Red String Across Worlds: BL System

Chapter 1

The blinding lights felt like a physical embrace, warm and promising after the nervous flutter in his chest. Lin Mu, or rather, the actor known to millions as the chameleon of the screen, felt a genuine smile stretch across his perfectly sculpted lips. Tonight was the night. The culmination of years of dedication, of pouring his soul into countless characters, of laughter and tears both real and expertly faked. The "God of Acting" award. Just the name sent a thrill, a delicious shiver, down his spine.

He could hear the polite applause morphing into a roaring wave as his name echoed through the grand hall. A sea of faces, some familiar, some just blurs in the distance, all turned towards him. He took a deep breath, the air thick with anticipation and the heady scent of expensive perfume and nervous sweat. This was his moment.

He moved with practiced grace, each step deliberate yet seemingly effortless, towards the gleaming trophy held aloft by the presenter. His mind was a strange mix of elation and a surreal detachment, like watching himself in one of his own dramas. He saw the envious glances, the genuine smiles of his friends, the flashing cameras capturing every nuance of his expression. He was in his element, the stage his true home.

Just as his fingers brushed against the cool metal of the award, a sudden, sharp pain ripped through his abdomen. It was so unexpected, so brutal, that for a split second, his mind couldn't register what had happened. It felt like a punch, but colder, wetter. A gasp escaped his lips, not of triumph, but of utter shock.

His eyes flickered downwards, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis. A dark, crimson stain bloomed on his pristine white shirt, spreading like an ugly flower. His vision swam, the bright lights now mocking him with their intensity. A hand, trembling and unfamiliar, clutched at the hilt of a knife protruding from his body. He followed the arm up to a face contorted in a mask of pure hatred – Zhang Wei, his so-called competitor, the one who always lurked in his shadow, seething with jealousy.

The roar of the crowd turned into a confused murmur, then a horrified gasp. Lin Mu's knees buckled, the golden trophy clattering to the floor with a dull thud. The pain intensified, a searing fire that threatened to consume him. He looked at Zhang Wei, a question in his blurring eyes – why? – but the other man just sneered, a twisted triumph in his gaze.

Darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, a suffocating blanket. He could hear the frantic shouts, the panicked footsteps, but they sounded distant, muffled. His breath hitched, a wet, gurgling sound. The warmth of the lights faded, replaced by an icy coldness that seeped into his very bones.

Is this it? Is this how it ends? On stage, bathed in the light, not for applause, but for… this?

As his consciousness flickered like a dying flame, a voice, clear and bright as a chime, echoed in his mind.

"Hello there, Host! What a dramatic exit! But don't worry, the show's not over yet!"

Lin Mu’s last coherent thought before the darkness swallowed him whole was a bewildered, Who… what…?

Then, there was nothing. No pain, no sound, no light. Just an endless, featureless white. It stretched in every direction, an infinite canvas devoid of any distinguishing marks. It was peaceful, in a strangely unsettling way. Lin Mu felt like a disembodied consciousness, floating in a sea of pure white.

After what felt like an eternity (though time seemed meaningless here), the same bright, cheerful voice from before chirped again, breaking the silence.

"Welcome to your new life, lucky star! Or should I say, lucky system-bound soul?"

Suddenly, a figure materialized before him. It wasn't quite human, more like a shimmering, colorful orb of light that pulsed with energy. It had a playful, almost cartoonish voice that didn't quite fit the vast emptiness around them.