinese cottage, one of those that he'd seen in some of the period dramas he'd watched. Wooden panelling and intricate honey-comb windows showed that outside was a clear day outside. A little beaten-down table with carvings of dragons and tigers and mythical creatures held a series of scrolls and an odd metal box that was absolutely covered in scribbles and was emitting a low white light.
Somehow, without remembering where he'd learnt this information, James knew that the object was called a Room. This was a bit of an unfortunate nomenclature since it seemed that the cottage he was in only consisted of a room as well. There was a little stove with some beaten-up-looking pots and a rickety bed with a mattress made of straw.
"What the fuckkkkk," James groaned as he scrambled around in a circle on all fours to take in the space he'd been seemingly dropped into. "What the fuck!"
Another bout of pain went through his brain, suddenly bringing into his consciousness the desire to look to the left. He turned his head, finding an open roll of parchment on the floor next to what looked like a clay bottle. Not that it would help him any, as the words on it looked to be some sort of foreign language James had never seen in his life. However, from one blink to the next, the squiggles reordered themselves into comprehensible text and he was able to make out the meaning of the tauntingly short message.
I am sorry, sect Elder Qin, but the truth was that I never intended to finish creating the Illusion which would allow me to ascend to the status of an inner disciple. You see, I have been burdened since the first day I can remember with a mysterious illness. An illness that nobody could diagnose, and which seemed to be pulling my soul further and further out of my body every day. I hypothesise that this was the reason why the heavenly energy filled my body so easily, as there was a void to fill. But, the condition makes any such cultivation essentially useless, as there is no point in trying to ascend if one is doomed to disappear. If you've found this note, then I can only assume that the pain has finally reached unbearable levels and that I partook in the last drink to release myself from this suffering.
I am sorry to have used the Illusion Room Sect as a last respite before my imminent demise, but even this apology is fake, as I cannot apologise for what my heart saw as a necessity. To gain a place to live out my last days. The sect has not always been welcoming to an outsider like me, but it has been for the most part peaceful. For that I thank you. It is perhaps ironic to be thanking you for something you never wished to grant, but which I took freely like a thief in the night. I hope that my disciple labour has offset the investment cost of my education. The most valuable thing, the Room, I have left untouched. May another disciple use it to create what I did not.
Yours in regret,
Jin Fan
James finished reading, just in time for the foreign memories, the things that had been trying to penetrate his brain, to finally unfold in his mind, like a flower in spring. James suddenly remembered things he'd never experienced.
Growing up in a small village called Xia Er close to the imperial capital and suffered his entire life from incurable spiritual pain. Realising that he was talented in gathering the heavenly motes which fell from the sky and rejoicing, for to become a cultivator was the greatest honour for a farmer's son such as him. This joy tampered by the diagnosis of inevitable death. The anger, regret, grief, acceptance.
His entry into the grand sect of illusions, not to truly become a member, a producer of fake worlds for other, more martially inclined cultivators, but simply to live out the rest of his days in relative peace and solitude.
The last few years of his life, of learning the methods of the Illusion Room sect, trying desperately not to befriend the other outer disciples. The expectations of his immediate superior Elder Qin, and Jin's disappointment at being unable to meet the man's expectations.
In a way it was sad. Jin had cultivated, and learned the theory of how to infuse a Room with an illusion; he'd passed the basic stages of mind-based cultivation and had even achieved very good results in all the tests indicating one's future potential. However, right before being able to create his first work, the pain had become unbearable, and Jin had decided to slip out of his life as quietly as he had entered it.
It was a pitiable story. In most situations, James, now Jin, might have even shed a small tear of sympathy.
However, there was only one thing preventing him from really caring.
The rage.
James sat on the floor, his new body shaking from exertion, before suddenly shouting. "You fucking piece of shit! Kill yourself for all I care, but why drag me into this!"
He stood up and kicked at the bed, hurting his toe and starting to hop around madly.
"Worked, endlessly, tirelessly, for a fucking decade, only for you to leave me this pile of garbage life? Final exam in one week. No fucking work done! A world without functional plumbing, running water, or electricity? Is this a fucking joke!" he shouted and struck out at the small table set in a corner, causing it to fall over and unceremoniously lose a leg.
"Retirement, immediately a pandemic, and now this?" Jin shouted, stomping around and waving his arms wildly. "What was the point of the burn-outs and the stress if I immediately become a magical fucking farmer?" he screamed at the wooden roof. However, whatever god existed in this cursed world, they were not listening.
James paused and pondered the thought that had just passed through his mind. He furrowed his brows. Cursed world? He wondered. Why was it cursed?
His eyes widened in realisation as the appropriate memory packet was accessed through his inquiry. "Fucking demons, hellspawn?" he muttered, aghast. "Half the world is under the control of the dark forces?"
He fell to his knees.
"You fucking piece of shit Jin Fan! Return here immediately and take your crappy life back!" he shouted, his voice breaking at the abuse he was putting his vocal cords through. Then, from sheer anger alone, he unceremoniously fell unconscious right there on the floor.
-/-
The last time James had awoken from his "slumber," he'd been too weak to open his eyes at first. His body has still been adjusting to its new host, and everything felt like it took way too much effort.
Now? He just didn't want to open them. If he opened them he risked still being in that oriental cottage with the now broken table and the rickety bed. It didn't matter that he felt wood underneath his body, it was only when he opened his eyes that the new reality would be confirmed.
Of course, James considered during this time if he was tripping, or sleeping, but it felt too real. Dreams felt real but fell apart at any closer inspection, and hallucinations were usually obviously fake. His mind felt clear. More clear than ever before. The reason for this was his cultivation level, which mostly focused on enhancing brain functions.
James didn't know how long he lay there, trying to ignore the reality of the situation, it was at least several hours. Enough time for his new memories to all fully settle into his mind. The location of the Illusion Room sect, and its business dealings with other organisations.
The cultivation system, starting out with qi gathering, foundation establishment, core formation and then nascent soul creation. All this information flitted, almost completely unprompted through his head.
He opened his eyes in frustration eventually, the darkness having only provided a deeper sense of immersion into his new lot in life, with how it foregrounded his inner world. The same wooden roof greeted him from his position on his back, and before Jin had any significant time to think about it, he was already storming out of the cottage, unable to bear being stuck in a different world, a different body, but also a house that wasn't really his.
Theoretically, he knew of course what sort of view he would find upon leaving the cottage, but it still stole his breath even when he actually beheld it for the first time with his new set of eyes. His anger dissipated slightly. The wooden cottage was nestled into a mountainside along with several others, forming what he knew to be a ring around the mountain. This was where the outer disciples lived. They were lucky, in a way, to be in this position, as the next ring, the one for inner disciples, was stuck in clouds most of the time. From Jin's cottage, he could at least look at the wide panoramic view of countless other mountains, covered up to the top with greenery, with an occasional building sitting at the top in a lonely manner. His eyesight was better than ever and he could almost make out the peaks of the buildings in the imperial capital in between some of the mountains.
It was a beautiful view and for the first time since being stuck in this weird new situation, he thought about how maybe it wasn't so bad to have a second chance in another world? One which apparently lived more closely together with nature, not using technology, but the channelling of heavenly energies by cultivators to support human life on the planet.
He rapidly shook his head at the thought. Sure, the world looked nice, but culturally it was basically stuck several thousand years in the past. Democracy? Could you eat it? The different human countries currently lived under slightly different states of pseudo-feudalism, just that a revolution was even less likely to happen than on Earth since the kings and aristocrats had family members who were cultivators.
Sure, most sects didn't care too much about the affairs of mortals, mostly trying to either attain immortality or fend off the endless waves of monsters coming from the other side of the planet. But, it was mostly rich mortals who could fund a family member's journey to a disciple selection ceremony.
James had never considered himself an inflexible person, but this situation was still a bit much, he had to say. He sighed and sat down on the little stone ledge built around his house. Perhaps it was meant as some sort of fence to protect from wild animals, useless, as none could get through the protections of the sect.
He sat there for a while, letting thoughts run through his head before he came to the inevitable conclusion that if this was indeed his new life, then he should simply make the best of it. Of course, it was easy to think that intellectually, but emotionally it was a whole different story. However, humans were rational animals, so the emotion would have to eventually follow the intellect.
"Yo, brother Jin, still sitting there with no idea what you'll do for your final project?" a voice suddenly shouted from a few dozen steps away. Jin turned his head to see his fellow disciple Lin Chen pushing a cart full of steaming boxes down the cobblestone path that connected all the disciple houses on the outer ring. It would be inconsiderate to ask the disciples to grow their own food and cook it as well, so the sect provided two meals a day.
Jin sighed, stood up and walked over to the chubby boy who everyone knew liked to eat all the meals that were left over after every run he did. Distributing the food was just one of the many tasks one could do for the sect to gather points, which could be traded in for tutoring, new techniques, or even cultivation items.
Jin had never bothered, since he'd never planned on living long anyway. But, with the new knowledge from his other life, he quickly recognized that running the food was probably the best job for an outer disciple to have. Networking was a powerful tool, and being the person who delivered one's meals was an easy way to check up on other people's progress and make surface-level connections. Also, it helped fulfil the requisite daily exercise on the job and one could eat more than one's allotted share. Sure, the ingredients used were nothing special, but it was still food grown on a mountain, closer to where the heavenly energies fell. Quantity had a quality of its own.
"Brother Lin," he thus started politely as he walked up to the boy. "Thankfully the drought of ideas has ended and I have come up with some thoughts." He received a round warm bamboo box from the boy who was nodding sagely.
"Good, good. You know we foolish mongrels only get one chance to make a good Room. I'm still working on my own concept, but my exam is also in a year, instead of yours, which should be in three weeks?" the boy asked.
Jin nodded miserably, cursing the former owner of this body for leaving him in such a situation. "A week, I will work hard. Enjoy the rest of the walk, brother Lin," he said and gave a small incline of the head to the boy, who nodded himself and was on his way again.
No matter how much Jin wanted to first be depressed and do nothing for a week due to having so suddenly lost everything, he didn't really have the time to mope.
The stakes were real, and if he got thrown out of the sect now, no other sect would take him. After all, he had already started his cultivation on the specific path of the Illusion Room developer. It was too late to go back and he was essentially stuck with the situation. Going back to being a mortal, albeit one with a slightly higher base and some obscure and magical knowledge wasn't really something he wanted to do. This was an undeveloped world where you were either someone, or you were no one.
Metaphorically, the Illusion Room Sect was the big company Samsung, and if Jin lost his gig, he wouldn't get another, less prestigious job at Sony. He would just straight out go back to being a peasant, best case, a merchant. What was the use of his cultivations focused on the mind, if no other faction would take him due to his previous associations?
In the end, James was someone that could pull through. Weirdly, Jin had been as well, just that his goal had been different.
The sect took in disciples, gave them some theory classes and some time to cultivate, before testing them on their ability to create a meaningful illusion. If the disciple failed, fucked up the Room artefact, then they were out, no second chances, no nothing.
Jin stood up from where he'd sat down on the floor and went back into his cottage, back to the metal rune box. An expensive artefact, but only a vessel in the end. A vessel for an experience. He baffled -as he scrolled through the information in his mind- at what the illusion Room Sect actually was.
In simple terms, since cultivators were essentially trying to attain immortality, and then ascension, they usually had to set up streams of revenue with which to purchase the requisite materials, which became more and more expensive and rare as they advanced on the Path. In a similar way as the best way to get extremely rich was to create a successful business with many employees, these high-level cultivators turned to creating sects, where they would give away some of their knowledge and expertise, in return for labour. The outer disciples would be the potential initiates, whereas the inner disciples were the ones producing most of the material wealth through their work, in an attempt to attain the status of core disciple, and then Elder. Once the head of the sect ascended, and inevitably left it behind, the most influential elder would become the new sect leader.
It was essentially a pyramid scheme, but one with actual upward mobility and a trickle-up economy that made sense. After all, beginner cultivators didn't really know how to, well, cultivate. Because of this, they needed teachers and infrastructure. The sect offered this in return for labour. Considering that cultivation very much expanded one's life span, and being any sort of cultivator, even a lowly one, allowed one a quality of life basically unheard of for almost everyone else, it was actually a pretty sweet deal.
Of course, since materials and knowledge that could help cultivation generally came in the form of dangerous fauna, heavenly beasts and powerful demons, most sects focused on combat. The techniques being passed down from the sect leader were combat techniques. Either body cultivation with the usage of a specific weapon, mind cultivation with the usage of combat spells, or sometimes, both.
Of course, not everyone could be a warrior, or wanted to be one, for that matter. Fighting out endless battles against the horde of demons and monsters spilling forth from the other side of the planet and hoping to not be a part of the mortality statistic sounded like it kind of sucked.
Combat sects were obviously the richest, as being a fighter and a hunter meant being the closest to the source of cultivator wealth, but there was a certain draw in being in a sect that did not fight overly much. There was the Red Gourd Sect, which bought different monster and fauna parts and turned them into liquors. Enjoyable poisons essentially. You would think that cultivators who were mostly focused on the purity of being and such things wouldn't support such a business sect with their hard-earned currency, but considering cultivators couldn't get drunk or high of normal human means, the draw of the spirit wine was obvious.
These sorts of sects were in the minority however, and the second largest group of sects, after the combat ones, were sects focused on producing items that would make combat more efficient. The sword-forging sect of Huanli for example made the best swords in the human realm, while the sealing sect of Shengfen made spell formulas which allowed body cultivators to use the more arcane elements of cultivation as well, for a price.
It was debatable in which category the Illusion Room Sect fell, but most would claim that it was a sect developing products which were meant to boost combat efficiency and prowess.
The premise was as genius, as it was simple.
What was the most effective way of learning how to kill monsters?
By going out and killing monsters.
Naturally, this method had a pretty high fatality rate, even if the reward was equally high.
But what if there was a way to battle a variety of different enemies without risking one's life? What if there was a way to create a virtual world, with virtual enemies, in which one could prepare mentally, if not physically, for the battles ahead.
This was what the illusion Room sect did. They created illusionary simulations of battles, of enemies, of scenarios, in which cultivators could practise their skills without being in actual danger. Did a cultivator know that he was going to have to slay a dragon for his next task? Well, why not buy an illusion Room which had the dragon in question as a simulation so that they could practice?
In a very odd twist of fate, despite having been mostly involved in the very traditional business of architecture and construction in his last life, it had taken James being transported to another world, a magical, ugly, dangerous world of feudal policies and oligarchs backed by sheer individual might, not money, to pursue his childhood dream.
To become a video game developer.
-/-
AN: This story has a bit of a weird history. I hold a poll on my patreon what I should write next, but the trick is that I only write the first chapter. Well, this was one of the ideas that didn't get picked, but someone liked it so much they commissioned me to write it. Currently there are two more chapters available on my patreon, but I'll probably stabilize it so that patreon is always one chapter ahead. Anyway, thank you SouthMonk for commissioning this story.