For a long second after the ceremony, nobody spoke.
The instructor was still blinking at me like I'd just pulled a spirit beast out of a hat. The other kids stared like I'd grown a second head — or worse, like I'd stolen their protagonist slot.
I smiled awkwardly. "Sooo… do I still get the complimentary breakfast, or—?"
"Ah–uh, yes, yes! Congratulations, young one!" the teacher finally sputtered, looking as if he'd just witnessed divine nonsense. "You have… a very rare martial soul indeed. You may go rest, Lin Xieren."
Rest sounded good. My brain needed it.
———
The village was small, tucked between rolling green hills and a sluggish river that glowed orange under sunset. Most kids were still buzzing, comparing martial souls — there was a Firefly Lantern, a Bronze Shield, even a Tiny Hoe (the poor kid looked devastated).
Me? I was walking around with an ancient magical e-book floating beside me.
"Okay," I muttered under my breath, ducking behind a shed, "let's see what you are, you creepy piece of stationery."
The book obeyed my thought, hovering closer. Its leather cover gleamed faintly like oil on water, and golden text shimmered across it again:
[Living Record Active.]
[Awaiting input.]
"Input… what, like a command? Okay. Uh–status?"
[Name: Lin Xieren]
[Spirit: The Living Record]
[Spirit Rank: 10 — Innate Full Spirit Power]
[Available Spirit Rings: 0]
[Ink Capacity: 1%]
"Ink capacity?" I repeated. "What am I, a printer?"
The book pulsed once, as if offended.
[Ink serves as a medium for recording reality.]
[Please refrain from sarcasm. It affects formatting.]
I choked on air. "It talks back!?"
The golden letters rearranged like they were shrugging.
[It is called a Living Record, not a Silent Record.]
"Oh great," I muttered, rubbing my temples, "I reincarnated into Douluo Dalu with a snarky notebook."
Still… curiosity won. "Fine, let's experiment. Record something. Uh—record… rock!"
The book's pages flipped open. A faint shimmer appeared in front of me, and a small gray stone lifted off the ground, its image imprinting faintly on a blank page.
[Object recorded.]
[Basic replication available: cost 0.5% Ink.]
"Wait. Replication?"
The air rippled — and suddenly, another rock popped into existence beside the first one.
I froze. Then grinned. "Okay, that's actually really cool."
[Please do not abuse duplication for economic manipulation.]
"…I was totally not planning to open a rock-selling business," I lied.
[Lying detected.]
I slapped the cover shut. "Shut up!"
———
Over the next hour, I tested everything I could think of.
The Living Record could "record" anything within arm's reach — a leaf, a stick, a small fish that I deeply regretted touching — and then create a temporary copy out of thin air. The replicas faded after a few minutes, but still…
A martial soul that could rewrite reality in snapshots?
That wasn't just powerful — it was dangerously open-ended.
And I had only one percent "Ink."
Whatever that meant.
When the last sliver of golden light dimmed, the Book drifted to my side and closed itself with a soft thump.
[Ink depleted.]
[Entering standby mode.]
"Great," I sighed, flopping onto the grass. "Guess even magical grimoires need nap time."
The twilight wind brushed against my face. The air here felt alive — like every breath carried the hum of Spirit Energy.
I stared up at the sky, watching faint spirit lights flicker above the forest's edge. Somewhere out there, spirit beasts were lurking, each one a walking death flag.
"Alright," I whispered to myself. "So I've got a talking book that copies rocks, a weird power system to figure out, and I'm six years old. Perfect."
The Book, though dormant, flickered once. Just once.
[Correction: five years, eight months, seventeen days.]
I groaned. "You are listening in your sleep."
[Always.]
"Creepy."
[Accurate.]
Despite myself, I laughed. "You're impossible."
But as I lay there, the last light fading into night, something faint glimmered across the Book's cover — a sigil I hadn't noticed before. A quill, crossed with a sword.
It vanished before I could touch it.
I didn't know it yet, but that symbol would return again — the mark of the first spirit beast my Book ever recorded.
The first true page in my rewritten story.