[Transmigrated as a Weak and Sick Young Master]
“Lu Ting’an, help me find my eyes. I can’t see.”
A strange voice drifted from behind him, clearly calling out his name.
Lu Ting’an felt his consciousness slipping into a haze. Half-struggling, half-compliant, he turned his head, only to find a face suddenly looming large right in front of him. It was a floating woman. Her skin was a deathly, bloodless white; her eye sockets were hollow pits where shredded tendons clung to raw flesh, and dried bloodstains streaked down the corners of her eyes.
‘A ghost!!’
His heart skipped a beat. Lu Ting’an lurched back two steps in a frantic stumble.
Reacting with lightning speed, his blood seemed to surge into his feet in an instant as he spun around and bolted. In horror movies, the first to die are always the ones who stand frozen or whose legs turn to jelly, leaving them sitting in their own mess. But Lu Ting’an? He was a “King of the Haunted House” who had once been relentlessly pursued by a dozen NPCs. There was no way he was going to stand around like an idiot waiting for death.
Behind him, the female ghost froze for two seconds before giving chase. She had no feet and glided with terrifying speed. Even though Lu Ting’an’s legs were moving fast enough to leave afterimages, he couldn’t widen the gap.
A cold hand clamped onto his shoulder, sharp nails grazing his carotid artery. Lu Ting’an’s scalp went numb. Just as he was about to catch her off guard with a shoulder throw, the ground beneath his feet vanished, and he plummeted.
“Ah!” A short, sharp cry escaped him.
That familiar sensation of weightlessness swept over him, and Lu Ting’an slowly opened his eyes in bed. There was none of the usual grogginess of one newly awakened. The ceiling, decorated in a luxurious, vintage style, was reflected in his eyes; the crystal chandelier swaying slightly in the breeze shattered the exhaustion and lingering tremors in his pupils.
Despite the early autumn weather, the thin quilt could not ward off the chill.
Lu Ting’an propped himself up. His temples throbbed with a needle-like pain, and the shrill screams of the ghost from his dream still echoed in his mind.
“Lu Ting’an, you can’t run! You’ll end up just like us—no, you’ll be even worse! One piece here, one piece there, with your lonely head hanging at the front door…”
The ghost’s malicious curse sent a fresh wave of goosebumps crawling up his neck.
He rubbed his skin vigorously, climbed out of bed, and shuffled toward the bathroom in his slippers. A face that was both familiar and strange soon appeared in the mirror.
Familiar, because the face shape and features were identical to his own, down to the exact position and size of the mole on his neck.
Strange, because this face still carried the lingering effeminacy of the original owner. His lips were an unhealthy red, and his eyelids were so thin the veins were visible. Due to chronic sleep deprivation, dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. Even though the “soul” inside had changed, the original owner’s dark, violent aura still bled through his expression.
That’s right—the original owner.
Lu Ting’an was not from this world.
Two days ago, he was a superstar streamer with tens of millions of followers. While attending an offline fan meeting, he saw a man from a distance beating and kicking his girlfriend. Without a second thought, he rushed over. Unexpectedly, his intervention enraged the man, who pulled a folding knife from his pocket and lunged straight for him.
In his idle time, Lu Ting’an had imagined his own death—perhaps it would be heroic, or perhaps peaceful. He never expected it would be so pathetic: having his throat slit by a nondescript man in front of tens of thousands of fans.
It hadn’t hurt much. Aside from the hot, wet sensation of blood spraying out, there was only darkness. More than death itself, what he couldn’t accept was that a handsome guy like him would now become a lifelong psychological scar for everyone present.
Perhaps Heaven saw his act of bravery; Lu Ting’an didn’t stay dead. Instead, he transmigrated into a book he’d read in high school, becoming a “weak and sickly young master” who shared his name.
The reason he remembered this high-school-bedtime-read so clearly was because it was a “dual-protagonist” crime thriller. “Lu Ting’an” wasn’t a major supporting character, let alone the lead. He was merely a “corpse-bro” in a dismemberment case.
The Lu Ting’an of the book was a famous second-generation rich kid in 90s Hong Kong. Not because the Lu family was world-class wealthy or because he was talented, but because he was a worthless, profligate playboy whose scandals were the talk of the city.
The author hadn’t written much about the original owner. All readers knew was that he was born frail, was loathed by the upper social circles for his attraction to men, and had grown mentally unstable due to years of nightmares, often lashing out at his attendants and servants.
Of course, these weren’t direct descriptions from the author, but rather the observations of bystanders after he was butchered and discarded by a serial killer. No one in Hong Kong mourned him; some even called the killer an urban hero, applauding him for “ridding the people of a pest.”
Years later, the two protagonists finally caught the serial killer. The culprit confessed to everything—except for the murder of Lu Ting’an. Thus, Lu Ting’an’s case became the only unsolved mystery in the entire book.
Waking up in the body of a sickly young master who didn’t even qualify as “cannon fodder” had left Lu Ting’an reeling.
Fortunately, he had a strong mental game and managed to comfort himself quickly. While the original owner’s life was indeed tragic, Lu Ting’an felt he was different. First off, he wasn’t gay and had zero interest in fitting into high society. Second, he considered himself emotionally stable—hardly the type to be so “dark” that the whole city hated him.
Initially, he didn’t even care about the original owner’s nightmares. He’d had a morbid curiosity since childhood and had seen dozens, if not hundreds, of horror movies. What kind of dream could possibly scare him?
However, after spending one night in the original owner’s body, Lu Ting’an had been scared out of his wits. He realized for the first time that a person could actually “run into ghosts” for an entire night. Compared to what he saw in his dreams, horror movies were child’s play.
Warm water flowed from the gold-plated faucet. Lu Ting’an cupped his overly thin, long fingers to splash water on his face, finally feeling the chill in his bones recede slightly.
…
Changing his clothes and heading downstairs, Lu Ting’an ran straight into Lu Chenhu—the original owner’s father—who had just opened the door to come home.
Lu Chenhu looked up and froze for a moment at the sight of his son dressed in a crisp, formal white shirt. He snapped out of it quickly, glaring toward the busy maids. “What are you all standing around for? Quickly, help the Young Master down the stairs!”
The maid he shouted at stiffened, her pretty face turning deathly pale in an instant.
Lu Ting’an looked down at her expression from the top of the stairs and sighed inwardly. It seemed the original owner had truly terrorized a lot of people; some turned white at the mere mention of his name.
He wasn’t used to strangers getting too close and waved them off. “If I need help just to walk down a flight of stairs, then even an Imperial Consort isn’t as precious as I am.”
“And why shouldn’t you be precious? You’re Lu Chenhu’s baby son—you’re a golden nugget, a jade treasure.” Lu Chenhu didn’t even bother changing his shoes before rushing to the foot of the stairs. “Has your memory failed along with your health? Did you forget about the last time you fell down the stairs? I’ve replaced several batches of servants just because of that.”
Lu Ting’an had never encountered a father who could spout such sappy, dramatic lines so effortlessly. Unsurprisingly, he felt a fresh wave of goosebumps.
“Young Master Lu, I have heard much about you.”
Fortunately, a strange voice cut in, sparing Lu Ting’an from further embarrassment.
“And you are?”
Only then did Lu Chenhu remember his guest. He made the introduction: “This is Daoist Master Cheng Xuan, from Tongluo Mountain.”
Daoist Cheng Xuan looked to be in his thirties, though his thick beard gave him a more weathered, mature appearance. He wore a navy-blue Daoist robe with a dark blue belt, from which hung a jujube-wood sword-nourishing gourd and two pure silver Qiankun rings [1]Yin-Yang Rings, also known as Qiankun Rings, are Daoist ritual implements and among the important religious practice tools in Daoism. They consist of two interlinked circular rings that can be … Continue reading jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_1641476_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_1641476_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });. Aside from a few yellow talismans peeking out, he didn’t carry many ritual tools. Whether it was a trick of the mind or not, when Cheng Xuan looked over, Lu Ting’an felt a rare, momentary lightness in his body.
Lu Chenhu looked tense. “Master, how is my son? Those dreams he has every day… is there a way to exorcise them?”
Cheng Xuan stared at Lu Ting’an intently for a full minute before finally uttering two words: “There isn’t.”
“Young Master Lu’s fate is truly peculiar. His horoscope is entirely Yin; he cannot suppress it. He was born to attract ‘unclean things.'” He scanned the various ornaments placed around the hall and nodded almost imperceptibly. “Boss Lu, you clearly know a few tricks yourself. If not for these guardian beasts stationed in the villa, I’m afraid the Young Master would have struggled to survive to this age.”
Lu Chenhu clearly had immense faith in Cheng Xuan; his face went white with fear. “Then is there anything that can change my son’s fate? I’ll pay any amount of money.”
Cheng Xuan shook his head helplessly. “A person’s fate is difficult to alter, let alone one with Four Pillars of Pure Yin. I have heard a bit about Young Master Lu’s conduct over the years. If he continues like this, I fear it will be difficult for him to survive the Great Calamity two years from now.”
Lu Chenhu’s vision went dark, and Lu Ting’an quickly steadied him. “What Great Calamity?”
Cheng Xuan’s gaze was heavy as he spoke, enunciating every word: “A fatal ordeal. One where his corpse will not remain intact.”
‘Not remain intact?’
Lu Ting’an was usually skeptical of the metaphysical, but he had to reconsider Cheng Xuan’s words. Didn’t the original owner die within the next two years? And he was dismembered. This man’s prediction was hauntingly accurate.
While Lu Ting’an had his head down in thought, Lu Chenhu had already seized Cheng Xuan like a drowning man clutching a straw, his eyes welling with tears. “He’s my only son. Master, you must save him.” Fearing a refusal, Lu Chenhu played the emotional card: “You’re the one I’ve trusted most all these years. If even you have no way, I might as well just die with him!”
Lu Ting’an: “…”
Tugged and pulled, Cheng Xuan let out a long, helpless sigh.
“Actually, there is one other way. Normally, when a person has heavy Yin energy, they bask in the sun—using the ‘Heavenly Yang’ to dispel the Yin. In the Young Master’s case, the sun is no longer enough. To mitigate this fatal ordeal, he can only use ‘Human Yang’.”
Lu Chenhu: “Human Yang? You mean—”
The Daoist Master remained silent.
However, Lu Chenhu had a sudden flash of “inspiration.” He clapped his hands in excitement. “Gathering Yang to supplement Yin, right? Ha! I knew my son didn’t like men just out of lust—he was clearly doing it for self-preservation!”
Daoist Cheng Xuan: “…”
Lu Ting’an: “…”
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