The evening was completely ordinary.
The kind of evening not worth remembering.
The road was crowded—engines roaring, voices overlapping, everyone tangled in their own small worlds. Fang Yi Fan was walking among them. Not fast. Not slow. Just walking. His steps were steady, yet somewhere inside him lingered a strange emptiness, as if he belonged to this world and yet no longer did.
He didn't think of himself as weak.
And yet, everywhere he went, he was made to feel exactly that.
He stopped for a moment—just to breathe.
That was when the pressure bloomed in his chest. Not sharp, but heavy enough. Air went in, but never quite came back out fully. His mind remained clear, eerily so, while his body felt as if it were quietly retreating from him.
Fang Yi Fan wanted to sit down.
His legs gave way.
The world didn't blur—it simply drifted farther and farther away.
His final thought was painfully straightforward:
If I end here… will anything change?*
The answer came on its own.
No.
After that, there was nothing.
---
When he could *feel* again, he wasn't falling.
He was sitting.
There was no ground beneath him. No chair.
Just the sensation of sitting.
His limbs had no weight. Breathing was unnecessary. And strangest of all—there was no fear. It was as if the very concept of panic had been pushed somewhere far away.
Fang Yi Fan opened his eyes—or perhaps he didn't—but what lay before him was no room.
It was a **void**.
Yet not empty.
Within deep black-purple darkness, golden mist drifted slowly. Below, crimson movements pulsed faintly, like shadows breathing. Above, a soft white glow lingered—not bright, just calm.
Everything was smooth.
Beautiful.
Without sharp edges.
Only then did Fang Yi Fan become aware of himself.
He had no shape. No skin, no flesh, no shadow. He simply **existed**—as though his consciousness itself had become his body.
A void body.
No hunger.
No pain.
No exhaustion.
And yet, he was fully present.
Then the atmosphere changed.
No figure appeared.
No face revealed itself.
But the pressure increased slightly—as if the void itself had grown serious.
A voice echoed. From everywhere. From nowhere.
"You are dead."
No sorrow.
No sympathy.
"And you have been brought here."
Fang Yi Fan wanted to speak, but the idea of sound was meaningless here. The voice continued.
"I will not explain the rules."
"I will not guide you."
A brief pause—almost as if it were observing whether he understood.
"I will only give you a choice."
The light within the void deepened.
"Three."
No more.
No less.
At that moment, something stirred within the void. There was no screen, no panel—reality itself seemed to write.
A neutral, emotionless presence spoke:
"Primordial Origin System: Activated."
"Body Type: Void Body."
It wasn't offering help.
It was merely recording.
The voice fell silent.
So did the system.
Everything waited for Fang Yi Fan.
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't overthink.
He spoke plainly.
"I want a strong clan background."
"I want attractive looks."
"And I want my Void Body to remain compatible with this system."
The void did not tremble.
No dramatic reaction followed.
Only acceptance.
The system's voice responded, one line at a time:
"Clan Background: Confirmed."
"Appearance: Optimized."
"Void Body: Compatible."
The voice spoke again—calm as before.
"That is all."
There was a trace of curiosity in its tone. Not more. Not less.
"Now let us see…"
"what you will do with these choices."
The void slowly folded in on itself. Golden and crimson hues receded. The system fell completely silent.
Fang Yi Fan felt himself moving—
toward another world.
And from that moment on,
his story **truly began**