Chapter 3: The Boy in the Pink Fluid (Part 1)
Thud… drip… hiss…
The wood had the breathing of a half living being. There were thick green leaves and leaves that bore mist, and these strange blue birds that were murmuring somewhere above the fog. Fallen branches were overbrushing cold breeze, with the aroma of wet moss and metal in it.
Then, crackle.
There was a slight sparkling through the trees. The roots were oozing pink liquid that shone in the early morning light. There was a boy who lay there, naked, the body smeared with that funny sticky stuff. His chest heaved feebly, his breath was disjointed.
"Hhhh... ahhh..." And his voice was coarse and untried.
The world was too bright when he opened his eyes. He blinked a few times. He could recall no history, no name, no kin. Nothing. His mind was a blank sheet. But something kept on rushing through him like a runaway code.
He looked at the trees. Identified species: Quercus spiritis.
He looked at the soil. Mineral composition: 32%. 14% spiritual residue.
He looked at himself. Form: man, about sixteen years, healthy, no aberrations.
He froze, confused. "W-what... hmmm..." He made attempts to make words, but they were strange.
His eyes lowered to his naked breast. He followed his ribs with his fingers. He was familiar with all the names clavicle, sternum, pectoral. His brain echoed them like information on a screen. It was all... working... I muttered, he said... staring lower. Hmph."
The lad laughed at himself in an entropy fashion. Then he himself saw his image in a piece of torn glass with the ferns. It was a sharp but unknown face, with dark eyes, and a messy head of black hair, dripping on to the pink goo.
"Hmm... not too bad," he murmured. Not many changes... and I would be ideal.
He pushed himself up — thud — feet sinking into the wet grass. Around him were pieces of broken glass, strange metal tubes, and faint trails of steam. The pink liquid around them pulsed like veins. He didn't know what it was, yet his mind already understood too much — formulas, functions, structures — all of it came naturally, like remembering a dream you didn't live.
He frowned. "Why do I know all this?"
He walked slowly in a circle, the mud squelching under his feet. Every sound — crunch, hiss, pop — felt too sharp. Every smell too detailed. It was like his mind had been built to notice everything.
Then the real confusion began.
He thought of words like reincarnation, rebirth, isekai, transmigration. He didn't know where they came from, yet they floated in his brain like familiar songs. "So… did I die? Was I reborn? Where's my system?" He looked around as if expecting something to appear in front of him.
Nothing.
"Hmmph… figures," he muttered, half annoyed.
His brain tried to reason scientifically. "If this is a new reality, I must adapt. Test my surroundings. Observe." He looked up — tall trees, thick fog, no sign of civilization. "So this is… the Spirit Dynasty? Or… whatever world this is."
He felt a strange pull deep in his chest, like energy waiting to move. It wasn't blood or air. It was something else — something glowing inside. He pressed his hand against his chest. "Energy detected… composition unknown…"
Then the air shifted.
A faint mist began crawling through the forest floor. It thickened fast, swallowing trees, smothering light. The boy's eyes darted around. "What's this?"
The fog wrapped around him — hissss — cold and heavy. He coughed, waving his hands. "Visibility reduced… fifty percent… hhh." His mind was analyzing even as fear crept in.
From inside the fog, something clicked. Metal.
He turned his head sharply. "Who's there?"
A whisper cut through the air. Then—wham!
Something hard slammed into his skull. He gasped, staggering. His eyes widened as he saw it — the handle of a sword, dripping with condensation, right before darkness swallowed him.
"Ugh—ahh…"
Before he fell, he heard a voice — rough and annoyed. "This mist skill is really useful for catching perverts wandering naked in the forest."
The words weren't English. They weren't even close. Yet he understood them perfectly.
He tried to respond, but his tongue felt heavy. "I'm… not…"
Then the world went black.
CHAPTER 2 — THE BOY IN THE PINK FLUID (Part 2
Drip… clatter… thud.
The sound of wheels bumping over wet ground dragged him back from darkness. His head throbbed. Hnnng… He opened his eyes slowly. The ceiling above was wood—rough, damp, moving.
He tried to sit up. Clink. Chains tugged against his wrists. "Tch…" His voice came out hoarse.
He was lying in a small iron-bar cell built inside a moving carriage. The space smelled of wet hay, sweat, and rust. Rain pattered on the roof in uneven beats—tap-tap-tap-tap.
He looked down. A torn gray robe clung to his skin. "Huh… not naked anymore. Someone's idea of mercy."
He listened—really listened. The horses ahead snorted every few seconds. The wheels hit stones in an irregular rhythm. Ka-thunk… ka-thunk. Beyond that, faint rustling of trees brushing against the carriage walls.
His brain started crunching numbers on its own.
Sound delay from hooves to echo—less than a second. That meant tall trees on both sides.
Raindrop angle—thirty degrees. Wind from the east.
Ground vibration—uneven. Probably a dirt road.
Conclusion: forest terrain, night, light rainfall, three horses, two drivers.
He blinked. "Hmmm… why do I even know this?"
A voice came from the next cell. "Hey! You're awake!"
The boy turned. A round-faced guy sat cross-legged behind the bars, grinning through the dim light. "Name's Bao Zi. What's yours?"
The boy frowned. The words reached him clearly, but something inside twisted. Processing language pattern… tonal shifts… grammar set. In less than a breath, he understood.
"Bao Zi," he repeated softly. Then his thoughts tangled. Bao… bomb? Explosive? Is he going to explode? Wait—what's a bomb? His brain flashed with images of metal shells and fire. Then another thought slid in—What's a god? Is that edible?
Instantly, information poured into him—definitions, myths, stories about gods from hundreds of worlds. His eyes widened. "Ahh…"
Bao Zi squinted.
"Uh... you okay there, friend?"
The boy remained silent and still processing. he remained silent until Bao Zi leaned over.
"Do... you... understand... me?" he spoke gradually, separating his words.
The boy blinked twice.
"Yes. I... understand."
"Good! Then what's your name?" Bao Zi smiled, and a prisoner is too proud to smile too much.
The boy hesitated. No name came to mind. He did turn word after word, sound and meaning, until one word was right. Yin Zhe.
He lifted his chin.
"My name is Yin Zhe."
Bao Zi nodded.
"Weird name, but suits you."
"Hmph." Yin Zhe gave a faint, dry laugh.
"Thanks."
Then it happened. Ding!
There flashed before his eyes a light, transparent and floating. A blue square with flaming symbols was floating in the air. He jerked back. Thud! The chains rattled.
"What the--hissss--what is that?"
Everywhere he went the square trailed him. As words crossed it his eyes enlarged:
[Welcome, Host. Initialization of the system is finished.
[Naming Checked: Yin Zhe].
[Loading Core Protocol 0.1 - Adaptive Evolution Interface.
It is real, it is real... the system is real.
Bao Zi blinked.
"What system? You hit your head too hard?"
Yin Zhe looked up at him in surprise.
"You don't see it?"
"See what?"
"The screen... right here!"
Bao Zi looked at the air between them.
Brother, there is nothing there. Just wood and your face all twisted to the ugly.
"Hmmm..." Yin Zhe made a sigh, trying to restrain himself. The panel that was glowing still remained silent. He studied the letters. They appeared very old, but his brain knew them immediately.
Another line appeared:
[Congratulations to Host Yin Zhe. System bound successfully.]