Chapter Text
Everything was fractured as if Shen Yuan was viewing it through a crystalline lens, colours overlapping and fractured. Things were clearly moving but his vision fractured as if someone had replaced his eyeballs with glass and then cracked them with a hammer and nail. Whilst he could still see the nausea inducing sight, of course. Not only did he have bile in his throat and a twist in his stomach, but he also had one of the worst migraines he’d ever had. It didn’t even compare to the one he got after trying new meds that one time that sent him on an acid trip. His body felt like nothing at all at the same time as he felt as if his bones had been replaced with lead. He could barely make out sounds, almost as if multiple people were trying to talk to him, but it was imperceptible through the ringing in his ears.
Really, what the hell had happened?! Last he remembered, he had been drugged to go through another of his shitty surgeries to try and slow down his eventual death from terminal illness. But even though he could barely make out his own thoughts at the moment - this was clearly not a hospital, or at least the hospital he was in before. He’d know, he spent at least half his life staring up into the hospital ceiling, and this was not it.
He wracked his migraine-filled brain, which went, as expected, horrible. Trying to remember anything felt as if someone was slamming the side of his head with a massive hammer and trying to move felt as if he was moving through really thick goo. Like he was there and also not at the same time. It felt like he was moving, being carried somewhere, at the same time as he felt stuck in one place. All he could really manage to figure out through the combined ringing in his ears and the senses-gone-to-shit-galore was a vague memory of finishing the last chapter of Proud Immortal Demon Way whilst waiting for his surgery and nearly having an aneurysm out of anger. Seriously, what the actual fuck was that ending????!!!! He’d spent at least three years of his life reading that shithole of a novel and the author just ends it like that. There were so, so, SO MANY PLOTHOLES and unresolved storylines, characters thrown to the wayside and the worst porn he’d had the displeasure of reading. Just thinking about it made the migraine that much worse.
If I wasn’t already barely conscious I'd probably faint from anger! AAAHHGGGHHH! Which was a really ironic thing to think considering in the next moment he did just that, fainted. Although it was probably from the migraine rather than anger, at least, that’s what he’d tell himself.
As he awoke again later, he felt a lot better. Still not great, obviously, because he couldn’t have a normal day in his life. Ugh. The ringing in his ears persisted and his head still hurt, but it wasn’t the ear-splitting headache he’d had before. He still saw things a little blurry, like looking through a fogged-up window, but now he at least didn't feel like vomiting just for trying to look around the room. And surprise, surprise, he wasn’t in the fucking hospital anymore. Instead he appeared to be in a place that looked really similar to what he’d imagine an expensive set for a historical drama to look like.
He laid in a bed which, judging by how comfortable he felt (even if his limbs still felt like jelly and he really wasn’t sure if he could move his fingers independently at the moment) was a vague western style mashed with traditional chinese bedframes, surrounded by gauzy canopies which partially concealed the rest of the room from view. Way to break the immersion with the first detail. Ugh. Anyway, the rest of the room was more like the traditional style he’d seen in museums the odd days his family allowed him out on outings; what appeared to be white-painted wooden walls with wood paneling and two paper windows with carefully carved wooden frames of twin dragons. A sliding screen he could just see through the edge of the canopy in the place of a door with a handle. A low coffee table with an elegant tea set and cushions to sit on instead of chairs sitting in the middle of the room and a low table he saw out of the corner of his eye as being next to the bed, holding up a polished bronze mirror. There were more details, obviously, but he couldn’t really make it out from the haze and the place where he laid. Although it did vaguely look like some sort of ink painting in the back there? He had no idea what it was portraying, really just looking like a fat ink blot, but it seemed to be a painting at least, if the frame around it was anything to go off of.
Didn’t really matter right now though. More pressing, where the fuck was he?! Did he get transported onto the set of a historical drama or something??? That didn't make sense though, aside from the obvious fact there was no logical explanation for why a film crew would just put a newly operated patient onto a historical drama set and then just leave - because there was absolutely no one he could see within the room - this was like, a proper room. Not like a set. It looked used like someone actually lived there, and, from where he laid at least, all the walls were proper and not just set up for filming or whatever. And if he squinted, that did look like sunlight filtering through the window.
Okay so, he’d gone through the logical process for why this was not a historical drama set. So like, where was he then??? This was the second most confusing thing he’d been through in his life, the first being when he took anesthesia for the first time and instead of falling asleep like he should, he ended up staying awake through the whole surgery and hallucinated rainbow frogs dancing on the ceiling. That was a weird trip. Anyway, this time he was pretty sure this wasn’t a hallucination. Which honestly made it even more confusing, really, this is probably more confusing than the dancing rainbow frogs thing now that he thought about it.
Agh! Why was he even thinking about this?! Oh right, he couldn’t move. Or at least he thought he couldn’t. Because every time he tried he didn’t really feel anything, nor did he see himself actually moving so he was pretty sure it didn’t work. Oh damn this really was like being under anesthesia, huh-
Just as he thought that, a bright blue screen suddenly decided to blast itself to life in front of his eyeballs. Making him wince at the bright light. Not that it really mattered since he soon got the information it probably contained blasted into his head as if someone had used Google Translate’s AI voice at full volume right next to his eardrums.
[System starting…]
[An error has occurred. An error has occurred. Planned host [Shen Qingqiu] not available.
Reroute…]
Wait, wait, wait WHAT?! WAIT A FUCKING SECOND. Did you say SHEN QINGQIU?!
Shen Yuan’s eyes flew open, now staring directly at that bright blue screen. Taking up about a third of his vision like a blue hologram floating in front of his eyeballs, just see-through enough he could see the outline of the gauze canopy behind it. On it flared the bright red text the exact same message that had just gotten magically transmitted directly into his head.
And there it was, the same name in red text he’d typed so many times while ordering the castration of; Shen Qingqiu.
What the fuck do you mean “planned host”?! “Reroute”?! The hell?!
The “System” or whatever the hell it was, largely ignored him, the text on the blue screen turning into white dots that appeared and disappeared like how some websites or computers did when updating. Then, as if finished, it blanked, then spit out a wall of text forcing the window to elongate vertically to fit it all. Then he heard all of it recited in his head just like before, with that dead-pan Google Translate voice. Not that he needed it this time around though. Shen Yuan's eyeballs worked perfectly well, thank you.
[Reroute successful. Host as been transferred to “Canon Fodder 1”;
[Ming Fan]:
Cultivation: None - Enhanced spiritual veins
Equipment: None
Title: Non-active (“The Scum Villain’s Lapdog”)
Current B-Points: 100
Please fix the plotholes of “Proud Immortal Demon Way”, by
-“more action, monster-fighting and a desperate need for an increase in villain IQ”.
Current timeline: 6 months before Cang Qiong Mountain Sect’s first entrance exam.
Mission updated: Join Cang Qiong Mountain and become the head disciple of Qing Jing Peak.
Time left before Luo Binghe: 7 years
Good luck host!]
To put it simply, Shen Yuan - apparently now Ming Fan (Seriously? That guy?!) - was close to attempting to strangle this odd hologram screen. Not that he could, considering, you know, he couldn’t move, and he was also pretty sure the screen didn’t have a neck he could strangle anyway. But either way, he really really wanted to. Because aside from being confused as all hell was he also irrationally angry - no, scratch that - rationally angry just from seeing the title of his all-time least favourite book. Also, that “more action, monster-fighting and a desperate need for an increase in villain IQ” were the exact words he’d used for that flaming review he’d left after finishing the last chapter.
So clearly, it seemed, that review was the reason he was here now. To “fix plot holes"? Seriously?! Had he…transmigrated?! Looking around the room, he now clearly saw the mix of fantasy elements with the historical, much like how he’d imagine a xianxia setting. So, did that mean…he had transmigrated into Proud Immortal Demon Way?????!!!! That’s what this “System” screen thing was telling him anyway.
There were plenty of stories online of being reborn as the villain, or love interest or whatever. But canon fodder?! And not just canon fodder but the canon fodder of the beginning of PIDW?! What the hell was wrong with this thing?! Or well, being Shen Qingqiu would've probably sucked too, considering his fate in the original novel revolved around being turned into a human stick and tortured to death. But still, did it have to be the character of Ming Fan of all people?! A la Shen Qingqiu’s Lapdog, a la Ning Yingying’s 1# simp that believed he had a chance?!
[Answering host, the vessel required was a villain that garnered much hate. After [Shen Qingqiu] new vessel [Ming Fan] fulfilled the set conditions.]
The hell?! Why were those the conditions?! Honestly, getting reborn as a member of Luo Binghe's harem would’ve been better than this…Or wait. That wasn’t right. This was before he joined Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, right? So, technically. I don’t have to do all that shit Ming Fan did?!
[Answering host, host is required to follow the character settings of character [Ming Fan] until the [OOC function] is unfrozen.]
Fuck you. Ming Fan cursed at the system. He would’ve been gripping his hair in anguish right now if his limbs weren’t fucking immobile. How do I unfreeze the damn “OOC function” then???
[Answering host, to unfreeze the [OOC function] host needs to complete the tutorial mission [Become Head disciple of Qing Jing Peak]. Upon successful completion host will be given full control of the [Ming Fan] account. Good luck.]
“Good luck” my ass! Does that mean I have to suck up to Shen Qingqiu like the original Ming Fan???!!! Please no. I’m not a bootlicker!!! I swear! Why do I have to do this?!
[Answering host, failure to comply with the character details of [Ming Fan] account will results in the deduction of B-points. If B-points reach zero, host will go back to his original body.]
My original body? Isn’t “Shen Yuan” dead?! And even if it wasn’t, he knew he didn’t have long to live, two or three years at the absolute most. But considering how he had felt the last months or so leading up to that surgery he wasn’t sure if he would even last one year. Compared to that, getting to run around in a world of cultivation - even if said cultivation world was the universe of the shameless porn named Proud Immortal Demon Way, the host of at least over one hundred different papapa plants and monsters - was like a dream come true.
[Notice. Host cannot abandon his mission. Upon abandonment or failure of the ultimate goal [Fill the plotholes] immediate removal of B-points will commence and host will return to his original body. It is improbable for the host to be able to “run around”.]
…
Ming Fan wanted to punch something. Asshole.
Just as Ming Fan was cursing the System in his head. The sliding door to the room flew open and a white figure immediately flew towards the bed. Grabbing one of Ming Fan’s immobile-at-the-moment hands in a death grip. He would’ve jumped at the sudden appearance of this person if not for the fact his reflexes at the moment appeared to be non-fucking-existent.
As Ming Fan blinked up at the figure in white that was gripping his wrist so hard it hurt his eyes slowly focused, revealing the face of a woman probably in her mid- to late-thirties. (Although you could never know in a xianxia setting.) She was quite pretty, with fair skin, jet black hair, long eyelashes, thin eyebrows and plump red-painted lips. All of which was now warped in an expression of anguish as tears streamed down her face from red-rimmed dark amber eyes. Her long, red-painted nails bore into the skin of his thin wrist…wait. He did a double-take on the appearance of his wrist which she held up in front of her like a treasure. Ignoring whatever it was she was saying - not that he could really make it out through the ringing of his ears to begin with.
His wrist had always been thin, but not that thin, right?! His hand also looked way smaller than what he was used to…How could he forget?! If he was in the body of Ming Fan before he joined Cang Qiong Mountain Sect…then obviously he would still be a child. Wah! Did that mean he’d have to go through puberty again?! Oh god no.
The woman shook his shoulder lightly - as well as finally lessening the grip on his wrist - waking him up from his imaginings of the horrible experience of going through puberty again. As he blinked again, trying to focus on what she was saying now to avoid having to think about his horrible future, he noticed he’d missed a whole entourage of people entering the room, crowding behind her. They all appeared to be servants of some sort, considering everyone wore the same clothes like some sort of uniform - obviously xianxia-style. The only person really standing out was an older man with a scruffy white beard dressed in completely white - what he guessed - doctor’s attire, fiddling with some bottle or the other in a some sort of suitcase on the floor.
“Ming-Ming, how…how are you feeling?” the woman forced out through hiccups, tears still streaming down her face as she regarded him with concern in her eyes.
Huh. Shen Yuan had had people sitting at his bedside when he’d wake up plenty of times, asking if he was okay, but he wasn’t sure if anyone had actually ever cried before.
“Madam…I’m not sure the third young master is well yet to respond. It’s more likely he’s only part conscious,” the man dressed like a doctor explained.
Looking out through the haze covering his eyes he saw their concerned gazes, the way they looked at him the way so many people had looked at him before. And he wondered: “madam”...”third young master”...Ming Fan was supposed to come from a relatively wealthy merchant family, right? In that case…did that mean this sobbing woman was Ming Fan’s mother? There had been no clear explanation of Ming Fan’s family aside from snippets here and there, but judging by the situation it was very possible this would be his mother.
And so, hoping to regain the attention his “mother” had turned to the doctor, conversing in low voices; he said weakly “M-mother…”
The woman immediately startled, turning to him as her eyes filled with new tears. “Ming-Ming?” she asked slowly, a shakiness to her voice but a weak smile spreading upon her red lips.
“Mother…” he uttered again, a little more confident this time.
“Ming-Ming!” she burst, taking him into a tight embrace as she continued sobbing. “Ming-Ming are you alright? My baby, how are you feeling? Shsh- mother’s here…” Her voice was comfortingly soothing as she stroked his hair in slow, calming motions. His face was burrowed into the crook of her neck, his nose clearly smelling a light flower scent. As equally soothing as her melodious voice and the slow calming motions against the back of his head. Ming Fan felt tears welling up in his eyes.
Was this…how a mother was supposed to be like?
He had to stop himself from crying, taking calm breaths and trying to ignore the calming motions against the back of his head. Ugh. No. He had to calm down. It was not his place to accept this love. This was Ming Fan’s mother, not Shen Yuan’s…Even if he was unsure Ming Fan would ever regain his body back to be able to receive it. He couldn’t feel okay taking over this love, even if he desperately wanted to. To have something he’d never been able to have before. But it was not his place, this love was not meant for him. It never would be.
After Ming Fan’s mother - and, frankly, himself - had calmed down a bit, her tear ducts finally drying up, she’d set him down in the bed again, making extra sure to prop up his head with the pillow so he could see her properly. She still gazed at him tenderly, her eyes now slightly puffy from all the crying, as she directed the doctor to look at him.
The old doctor’s hands were bony and a bit cold as he laid one hand against his forehead and the other putting a finger on his wrist to check his pulse. As he did so Ming fan found a slightly ticklish feeling spreading across the nerves in his body, seemingly checking for something. Wow…was this man a cultivator?! So cool. So this is what qi felt like, huh. I expected it to be more…powerful…not ticklish.
The doctor sighed, retracting his hands to hold them in front of himself as he bowed to Ming Fan’s mother.
“His meridians are clear, if anything they are even more healthy than they were a month ago. His fever’s also gone down. I can’t detect anything wrong with him…” the old doctor paused, chewing his bottom lip in contemplation. “However, I still don’t understand how he fell sick. He has no clear signs that anything is wrong, just like the initial examination. I at first feared it was qi deviation, that one of the spiritual medicines had adverse effects. But there are no signs of it. As said, his meridians are even clearer now than they were previously. I have never heard of someone having clearer meridians after experiencing a qi deviation. Not to mention the fact the boy has not even started cultivation yet,” the old doctor continued, clearly troubled.
Ming Fan intently listened, hooking onto every word. It seemed that when he entered Ming Fan’s body it fell ill, which wasn’t surprising, considering by the looks of things (unless Ming Fan was secretly lurking in his subconsciousness somewhere) the body’s soul got replaced by another. For a non-cultivator and a child at that it would probably pertain some shock to the body. That explained the awful experience he’d had when he first entered the body, and the fever helped explain why his head hurt so much. He still didn't understand why he couldn’t move though, was his body simply too tired? The doctor said something about “clearer meridians”, right? So maybe his soul reacted with the body’s meridians giving it overload or something, which was why he couldn’t move it? Ugh. It probably wouldn’t help grumbling about it, he’d never get answers…wait. “System?” he called in his head, hoping to catch the divine being or whatever it was’s attention.
A pause.
…The system chimed, that dead-pan voice still echoing in his ears:
[Answering host. The [Ming Fan] account went through an owner transfer. It’s reasonable that a child's body could not withstand the pressure of divine pretenses. It’s predicted the shock reaction will fade in a few days time.]
Right, okay. That made sense. So like…I’ll be bedridden for a few days?
[Yes.]
Despite still being dead-pan with no seeming fluctuations in tone, Ming Fan thought that “Yes” sounded a bit irritated. Which like, rude.
“…join Cang Qiong Mountain Sect?”
Ming Fan snapped back to reality upon hearing the familiar name. Looking over to see Ming Fan’s mother - still holding his hand in a tight grip - discussing with the old doctor. This seemed important. Shit.
“It wouldn’t be out of the question, however, as you say madam, I worry how the young master will fare considering this scare.” The doctor replied, to what question, Ming Fan hadn’t been able to catch it fully. From context though it appeared to be connected to his upcoming participation in the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect entrance exam in six months that the System had told him about.
Ming Fan’s mother turned towards him, her gaze still filled with tenderness.
“Ming-Ming, what do you think? I know how much you were looking forward to joining Cang Qiong Mountain Sect but this mother worries for your condition.” Her voice was calm and soothing, but carried a hint of apprehension, as if she both wanted her son to go and not at the same time.
Ming Fan didn’t know what to say. He’d missed their conversation because he’d been too occupied with the System, but the answer was as clear as the mission written on the blue screen silently floating just on the outskirts of his peripheral vision. “I want to go.” He attempted to say it as firmly as possible, hoping his face didn’t betray his unease. Still it didn’t feel enough; Ming Fan’s mother still seemed unsure and the doctor raised an eyebrow slightly. So; “I really really want to go, please mother,” he continued, hoping his determination didn’t sound too forced.
Ming Fan’s mother softened a little at that, but she seemed to still have some reservations. The doctor, on the other hand, raised his eyebrow higher. Ming Fan was unsure if it was because of him being irritated that Ming Fan was ignoring his apparent suggestion of taking a rest, or something else.
Unsure of that as he was, Ming Fan just decided to reinforce his point by acting like a child throwing a tantrum. Considering he was in a child’s body at the moment it made sense, right? He only hoped he wouldn’t cringe thinking back on this later…
Anyway, he wasn’t entirely unused to throwing tantrums, he’d frequently gone through many as a child. (Even if he now admitted most of them were childish and cringed every time he remembered them). So with that in mind, he decided to start crying. He hated crying a lot, but if it was that or die he would be insane to pick the latter option! Plus, trading an embarrassing crying fit for being able to fly sounded like a fair deal, right?
Now, how do you start crying without the use of any tear sticks or onions? Simple, you think back on a really shitty memory. In the past, Shen Yuan would’ve used the memory of when he first found out he had a terminal illness as it was the most life-impacting moment. Now, however, in this new (presumably, he really wanted it to be) healthy body, that memory didn't have as much sway on him as before. So instead, he thought about Proud Immortal Demon Way and its rage-inducing potential coupled with his current predicament.
Just one or two seconds thinking about that flaming shithole and he could feel tears of rage filling his eyes, gradually starting to run down his face. Much to the dismay of Ming Fan’s mother.
“Ming-Ming! Are you okay?! Ah!” the mother burst, frantically trying to wipe the tears off of the face of her son. The old doctor just looked on with a sigh.
Perfect, now to demand to be able to participate.
“M-mama please please p-please let me join Cang Q-Qiong Mountain! I’ll b-be a good boy! Please p-please please please! I want to be a cultivator! Waaahhhh! Mama!” Fuck, this was embrassing.
Luckily, it seemed to work, even if Ming Fan’s mother did appear to be three seconds away from a panic attack as she speedily reassured him he could join the sect and that it would probably be fine. Six months was a long time, he could recover. It really seemed like she was trying to reassure her son at the same time as she was trying to reassure herself. The old doctor just shook his head and started packing up his medical supplies.
It had been about a week since the first doctor check-up, and upon his fever having faded completely and his meridians still showing no hint of qi deviation he was finally allowed out of bedrest.
Now Ming Fan evaluated his appearance in the bronze mirror next to his bed, surprised to find he wasn’t actually that bad looking! He’d half expected to be disfigured or something based on PIDW’s descriptions of his expressions (unless that was meant to happen later?). Although that bastard Shen Qingqiu, forever caring about appearances probably wouldn't put any child that could be considered ugly as the head disciple…
He found he appeared as a slightly more “handsome” version of Ming Fan’s mother (how handsome you can consider a child with adorably filled cheeks like a hamster anyway). Fair skin, slightly thicker eyebrows, a straight nose and tiny, plump red lips. His eyes were the same colours as hers; a dark amber, with the same phoenix eyeshape, just softer on account of his younger features. Looking at it like this, he wasn’t too bad, he’d expected worse. It was at least better than the sickly pallor and gaunt appearance he’d been cursed with in his past life. Hm, he at least wouldn’t have to hide his face in shame.
The only thing that bugged him about his current appearance was his hair. Because Ming Fan had bangs. Really really shit bangs. They weren’t micro, but they weren’t long enough to look good either. It was like some Frankenstein-middle-ground that looked worse than both alternatives.
Ming Fan, did you piss off your barber or something! What the fuck is this?!
Aside from his fugly bangs he found his hair was alright. It reached about past his shoulder blades and was really just straight. Which was quite hard to fuck up. He did notice it was a bit coarse and frizzy though, and for someone who had lived basically his whole life previous life in buzzcuts that was acutely uncomfortable. So, he decided to use the countless knowledge he’d collected by scrolling on the internet and listening to his Meimei rant about haircare for hours to come up with a solution. A solution both for his frizzy hair and to promote hair growth in the hopes he could get at least normal-sized bangs before the entrance exam.
A solution which involved fermented rice, citrus peels, bran tea and He Shou Wu. He was pretty sure it was a recipe from “Yao” something. He only really remembered it since his Meimei had begged him to prepare a bottle she could soak her head in for when she got home after a vacation.
The servants had looked at him a little oddly when he’d asked for the ingredients and usage of the kitchen, but had allowed it anyway, letting him prepare the decoction that now sat fermenting in a crystal jar beside the bronze mirror as he carefully deliberated whether or not he could get his bangs to grow to his jawline so he could use them as face framing pieces before the entrance exam. If this decoction worked, he could only try.
It was a bit of a struggle putting it in his hair and then making sure his hair stayed put up so his hair could properly soak it up considering he was unused to having long hair. But the many times he’d spent making hairstyles for his Meimei helped greatly in letting him put it up with a semblance of familiar motions. Albeit not without a fair struggle.
After letting it soak for a good while he washed it out and could already feel the difference; his hair felt silky smooth! Is this a miracle solution or what?! It seemed like it, considering the reaction he got from the servant helping him dress that morning - a squeal and an interrogation on what he’d done to turn his hair into silk. So since it seemed to work he started using it every week to promote hair growth, eventually actually managing to grow his bangs to be slightly past his jaw. Xianxia hair grew so fast! Or maybe it was because he was in a child’s body?
Aside from his hair solution, there wasn’t much to prepare before the entrance exam - the exam was literally just digging a hole in the dirt for some reason (he’d never understood it in the original novel either) - so he just spent the majority of the rest of his time reading and getting used to being in a child’s body.
Qing Jing Peak was the scholar’s peak, so he wanted to at least have decent knowledge and ability in order to become head disciple. Luckily for him, in his previous life - despite his terminal illness - his parents had required of him to at least have a base line for the four arts; calligraphy, art, the qin and weiqi (go). So he at least wouldn't make a complete fool of himself in front of the ever-picky scum villain - he did not want to have to experience his judgemental glares and look-overs in real life. They’d been horrible enough having to read about, thank you.
As such, he spent the six months leading up to the entrance exam reading and recalling all the knowledge he could muster about PIDW’s description of the entrance exam. Much to the apparent confusion of Ming Fan’s family (who he tended to avoid as much as possible out of fear that they would realise he’s acting weird, though to be honest he was probably already failing…). He didn’t mind though, once he got to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect he might as well just never see them again! The whole place was going to be slaughtered by mister awesome protagonist demon lord Luo Binghe himself! (He only hoped he could complete his role soon enough that he could just bolt to explore the world before it ended and everything went to shit.)
He spent his days in this manner, reading, putting the hair decoction in his hair, practicing the four arts and some light jogging to build up stamina. Until finally, the six months was up and he stood in front of a massive valley where the entrance exams would take place.
[Tutorial stage has begun. Quest [Join Qing Jing Peak] is active.
Good luck host!]