The mountain path was treacherous, forcing him to abandon his horse and follow the trail of blood on foot.
The prey was a limping rock goat. It had briefly appeared on the mountainside before vanishing into the dense forest.
Sunlight failed to pierce the canopy, leaving heavy shadows everywhere. Despite it being noon, dewdrops from the previous night still clung to the myrtle berries. The forest floor was a chaotic carpet of leaves, under which roots tangled and twisted, ready to trip the unwary.
Tracking in such an environment was difficult, but he managed to find a few drops of fresh blood on the leaves and a tuft of fur snagged on a tree trunk.
Yes, it went this way.
Rock goats were indeed known to climb higher when threatened.
He climbed swiftly, his focus entirely on the trail ahead, oblivious to the pair of eyes watching him intently from the shadows, just three zhang (about 10 meters) away.
Those eyes were brimming with rage and hatred.
As he crested the ridge and climbed over a boulder, the rock goat came into view again. It was licking the wound on its leg. He reached for the bow and arrow slung across his back, but from the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow streak toward him at lightning speed.
What is that?
Before the thought could fully form, the creature was upon him.
It was a massive leopard, its body rivaling that of a tiger, its paws larger than his head, and its fur faded like sand-worn stone.
The leopard's maw opened wide, the stench of blood and decay washing over him. Instinctively, he raised his arm to shield himself. A sickening crack followed as the beast's jaws crushed through the armor on his forearm. He couldn't tell if the bone had broken. The impact sent him tumbling, rolling straight down the ridge.
The leopard followed him relentlessly, clawing and biting with frenzied savagery. His screams echoed through the mountains, but he managed to pull a dagger from his waist and stab the beast repeatedly, over ten times.
The blade was sharp enough to cut through iron. Two thrusts to its chest alone should have been enough to puncture its vitals, and blood sprayed across his face and body.
Yet the creature refused to let go.
Any other beast, no matter how fierce, would have fled by now.
But not this one.
It dragged him downhill with terrifying force, leaving a bloody trail in their wake.
Looking into the leopard's bloodshot eyes, he realized it had gone mad.
A sand leopard shouldn't even be here! What kind of cursed creature is this? To his shock, the beast even growled in human speech:
"The Divine Bone shall never be yours!"
"Let go! Let me go!" He was terrified out of his mind, stabbing the leopard three more times in the neck, summoning every ounce of strength he had to break free.
But there was no escape.
The next moment, both man and beast plunged into the void, tumbling down a hundred-zhang (approximately 330 feet) cliff.
Even in its final moments, the leopard lashed out, sinking its fangs into his throat.
With a faint crack, the protective amulet hanging around his neck flared red and shattered into pieces.
The last thing he saw, frozen in his fading vision, was the beast's bloody fangs.
"Ahhhhh!"
He bolted upright with a scream, startling everyone around him.
A maid closest to him jumped back three steps in fright, while a plain-looking man appeared seemingly out of nowhere, rushing to his side and scanning their surroundings. "Young Master?"
He was in a small, elegant room. Two ornate folding screens depicted strange mountains and winding rivers. In the center of the room was a stage, where actors in full costume performed for an audience of over two hundred, who were lounging about, eating snacks, drinking tea, and chatting idly.
Right. He was in a private box on the second floor of a theater. The scent of pearwood incense lingered in the air, and a silver platter beside him held fresh grapes and honeydew, the fruit still glistening with dew.
This was the theater Zhai Xian Tai (Plucking the Immortals Stage), not the hundred-zhang abyss.
He slowly regained his composure and instinctively touched his neck. "I'm fine."
There had been four deep puncture wounds near his carotid artery—mere millimeters from fatal damage. Now, they had healed, replaced with tender pink scar tissue. Similar scars dotted his body, over a dozen in total.
Around his neck hung the same protective necklace.
He distinctly remembered the circular jade pendant shattering under the leopard's powerful jaws, breaking into eight pieces. Yet now, it hung intact as if nothing had happened.
For some reason, he couldn't help but touch it repeatedly, as if it held an inexplicable connection to him.
The Stage and the Truth
In the box with him was another young noble, Liu Baobao, who snapped his fingers at a servant nearby. The man moved to the railing and announced loudly to the crowd below, "The young master has woken up. Let the show continue!"
The popular opera of Yuan Country was known for its short and fast-paced stories, full of thrilling twists and vivid characters. Today's performance at Zhai Xian Tai featured two new plays, performed by a renowned troupe brought in at great expense.
The audience had grown restless after waiting for over an hour. Thankfully, now that the "young master" had awakened, the show could resume.
As the music picked up, a clear male voice sang out:
"The sacred bull of Xiluo Nation charges forth, unstoppable in its might—"
He frowned. This again?
It was the same play that had bored him to sleep earlier. Now they were repeating it?
Liu Baobao noticed his displeasure and asked with a smile, "Brother Chuan, not to your taste?"
Lingchuan drawled lazily, "Too slow."
This performance was actually Liu's idea, and he had paid for the troupe to come all the way to the desolate Blackwater City. Yet, despite being the one footing the bill, the real "master" here was clearly the sleepy young man in front of him.
Liu quickly flattered, "Shall we switch to your father's Blades on Mount Ding?"
"Sure." Lingchuan leaned back on the couch, half-closing his eyes.
But in truth, he wasn't the real He Lingchuan.
The original He Lingchuan—wherever his soul might be—was likely long gone.
He was merely a nobody from another world, inexplicably taking his place.
In his previous life, he had worked a mundane job, earning a meager salary in a nondescript company. Though he occasionally burned with youthful frustration, he was the type to keep his head down and endure life's blows. After all, society had a way of grinding people into the cogs it needed.
How had he ended up here?
The last thing he remembered was ordering a cheap street snack and rescuing a girl from an oncoming car, only to be killed by a falling flowerpot.
And now, here he was—a stranger in another body, living as He Lingchuan, the eldest son of He Chunhua, governor of Jinzhou's Qiansong County in Yuan Country.