Chapter One: Adventure

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Year 638 of the Great Liang, fourth month.

Back kitchen of Clear Breeze Monastery, Qingshan County.

Sitting at a long wooden table, Chen Mu took a bite of the coarse vegetable flatbread, its rough texture making him grimace involuntarily.

He did not belong to this world.

In his previous life, he was just an ordinary, socially anxious shut-in. One sleep later, he awoke in a different body, in a different place, possessing another’s form and soul.

His predecessor’s name was also Chen Mu, a poor scholar who made a living by writing and drawing portraits.

This was not his home—his real home was in Qingshan County, at the foot of the mountain.

He had come to Clear Breeze Monastery to copy scriptures for money.

His predecessor had been here two days; for some unknown reason, after a night’s sleep, his consciousness vanished, and now Chen Mu had taken over the body.

“Chengming, your master isn’t back yet?” A Daoist priest, over fifty years old, chatted as he scrubbed bowls.

The man’s surname was He, the temple’s firekeeper.

Upon hearing the question, the eight- or nine-year-old Daoist novice beside Chen Mu puffed out his cheeks and mumbled, “Not yet.”

“Heh, seems that soul-possessing evil spirit is rather fierce.” Daoist He squinted at Chen Mu.

Chen Mu: “…”

“Do you know, they say the one possessed this time was a poor scholar. Woke up and seemed like an entirely different person—couldn’t write properly, spoke oddly, didn’t recognize a soul in the village, and that’s how his neighbors caught on.” Daoist He lowered his voice, speaking conspiratorially to Chen Mu, his face full of meaning.

Chen Mu: “…” Why are you telling me this? I don’t want to hear it!

Forcing a polite but stiff smile, Chen Mu tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“My master is the best!” Chengming swallowed his mouthful of flatbread and declared proudly.

“That’s true. No matter how fierce the evil spirit, it’s nothing a good fire can’t solve. Don’t you think?” Daoist He raised an eyebrow at Chen Mu, speaking with a relaxed air.

Chen Mu: “…” Could it be I’ve just arrived and they’ve already discovered me?!

He glanced at the young novice—yes, that one would be easy to handle.

Then he looked at the short, stocky firekeeper—no, that one he definitely couldn’t beat!

Just as he considered whether he should grab his things and run, Daoist He bent his head back to his bowls.

Chen Mu let out a breath.

But what exactly is an evil spirit?

A surge of unfamiliar memories surfaced.

In this world, tales of gods and ghosts had existed since ancient times, stories his predecessor had grown up hearing. All around, there were always strange incidents known as “evil spirit events.”

Some died inexplicably, some vanished without a trace, some became so changed in temperament they no longer recognized their own kin.

All these unexplainable, incomprehensible occurrences were attributed to evil spirits.

Such things were not rare in the Great Liang. In fact, the government had officials specifically tasked with handling such cases.

And as for those whose temperament had utterly changed, suspected of being possessed, the solution was indeed a simple one—burn them alive.

“I absolutely cannot let anyone discover I have a new soul inside!” Chen Mu thought fiercely as he bit into the hard, dry flatbread.

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Clear Breeze Monastery Library.

Having sent away Chengming, the young novice who guided him, Chen Mu stared gloomily at the Daoist scriptures on the desk.

Different world, different language and script.

If not for inheriting his predecessor’s memories, he wouldn’t even recognize the characters!

“Maybe I’ve inherited his calligraphy skills too? From the memories, brush writing doesn’t seem too hard.”

With a glimmer of hope, Chen Mu picked up a brush, dipped it in ink, and boldly wrote three large characters—Origin Scripture.

He looked at the square, upright characters, and his face fell.

The writing looked decent, but compared to his predecessor’s hand, it was off by several years of experience.

Anyone with a discerning eye would notice the difference at once.

Drastically changed handwriting, suspicious behavior, soul possession… Why did that sound so familiar?

If he were truly deemed possessed by an evil spirit, wouldn’t he be doomed?

Chen Mu glanced at his right wrist.

Should he perhaps injure himself?

Memories surfaced of those burned alive for being possessed, and he shivered.

“I don’t want to be burned to death!”

“If I fell at just the right angle, landing with my palm in a defensive posture, the cartilage in my wrist would bruise easily.”

“A wrist injury would explain the change in handwriting,” Chen Mu mused.

“To be safe, maybe I should just break my arm outright!” he thought grimly.

Just as he prepared to leave, planning to find a suitable spot to stage a dramatic fall, his vision suddenly blurred.

A semi-transparent gray wall appeared before his eyes.

On reflex, Chen Mu reached out to touch it—his hands passed straight through.

What in the world…?

It took him a long moment to realize that the massive, iron-gray wall before him wasn’t real, but an image projected directly onto his retina.

A traveler’s gift?

Carefully studying it, he indeed saw a row of bold, chiseled characters at the bottom.

They stood out crisply from the wall, full of ancient, enduring force.

Calligraphy: 7136/10000/First Level.

A golden finger!

Excellent!

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Chen Mu quickly accepted the existence of the gray wall.

He had crossed to another world—wasn’t a golden finger perfectly reasonable?

As for whether there was some mastermind behind all this, he couldn’t care less.

In his previous life, he was an unremarkable recluse.

Now, he had traversed worlds and been given a golden finger.

If it meant he could open his heart, live without restraint, and charge ahead into a new world—so what if it was all a scheme? He would embrace it gladly.

This would be a heartfelt and grand adventure!

The golden finger was easy to understand, something like the proficiency system of a third-rate online game.

Whenever he wished, the gray wall would appear before his eyes.

And since it was semi-transparent, it was like wearing colored glasses—it didn’t affect his view of the world at all.

Chen Mu pondered for a moment, picked up the brush, and casually wrote three characters.

The numbers on the gray wall did not change.

Thoughtfully, he picked up the brush again. This time, he focused intently, writing each stroke with care, analyzing the structure of every character as he went.

He constantly compared and refined his writing against the memory of his predecessor’s script.

Then something magical occurred.

A faint, subtle enlightenment welled up from his heart, allowing him to clearly sense the differences from his predecessor’s handwriting—showing him precisely how to improve, even how to surpass his predecessor altogether.

“Serious practice raises proficiency, and proficiency brings real insight, making you truly better.”

Chen Mu couldn’t help but grin broadly.

With proficiency, what was there to fear?

A drastic change in handwriting being noticed? Impossible.

It was just a matter of hard work.

Chen Mu unfolded the original scripture, set out some previous copies as camouflage, put away the white paper and brush he used for copying, and took out a new brush for water practice.

He didn’t know how long it would take to reach his predecessor’s skill.

Using ink and paper directly would waste too much material—and leave behind evidence of practice.

Practicing with water was much better; once wiped clean, nothing remained.