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 But, just as he'd handed in his decommission and withdrawn enough money from his savings account to buy an apartment in Manhattan, the covid pandemic had started and he'd seemingly been stuck in lockdown after lockdown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 it 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.