Consciousness returned not with a cosmic bang or a whisper from the divine, but with the dull, persistent, and deeply mundane ache of a stiff neck.
Lan Yue's eyes fluttered open, blinking against a sudden, painful sensitivity to light. The last thing she remembered was a maelstrom of silver light, the feeling of her very soul being unraveled and rewoven thread by painful thread. Now, her vision was filled with the dark, grainy texture of polished walnut, cool and unyielding against her cheek. She was slumped over a vast, minimalist desk, the processed, sterile air of the room a jarring assault on senses accustomed to the living, breathing worlds she had known. The air smelled of sharp lemon scented polish, the ghost of burnt coffee, and a low, electric hum that vibrated in her very bones, a deeply unnatural thrum that felt like the world itself was holding its breath.
She pushed herself upright, a wave of vertigo washing over her. Her body felt strangely light and yet cumbersome, a borrowed garment that didn't quite fit. Her muscles, once honed for celestial combat and capable of divine feats, protested the awkward, seated position with a series of unfamiliar, grinding aches. She looked down at herself. She was wearing a sleek, navy blue blazer and trousers made of a fine, restrictive fabric she didn't recognize. Her feet were encased in strange, hard leather contraptions with elevated heels that felt both precarious and illogical, forcing her posture into an unnatural alignment.
She was in a large corner office. One entire wall was a sheet of pure, flawless glass, revealing a breathtaking and terrifying skyline. Towers of steel and glass, studded with millions of unblinking, artificial lights, pierced the deep indigo sky like a forest of geometric mountains. Rivers of golden and crimson light flowed in orderly, silent lines far, far below. It was a world of rigid lines and cold light, a place devoid of the soft, chaotic beauty of nature.
Where…?
The memory crashed over her with the force of a physical blow: the crystal prison, the flippant voice of the Author, the impossible bargain. The 21st century.
Before the crushing weight of her new reality could curdle into true panic, the Voice, familiar in its immense and echoing quality, yet now jarringly casual, spoke directly into the quiet theater of her mind.
"Hello, child. I shall assist you." It sounded bored, a celestial being forced to read from a poorly written instruction manual. "Welcome to your new reality. To facilitate your integration and prevent existential meltdowns yours and the local populace's I have provided you with a stable identity."
As it spoke, flashes of memory that were not her own sparked in her mind, alien and yet instantly familiar: the crisp handshake of a client named Henderson, the oddly satisfying metallic click of a heavy office door swinging shut, the bitter, complex taste of a hot, black liquid the natives called 'espresso'.
"You are currently Aylin Moon, Director of 'Lunar Designs,' a moderately successful interior design firm. Your portfolio focuses on minimalist, high budget residential and corporate projects. Your net worth is substantial. Your coffee order is an oat milk latte with two sugars. Do not forget this; the natives consider such details crucial for maintaining social cohesion."
The Voice paused, and its tone took on the false cheerfulness of someone explaining the fine print of a contract designed to entrap.
"Now, for the fun part: the rules of the game. Think of it as a Terms of Service agreement for your continued existence. Rule Number One: You should follow the story and act as Aylin Moon, be it through her work or relationships in this world. She is aloof, demanding, a genius in her field, but emotionally constipated. She has a fiancée. You will be expected to interact with her. Try to have fun with it!"
Lan Yue Aylin stared blankly at a framed, golden award on her wall. "Best Use of Negative Space, 2023." A hysterical, silent laugh bubbled in her throat. She had once been awarded the Celestial Sword of Dawn for vanquishing a legion of shadow demons at the Siege of the Weeping Mountains. Now, she was being praised for her taste in empty bookshelf placement.
"Rule Number Two," the Author continued, ignoring her internal crisis. "Remember you're just borrowing this body. It has its own history, its own aches and pains, its own unfortunate intolerance to lactose. Don't get too attached. And finally, the big one, Rule Number Three: If you fail to follow the story, if you break character too severely, you fail the mission to find Xue Lian. And your soul will be scattered too. Poof. No do overs. So, you know, no pressure."
The voice returned to its bored, automated tone for a moment. "Your primary objective remains: locate the soul of Xue Lian. Secondary objective: blend in. Tertiary objective: do not attempt to cultivate qi here. The ambient spiritual energy is toxic and stagnant. It will likely just give you indigestion. Now, get to it."
Then, the casual, terrifying persona returned for a final sign off. "Oh, and one more thing! I'll be watching your performance. If you start acting too much like a tragic, world saving celestial empress and not enough like a stressed out interior designer who worries about profit margins, you might get a little notification. A system warning, if you will. Or it's just me. Consider me your biggest critic and your sole audience. Break a leg! :3"
The Voice fell silent, leaving her alone with the hum of the air conditioning and the distant, wailing sirens of the city below. The cheeky, cat like emoticon it had projected into her mind felt like the most profound insult of all. This was not a quest. It was a prison, a stage, and her jailer was also the director, demanding a flawless performance on pain of annihilation.
Aylin Moon. The name felt alien, a costume for her soul. She stood up, wobbling for a moment on the absurd heels. She walked to the glass wall, placing her palm against the cool, smooth surface. The world sprawled beneath her, a vast, concrete labyrinth teeming with billions of disconnected lives. Somewhere down there, in that overwhelming sea of souls, was Lian. An amnesiac, mortal soul, completely alone.
Find me.
The echo of Xue Lian's final whisper was not a memory; it was a mission statement. It galvanized her. She turned from the view, her new designer heels clicking with a sharp, decisive sound on the polished concrete floor. It was time to explore her new domain.
The main office outside her door was a dark, silent landscape of empty desks and dormant, black mirrored monitors. It was then she noticed it: a sliver of light from under a closed door at the far end of the floor, accompanied by the frantic, muffled tapping of a keyboard. Someone else was here.
Her senses, though dampened in this magic starved world, were still sharper than any mortal's. She moved through the dark office with a predator's grace that was utterly at odds with Aylin Moon's sleek business attire. She stopped at the door, which bore a small plaque: "Accounts Payable I. Li."
Without knocking, she turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The scene inside was one of pure, unadulterated accounting panic. A young woman with black framed glasses and her hair pulled into a messy, precarious bun was hunched over a glowing spreadsheet, her face illuminated by a dizzying array of numbers. Her desk was a fortress of stacked binders, fluttering invoices, and a calculator that looked like it had witnessed several financial apocalypses. She was muttering to herself, jabbing a frustrated finger at a column of figures.
"The materials invoice for the Henderson project doesn't match the purchase order… the variance is 4.7%... did they actually use gold leafed screws?! Who does that?!"
When the door opened, the woman Iuno Li jumped so violently her glasses slid down her nose. She spun around in her swivel chair, her eyes wide with the specific, primal terror of a low level employee discovered working late by the fearsome final boss.
"D Director Moon!" she squeaked, scrambling to her feet so fast she knocked a precariously balanced binder full of receipts onto the floor. A snowstorm of white paper fluttered everywhere. "I'm so sorry! I was just the quarterly reconciliations the Henderson project budget is a complete nightmare and I just wanted to finish the variance analysis before the audit next week and I didn't think you were still here and I "
Aylin simply stood in the doorway, her head tilted, her expression unreadable. But inside, her soul was in turmoil. She was searching, desperately scanning the young woman's face, her posture, the very light in her eyes, looking for a sign, a flicker, an echo of the Empress she had lost. Is it you? Lian? Is there anything of you in there?
She saw nothing. There was no trace of Xue Lian's fiery defiance, her cunning intellect, her regal confidence. There was only this… this terrified, paper pushing mortal, whose life force fluttered like a trapped sparrow. A profound, crushing wave of disappointment washed over her, so cold and so absolute it nearly buckled her knees. She had crossed worlds for this? A stranger? The disappointment curdled, hardening into a cold, clinical severity.
She took a step into the small, paper choked office. Iuno flinched as if expecting a physical blow.
"The Henderson project," Aylin stated, her voice lower and more measured than Aylin Moon's usual clipped tone. It was still Lan Yue's voice, layered over a corporate shell.
"Y yes, Director! The budget is… it's hemorrhaging money!" Iuno wrung her hands. "The designers keep approving custom Italian marble without pre approval! The upholstery alone is 300% over the initial quote!"
Aylin's gaze swept over the glowing spreadsheets. The numbers were meaningless, but the pattern was a universal language she understood: chaos, waste, and a lack of discipline.
"This is a fundamental breach of logistical discipline," Aylin declared, her tone as cold and sharp as a shard of winter ice. "The supply lines have been compromised by incompetence."
Iuno stared, utterly bewildered. "I… I suppose you could call it that? The supply lines from Italy are very expensive…"
"The individuals responsible for this fiscal insubordination will be disciplined," Aylin continued, envisioning the flighty designers being assigned to latrine duty for a month. "Their access to the treasury must be revoked immediately."
Iuno's eyes went even wider. "The… the treasury? You mean their corporate expense accounts? You're going to fire them? The whole design team?"
The word 'fired' sparked a new, brutal association. Ah. Termination of employment. A permanent, non lethal form of exile.
"Not yet," Aylin amended, her voice like steel. "First, they will be re educated on the principles of fiscal responsibility. You," she pinned the terrified accountant with an intense, penetrating gaze that felt ancient and heavy, "will provide me with a full report. Itemize every transgression. Every… 'gold leafed screw.'"
Iuno looked simultaneously terrified and thrilled. For months, she had been screaming about these overages, and no one had listened. "A… a full report? To you directly, Director?"
"Yes. Your vigilance in this matter is… adequate." It was the highest praise Lan Yue could offer a junior official.
Iuno looked like she might faint. "Thank you, Director Moon! I'll have it on your desk first thing in the morning! I'll stay all night if I have to!"
"That will not be necessary," Aylin said. She recalled a basic principle of leadership from her old life. "A tired number scribe is prone to calculation errors. Go home and rest. Ensure your tallies are accurate in the morning. That is an order."
She turned and swept out, leaving a deeply confused and strangely motivated Iuno Li to stare at the empty doorway. As the door clicked shut, Aylin leaned against the cool wall in the darkness of the main office, the disappointment returning. The quest felt impossible. The girl was nothing like Lian. How could she ever
A playful, chiming sound echoed in her mind, accompanied by a flash of text.
[System Warning: Character deviation detected. Tone: 15% too 'Celestial War Goddess,' 0% 'Emotionally Constipated & Passive Aggressive Boss.' Adjust performance protocols or risk soul scattering penalty. Just a friendly heads up! ]
Aylin froze, a genuine sliver of fear piercing her composure. The Author was not bluffing. Her natural instincts, her very essence as a leader and a warrior, were a liability here. They were a violation of the rules.
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to access the implanted memories of Aylin Moon. She saw flashes of the real Aylin dealing with staff: a dismissive wave of the hand, a sigh of bored annoyance, a cutting, sarcastic remark. Not a direct order. Not a declaration of "fiscal insubordination."
She had failed the first test within ten minutes of arriving.
A cold dread settled in her stomach. The quest was not just to find Lian in a world of billions. It was to do so while wearing a mask, playing a part, and silencing the very core of who she was. The Author wasn't just her jailer; they were a critic, watching from the wings, ready to bring the curtain down forever at the first flubbed line.