Chapter 1: Realization

Rowan blinked, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling above him. Excitement bubbled up inside him.

'Finally! A lucid dream!'

For days, he had tried to enter a lucid dream without success. But now, he was here, unexpectedly.

He sat up, curiosity pulling his gaze around the room. He scrutinized every detail, eager to see how vivid his dream would be.

'Ancient?' he murmured. 'Is this from a story I've read or watched, or something my mind made up?'

Lamps flickered softly around the room, casting a warm glow. A booklet with what looked like Chinese characters lay on a nearby table. The bed beneath him was adorned with luxurious silk, and the bed frame seemed crafted with meticulous care. The room, though larger than his own modest one back home, was still intimate, around 4 by 5 meters.

"Oh, yeah!"

He sprang to his feet and twirled in place, recalling that spinning could help prolong a lucid dream. After three spins, he steadied himself and headed for the mirror he had noticed earlier. He had read warnings about looking into mirrors in lucid dreams, but his curiosity was stronger than his caution.

The mirror's reflection was astonishingly clear, better than any mirror he had ever used. Strange, considering this seemed to be an ancient setting. But then again, anything was possible in a dream.

The reflection staring back at him wasn't his own. A child of about 4 or 5 years old with long blue hair and striking eyebrows gazed at him. Rowan's eyes widened.

'Cute,' he muttered, striking a few poses. 'But not as cute as I was as a kid.'

A flicker of recognition tugged at his memory. He searched his thoughts until it clicked.

'Isn't this… that minor villain from "Tales of Demons and Gods"?'

Unease crept over him. Could it be? He tried to will himself into flying, but his feet stayed planted on the ground. He attempted to change his appearance, but nothing shifted. Pinching himself awake proved futile.

His heart raced with each failed attempt. The truth settled over him like a heavy cloak.

'I'm not dreaming. This might actually be a transmigration,' he whispered, staring at his small hands in disbelief.

Transmigration had been a dream of his during his teenage years and young adulthood. But as he grew older, he realized how much he valued the real world and the people he loved, especially his mother who was nearing seventy. He didn't want to lose her and had even planned to work from home to spend more time with her.

Regret gnawed at him. Mistakes made during dark times flashed through his mind. He had so much he wanted to make up for, so many apologies left unsaid.

Hooooooooo

Rowan took deep breaths, trying to calm his surging emotions.

'I may still be able to go back,' he thought, recalling the Temporal Demon Spirit Book from the story. It had the power to manipulate time and space. 'If I can get my hands on it, maybe I can return home. Maybe even grant my mom immortality…'

His breath quickened before he forced himself to slow down. He needed to think clearly. First, he had to survive in this world. Glory City, the Sacred Family, the Dark Guild, Nie Li, and the Sage Emperor—all were threats he had to navigate.

'One last confirmation,' he decided.

He walked to the window and peered outside. The sight of the courtyard came into view. Guards standing by the entrance to his courtyard, and servants who bustled about their duties. The entire view shaded by the gentle morning glow of the sun hiding behind the rocky mountains.

Returning to the bed, he pondered his greatest concern.

'Where's my golden finger? Did it get lost on the way?'

Just as panic began to set in, a stream of memories—not his own—flooded his mind. They belonged to the young Shen Yue. Surprisingly, there was no pain or identity crisis. The memories felt natural, as if they had always been there.

'Whew, that was convenient,' he sighed in relief. Pain was not something he wanted to deal with.

'System.' Nothing.

'Status.' No panels appeared.

'Golden finger.' Again, nothing.

'God?' No answer.

He tried different keywords and phrases, even whispering them. But nothing happened. Desperation pushed him to say them out loud, but still, nothing.

'What kind of bullsh*t is this?'