alt-lucidifer

[alt-lucidifer]

Book-Wielder's Normopathy

Chapter 4

“Need a ride?”

Qiji froze, all blood draining from his face in that instant.

Clutching the reins with a deathly tight grip, Yunzhuo's knuckles had turned pale. He was clearly out of breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He leaned forward in the saddle of a chestnut brown horse, his keen eyes sparkling with mischief as he regarded the flabbergasted Qiji, who was still trying to process the event. Yunzhuo's everlasting smile, a serene blend of mischief and charm, seemed almost infectious. His dark hair fluttered slightly in the breeze, tousled by the swift movements he had made just moments before. “You took off so quickly, I could barely keep up with you, Daozhang,” he exclaimed, laughter lingering in his voice.

Yunzhuo’s horse stomped a hoof impatiently, seemingly eager to continue the sprint. Qiji’s face transitioned from surprise to frustration.

You…!!!!!

Weren't you fast asleep just a moment ago?!

Qiji firmly pressed his lips together, sending the stranger in front of him a nasty side-eye. He kept his feet firmly planted to the tree branch, refusing to move as much as an inch. As he turned his attention away from Yunzhuo, he scanned the area once more and quickly realized that the best option would probably just be to go with him. Travelers who frequently passed through cities, often just passing by without lingering and consistent flow of merchants, scholars, and others made it easy to find places to rest, such as inns. He was no stranger to that fact. However, entering alone at night could raise suspicion. Riding in on horseback was certainly more conspicuous, but it could also work to do the opposite; people were less prone to suspect ill intent from someone approaching openly rather than sneaking through the shadows. Plus, it was clearly a faster mode of travel.

Qiji had wanted to willingly accept the offer, though a certain echoing voice chuckling in the back of his mind erased the thought. His eyesight blurred momentarily and a blaring sound rang in his ears. A bright red warning screen flickered in front of his eyes with the letters “OOC ACTION DETECTED” stamped straight onto there.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…” the Narrator lamented, his voice betraying sadistic delight. “Remember your bearings, Luqiang.”

Qiji clicked his tongue in distaste. Yet another shortcut made impassable. The Narrator hadn't been joking when he said he would make this hard for him. He pondered over how to proceed when a devious idea struck him—one so audacious, only a truly desperate person could even begin to consider the thought. Qiji gestured for Yunzhuo to dismount, just as he’d leapt off of the tree branch himself.

Looking bewildered yet pleased to be acknowledged, Yunzhuo happily took a spring off of the horse and landed atop the ground with a satisfying crunch underneath his boots. Not bothering to look at what he'd crushed under his heel, he raised his head and met Qiji’s eyes with a smile that could shatter the pride of the angels. “I take that as a yes?”

His countenance constituted the effulgent lustre of an innumerable score of canola petals in a vast field in bloom, swaying in the wind without a care. The unperturbed smile gave one the impression of the wisteria, mystery hidden in the many-layered hanging vines. A bouquet of enchantment in human disguise. For a moment, Qiji could not bring himself to tear his gaze away, an odd sense of familiarity leaving him feeling unsettled, chilled to the bone. From the way he smiled to the way he talked… Before he could think to stop himself, a name that awoke an unexplainable sense of dread became a dull aching in the corners of his mind.

“Oh?” The Narrator piped up.

Stopping himself before he let the name slip past his lips, Qiji brushed past the still-smiling Yunzhuo in a haste.

So you'll haunt me even this far from the reality we knew? You're certainly persistent.

Patting the fur of the stallion, he examined its physique and temperament, deeming it suitable for the journey after noting how it barely reacted at all to his presence. With not a word yet spoken, Qiji reached further up into the voluminous inner lining of his sleeve and retrieved a misshapen lump of clay—cool, damp, and unformed. The final salvaged parts of the vase. His first attempt at transmutation earlier that day had ended in disappointment, the intended structure collapsing in on itself before it ever took shape. Yunzhuo’s curiosity was innate and unrelenting, though before he could think to start barraging Qiji with questions, a controlled flow of spiritual power was poured into the shapeless lump. Qiji pressed his fingertips into the mass and focused.

Let's see if I can actually do it this time.

Energy flowed from his core to his fingertips, weaving into the clay with careful intention. Qiji toyed around with his power for a bit, mixing and massaging the clay as if it were play-dough. Once he confirmed he'd gotten the hang of things, he tried his luck at a somewhat easier shape. Slowly, it stretched and rounded, deepened in hue, until it bore the tapered form of a vegetable. Either out of skill or sheer luck, he procured something that resembled a carrot. The colour began to set soon after the initial shaping was over, and it was not long before it dropped into his palms. Qiji waved it about a bit in his hand in front of the horse, who snorted and began to half-heartedly attempt to nab it. Qiji yanked it back at the very last second.

Qiji turned his head and inclined it in a courteous yet very brief greeting in Yunzhuo's general direction, perhaps to give his thanks. Without uttering a word, he then turned his attention back to the young colt standing nearby, its ears still twitching from residual tension.

Yunzhuo, undeterred, squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest with a quiet swell of self-satisfaction. “Oh, he's stately, isn't he? That is my Rascal. He could outrun a dragon if sufficiently motivated. Speaking of stateliness… Lao-daozhang strikes me as a distinguished and culturally knowledgeable gentleman. Might Lao-daozhang indulge this humble one by sharing his reflections on the happenings of today?”

Qiji gave no verbal reply. Instead, he pressed his lips together in firm silence, using the opportunity to mount the horse Yunzhuo had arrived on. The motion was swift but not unsteady—though from the look of unease, it was clear he had little familiarity with horseback riding.

“... No response? Well, then please lend me your ear and allow me to relay to you my own circumstances.” Yunzhuo prattled on unprovoked. “You see, this humble one is in a piteous grievance—the pathway home to my temple is hazardous. Surely a seasoned daozhang such as yourself, well-traveled and world-wise, must be accustomed to such terrain—”

Despite his display of helplessness, the truth was that he was conveniently omitting an unmistakable fact. For not long ago, he had marched partway to their encampment with a freshly slaughtered creature of nightmares slung over his shoulder. What kind of charade was this?

“—especially regarding the lay of the land—” he continued, but then faltered, his voice trailing off. His gaze had landed on Qiji, who was now firmly gripping the reins, his focus visibly fixed on maintaining balance atop the horse. For a brief moment, Yunzhuo had half a mind to offer help.

But then he noticed something.

Qiji had made no effort to shift or offer room for a second rider. Not even a glance back.

“... Daozhang…” Yunzhuo filtered away any worry he might’ve felt at that moment, his lips still sweet.

Qiji had witnessed it earlier with his own eyes—the beast’s materia had disintegrated, reduced to shimmering fragments of energy, then quietly sealed into a small pouch. The display had been swift, efficient. And yet, Yunzhuo had reacted with complete nonchalance, as if such a feat were mundane. Tedious. It left Qiji uneasy. He was caught between two conclusions: either abilities of this caliber were common in Yunzhuo’s world, or it was his own mistake for not taking his peculiarly blasé demeanor into further account.

After all, Yunzhuo seemed to have a particular knack for adapting to anything. This incident, he concluded, was likely no exception. He had already observed enough to assess Yunzhuo’s nature—mercurial, over-the-top charismatic—enough so to be a setback and potentially strong enough to be troublesome, should there be a falling out. There was no need to complicate things further by engaging with unnecessary extras or adding variables to this already overcomplicated story.

Qiji dipped his hand back into the depths of his sleeve, fingers methodically sweeping through the various folds of fabric. His movements were deliberate now—he was certain of what he was looking for this time. After a few more seconds of blind groping, his fingertips brushed against a familiar texture: smooth, worn leather, tucked snugly into the lining. He drew it out—a compact case, palm-sized and plainly made, bearing faint creases at the edges. It was, by all appearances, a wallet.

He unfastened the flap and thumbed through the few metallic contents within, selecting a modest handful of coins. Without ceremony, he dropped them into Yunzhuo’s outstretched hands—the clinking sound sharp and unexpected to Yunzhuo. The case vanished just as quickly as it had appeared, disappearing back into the cavern of his sleeve with practiced ease.

Qiji gave another curt bow of his head. As for whether it was a polite show of thanks or a dismissal—it was unclear. Yunzhuo opened his mouth, perhaps to seek clarification regarding that exact question, but he never got the chance to speak.

With three rhythmic taps of his palm against the horse’s flank—pat, pat, pat—Qiji casually signaled the animal forward. In his other hand, he held out a small, shriveled carrot bribe as incentive, the orange root swaying just out of the colt’s reach. “Jia.” He commanded. The horse nickered softly, ears flicking, then stepped obediently in line with Qiji’s lead.

Yunzhuo stood there, speechless, his hands still partially cupped around the coins. He could only watch in disbelief as the colt's hooves stirred dust from the earth, the rider atop it trotting away unperturbed. With not so much as a backward glance, Qiji passed beneath the shadow of the city gate, leaving Yunzhuo abandoned far behind.

But Qiji, for his part, did not view it as a moral failing.

He offered me a ride himself, he reasoned inwardly, jaw set firmly with conviction. And I even paid him for the trouble. There’s no reason for guilt. None at all.

“And so, Luqiang began his first mission with a bout of treachery.” The Narrator spoke profoundly, likely stroking his non-existent beard from wherever he was at the time.

“It's not as if you gave me any other choice, you villain! I'll give it back anyway.”

“Curse me all you like. We all know who will be bearing responsibility in the end.”

Qiji was sure to make haste relatively quiet until they'd gotten far enough into the city. They scampered through empty neighborhoods, watching bright red flags, signs and eaved roofs pass them by. They were designed with beautiful architecture consisting of vast open pagodas and tall bilateral structures with heavy emphasis on symbolism and folklore. Ancient signage, etched with gilded characters, swung gently above quiet storefronts, and the rooftops—those iconic, upturned eaves—gave the impression that the buildings themselves were about to take flight.

The architecture was a breathtaking blend of grandeur and story. Towering structures rose on either side, symmetrical and proud, with rooftops like layered crowns. Pagodas, open and airy, stood among them like guardians of old. Every corner, every beam, seemed to whisper tales of spirits, legends, and the gods who walked among mortals. Qiji’s eyes lingered on the wooden carvings that adorned the houses—dragons curled protectively around doorframes, phoenixes perched in eternal flame above lintels. There was something in those carvings, an artistry so haunting and full of memory that it stirred a wordless emotion in him—a wistful awe he couldn’t quite put into language, like remembering a dream the moment before it vanishes.

Once the streets grew wider and the buildings began to thin, Qiji gave Rascal the signal. With a short whistle and a tug at the reins, the colt sprang into a full gallop, his hooves striking the stone-laid paths like a drumline. It was only once their stampede let them out of the sparse locale that he could fully appreciate the bright full moon. The moon, round and luminously pale like a jade effigy, poured its eerie light over the maze-like streets, casting shadows that danced along the walls. Dust, long settled in the quiet of night, exploded into swirling clouds with each thunderous step Rascal took, giving the impression they were kicking up the city’s forgotten breath.

It wasn’t long before they burst into the heart of the district—an open-air market square, wide and gaping beneath the moonlight. It might’ve been bustling with life during the day, but now it stood like a ghost town, stalls shuttered and tents sagging. The silence was so deep it felt like it was listening.

Qiji slowed Rascal to a trot and then to a stop, finally sliding off and dismounting the horse with a soft grunt. He led the animal by the reins, searching for an inconspicuous nook. At the far end of the square, tucked away beneath a dilapidated roof, he thankfully spotted a neglected little shack. It looked unused, with a barrel collecting rainwater underneath the eaves—just secluded enough to go unnoticed, but not so hidden that his cultivator friend wouldn’t be able to find him later.

“Perfect,” Qiji muttered, tying Rascal loosely to a post beside the shack. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly wilted carrot. Rascal, ever the food-motivated partner, happily began to munch away, tail flicking contentedly. For a moment, Qiji allowed himself the luxury of pride. Quick, clean, efficient. No drama. Maybe he was getting the hang of this after all.

But then—ding. A soundless vibration against the fabric of reality. The Narrator’s voice, smug and overly theatrical, echoed in his head like a bad pop-up ad.

“Hidden side quest activated: ESCAPE THE VENGEFUL CITY FOLK!”

Qiji’s eye twitched.

“...Eh?”

“HEY!!!” came the bellow, slicing through the stillness of the square like a knife. Qiji turned slowly, already dreading what he’d see.

A stocky local was storming toward him, face flushed with rage, fist raised to the sky as though invoking divine wrath. “YOU!! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO STOLE GUANG YUN’S HORSE! THIEF! CRIMINAL! HOW DARE YOU TOUCH WHAT BELONGS TO A RIGHTEOUS MAN?! YOU HAVE NO HEART, TO SOMEONE WHO HAVE HELPED SO MANY!”

Qiji blinked. Slowly.

…Guang who?

…Horse thief??

…Me???

His gaze drifted to Rascal, who was now blissfully lapping up rainwater from the barrel, looking every bit the picture of innocence.

Qiji looked back at the accuser, then down at himself, then back at the man.

He cleared his throat. “...No.”

A beat of silence.

“...Fuck.”

Qiji ran. He didn’t even argue this time.

Every alley he turned into seemed to birth another angry citizen, each one louder and more creative in their insults than the last.

“GET HIM!”

“THAT’S YUN'S STALLION, YOU CUR!”

“THIEVES DIE SCREAMING!”

“—Wait, is he the guy from the bakery last week?”

He didn’t stay long enough to find out. Qiji had never seen this many people angry at once outside of a group of junk food shops at closing time.

One step out of his hiding place and he was already being accused of horse theft, property damage, and—was that woman yelling about a broken engagement? He didn’t even know her! His feet slammed the cobblestones in a full sprint, heart hammering. Every breath came out ragged. The city’s layout might as well have been a maze—no matter which way he turned, pitchforks, torches, and wildly off-topic accusations waited for him.

He made a sharp turn, saw an open window on the second floor of a nearby home, and didn’t think twice. He scrambled up a stack of crates, leapt, and clambered onto the tiled roof—

Only to immediately slip on the slick ceramic, arms pinwheeling. The tiles betrayed him, and he slid helplessly right off the edge with all the grace of a sack of flour.

“Nonononono—”

CRASH.

He hit the ground. Hard. Into a haystack, thank the gods, though he still somehow felt like he’d fractured his dignity.

Somewhere in the distance, the crowd howled louder.

Groaning, Qiji peeled a stick of straw from his mouth, spat, and mumbled, “Okay. Plan B.”

With hay in his hair, looking like a manic scarecrow, carrying shame in his soul and dragging heavy steps behind him, he beelined toward the Grand Library’s towering silhouette in the far distance, keeping his head low. It was time to do what he came here for in the first place—before someone hung him from a lamppost. So much for a stealth mission. Qiji undid his cuff sleeve, tying up his lengthy tresses with it in a quick ponytail. It ended up somewhat lopsided, but he couldn't bother with fixing it up at that moment.

Qiji snuck into an isolated alleyway, praying his heavy breaths would fall upon deaf ears as he darted past unsuspecting soldiers that had been called out to patrol thanks to his negligence. Thankfully, Qiji managed to slip past the gates of the Grand Library with minimal complications from there on out. The only issue was a mild detour—by which one means the undignified dive into that haystack, an almost-sneeze-induced discovery by a stable boy, and a philosophical debate with a goat over territory rights that was cut short.

Eventually, Qiji stood within the sacred halls of the Grand Library, the heavy wooden doors groaning shut behind him with finality. A hush blanketed the vast chamber—dust-filled and reverent, as if even time dared not disturb this place. The air was thick with the scent of ancient ink and weathered leather, a fragrance so potent it seemed to have seeped into the very stones. Scrolls, tomes, and relics of long-forgotten knowledge lined the tall shelves in a beautiful sort of chaos. Some were meticulously organized, others stacked in teetering towers that promised either enlightenment or a sneeze of epic proportions. Each aisle carried a whisper of legend, each corner a forgotten footnote or a scholar’s scribbled madness. He combed through legends, war chronicles, obscure footnotes scribbled in cramped margins by scholars who clearly hadn’t slept in weeks. His fingertips carded through hardcovers, spines and the like, finally stopping as a notification rang in his ears. Jackpot.

“The Black Vein Chronicles acquired.” A lilting voice announced in his ears, like a triumphant bard who lived for moments like this.

Qiji froze. Jackpot.

With a whisper of parchment and a papery sigh, the scroll unfurled itself in his hands.

“Excerpt One: The miasma hadn’t always plagued the overworld. It was a remnant, a side effect—a punishment, some said—left behind when the demon clans and worshippers of evil were driven underground, beneath layers of earth. Any sign left behind from them were discarded as myth.” The Narrator’s voice had shifted into something almost reverent now, as though reading aloud a forbidden prayer whilst Qiji's eyes scanned each character.

The last remainders of those connected to their kind, human or not, were exiled to an island on the far coast by the name of Ruan, courtesy to it being the smallest out of a chain of other islands. Its singular settlement was a village, Ruan Village.

“Location added to Records: Ruan Village.”

Records… His mind drifted back to the copy of Book-Wielder’s Normopathy he'd been so thoughtfully gifted. Does it take notes for me, then? Well, at least there's something helpful he's done for me.

Qiji’s brow furrowed as he read. It wasn’t just exile. It was containment. Systematic. Cruel. They had been forced into caverns so deep the sun had forgotten them. “For what? Because they were different?”

“Because they were dangerous.”

The scroll was not kind in its language. “Vermin,” it called them. “Twisted harbingers of death.” But there were notes, hidden between the lines. Annotations by a hand willing to advocate for these creatures: “Sentient… capable of mourning,” one read. Another: “She sang to her dead. In our tongue.”

“To eat the sun, destroy the world, unleash a thousand screaming horrors upon mankind.”

That was their purpose for living, it promised.

“That was all they were made for.” The Narrator whispered, his chipper tone suddenly as heavy as tungsten, enough to split his eardrums if he so wished.

Qiji sat back, his throat suddenly as dry as a desert.

What made a monster, really? He had the urge to stare the heavens in the eyes and ask that question once more. Was it claws and horns—or was it how a faulty society gazed upon you, the sole dissenter to an unjust court of law, with contempt?

He leaned closer, eyes scanning the final passage. The ink had faded in places, but the meaning was clear: a warning that the seal on the deepest caves was weakening. A reckoning, centuries overdue, might be crawling to the surface. Looping cave systems, spreading across all of China. No, farther than that. Much farther than that. Qiji’s fingers wove through his hair anxiously as he tried to picture what all of this could insinuate.

And then—

Movement.

From across the reading hall, a man sat frozen, half-hidden behind a stack of alchemy treatises. Wide eyes locked on Qiji like he’d just witnessed a deity tap-dance across the table.

Qiji froze, one hand still on the scroll.

The man’s thin lips parted, like he might say something.

Qiji raised a finger in warning. “No.”

The man blinked. “...”

“Let us not do this right now. I haven't seen you, and you haven't seen m—”

“....A-Qiang?”

That name.

“...Luqiang.” It was said more firmly this time.

Qiji exhaled sharply, the kind of sigh you give when you already know what the next fifteen minutes of your life are going to look like—and they involve chaos. I thought you said he didn’t know anyone!

As expected, a voice flared up in the recesses of his mind, smug and grand:

“Achievement requirements fulfilled: Tales of the Past. Rendezvous with the mysterious stranger. Healing to full HP…”

Not even going to tell me his name? Real helpful.

“Be grateful I’m even giving you an achievement. Collect enough and you’ll be a happy, happy man.”

Yeah, yeah. Shut it, would you?

“Unfortunately.” Qiji stood, already rolling up the scroll with all the grace of a man packing for a vacation that turned into a war.

I’m not getting dragged into another dramatic agenda. Not today, Plot Device.

“...You don't remember.” The voice was soft—too soft to belong to someone who looked as he did. It was the kind of voice that curled into the silence, delicate and brittle, as though it might shatter with its own weight.

Qiji flinched, stopping in his tracks. He slowly turned to face him. Huh?

“...I was worried that– that it might be so.” The man confessed, tone brittle as a pair of paper thin chopsticks. The man stood tall, his frame lean and graceful like a willow in still water—built of subtle strength rather than bulk. His features were sharp, ethereal in their precision: slanted, deep-set eyes the color of ink at midnight, ringed faintly with exhaustion; thin lips, pale and unreadable; skin smooth, yet far too pale to be entirely human. There lay a strange and supernatural beauty in him. It weighed down to create the illusion of a mask over the person's face.

His hair—long, an almost translucent shade of icy grey tinged with moonlight—was pulled into a half-up, half-down style, held in place by a modest jade pin carved into a floral motif. A few errant strands had escaped and now framed his face with gloom. He emerged with the fragility of someone asking a question they already knew the answer to—but hoped, somehow, they were wrong.

He wore gloves—thin, white silk, pristine despite the dust-laden state of the interior. His robes flowed in delicate, layered folds: gauzy fabrics in pale blues and ivory, stitched with silver-thread clouds of incense that rose from the depictions of altars and mountains that shimmered when they caught the light. The ensemble was minimalist, yet extravagant—every fold precise, not a thread out of place. It was the kind of attire that whispered of old money and older bloodlines. A nobleman, clearly. But that wasn’t the whole of it.

Qiji studied his posture—too upright, too centered. His stance betrayed control, not ceremony. There was a martial stillness about him, something learned through battlefields and not ballroom bows. A cultivator then. And a seasoned one, at that.

Qiji narrowed his eyes.

This was no chance meeting.

Only then did Qiji catch a glimpse of something sparkling in the corners of the man's eyes. His head held low, the man folded his hands behind his back and retreated back to whence he came. Qiji's eyes followed him throughout the entire way out, still on edge after the high-speed chase he'd previously had to endure that day.

That melodramatic entrance… Is he… a part of the main cast?

“You certainly catch on quickly.”

I'm a veteran. I've experience in literary tropes.

“I'd really like to tell you, but that would be a bit of a spoiler, wouldn't it? I mean, you haven't even met the protagonist.”

And when will I?

“You'll see.”

What kind of answer was I even expecting, if not an elusive and vague one?

“You set your hopes in me entirely too high. I'm but a feeble deity taking aid in my incarnation.”

Weren't you calling yourself All-Knowing just a bit ago?

Qiji stepped out into the open air of the night. He'd thought to follow the odd stranger, only to find he'd left zero trace of exit. The scent of ink and dust still clinging to his clothes, he began to retrace his footsteps. The vast double doors of the Grand Library groaned shut behind him, sealing in centuries of knowledge—minus the three scrolls now tucked carefully into a bag he'd hauled up in a panic during the wild goose chase.

He adjusted the strap of his scroll case, tightening it over his shoulder like a soldier cinching armor. His boots met the stone steps with silent finality. Moonlight cast his shadow long and narrow across the plaza. A thief now. An actual one. Might as well get used to it.

“You know, when someone steals your horse, the least they could do is warn you beforehand!”

The voice dropped into the quiet like a pebble in a still pond. Qiji paused but didn’t flinch. Of course. He didn’t need to turn around to picture him: arms crossed with theatrical disappointment, smile all teeth and no bite.

Yunzhuo strode up behind him, looking entirely too pleased for someone who had been wronged so gravely. His expression was sunshine after a storm: persistent, golden, impossible to shake.

“Morning to you too,” Qiji muttered, gaze pinned forward.

“It’s past midnight, you bastard!” Yunzhuo laughed.

“Time is subjective.”

“Not to a man who just flew through an entire city looking for his stolen property.”

Qiji finally turned his head, fixing him with a dry look. “You’ve been compensated.”

“Oh, I know.” Yunzhuo waved a hand with faux dismissal. “Saddlebag jingled like a noblewoman’s hairpins. Very generous. Thoughtful. Almost like you knew I’d be pissed.”

Qiji said nothing. He started walking again.

Naturally, Yunzhuo followed.

This guy…

“You’re not all bad, you know? Sure, you left me in the middle of nowhere with no ride and an elderly farmer who talked about pickled radishes for two hours. But—” he grinned, sidling up beside Qiji, “—you left silver, too. That counts for something. There's nothing that money can't buy~”

“Ugh.” Qiji fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Please, please make him leave! This is entirely too awkward!

“Beg me slightly more pathetically and I just might actually consider it.”

Go to hell.

Next chapter

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[alt-lucidifer]

Book-Wielder’s Normopathy

Chapter 3

"Billowing currents brushed past, lifting the boughs to sway in tandem beneath the awning of vibrant greenery. The air was cool and bracing, infused with the scent of pine and dew. The rustling of branches and sprigs among the leaves painted a lively symphonic chorus, intermingling with the sound of twittering and birdsong. High above, perched upon the intricately interwoven branches, gray treepies flitted about, their bright feathers catching the sunlight like jewels glinting in the morning daylight.”

“Luqiang strolled leisurely down the steep incline of the eastward side of the mound, his feet finding their way along a serpentine path of weathered stone brick stairs, which wound down like a sinuous ribbon through the dense underbrush. Each step he took resonated with a soft crunch as stray leaves were crushed underfoot. As he took a deep sigh, an earthy aroma of damp soil and crushed herbs filled his nostrils. Golden pillars of sunlight filtered through the foliage, casting playful patterns on the ground, illuminating patches of vibrant moss and wildflowers that clung tenaciously to the edges of the staircase.”

“As he descended, the sound of rushing water reached him, a distant melody that crescendoed with each step he took. His curiosity piqued, so Luqiang quickened his pace, eagerly anticipating the sight that would greet him at the foot of the craggy mountain slope.”

Qiji ran his fingers through his tousled hair, smoothing down and slicking back any hairs that had escaped their proper place. The oppressive heat of summer bore down on him, draining his energy and leaving him in a constant state of perspiration; he felt as though he were sweating bucketloads. Lacking both a fan to soothe and console or comforting parasol to shield him from the relentless sun, he was left vulnerable to the merciless rays washing over his pale hands, which seemed to bear the brunt of the heat. His cheeks flushed a vivid crimson, a stark contrast to his fair complexion, as the sun's stinging embrace continued to amplify his discomfort. At this point, he might've gotten sunburnt.

“Finally, he arrived at the base, where the rugged terrain rose dramatically, its jagged rock formations jutting skyward like ancient sentinels. The mountain cliffs loomed imposingly around him, their surfaces adorned with streaks of emerald vegetation that cohered to crevices.”

“Must you continue to drag this out?” Qiji complained, tugging anxiously at his collar as the sweltering air stuck uncomfortably to his skin. “Is there truly no way you could procure some basic supplies for this mission? Perhaps just a simple jug of water?”

“Make it yourself”, the Narrator scoffed.

Not long after his sudden arrival in this new world, he had been given a direct order from the Narrator to embark on a descent down the mountain to gather vital information, leaving the little makeshift camp he'd prepared that same morning behind. Although he had initially envisioned a calm venture to explore the wild where he'd be able to return the same afternoon, it seemed that a route was already laid at his feet. And it wasn't just any easy one. His first assignment? Journey to the Grand Library of Shan Yao City located in the Chingsu region. On the surface, that didn’t sound overly complicated—until he was informed that Shan Yao was not just any city; it was known for its size and sprawling maze of streets, not to mention the notorious reputation of Luqiang, who was infamous for his reticence. He couldn't even consider the thought of acting out of character in the face of others.

Realizing this presented a significant challenge, Qiji quickly formulated a plan. He had every intention of bypassing the conventional and straightforward route. His first mission would require furtive action. He was going to sneak in there in the dead of night. There was simply no other way —Qiji had considered it and come to that conclusion.

Just as a Qiji had begun to slip back into his daydreaming, a plaintive cry startled him back to his ugly reality. Looking left and right, all he could see were the tall trees. Not a thing out of place in sight, but Qiji's instincts knew better, leaving him on edge. Then, as if on cue, a figure emerged from a branching path—a cultivator judging by his clothes—with an easy swagger, his features illuminated by a radiant smile that seemed at odds with the gruesome sight he bore. Slung across his shoulder was a formidable beast with razor sharp clangs—bloodied and battered, its fur matted and eyes flickering with the fragile last embers of its life. The cultivator waved cheerfully at Qiji, his grin widening as he ambled closer, oblivious or perhaps indifferent to the creature's plight. Qiji bit his lip and swallowed down a curse as he understood he'd been spotted, but before he could make a run for it the Narrator had already launched into his usual charade.

“Hidden among the shrubbery, something moves. Then, out of the thicket, emerges a mysterious man. A sword clutched tightly in his hand, he sets his sights on Luqiang”, the Narrator's disembodied voice echoed at him.

Qiji’s body reacted instinctively long before his mind could catch up to the unfolding situation. He felt the surge of adrenaline coursing through him. He reached to brandish his weapon he naturally assumed to be there only for the realisation to dawn on him that there was none to draw; his hands awkwardly hovered over his right hip, searching for the familiar heft of a hilt, the reassuring feel of cold metal. The space where a scabbard should have been lay bare, and instead, his fingers brushed against a simple leather pouch, worn but sturdy, that rested against the fabric of his tunic. He tapped it once, then twice to confirm: there were sharp metal objects inside. Daggers, possibly?

Meanwhile, the fellow across the clearing was disconcerted and driven out of his wits, in no mood for another fight after catching the prey he'd struggled against on the way here. Backing away with his hands raised in surrender, he yelled aloud. “Ahh, Lao-daozhang! Please, I mean no harm! I come in peace!”

Qiji, who had been on edge ever since coming here after being subjected to various unexpected interruptions, sensed an opening. Rather than engaging further or getting embroiled in another conflict, Qiji assessed the situation and decided that time was of the essence. He had a destination to reach before nightfall, and that thought pushed him into action. Without another word, he made the decision to sidestep this newly introduced character, opting instead to proceed on his path toward the city before the Narrator could think to stop him. He speedwalked right past the obstacle, his mind set on getting there as soon as possible.

However, as he quickened his pace, it became clear that his relief at leaving the potential conflict behind would be fleeting. The cultivator, still grappling with his confusion and at a loss for words, quickly regained his composure soon after and hurriedly made the distance he'd lost on Qiji.

“Dage, are you really going to walk all the way through the woods on your own?” the man questioned, a mixture of concern and an almost childlike eagerness in his tone. “You know, there are nefarious creatures wandering about out here. I should know,” he added, nonchalantly gesturing toward his shoulder, where fresh wounds from prior encounters could be seen, accompanied by a somewhat goofy grin and a dying beast on the other shoulder. “We’d fare much better if we teamed up, you and I.”

Qiji’s temper flared silently at the intrusion. As the man prattled on, he prayed to whichever gods might be listening—perhaps the deities of solitude or fate—that this overly persistent and sticky individual would simply tire of the one-sided conversation and leave him be. He hoped that by ignoring him, he might rid himself of this unwelcome company and accelerate his journey to the city. Suffice to say that was not what happened.

The noble cultivator, who trailed closely behind him, wore a sleek, high-neck black undershirt. Over this, he donned an ornate robe, the color reminiscent of finely polished marble, its fabric flowing gracefully around him, completed by long, draped sleeves that added an air of elegance to him. His belt was decorated with an array of small medallions, each one glimmering with a beautifully crystallized finish that caught the light with every movement he made.

His hair was an eye-catching shade of vibrant maroon, a bold contrast to the inky black of his ever-squinted half-moon eyes. His face, tinged with the faintest redness over the cheeks and lips, and tan over a sheet white frame. The design of his pants was equally striking; they were tightly fitted, tapering down to a hemline artfully stitched with intricate shapes and symbols, giving the impression of a well-maintained and groomed appearance. Completing his attire, his tall black boots, though looking somewhat worn, were slender and pointed.

As the sun transitioned from its zenith to the horizon, the two figures meandered about through the forest landscape either in what Qiji considered to be awkward silence or in short “exchanges” where the uncomfortably clingy man accompanying him, whose name still remained a mystery, would occasionally comment on various aspects of their surroundings, providing Qiji with insights that, albeit indirectly, began to illuminate the social nuances of the era in which he'd been discarded into. Through these comments, Qiji gleaned vital information about key locations as well. For instance, the Grand Library referenced by the Narrator was formally known as the Grand Shan Yao Library. How original. There was also one more thing—this man was related to a temple called Baifeng Peak. Apparently, there was a huge sect in these parts all with different branching temples. Among them in the area was Baifeng, Baiyan as well as an unmanned mountain peak called Highspire Pinnacle that was “just around the corner.” Qiji naturally assumed that was the mountain he had just descended.

As dusk began to envelop the landscape, Qiji sought out a tranquil meadow, somewhere suitable to take sanctuary and immerse himself in meditation. The unusual inactivity of the Narrator, combined with the presence of the new NPC, had hindered his ability to fully explore the extent and nature of his newfound capabilities that a form like this would naturally come with. Rather than risk harming an innocent tree through impromptu experimentation, he decided to assert his powers via meditation, believing it to be a more refined approach. Qiji was well-versed in the worlds of wuxia and xianxia—this shouldn't be an issue for him. Now if he could just remember how the characters usually did it…

Qiji settled into the cool blades of grass cross-legged. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the energies of nature wrap around him. The wind, like a gentle friend, wrapped around him and played with the fabrics of his robes, allowing them to flutter freely. In the recesses of his mind, he reached his hands out, extended his blindly trusting, open arms into nothingness to hopefully get a chance to peer inside. With a strike of luck and a smidgen of kindness, he considered the idea that he might get to reenter whatever mind palace he'd been pulled into last time.

“Guide me,” Qiji whispered internally, his focus sharpening. He recalled the tales of countless heroes who drew strength from the air just like this, somehow synchronizing even their breathing to fit the harnessing of elemental energy. “At least do your job when I'm asking you.”

“Observe the rhythm of your breath,” the Narrator replied, his voice oddly distant in the depths of his consciousness. “As you inhale, visualize the essence of the breeze filling your meridians, expanding with each heartbeat. When you exhale, let go of your doubts and fears, releasing them to the earth.”

He followed the instruction, imagining the wind coiling into him, nourishing his spirit. Unseen strands of energy sparked along his meridians, igniting a growing power within. The massive clouds above shifted in response to his burgeoning strength, swirling with colors of deep blue and violet, as if the very heavens were recognizing his efforts. However, with his eyes resolutely closed in concentration, Qiji was entirely oblivious to this celestial spectacle. Initially, he had dismissed the notion of 'cultivation' as utterly absurd.

Yet, after enduring the relentless rigors of trying to train even for just a few hours, he came to a profound realization: those who had mastered this art were rightly referred to as 'masters.' His newly transformed physique epitomized the term ‘fit for it,’ showcasing strength beyond his previous limitations. Yet, it became increasingly evident that his still-mortal mind struggled to bear the immense burden required of him. At the beginning, he had felt foolish, attempting to clear his mind and conjure images of abstract concepts that existed beyond the tangible. Now, however, beads of sweat formed on his brow, and his forehead was etched with deep lines of focus, a tempest of emotions raging within himself.

“Remarkable! You're a natural even as a beginner, just as I anticipated,” the Narrator declared triumphantly in the cracks of Qiji’s mind, though the voice scarcely disturbed him through his profound focus.

Before long, the Narrator continued, “Qiang-mei, you may open your eyes now.”

Qiji hesitated momentarily but ultimately resolved to take a swift glance. To his astonishment, he found himself once more in a reality unlike any he had encountered—a translucent version of himself floated amid a magnificent expanse of twinkling stars—a vivid constellation gleaming brightly against the backdrop of the endless cosmos. Was this truly where he had been before? He hadn't been able to see it clearly then, but now…

Before him stood Gushi himself, gazing at Qiji with a blend of admiration and paternal pride.

“I imagine you must have several questions,” the Narrator began, his tone both eager and inviting. “Allow me to take the lead. How did you find your inaugural visit? Splendid, eh? I modeled it after a number of design choices befitting of yourself. Speaking of which—what's your impression of Yunzhuo so far?”

“So his name is Yunzhuo…” Qiji contemplated silently, noting the new piece of information. His face was pulled into a frown.

“Indeed! If you wish, I can elaborate on his background in great detail. However, I suspect there is something far more pressing weighing heavily on your mind—perhaps… your powers?”

“Among other pressing concerns, yes…” Qiji admitted.

“Well, you're familiar with the concept of immortals, yes? Accomplished cultivators who reach an extraordinary level of cultivation gain the ability to significantly extend their lifespan through the mastery and harnessing of spiritual energy. In contrast, elemental energy is a distinct force, utilized primarily for incantations and rituals.”

"Yes, and?"

"Your art is unlike any other, a skill that has been carefully honed and passed down through generations of your family—plasma manipulation. I believe I previously instructed you to create your own jug of water earlier, didn't I? For once, I was entirely serious. You possess the unique ability to manipulate matter on a certain level, breaking it down into its atomic components. However, tread carefully! This process induces a significant amount of energy within your body, and if you misuse it or attempt to transfigure something beyond your current skill set, it could lead to serious consequences."

"Why don't you give it a try right now? Use one of your cufflinks. Picture it transforming into… let’s say, a jug! Channel some energy into it."

Qiji was stumped. Enough with the fact that he was given metamorphic gifts to make him stand out and had to shoulder acting out an angsty character like Luqiang, but now he had to deal with the knowledge he might accidentally qi deviate at the drop of a hair? Is there anything good about this?!

Nevertheless, he wasn't the type to stall. For once he was actually curious as to what his powers did. He focused inward, drawing energy from the depths of his core and gathering it between his hands. With deliberate intent, he removed one of his cufflinks and closed it tightly in his palms, visualizing it morphing into the shape of a jug. Almost immediately, a brilliant flash of white erupted between his fingers, sending a thrill of excitement coursing through him. However, his concentration faltered, overwhelmed by the surge of energy surging and bubbling within him.

As a result, he ended up with nothing more than a painful stinging sensation in his hands and a shapeless mass of clay—a poor, half-formed imitation of a flask that bore little resemblance to a jug. The residual energy still buzzed around his fingertips, leaving an uncomfortable tingling sensation in its wake.

"Ah… perhaps that was a bit ambitious for your very first attempt," the Narrator mused, a smirk spreading across his face, revealing a hint of cruel satisfaction. "Don’t worry, I’ll provide you with an easier challenge next time."

Who does this guy think he is? Qiji was starting to be fed up with this freak's antics. He was usually unfazed by taunts and ridicule, but there was something fundamentally irksome about this being that made him want to land a real good left-hook to his jaw. He had a very punch-able face, this one.

"Is there anything else you'd like to share with me?" Qiji asked, attempting to mask the annoyance simmering beneath the surface.

"Hmmm..." The Narrator stroked his chin thoughtfully, his brow furrowing as if engaged in a serious contemplation. "Nothing comes to mind right now, but I might have overlooked one small detail... Time flows here very differently. While you may perceive it as having been just a few minutes, in reality, you've been in a deep meditative state for several hours. I merely borrowed your subconscious for a bit as you called out to me, and frankly, I found myself with little else to occupy my time."

"Okay, but what's the time over there—back in my body?" Qiji inquired, dread creeping into his chest.

"Approximately... a few hours past midnight, I’d say."

"Alright, then. Not too bad.” A bit of relief. “Then can you send me back now?" Qiji requested, his impatience creeping into his voice.

"You’d better show some gratitude," the Narrator replied teasingly, a smirk dancing across his face. “I haven’t heard you thank me once since I brought you to this place.”

“Why would I thank you for abducting me against my will?”

When Qiji finally opened his eyes, he was greeted by a breathtaking sight: a moonlit sky glittering with stars, the vastness of night stretching endlessly around him. Even the wind seemed to have hushed, as if the world itself held its breath. Glancing to his left, he caught sight of Yunzhuo curled up on a futon, sound asleep and enveloped in tranquil stillness.

Watching as Yunzhuo’s chest rose and fell, deep in slumber, Qiji got an idea. This was the perfect opportunity to sneak away. The small camp they’d set up wasn’t very far from the city and if he timed it well enough without any interruptions, he might be able to find his way into the Grand Library unnoticed. Quietly, he began to move, carefully tiptoeing around to gather his belongings before making his escape. Once he had packed everything, he dashed into the night. The thought of taking to the sky to test his flying skills was tempting, but the vivid memory of the botched plasma flask weighed heavily on his mind. He couldn’t risk another failure.

Qiji took off through the region with a spring in his step, feeling surprisingly airy. As if there was a weight taken off of his shoulders, he was free to leap through glades without feeling much more of the ground than on the tips of his feet. His soles never hitting the soil, he galloped past thick forested areas until he arrived at the foot of a path that served as the starting point on a long, wide-open road.

Ahead loomed the city walls, clearly marked by an intricately crafted sign. The gates were flanked by watchtowers at each corner, and the sturdy brick walls stood proudly, imposing in stature. Qiji glanced left and right before launching himself onto a sturdy branch of a nondescript tree. As he steadied himself against the trunk, he carefully scanned his surroundings for any signs of activity. Once he confirmed his suspicion—a noticeable absence of guardsmen—he weighed his options. The city gates were still unbolted, so he could technically stroll right in. However, such behavior would be deemed inappropriate, and if caught, he risked being labeled a weirdo, or worse. Scaling the wall directly would only invite unnecessary complications, especially given the limited resources on hand.

The best way to get in would likely be…

“Need a ride?”

Qiji froze, all blood draining from his face in that instant.

Clutching the reins with a deathly tight grip, Yunzhuo's knuckles had paled. He was clearly out of breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He leaned forward in the saddle of a chestnut brown horse, his keen eyes sparkling with mischief as he regarded the flabbergasted Qiji, who was still trying to process the event. Yunzhuo's everlasting smile, a serene blend of mischief and charm, seemed almost infectious. His dark hair fluttered slightly in the breeze, tousled by the swift movements he had made just moments before. “You took off so quickly, I could barely keep up with you, Daozhang,” he exclaimed, laughter lingering in his voice.

You…!!!!!

Next chapter

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[alt-lucidifer]

Book-Wielder's Normopathy

Chapter 2

“Longxi Luqiang.”

He drifted back to awareness, his body lighter than air, as if gravity had forgotten him. There was no pain, no pressure—only a strange weightlessness as though he were suspended in water without resistance. His fingers curled experimentally, but even that felt distant, untethered—still, the pith of his efforts was only laconic. For a moment, the thought came to him that he might be dreaming. That was before the first touch of solidity at the ends of his soles underscored that he was, in fact, cognizant.

“Courtesy name Longxi Huli, first and only son of the couple Longxi Zho-An and Lujin.”

Xue Qiji, in his state of deliriousness, was too confused to even breathe. Still treasuring that excess air somewhere in his chest, he extended his hands out in front of himself as if to ensure that it was, in fact, him. To his utmost relief, his reliable body was still his own. Provided that he was not currently meeting his ancestors as they wave him a final goodbye before he crosses Naihe Bridge, Qiji would like to say that he was handling it all quite well. Especially as an existential enigma's voice was echoing through wherever ‘there’ was, being written in beautiful cursive in front of him. Lucky for them, Qiji was outstanding at English.

Qiji was too preoccupied in his own thoughts to fathom the workings of the space he was now submerged within, only managing to catch glimpses of light. The rest was pure void. His buoyancy was made transient, as his fluctuations subjected him to ceaseless flips, putting himself through hell just to retain his balance. His apparent captor, in contrast, showed so little interest one might assume they were reading the morning news. They tirelessly continued prattling on; “Raised in complete isolation under the same roof as three other family members, you were only just released out into the cultivation world to wow them with your prowess.”

“Wait, me?” Qiji had thought that this disembodied voice was just rambling on about something nonsensical. Where did he fit into the equation?

“Yes, of course, you. Don’t you know how these things go?” The voice drawled lazily. “You die, you get reincarnated into another body, you-”

“I’m DEAD?” Qiji exclaimed.

“Well, not ‘dead’ per se, but the truth is that your time here is somewhat limited. I’ve had enough time to analyze you inside and out, Ji-mei.” Traces of something dust-like gathered, particles clumping together by the pull of an unseen magical force until a material form of a person was hovering not far above Qiji, their arms proudly crossed over their puffed-out chest. They smacked their lips and hummed thoughtfully. “Or should I say, Luqiang?”

The entity appeared as a young man, radiant yet grounded, with eyes that held the weight of eternity and the warmth of dawn, two blinding suns. Hidden behind his sweeping mane of hair, his thin and purplish lips sang venomous notes. His presence stirred the air— commanding—as if nature itself leaned in to listen whenever he voiced a thought. Garbed in simple robes that shimmered like starlight in motion, he smirked with the confidence of one who shaped the world with thought alone. He garnered the energy of someone important, but the crudeness in his speech failed any sort of dignity he might've tried to imply.

Qiji had no desire whatsoever to heed the will of the being he assumed to have orchestrated his abduction. The arrogance in its voice, the calmness with which it spoke as if the outcome were already decided, made his jaw clench. He wanted to interrupt, to demand answers, to curse the thing and fight back in whatever way he could. But that urge quickly withered beneath the weight of a deeper instinct—fear. Qiji could not begin to guess what rules governed its existence—only that it did not abide by the same ones he did. Thus, any words he might’ve felt a need to put in remained lodged in his throat.

The man performed his charade with theatrical flair, sweeping his sleeves through the air in grand, exaggerated motions, warping reality as he saw fit. His voice, carrying the burden of tragedy, resonated as though he were mourning some great loss. Yet beneath the surface of his performance, his true nature peeked through—a gleaming, malicious smile that betrayed the falseness of his sorrow. “Luqiang, Luqiang, your fate is an unfortunate one. You abandoned your roots as seclusionist cultivator and set out to explore the vastness of ancient China, entangling yourself with a path that leads you to-”

“Just cut to the chase,” Qiji chose to interject, not bothering to put up with any pleasantries. “If you want me to play pretend with some fake name for whatever scheme this is, at least tell me what the endgame is.”

The entity retrenched, clutching its chest in exaggerated offense. “Well, excuse me. How many times is that now? Three? Four interruptions? Honestly, I’ve lost count. And the tone—really? That’s how you talk to a being of my stature? I’m The All-Knowing, thank you very much—capital T, capital A, capital K!”

“I said get to the point. We don’t have time for leisures like introductions,” Qiji reiterated with emphasis, this time with his fists clenched at his sides. “I’ve read enough mythology to know that gods only have time to spare for mortals when they want them to do something for them, so spit it out. What do you need?”

“By the stars above, I’ve never encountered someone with such sheer audacity - and yet you still insist so determinedly that you are as average as any other. You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect. A Wielder beyond my wildest expectations.” The being grasped at the blindingly white stars around them both and cupped them safely in his hands until they coalesced and a lump of ethereal fabric came to be. Employing it as a makeshift handkerchief, he dabbed at his eye, wiping away the crocodile tears that fell like rain. “Tell you what—I'll name the book after you, you spectacularly unremarkable creature. Book-Wielder’s Normopathy: your noble quest to blend in while I do everything in my power to make that as treacherous for you as possible. Doesn’t it fit wonderfully with your meager ambition?”

“That name sounds like something a moody twelve-year-old would scrawl across the cover of their diary in glitter gel pen,” He groused, frustrated that his questioning was just leading him in circles. His attention dropped back to the book that he still held tightly, which had just started to vibrate in his grasp.

“Then it’s just perfect for you!” The entity quipped, a smug smile playing on his lips.

“Why you…” Qiji started, but the words failed him, leaving him momentarily speechless. In that instant, the book burst open with a jolt of energy, slapping against Qiji’s hands and causing him to recoil. He quickly pulled his hands back, only to find the opposition now holding the book with an air of triumph.

“Luqiang, your path will be long and fraught with danger.” Unbothered, the man went on. The pages took heed of his words, inscribing everything that was said as if by law in dotted lines on the paper. “As the main character, the entire world will flip-flop between rushing to your aid at the slightest inconvenience and condemning relentlessly, wherever you venture. You will be hailed as a hero, then shunned far and wide. Subjected to the true derisiveness of the human race-”

“I won’t do it.” Qiji butted in.

“—Eh?”

“I refuse to participate in this. I won’t be the hero, nor will I play the villain.”

“... But you have to.”

“What? Are you going to make me? How? Since you went through all of this effort to stalk me into reading this little book of yours, doesn’t that mean you needed me to do it of my own free will? It might just be baseless conjecture, but something tells me I have to choose to listen to you in order for the plot to progress.”

“I…”

“Lucky for you, you’re such a piteous god I’ve decided to show you some mercy. Tell me how to return home and reduce my role to that of an unremarkable, trashy side character, and I’ll be more than content to do whatever you ask of me, alright?”

“....”

“Deal?” Qiji���s eyes glinted with challenge, the atmosphere crackling with tension as the stakes of their banter soared.

“... You’re shameless.” The man managed, realisation dawning upon him that he was losing control of the narrative quicker than he could keep up with. Then he tossed the book toward Qiji without warning, letting it punt him straight in the chest before it ricocheted off into his palms.

“You leave me no choice but to be,” Qiji asserted with determination as he absently traced the spine of the book with its new set of embellishments.

“Fine. The truth is that your body and soul aren’t currently aligned. The body you find yourself inside of right now is a cheap copy, and the real thing isn’t in this plane of existence. The longer it remains between dimensions, the more is chipped away at it, until all that is left of your former self is your soul. At that point, you’ll be exposed to the elements and unable to return home.” The other explained. “Only by completing assignments issued by yours truly will you gain the right to return to your rightful body in the real world.” He said with finality as he clapped his hands together.

“Then this role you're assigning me—care to elaborate a bit more?”

“Well, I was about to… before you cut me off. Ahem.”

“Luqiang hails from a prestigious family and was since childhood endowed with endless wealth. The Master and Mistress of the manor taught him everything they knew, knowing he was to inherit the craft. He was studious as a young man, devoted to the arts and a profound martial artist. However, his experience of the world outside the manor was limited to its inherent dangers. His introverted tendencies kept him at bay from the outside, yet when the world itself began to encroach upon him, his curiosity sparked.”

“The outside?”, Qiji blurted out.

“You'll see what I mean soon enough.” Floating downward until his feet touched the ground, the mysterious figure answered cryptically.

“Speaking of you, who are you? You never told me before pulling me here.”

“Hah! Wouldn't you like to know?”

“Then… I heard you refer to yourself as all-knowing… What does that entail?”

“I meant what was said. Sadly, I can't go into detail and satisfy all of your inquiries. I don't have enough time to keep you for very long, lest I put your feeble little mortal mind in danger - and I don't wanna kill you just yet. Just think of me as your friendly Narrator—Gushi-qianbei!”

“‘Just yet,’ huh?” Qiji chuckled nervously.

“Yup! Now do me a favor and whatever you do, don’t look down!” the Narrator warned with urgency.

“What do you—...OH F—” Qiji felt his stomach drop as a swirling golden vortex appeared beneath him. Gushi waved him goodbye with a sadistic laugh as Qiji plunged once more, glancing back over the edge of the opening.

When Qiji was spat out in record time, he landed unceremoniously on a grassy patch atop a rocky surface, face down in the tall strands. Mud smeared over his garbs and painted him the colour of the soil he'd free-fallen into. Scratched and bruised, he dusted himself off as he rose to his feet. He was about to quickly survey the area when the familiar lilt of the Narrator cut his thoughts short with an observation.

“Atop Mount Xin, the Longxi family has kept themselves out of otherworldly affairs for decades. They figured that when a son of the Longxi bloodline with an interest in the way of mortals was born, it foreboded a shift of eras that might shape the next generation.”

“Hey, didn’t I say to give me a minor character? You're making me out to be some kind of extreme singularity.”

“Shhh, just listen to the rest. Be good and you'll be fine.”

Luqiang considered his current predicament. A being of unfathomable power was commanding him to act out the part of a character in a novel of which he wasn't even aware of the genre or plot, entrusted with a promise as fickle as “you'll be fine.” As he took in the scent of bamboo carried by the easy winds, he felt fabric graze his limbs. This brought his attention back to his current state, noting how he was now clad in a traditional robe of fine silk. The needlework on the patterning seemed intricate and well-done, embroidery weaving caricatures of smoky screens and strikes of thunder over the lengthy sleeves. I'll definitely stand out if I parade around town in this… Qiji made it his first mission to find some ordinary attire suitable for whatever world this was. Guessing by the style of the robes, this must be set in an ancient era.

“How do you like your new physique?” The Narrator's sing-song voice rang in his head again. “The costume is stitched to fit our dear Luqiang quite nicely, sinched in every place need be, it seems. I put a lot of effort into hand-sculpting your personal flesh cage, so all criticism is welcome! Again, objective criticism.”

The very first thought that flickered through Qiji’s mind as he inspected his transformed body was a simple yet profound realization: “....Tall. You made me tall.” Normally, his limbs would have been a mere fraction of their current length, but now they hung at his sides like fragile, elongated strands of spaghetti, slender and somewhat unwieldy.

“Well… yeah.” The Narrator didn't have much else to comment on that.

However, Qiji quickly reassured himself that this new physique did not signify fragility. As he took the time to stretch and warm up, feeling the muscles flex and respond beneath his skin, he grasped that, despite the visual changes, this figure retained much of the strength of his former self. It was a body crafted for resilience, one capable of weathering unexpected trials and enduring a seemingly endless stream of mishaps and accidents. Qiji sincerely hoped his aptitude for getting himself into trouble would not carry over between worlds.

Qiji began to prance around the area in search of a water source that could serve as a mirror. His curiosity propelled him forward, and after an intrigued exploration of his surroundings, he finally stumbled upon a small pool nestled in a depression in the ground, a serene spot in the shade of the swaying brush some distance from where he had first landed. He squatted down near its edge, peering into the water's surface to get a glimpse of his reflection.

What greeted him was a striking appearance, not completely unlike his old one but still with distinctions. His once-cropped snowy white hair, typically cut to a manageable length just grazing the mid-point of his neck, now cascaded in soft waves down to an impressive length of over seventy centimeters, the sides of his head pulled into braids uniting in the back. The hair, neatly groomed and meticulously brushed, fell over his shoulders and draped loosely. The winding curls framed his face perfectly, but a few rebellious strands broke through, offering a touch of wildness to his otherwise polished look. His complexion was like that of a waxen, creamy bloom and his sheer lashes hid scleras of magenta beneath them—within ashen, sunken eyes. Not even in a fictional world could he escape the eternal curse of his unrelenting dark circles and hyperpigmentation, it seemed.

“You made me a whole dreamboat. This is nothing like me! People are going to stare.” Though even whilst voicing his distaste, Qiji couldn't help but wonder, ‘I don't really look like this, do I?’. Deep down, he felt nearly flattered.

“Of course Luqiang is nothing like you. You're ugly, too ugly. I just thought I could show you some leniency, since this is your first time trying out transmigration, after all. Let's call it a beginner’s handicap - you’re blessed with dashing good looks for all to admire. You’ll capture the hearts of women and men alike!”

And just like that, all of the newfound gratitude he'd subconsciously found himself harboring went straight out of the picture. So that's how it's gonna be, is it?

“It feels more like a curse.” Qiji pushed himself back up to his feet, trudging back the way whence he came to the spot where he’d crash-landed. He was not ugly.

“Aww, are you going to sulk in a corner now? Be careful, I might have to count that as an out-of-character action. You wouldn’t want to disturb the algorithm now, would you?”

“So now I have to worry about staying in character too? Is this some sort of game for you?”

“Absolutely.”

Qiji let out a sigh, his confidence beginning to wane. “Alright… So, what’s he really like?”

“Longxi Luqiang…” The Narrator paused to assess Qiji for a moment, dubious intent clear in the toothy smile he flashed at him. “He’s refined in a dignified way but can be quite dramatic when the situation calls for it…”

“He's known for his flowery language, always wearing a calm and untroubled smile, even while his lifeless eyes betray a lack of sincerity. He can be quite sassy if given the chance but carries himself with an elegant grace enough to remedy it. He doesn’t say much unless it is ambiguous and sees no issue in bringing up unsavory subjects as if they’re completely normal. People often pick up on this as a red flag and tend to assume he might be a secret serial killer or something.”

“Isn't that just great? I have to pretend to be a weirdo.”

“There probably wouldn't be much pretending being done.”

Xue Qiji stood at the precipice of the mountain, the crisp air biting against his skin as he peered down into the valley below. Determined to descend and confront the nearest villager for information, he envisioned a selection of different routes he could choose to take. But just as he prepared to take the first step, the Narrator interjected, reminding him of the principles that governed his actions.

"You must remember what Luqiang would do in moments like this," the Narrator intoned, casting a shadow over Qiji's intentions.

Luqiang was a master of evasion, the Narrator made that clear to him. He had an uncanny ability to navigate life while skillfully avoiding conversations. For him, the mere thought of engaging with others was daunting, like standing before a roaring torrent. Instead of seeking out information through dialogue, he preferred silence, letting the whispers of the wind and the rustling leaves speak volumes for him. Qiji felt a subtle tinge of admiration for Luqiang's ability to withdraw so easily into solitude. He sighed, gazing down the mountain path, now cloaked in uncertainty.

Perhaps this wasn't going to be so easy after all.

Previous chapter

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[alt-lucidifer]

I'll just post this here as an experiment. Writing, go!

Book-Wielder's Normopathy

Chapter 1

Qiji’s stance was teetering on complete unreliability. It was as if the number of times he’d pushed himself back upright had no bearing whatsoever on whether or not he could actually succeed in remaining that way. Pages ripped to smithereens and remnants clenched tight in his fists, he stood there like a swivel-eyed gazelle. In his hysteria, he had half a mind to smash open the window with that cursed thing, and only just managed to catch himself in his act. What kind of madness could possibly have driven him this far?

That book.

It was all because of that damned book.

He could remember exactly how it all began.

That day, Xue Qiji was sitting in a cramped train carriage, thankfully managing to avoid shoulder contact with each of the strangers to both of his sides. He did so by deliberately trying to force himself into what could only be described as a human stick, thus wedging himself into an uncomfortably tight space. It was a Tuesday, at around six in the evening.

The air was so dry, he thought his lungs were about to cave in. The stench of the sweat of passengers blended with the airborne waste of petroleum-powered engines gave way to a hazy atmosphere. The rumbling of the wheels rolling against the tracks at high speeds could be heard faintly from below his feet, temporarily managing to distract him from the quiet whispers of nearby people.

His face was downturned into a sour frown, eyes flitting over the screen of a laptop he had primly propped up to rest on his thighs. He’d do anything to avoid looking at his cheque - it was almost embarrassing. All of that work for such a low sum? He couldn’t even fathom it. This wasn’t just chores, either! He’d slaved away overtime. He was down-to-earth enough to understand that maybe the culture was different in a big city like this one, but he didn’t expect it to be this terrifying! Then it struck him - was he being used? Was his company a corrupt one? Is he underpaid? Or was he overthinking yet again?

What was he supposed to tell his parents when he visited the oncoming week? That he’d been swindled? That they weren’t going to any nice restaurants after all? He would rather die in a ditch than have to witness their sorrowful gaze as he explained his miserable mishap! “We told you so” this, “you should move back home” that…

Xue Qiji was a self-proclaimed “completely normal young adult”. At 24 years of age, he had a rented apartment out of a complex in a small street in Shanghai. He had a mediocre affiliation. He received his Master’s in Arts, even though he studied science on the side.

Xue Qiji was a Chinese citizen with an average office worker job at a marketing firm where he designed slogans, logos and the like for up-and-coming businesses willing to bet their investments on contracts with his mega-corporation subsidiary. He’d been ambitious enough as a teenager, betting his career on his creative talents. He wasn’t imagining he’d end up like this at all, but he needed experience to be able to get any good jobs - so maybe this was for the better?

Maybe he should’ve studied to become a doctor after all…

He could only sigh and hang his head.

Xue Qiji was not a person of note - he wasn't some upstanding hero at all. At least, that is what he told himself.

Previously trekking dutifully on the tracks, the train came to a sudden stop. Murmurs of confusion erupted as the passenger carts’ doors remained tightly shut, not moving a single inch. Xue Qiji was woken from his daydreams by the abrupt ‘ka-chunk’ of the exit doors sounding, verifying that it was indeed locked. Facing the long sideways-paned window, he squinted to try to make out any potential shapes hiding in the darkness of the outside. Unfortunately, he turned up with nothing - only being able to make out the very vague contours of nature.

While he had not before paid it any mind, it now came to him that investigating his surroundings thoroughly would be a good idea. In front of him were various dark stains of unknown origin on the metal floor, many of which smelled suspiciously like liquor or other unsavory fluids. To his right were more rows of seats, most of which now held heaps of buzzing folk. To his left were the exit doors. For a moment, he was at a loss for what to do.

It was only when he heard the grating ring of nails scratching marks into the sides of the concrete walls that everything seemed to click. Without another spare second to lose, Xue Qiji rose right out of his seat and slammed his laptop shut. He shoved it in under his arm and with a single movement - fluidly leapt into the air to pull down the emergency exit hatch. Strange looks were shot at him, but he didn't spare them a glance and warned seriously; “Everyone, for disturbing you all, I apologize deeply. But it seems the train has been hijacked. Please exit this way.”

Qiji was just a normal guy, it really wasn't his fault that he was always the target of everyone else's complications. He was just adapting to his environment, being able to detect things like that in this way.

Distrust and unspoken ridicule was visible to him in all of their eyes, but Qiji knew that there was no point in trying to retaliate. He knew that all he had to do was to wait.

Surely enough, it only took a few more moments for his assumption to be proven true by the revving of a chainsaw cutting through the suspicious silence. Screams broke out through the tranquility, thus destroying the aura of peacefulness. Previously placid passengers scrambled to their feet, grabbing their belongings in a frenzied attempt to flee, each shoving the next in their desperation to escape. Strollers were disassembled in a hurry to find a safer mode of transport, suitcases were thrown to the side and countless hands were extended toward him. Like a messiah being flocked by a group of disciples, Qiji was swarmed faster than he could react.

He really wasn't that different from everyone else.

Hand by hand and tug by tug, slowly but surely the masses were rescued from what could've been a bloodbath. The news spread across the nearby carts, and soon enough the entire train's populace was a disorganized and uncoordinated mob clumsily scurrying about to avoid the oncoming danger.

Thankfully, no one died that day, and a suspect was arrested - later, it came to light that this individual was an escapee of a nearby federal prison. To keep the event silent from the press, his own parents, Mr and Mrs. Xue, were forced to personally attend a meeting featuring himself and a nosey trio of officials preying on every single word threatening to escape from his tight-sealed lips. Front-page photography demanded of him, yet never did they ever actually feature his face, nor his full name. All it said was always simply ‘Xue Q.’ He hadn't become aware of it until recently, but his face was not allowed to be revealed on television (courtesy of his overprotective family)- and so it was always cropped out rather awkwardly. It was removed so much so and in such strange ways that the media came up with a name for him, the “Headless Mystery Beauty”. His mother was not shy with her compliments to his “dashing good looks”, though the forums she used and what she based her claims on to spread these exaggerations were anything but trusted. That led to fans of their products building their own little conspiracies and theorizing about his looks. Like a personal fanclub, only much more unwelcome and uncalled for.

Nothing was found on the scene of the crime by authorities apart from one thing that Qiji's parents brought to his attention - a book he'd never seen before. With no hint of a title on the cover, only a sigil with various interesting symbols engraved in the front. It had his name in cursive jotted down on the owner's label tag on the inner front page, its leather cover gilded in real gold.

Xue Qiji's deepest and most cherished wish was to be a needle in a haystack, a microplastic in the vast polluted ocean, or a grain of sand on the beach to be made into a sand castle. One of the millions. With value, but unlike the ones before it. An adventurer with the shortest, most pathetic little dungeon. A scholar, vastly educated in one very niche, unpopular subject and only mediocre in practice.

But he quickly discovered this book wanted to take that potential future away from him.

Qiji had seen this book before - it belonged to his workplace. It was in his office, he'd passed by it every single day for years without batting an eye at it.

So who had written his name in it? For what reason?

These questions only bothered Xue Qiji for a moment before his own blunder revealed itself before him. Of course, how could he be so naive? Then, as if it was worth about as much as a half-eaten apple - he asked his parents to have it thrown away by a subordinate into the nearest garbage disposal, not even bothering to peek inside.

No doubt some creepy fan mail that was meant to go to my parents. The most likely conclusion is that something unsightly happened to the delivery man before it could arrive here - truly pitiful.

Thinking nothing of it, Qiji returned home that day after taking the time to thoroughly reassure his parents that no harm had come to him.

He entered his apartment with a long heave, letting his bag's strap fall from his shoulder, sending the entire thing to the carpeted floor with a heavy thunk. His shoes were tossed mindlessly before he dragged his feet behind back into his bedroom. Not bothering to change out of his work clothes, he threw himself straight onto the mattress and shuffled in underneath the blanket.

His lids already threatened to fall closed over his eyes without his permission, the weight of exhaustion unbearable. The dark rings highlighted the discolored skin underneath his eyes, the redness of his veins clear in his sclera. His cheeks appeared sunken from his lack of expressive features, as if a dark cloud hung over his eyes and faded his view of the world. Like a lifeless corpse, he lay there without a hint of a movement for a full five minutes. There wasn’t a hint of energy lift in him, that was - until the attention-snatching sound of a notification paired with the hint of a buzz from his pocket. Swiftly turning over to lie on his back side, he shoved his hand in his pocket and retrieved his cellular. The screen highlighted a background picture left untouched since he received the phone - after all, chances were it would last about a month before he'd need a new one with his luck. Why bother changing the save screen?

To his surprise, the notification he received was thanks to a message from his mother and thankfully not some half-hearted work email from his supervisor telling him about how he is a valued employee and whatnot. He wouldn't be able to stand another moment of that kind of thing, having now realised where exactly he stood in the corporate world.

“Dear Qiji, I hope you had a pleasant trip home. Please be careful—if anyone you don’t know knocks at your door, don’t open it.”

That was all?

Frowning at the screen, he blinked in disbelief, his eyes scanning the message over and over again as if expecting the words to rearrange themselves into something more substantial. But no matter how many times he reread it, the text remained unchanged—simple, direct, and utterly unhelpful. A creeping sense of unease settled over him. Why would she send a warning like this without providing a little more context? And more importantly, why did it feel like it wasn’t just a casual precaution? That was nothing like the mother he knew.

Mother?

He couldn't tell if it was out of genuine worry or just his sheer surprise that he decided to quickly type in those letters and press ‘send’, impatiently awaiting a reply.

A minute passed. Two. Three.

Mom????

Qiji propped one hand behind his head, fingers idly curling into the soft fabric of his pillow. His lips twisted into a pout, not quite frowning but not quite neutral either. A flicker of movement—barely there—tugged at the corner of his mouth, a telltale sign of creeping suspicion.

Whatever.

In a sudden yet dainty movement, he tossed his phone aside with a limp wrist. It landed with a muted thump against the mattress, its screen still glowing faintly before dimming as it lay face down. His other hand found its way behind his head, elbows bent outward as he settled deeper into the sheets. The ceiling loomed above him, plain and unmoving, but his gaze lingered, searching for something—patterns in the paint, tiny cracks, maybe even answers that were hidden somewhere in the deepest corners of his mind. His fingers drifted absentmindedly to the nape of his neck, tracing idle patterns against his skin and scratching at the roots of his hair. His thoughts, however, wandered further, slipping through the cracks of his mind like water through his fingers. Fleeting, they seemed to blur together until he lie there in yet another trance.

So tired…

Where did all of this tiredness stem from? Just a moment ago, life was a dream. At least, compared to this.

As if sucking the energy out of him, the cushioned sheets settled around him like a silken cocoon. Like the constricting pressure of a moth’s wings attempting to shuffle their way out of their old molt, they weighed down upon him and crushed his every fiber. He recognized the feeling somewhat - in just a few moments, he’d normally lose consciousness. But the darkness never came… Instead, the feeling of nausea seemed to linger. He continued moving around, tossing and turning back and forth until he felt an uncomfortable surface poking into his back.

What now?!

Frustration churned in Qiji’s chest, a deep, simmering irritation at the universe’s apparent fondness for toying with him. With a sharp exhale, he flung the sheets aside, his movements jerky and impatient. He scoured the area where he had just been lying, his fingers gliding over the fabric until—

A sharp sting. A surface unfamiliar among the soft folds of his bedding.

His breath hitched. The moment his fingertips brushed against the object’s smooth, leather-bound cover, a strange sensation rippled through him, like static crackling beneath his skin. The fine hairs along his arms and the back of his neck rose instinctively, an unconscious, feline-like response to the sudden jolt of energy surging through his veins. Adrenaline struck in tandem, his heart hammering against his ribs as he hesitated, then grasped it fully.

A book.

It lay beneath his pillow, as if it had always been there, waiting. No title graced its cover—just an expanse of dark, polished leather. Its edges shimmered, gilded in gold so brilliant it seemed almost defiant, as if challenging the very sun itself.

Qiji’s throat tightened. His heart forgot its rhythm for a split second as he stared, fingers ghosting over the familiar texture. His mind scrambled to process what his eyes confirmed. Every detail—the deep, wooden hue of the cover, the impossibly intricate patterns woven into its binding—was identical. A perfect replica. Even the creases on the pages, the yellowish colour giving away its ancient nature.

This was clearly some kind of threat.

Qiji didn’t hesitate. Before he could spare so much as a glance at the contents, he’d already shoved the book under his arm and was retracing his steps through the apartment back into his living room. All manners of figures were proudly painted over the partitions and the screens setting apart different sections of the building. Colours blended into the calligraphic scripts, leading him into a labyrinth of different folding doors. Only when he arrived at the foot of the still-lit hearth did he still his feet. Thinking back, the fact that the fire wasn't out yet, even after a full shift, should've been the first telltale sign that something was wrong. He hurled the book into the fireplace, watching as the flames eagerly licked at the leather cover. The scent of burning paper filled the air, letters disintegrating into a thin layer of ash. But it seemed it wasn’t that easy. As if sensing something amiss when he was already half a foot outside of the threshold, Qiji followed the call of his instincts. He twisted his feet to find that on the mantelpiece, in pristine condition, the book sat. Right where it shouldn’t be.

Several other attempts were made the following days. He stuffed the book into a garbage bag, stomped down three flights of stairs, and tossed it into the communal dumpster with finality. But when he opened his fridge that evening, there it was—perched between the soy milk and last night’s leftovers.

Now determined, he shoved the book into a locker at the train station and snapped the lock shut. He exhaled. Good riddance. But when he reached for his laptop bag later that night, his fingers brushed against familiar leather. His stomach sank.

Qiji mailed it to himself. The logic was sound—by the time it arrived, he’d be out of town. Yet, as he locked his apartment door, his eyes fell on the package waiting on the mat. His own handwriting mocked him from the label, everything from the smiley face to the dotted ‘i’.

He borrowed his parents’ boat and, with great satisfaction, dropped the book into the sea. The splash was cathartic. The relief, short-lived. When he returned home, seawater pooled on his coffee table. The book sat there, dripping, waiting.

As a last resort, Qiji opted to play along with the sick prank of whomever had decided to curse him with an indestructible book of all things and claimed it as his own. Now Qiji’s valued property, it was left inside of a glass case of relics for nosy visitors to gawk at to have a purpose other than acting as a haunting ghost, or even worse, a clingy ex hugging your legs for attention. It was with this foolproof method that Qiji assured himself the godforsaken thing would never leave him whilst also keeping it further than an extended arm’s length away at a time. An ingenious solution to this conundrum of his. Not surprisingly to Qiji, this new tactic of his seemed to appease whatever kind of deity or spiritual force he’d managed anger. The Goddess of Luck bestowed a shred of mercy upon him, until a fateful accident brought it all crashing down. A traffic jam during rush hour set the tone for a day consisting of unfortunate incidents following one after the other, examples ranging far and wide from the ruthless downpour to the sudden electrical outage. Like strings on a harp being tightened until they snap, Qiji’s patience ran out. As if that wasn’t enough, when he was finally about to take his leave for the day, his boss pulled him aside from work and left him with the warning; “You’ll have to start taking work seriously unless you want to be laid off. Even if you’ve never had to deal with keeping schedules before, real life isn’t as pampering as that of the cozy one inside of your parents’ home. I need you to arrive on time.”

The final straw.

The last string.

Qiji had reached his limit.

As he returned home that day, he practically wrangled out the book from its glass casing. With a growl of frustration, he chucked it out of the window with all the strength he could muster. It tumbled through the air, flipping once, twice, before landing with an unceremonious thud on the pavement below. He glared at it like an insignificant bug, chest rising and falling, waiting—praying—that it would stay there.

It did.

For a whole five seconds.

Then, as if the universe had grown bored of the charade, the book lifted from the ground. It didn't float. It didn’t drift. It shot back up like a homing missile and smacked him squarely in the face. Qiji stumbled backward with a shout, clutching the sore spot as the book dropped harmlessly at his feet, as smug and immovable as ever. He never ceased his fixed looking, as if sheer rage alone would erase its existence. When that failed, he sighed through gritted teeth and bent down on one knee, fingers twitching as he picked it up once more.

“Fine,” he muttered. “You win.”

His thumb flipped the cover open, breath shallow as he braced for—what? A blast of light? A cryptic message? A demonic curse?

Nothing happened.

The pages sat there, old and musty, blank except for lines of neat, inky script that seemed almost mundane in contrast to the book’s actual character. He frowned. That’s it?

Irritation flared hotter than his initial fear. After everything—after the fire, the trash cans, the goddamn ocean—this was all it had to offer? No glowing symbols? No ancient voice whispering in his ear?

“Seriously?” Qiji snapped, shaking the book violently. “After all that, you’re just—just—a stupid pile of—”

A tearing sound.

He froze, heart stuttering. His grip had yanked free a few of the delicate pages. They were ripped to smithereens and their remnants, clenched tight in his fists. He stood there like a swivel-eyed gazelle. In his hysteria, he had half a mind to smash open the window with that cursed thing, and only just managed to catch himself in his act. Finally allowing his fist to loosen its hold, the pages drifted lazily for a moment before stopping midair, hovering like dust caught in a sunbeam.

Then they ignited.

Not in fire, but in light—pale, golden ribbons of energy unraveling from the torn edges. They pulsed, flickering like embers in the wind, before snapping into motion, swirling faster and faster.

Qiji barely had time to step back before the glow coiled downward, spiraling into a perfect circle beneath his feet.

His stomach flipped. The ground beneath him shifted.

“Oh, come on—”

Gravity wrenched sideways. The air sucked inward. And then—

The floor vanished.

With a strangled yelp, Qiji plunged into the swirling abyss, the book clutched tightly in his hands as the world swallowed him whole.

The story continues here...

[alt-lucidifer]

i want to push Xue Qiji into a puddle he's my wet loser blorbo

He deserves to be severely punished by god. Even more so than he already has been. I love him

[alt-lucidifer]

Hey, reblog this if you’re ok with mutuals messaging you and stuff!

Asking for my sanity :]

[alt-lucidifer]

who is Bai Yunzhuo?

also im going unga bunga over the gushi lore! "all powerful" beings being not so all powerful is such *clenches fist* mngh!

(the first time i saw gushi he lowkey reminded me of kars from jjba lol)

I only watched s1 of jjba... Sigh.... I need to finish it but I have 2937289381 other things I need to do as well

For your first question- Bai Yunzhuo is the first "interactive" character that Qiji (as Luqiang) encounters and befriends (against his will). Qiji isn't known for being the most extroverted *or* trustful of strangers, so he tries to avoid him, but Yunzhuo isn't one to back down from a challenge. Bai Yunzhuo is the master of the Baifeng Temple of the Bai Twin Peaks (Yes, you heard me correctly. I created a name that basically is a boob joke for a pair of mountains without even realising it and I found it so stupid and funny that I decided to stick with it.) The Temple Master of the other mountain, Baiyan, is Yunzhuo's relative Bai Zimo. I haven't decided if they're going to be cousins, brothers or uncle and nephew.

ALSO YES YES YES YES YOU GET IT. GUSHI IS SM FUN TO WRITE AUUUGGHHH

[alt-lucidifer]

gushi is so cunty i love him already

what are his motivations? have you decided yet? is he an antagonist or a morally neutral guy? what are his powers?

I LOVE THESE QUESTIONS

What I mean to say is that yes, I have a LOT of lore on Gushi. Though telling you outright why he's keeping Qiji trapped is a major spoiler, I can hint at his motivations somewhat. Gushi is a "deity" bound to the confines of the book world. As he is the "Narrator" any words he speak when he 'narrates' will naturally become law. When he 'narrates', his words are recorded and written down on several of these floating tablets in his mindscape. (How his mindscape works is a conversation for another time, I'm not entirely finished with it.) This being said, there are a lot of restrictions on what Gushi is and isn't allowed to do. Gushi cannot mind control or manipulate the characters inside of the world, he can only influence a singular person; whomever he chooses as the "protagonist" of the story. Though there can only be one true protagonist at a time, the identity of the protagonist can be switched. Gushi's behavior can be interpreted in a lot of different ways, actually, depending on your perspective. He isn't evil by any means, he has a valid reason for keeping Qiji there, though it might not be an entirely selfless reason. The Narrator is first and foremost an opportunistic narcissist, obsessed with perfecting his characters as much as he can. He loves creating stories and pairing people together, playing games with his characters. He feels somewhat disconnected from reality, mainly because he isn't allowed to interact with anyone as "himself" (in his true form) except a singular person, that being the protagonist. What happens if he does? Well....

[alt-lucidifer]

i want to know everything about your danmei ocs and art for them please please please please please please please please

HWHRHWHEBANohjw okay where do I even start

Okay so basically what I'm working on currently is a book (series?) called Book-Wielder’s Normopathy, I usually abbreviate it as BWN. BWN is centered around Xue Qiji, the most Normal™️ guy to have ever Normaled, and he Does Not Enjoy Doing Strange People Things. Qiji works a Normal™️ nine to five, has a Normal™️ family and is eternally cursed by bad luck. Qiji gets himself into absurd situations and has just learned to live with it normally as a part of his everyday life, but he Does Not Like It when people call him out on it. This all takes a sudden turn when after an accident on the subway, by some strange means, he has acquired a book (that he then discards). He's under the impression that everything will return to its usual routine, but he's dead wrong. The book haunts him like a ghost and no matter what he does, it'll reappear unscathed inside of his apartment. Long story short, this book acts as a gate between two separate worlds—the ancient nation of Zhi’zhe (that faintly eludes to ancient China) and our Earth. Xue Qiji is relentlessly annoyed by his friendly new next-door-deity, the Narrator (Gushi), who for some reason that he is unwilling to explain is keeping him trapped until he completes quests, much like a video game. Inside of this new world, he has to assume a "fake" identity of a character called Longxi Luqiang. The story will follow Qiji jumping back and forth between Earth and this new world (with and without his consent).

Here's some art!

1. Xue Qiji (dressed in traditional attire)

2. Bai Yunzhuo and Gushi!

3. Gushi (no third eye edition)

Tell me if there's anything else you want to know! I have a lot to talk about lol

[alt-lucidifer]

I'm unsure if I should commit to this or nah so I'm going to do the smart™️ thing and ask Tumblr for feedback

I'm currently writing a danmei-inspired little thing currently at 15,000-ish words (I'm planning to make the first volume around 90,000, more or less.)

[alt-lucidifer]

I’m sure someones already said this but I often see Tumblr described as a hellsite. This is fundamentally incorrect.

Tumblr is the faesite. Everybody is super confused and lost, you keep running into random places. Somehow you end up stuck there forever after interacting a couple of times. The people are all strange, everybody simultaneously seems to be from the future and the past as if time is meaningless.

[alt-lucidifer]

Humans being the first. Not the strongest or the smartest or the weirdest or the most violent. Just the first.

We called out into the dark over and over. We sent out messages in hopes. We searched every planet we could reach, in hopes of any sign of life. Any at all.

We thought, hoped we were the last, because we couldn’t bear the idea of being the one ones this awake and alive in a world as vast as this.

And we died alone.

When the others are born, many many years later, they find us, everything we left for them.

They recover The Golden Record and look at it a million times over, they dig up our fossils and put us in museums, they study us for years and years, loving us as we love our ancestors’ painted hands on cave walls.

In a lot of their languages, the word they use for us has the same root for “mother”.

[alt-lucidifer]

I think what most HASO and other media gets wrong is depicting humans as fearless because we come from such a harsh world.

Like humans grow up on a world where *anything* can kill you. Bugs. Mold. Unclear water. A sneeze. The sun. The rain. Plants. Mushrooms. Large predators. Large herbivores. Small predators. A cat scratch. The list goes on and on.

This kind of environment doesn't make people less afraid. Okay it might if they're sufficiently desensitized, and most people will do okay in settings they're familiar with, but in a new situation? Everything is a threat.

Humans adapting to spaceships and/or alien planets would not be confident and gung-ho. They would be cautious, curious, and exploratory. They would freak the fuck out at every new alien bug. They would be very hesitant to engage with any animal. They would freak out every other alien on the crew because the humans keep staring at them, watching them to make sure that none of the aliens are going to attack them.

And when a solo human with an alien crew meets another human, also the only human on their crew?

They are not best friends. Their first thought is, "is this human going to kill me?" Because only a murderer or a crazy person would go into space without another human to back them up.

[alt-lucidifer]

Some arts!! I love these books sooooo much. I'm almost done reading MDZS, finally! Just finished book 4 a few days ago. Easter was SO MUCH FUN.

Some of these (Gushi, Qiji, Yunzhuo, Yaoyun) are from a little personal writing project I've been working on called Book-Wielder’s Normopathy (BWN for short). Let me know if you guys are at all interested in reading it and I'll post it on my timeline! Zholgia's just there because I like to draw him, he's unrelated lmao

[alt-lucidifer]

A little life update

Killer making a long awaited call to get somethings off his chest as another step to heal? Yes sir

[alt-lucidifer]

So @byrdblood and I were talking about how our interpretations of Nightmare are always pretty much the opposite yet we just have that mutual understanding and love for each other’s interpretations

And so this came to be chucvhvh

[alt-lucidifer]

Love the idea of Killer and Nightmare playing Chess on a regular basis

Killer wins every. time. (And Nightmare hates it with a passion)