I couldn't just leave everything behind.
Yet there I was, on top of an old cell tower—for a reason that was honestly pretty obvious.
I wished there had been more chances, more opportunities. But unfortunately, I had nothing left and had lost everything that had ever mattered.
I lowered myself to the edge and sat on the rusty steel surface of the tower.
I had never really understood why people thought death was so terrible. It was sad, sure—but mostly because you lost the chance to see the ones you loved, whoever or whatever they might have been.
Other than that, it was like everything I had lived for became just another leap of faith, hoping for something better.
I glanced over the edge, my gaze steady, matching my thoughts.
I didn't want to die. Nobody really did. Yet, one way or another, everyone had those moments. It wasn't sad, at least not to me—someone who had already faced his demons.
It was peaceful, in a way.
You began to understand why and what you truly wanted. Because that was the only time you were ever really forced to face yourself.
My hand slipped into my pocket, pulling out an old flip phone with little effort. With a flick of my wrist, the small screen lit up, its light reflecting in my brown eyes.
I navigated to the photo gallery using the keypad. My expression softened as I stopped on a picture of my loved ones—people long gone, lost to the pressure of society and the weight of unknown expectations.
I still didn't know if I was the one who had never grown up, or if the people I once knew had simply stopped understanding what truly mattered.
I gently tossed the phone in front of me, letting gravity take over. I closed my eyes in peace, finally releasing the only thing that had been holding me back.
It didn't matter anymore.
The past couldn't fix the future.
So I let go and moved on.
With that, I soon followed. Gently leaning forward, I let gravity take hold—allowing myself to fall toward better hopes and dreams, with no more sadness, fear, or consequences.
Feeling the wind rushing past me as I approached the ground was one of the strangest sensations I had ever known. I got closer and closer until—
BANG.
—
I opened my eyes and gasped for air, shaking and confused.
The first thing that greeted my senses was a room filled with Eastern-style decorations that seemed somewhat old-fashioned.
The walls were wooden, with a single door in the middle—dragons carved into the wood and vast mountains painted in the background. Instead of glass windows, there was some kind of thin paper that offered just enough privacy. Two nightstands sat on each side of the bed, and a dresser with a mirror rested against the left wall beside the door.
My confusion only deepened as I glanced down at myself. My skin was pale, with almost no flesh on my bones.
"What... is thi—"
I covered my mouth. My voice wasn't the same. It was higher, lighter—nothing like the deep tone I was used to. It didn't even sound like it carried an English accent anymore.
I stood up and walked to the mirror on the dresser. When I saw myself, I felt helpless like never before.
I wasn't in my own body.
I was a young boy—maybe around sixteen—handsome, the kind who could have made it in the K-pop industry.
I touched my cheek, missing my beard.
This wasn't me. Why—no, how could this happen?
I was supposed to be in heaven, not in some kid's body.
Wait. No, that wasn't what I meant.
What the hell did I even mean?
Oh, wait—did I kill this kid?
Or maybe he had already been dead?
That didn't make sense.
If I was being honest, this felt like transmigration.
But I wasn't Chinese—or anything close to it.
Before I could make sense of it all, a massive headache hit me full force. I dropped to my knees, clutching my head.
A life unknown to me started flooding my mind—memories of a kid named Silver Age.
No... not right. They called him—or me—Yínsè Shídài.
This was even more fucked up.
Don't give me this kid's memories!
I didn't need them. I didn't want them!
"Ahhh!"
But I had no choice.
More and more memories forced their way in—first the language, then the boy's past. Even after all that, I couldn't rest because of the pain. It was brutal, unrelenting.
Forcing myself to lie on my back, I took deep breaths, waiting for it to end.
—
After what felt like hours, I was finally able to think again.
I hated this stupid fucking transmigration shit. They never made it seem this painfully real. I was sweating like a pig—my clothes sticking to the floor.
I had experienced headaches before, especially since I had started helping people—teaching the uneducated to read and write, running a small daycare, and trying to make a difference where I could.
I liked to think I had helped, but every good deed had cost me something. For every person I helped, I lost time for something else. And sometimes, trying just wasn't enough. People got angry. I had been punched, kicked, stabbed—that was the price you paid for trying to help everyone.
I didn't judge them. I had just taken on too much. But I regretted how many people I had let down when I was too tired to keep going.
I didn't have all the answers.
But I had tried—for everyone.
Still, nothing was ever simple.
Sigh.
Maybe this was punishment for those I had wronged—or maybe a reward. Whatever the case, I decided I would rest in this world. I would live for myself. I would make this life work somehow. That was a promise.
Using the dresser, I helped myself up and looked at my reflection again—still feeling helpless, but better.
I was missing the small scar on my nose and even my freckles. Honestly, it looked as if some perverted designer had crafted this body—it was too perfect.
Then again, every transmigration protagonist was handsome, so I guessed I shouldn't have expected realism. Still, they could have at least made me look more rugged.
It was messed up to think about, but this was my body now, right?
I didn't even know how I should feel about that.
Sitting back on the bed, I buried my face in my hands, focusing on what I could learn from the kid's memories—without being a creep.
Skimming the surface, I found the basics. The year was 1854 of the Sky Dan Calendar. It was the middle of summer, though no one here seemed to keep track of exact dates—just the seasons.
Apparently, I was considered an adult in this world. That was concerning, but not my focus right now. I needed to know where I was and whether I was in any kind of trouble.
I tried my best to avoid private memories but almost saw him naked more than once. Still, I managed to gather some basic info about the nearby buildings and shops.
I guessed the pain had been worth it. Still a bitch, though. I would have preferred to explore by hand, but the language barrier made that tricky.
With that in mind, I raised my head, ready to match the memories with the outside world—only to freeze.
A transparent panel floated in the air before me, two tabs on top: one labeled Information, the other Crafter.
Why was it that every time I tried to get a handle on things, something else happened? This couldn't be normal for transmigration.
Still, I mentally clicked on the first tab. The panel flickered and displayed a figure—me, or rather, the boy—with text on both sides and a single grayed-out button below reading Cultivation (crossed out).
Beneath it was a short list:
—
Personal Panel:
Age: 15 ?
Spiritual Root: None ?
Cultivation Technique: None ?
Body Technique: None ?
Spiritual Technique: None ?
Race: Human ?
Soul Power: 10.2 ?
Cultivation Realm: None ?
Heart Demons: None ?
Click the question mark for more details if needed.
—
Looking at it, I felt lighter than before. Having confirmation about the kind of world I was in was better than being in the dark.
But this wasn't going to be easy, was it?
I was in a Xianxia world—a Chinese-style fantasy about immortality. And they never made sense power-wise. So many stories just threw in random rules or plot holes.
I shook my head, trying to stay positive.
Stupid main characters who acted like geniuses by stating the obvious.
Villains who were evil for no reason—or stupid just to make the MC look good.
I couldn't stand that kind of writing.
But this was my life now.
Maybe it would be different this time.
Maybe this world would make sense.
I had to stay positive.
Gently slapping both sides of my face, I decided to make a plan instead of worrying about what I couldn't control.
First, figure out what words matched English.
Second, check if this kid had anything valuable before I took over.
Third, find a job or something to survive.
Then I remembered—I hadn't checked the second tab.
Quickly switching to it, new text began to appear.
A/N
Honestly, this needs a lot of polishing. I mean, the main question I was trying to figure out was what would a normal person focus on, and how would they survive their first few challenges:
• Being in a new body
• Having new memories forced upon you
• Mental health before crossing
Now, I believe nothing would change because the body itself wouldn't know any difference, due to the fact your self-consciousness is actually moving. Since everything for the body you're taking over is the same, there wouldn't really be a difference.
Now, the second challenge is going to be a problem because I believe your brain would simply be overloading, as it's prioritizing your original memories. So basically, you're in a semi-hyperthyroidism process.
The final one is more complicated because it affects how you would handle the situation. If you could pass the first two challenges without breaking down, then there's the question of your beliefs, religion, and family ties.
In all, I believe no normal person can handle this process.
But — and that's a big but — I feel the majority of people would try to switch in too many different ways to try and run from the situation.
Like I did above — basically never letting my main character focus on a topic and constantly trying to switch topics.