I continued lying in bed, tired of all the hate I received because of my novel's ending. One of the fans' favorite characters had to die, and they did. After all, I couldn't bring them back. Why would I kill them just to revive them? That would make no sense. But screw it—it's my story, and it's my decision whether they live or die. I made that choice, not them. If someone else wants to decide, they can write their own story, but not now. They can't do anything about it. They should be happy I'm even continuing to write.
The silence in my room was deafening. It was the kind of quiet that seeps into your bones, making you feel like you're the last person alive. My desk lamp flickered slightly, and the pile of crumpled papers in the corner seemed to mock me. Why did I even write in the first place? Was it to share my world with others or just to escape my own? These thoughts lingered as I stared at the ceiling, feeling a growing sense of isolation.
I hadn't slept properly in days. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the disappointed faces of my readers. Social media wasn't helping either. My notifications were flooded with angry messages. Some were tame, but others were downright cruel. You ruined the story. How could you kill them off? This is the worst ending ever! Just quit writing!
I shook my head, trying to push those thoughts away. I wasn't going to let them dictate my story. After all, I poured my heart into this novel. If they couldn't see the beauty in the pain, the necessity of sacrifice, then maybe they weren't the audience I was writing for. Still, the weight of their words clung to me like chains, dragging me deeper into my own mind.
Then the silence broke.
[Ring... Ring...]
The sound jolted me out of my thoughts. I frowned, glancing at my phone on the bedside table. It was odd for someone to call me this late. Hesitantly, I reached for it and answered.
"Hello?" My voice was hoarse, barely audible.
Before I could process what was happening—boom! My phone exploded. I didn't even feel pain, just a sudden shift. One moment, I was standing in my room; the next, I was staring at my own headless body. Blood pooled on the floor, and my clothes danced in the air before the lifeless shell collapsed with a heavy thud.
Strangely, I wasn't horrified. If anything, I felt calm. Peaceful, even. It was as if this was always meant to happen, like my entire existence had been leading up to this moment. My brain, desperate to cling to life, began flashing memories before me—childhood laughter, quiet nights spent writing, the first time I held a pen. But it was futile. Nothing could bring me back now.
I smiled faintly, accepting my fate.
Darkness surrounded me. It was thick, suffocating, yet oddly comforting. Maybe it was because I'd always felt at home in the dark. It mirrored my mind—chaotic, neglected, and broken. Was this because of my parents' indifference? Or was it the countless times I had given up on life, making death seem like an old friend rather than an enemy? Maybe it didn't matter. I was just a discarded soul now, floating aimlessly in the void.
It felt like centuries passed as I drifted in the endless black. My sense of time was warped; minutes stretched into eternities. But then, a shift. The stillness broke as I felt myself being pulled toward something—a light. It wasn't harsh but gentle, inviting. Was this what people described in near-death experiences? The warmth of the light was unlike anything I'd ever known. It wrapped around me, soothing every ache, every doubt. For the first time in forever, I felt whole.
I told myself to remember this moment, to etch it into my soul. No matter what lay ahead, this light would be my anchor. But then, voices shattered the serenity.
["Congratulations, Senior Zhi! It's a healthy boy. I hope he will receive blessings from our Sword God and become the successor of the Zhi sect."]
The voice was unfamiliar, yet oddly comforting. A man stood before me, addressing another figure who seemed to radiate authority. I assumed he was my father. His magenta eyes gleamed with pride, his long gray hair tied back neatly. He wore a black kimono that shimmered in the light. My mother lay nearby, her beauty striking and serene, even in her exhaustion.
I wanted to speak, to ask what was happening, but no words came. It was as if my voice had been stolen, leaving me a silent observer in this strange new reality.
The room around us was ornate, filled with intricate carvings of swords and celestial patterns. A golden incense burner emitted a soothing fragrance, blending with the hum of power that seemed to pulse through the air. This was no ordinary place.
"Zhi Tian," my father said, his voice deep and commanding. "You will carry the legacy of our sect. You are destined for greatness."
Zhi Tian? Was that... me?
My mind swirled with confusion and questions. Who was I now? What was this world I had been thrust into? The answers were just out of reach, but one thing was certain: my story wasn't over. It had just begun. The voice within me, quiet but resolute, whispered: live again, and make it count.
Wait Zhi Tian im reincarnated into my own story is this a curse or a blessing what's worse im Son Of Zhi of the Zhi sect the most evil person in the novel i just need to hope im good enough haahahahahahahah this is going to be intressting my dear zhi you better watch your back till you can.
A/N Next chapter will be tommorow at the same time i hope your enjoying it as im writting for fun and i wont go premium bye bye guys