It was clearly the sweltering height of summer. Yet inside and outside the house, all was utterly silent—so still it seemed no living creature stirred.
Yu Sangsang lay quietly by the window, gazing out at a view that felt both familiar and strange.
Familiar, because in her “memories,” this place had long become routine. After all, she had lived here for fourteen full years.
Strange, because for someone who had once been a diligent modern office worker—who opened her eyes only to find herself inhabiting the body of an unfamiliar young girl—the sight of ancient pavilions and towers, the aura of spiritual light, and the supernatural phenomena that defied science yet brimmed with the flavor of cultivation… all of it was profoundly alien compared to the skyscrapers she had known.
Just now, she watched solemn stone tablets hovering in the sky, turning soundlessly as they glowed with spiritual radiance—mystical artifacts that radiated awe and restraint. Towering pines pierced the clouds. She drew a slow breath, and even her restless heart seemed to quiet, subdued by the environment.
Silence, she realized, was not necessarily a bad thing. It gave her space to sort through what had happened. She was a transmigrant—there was no doubt. Her memories of modern life remained vivid. And she had only been in this body for three days.
Three days sounded brief. Yet for this body—belonging to a girl named Yu Xian’er, seventeen years old—the memories Sangsang had to absorb were pitifully few. After all, ever since being banished to this desolate imperial mausoleum fourteen years ago, forbidden from leaving or contacting the outside world, what memories could there be?
Her gaze lowered to the frail, slender frame she now inhabited. Then she turned toward the dressing table, where a single silver mirror gleamed—the only object of any real value in the room.
The reflection revealed a delicate, beautiful face. Like a blossom mirrored in water, her features shone with youthful innocence, untouched by the world, nurtured in solitude. Though her figure seemed fragile, her beauty was undeniable—radiant enough to brighten the plain little room.
She was, without question, a strikingly beautiful girl. So beautiful that Sang‑sang, staring at her own reflection, felt a pang of recognition. In truth, she had noticed it the very first day she opened her eyes in this body. Not just familiar—this was a face she herself had once crafted!
Yes, what shocked Yu Sangsang wasn’t merely the fact of transmigration, nor the fantastical trappings of a xianxia world. What truly stunned her was that the reflection in the mirror looked exactly like her old game avatar.
Back then, she had played an online game called *Immortals and Demons*. And this face—this delicate, beautiful face—was the very character she had designed. The thought made her feelings even more tangled.
The good news: perhaps because transmigration itself was already so absurd, it wasn’t too much to ask that something even more absurd had happened—she had crossed over carrying her game character with her.
To level faster, she had splurged on upgrades, maxing out every stat. This body was the very picture of a prodigy destined for cultivation.
Even now, confused and stranded in the imperial mausoleum where spiritual energy was scarce, without even a beginner’s cultivation manual, she could feel qi flowing into her with every breath. Her body gathered the aura of heaven and earth, blending seamlessly with her surroundings. Though still a mortal girl who had yet to step onto the path of immortality, she felt in harmony with all things. It sounded beautiful. But the depressing part was—this was a *small account*. Level 0. Everything had to start over from scratch.
She glanced down at her pale, frail arms, recalling the harsh environment she now inhabited. Even knowing she was lucky to have a maxed‑out physique, she couldn’t help but miss her other avatar—the full‑level demon clan powerhouse who once dominated the game.
Because she had been max level for so long, invincible and alone, she had created this second account: a human character devoted to cultivation, not demonic arts, so she could experience the other storyline.
To avoid scaring off other players—who would flee shouting “The Demon King has returned!”—she had designed this avatar to be gentle, pure, and beautiful. A character that looked wholesome at a glance, impossible to mistake for anything but human.
But if she had known transmigration would let her carry over a game character, Yu Sangsang thought, perhaps being a world‑shaking demon queen wouldn’t have been so bad either.
After all, survival mattered more than appearances.
It wasn’t that she wanted to sigh like this—but the current situation was truly giving her headaches. Troubles loomed everywhere.
Like now, in this body named Yu Xian’er. She was a princess of the realm. Her father was the sovereign of the Dayu dynasty; her mother, born to a prestigious immortal clan with roots stretching back to antiquity, was the cherished daughter of a great sect. From birth, Yu Xian’er had been the focus of admiration, destined to shine. A child of such lineage should have been a true daughter of heaven—treasured in the palms of her elders, nurtured without worry, free to cultivate, to grow, and in the end to attain immortality, living proudly beneath heaven’s gaze.
That was how her life ought to have been.
That was the happiness she should have known.
Yet in truth, she was imprisoned within the imperial mausoleum of Dayu, forbidden to take even a single step beyond its bounds.
The one who confined her, who cast her out from the splendor of the palace into this desolate place where few dared tread, who erased her presence from the world until scarcely anyone remembered her—was none other than her exalted father, the sovereign himself.
After her mother’s death, the child learned early what it meant for a face to change. The day before, her father had smiled gently at her. But the moment her mother breathed her last, he seemed relieved, and his gaze turned cold. Looking at the bewildered child sitting by her mother’s side, he waved his hand and said lightly: “I don’t want to see her again.”
With that single sentence, the entire palace understood: this princess of noble blood, heir to an immortal lineage, had fallen from favor. She was driven in disgrace to the mausoleum. Even the attendants assigned to her were those without connections, or those already out of favor with the sovereign—unlucky souls sent to waste away at her side.
This was the situation Yu Sangsang awoke to.
The girl named Yu Xian’er had not been injured, nor was she ill. She had simply gone to sleep as usual. And when her eyes opened again, she was Yu Sangsang.
There was no resistance in the body, no rejection of a foreign soul. Yu Xian’er’s spirit had vanished without a trace, leaving behind no attachment to the world.
Yu Sangsang found it strange.
Why did this new body’s face so closely resemble the avatar she had once designed in a game? And why did Yu Xian’er’s memories feel so familiar, as though she had heard them somewhere before?
That sense of familiarity made her suspect a deeper connection. She tried to think, slapped her forehead in frustration—and winced. This was no game avatar immune to pain, but a real body of flesh and blood. Of course it hurt.
She whimpered softly, curling into the chair, her delicate frame fully under her control—as though this body had always been hers. And then she felt it: someone was approaching outside the window.
It was a subtle, mysterious sensation. Though she had not looked out, the wind and the world around her seemed to whisper: someone was drawing near. This, perhaps, was the “benefit” of carrying over max‑level game stats.
She had chosen the human race, chosen the bloodline of cultivation—beloved by heaven and earth. Everything resonated with spiritual energy; even the presence of another person could stir the world to respond, sometimes clearly, sometimes faintly.
Yu Sangsang leaned forward.
Outside, in the silent jade courtyard, an old man in plain cloth shuffled in, muttering under his breath, head ducked, shoulders hunched. When his eyes met hers, his wrinkled face quickly twisted into a servile smile.
Yu Sangsang: …
If she hadn’t known that this old fellow had been secretly bribing the mausoleum guards, hoping to be transferred out of this barren posting where there was nothing to gain, she might almost have believed he was a loyal, devoted servant.
But thinking about it, the old man was pitiful too. Once, he had wielded great influence in the Dayu court, trusted by the previous sovereign—Yu Xian’er’s grandfather—and had overseen the entire palace. Perhaps this was one of the “perks” of carrying over max‑level game stats. In the blink of an eye, the former sovereign had fallen gravely wounded and passed away. The old steward, no longer favored by the heir, was dismissed with a casual, “With you here, I’m at ease,” and sent off to watch over a disgraced princess who could offer him no benefit at all. How could one not call that miserable? From Grand Steward of the palace to caretaker of the mausoleum—the fall was steep indeed. Just look at him now, dressed only in coarse cloth, without a trace of silk or brocade. That alone told the story of his bitter decline.
Thinking of this, the princess—raised with traditional virtues—decided to show him a little kindness. She smiled and greeted him: “Old Wang, have you eaten?”
The old man, bowing and scraping, his face full of flattery, fell silent for a moment. It felt as though he suspected some trick. But he still forced out a humbler smile, shuffled closer to the window, and said ingratiatingly: “Thank you for your concern. All is well… yes, I’ve eaten.” As he spoke, he fumbled in his patched pocket and drew out a crystal sphere the size of a sparrow’s egg. It gleamed with spiritual energy, translucent yet mist‑shrouded, filled with swirling white fog that lent it an air of mystery.
“Take a look—pretty, isn’t it?” The old man, who never dared call her “Princess” and at most addressed her respectfully as “you,” spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “Something to amuse you. Think of it as this old servant’s devotion… please, take it!”
Without waiting for her reply, his trembling hand pushed the sphere toward Yu Sangsang, his expression expectant.
Yu Sangsang smiled back, though the corner of her mouth twitched.
Games do broaden one’s horizons, after all. This crystal ball looked awfully familiar. Wasn’t this the very item from the game, used to identify whether NPCs had been possessed, helping players untangle the main storyline? Good heavens—she could only exclaim *good heavens*!
In the game, she had often used this tool to test NPCs. And once she discovered who had been possessed, she would gleefully swing her forty‑meter blade down upon them. The thrill of cutting down NPCs had been unmatched. But now… was *she* about to be “identified”?