"You idiot."
Song Shirong blinked at the ceiling. His head. Gods, his head. Like someone slammed him into the pavement and rubbed his nose down the sidewalk. His throat wasn't much better. Who told him to eat sandpaper and why'd he listen to them, anyway? He coughed.
Something - a foot? - nudged him. "Wake up, brat." The foot nudged again. And again. Until at last he forced himself to look towards the source. Long dark hair. Long blue-white silk dress. Face a blur. Who was she? "Did you hear me?"
"Ah... yes, ma'am?" Shirong struggled to speak, only to take a good solid kick to his aching head.
"MA'AM?" The voice was clearer now and so obviously male Shirong couldn't blame its owner for being insulted. Or he wouldn't have, if he weren't too busy trying not to vomit over what looked like an expensive oriental rug. "DARE MOCK ME?"
"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry." Shirong would have tried to evade the foot, but he shouldn't be able to move. Hell, he shouldn't be able to talk. What the hell what the hell what the ever loving HELL was going on?
Another, much older, much gentler, voice spoke. "Disciple Shun. What are you doing?"
"Shizun! This idiot broke your cauldron!"
Cauldron? The hell? Shirong had been bed-ridden for months now. How the hell could he have broken anything? He could hardly move. He moaned. Closed his eyes. He was done. Just going to lie here. Maybe go ahead and die. He'd been just about there anyway.
Oh, wait. Maybe that was the problem. He was probably on the operating table or something, hordes of doctors and nurses trying and failing to save what little was left of him. Likely this was just some stupid dream from one of his web novels. So many web novels. Too many web novels, probably. Which one was it? After a while they all started running together.
The voices faded, not because they went away but because Shirong just couldn't focus on them any longer. He let them go. Bad enough to be dying at last. Dying and having to listen to a badly written dream go on over his head was worse. He hoped it'd be over soon.
#
When Shirong woke next, he wasn't in pain. Quite the contrary. He felt comfortable. Warm. Safe. A far cry from the last time he'd 'woken'. A far cry from his hospital bed, for that matter. Stupid body, anyway. Who'd told it to get sick anyway? Fuck cancer. Fuck it left, right and sideways.
Was he dreaming again? If so, it was a better dream. One he'd prefer not to wake up from. At least it was comfortable. He sighed. Shifted and snuggled into the covers. A luxury, a sheer, unadulterated luxury, being able to move without pain.
"Young one. You're awake. Good."
Shirong cracked an eye open. At least now his vision wasn't so blurry. It should be, of course. He wasn't wearing his glasses and without them his eyes were shit. More proof that he had to be dreaming.
"Young one? Disciple? Shirong?"
Guessing the dream wasn't going to let him lie there quietly, Shirong opened his other eye. Shifted his head so he could see the speaker. An older man, maybe in his thirties or such? Calling him young one like he was just a baby. He was just short of twenty years old, for God's sake. And why the hell was he calling him disciple?
Deciding to play along, he tried to remember the proper address. Sensei? Shihan? "Shifu?"
"Oh, child. You know I'm your Shizun. Here. Sip this."
This was a strange, sharp-tasting, tea. Shirong didn't recognize the flavor, but it cleared his head a little. "Shizun. Yes." A name occurred to him. Master Quan Lei. Third Elder of the Leifeng Sect. He tried again. "Shizun, this disciple is confused."
"And well you might be, poor boy. You were right next to the cauldron when it shattered. So fortunate you weren't burned."
"I... I don't remember."
"Quite understandable, my dear boy. It's your Shixiong's fault, anyway. He shouldn't have allowed you to try refining yet. Not when you've barely established your foundation."
The language was familiar. Shirong's cultivation novels were full of that sort of thing. He usually just passed over the explanations, more interested in the characters and the world than which spiritual root was superior to which. "I'm sure he didn't mean to."
"As forgiving as always. Good boy. Here. Try to sit up."
Shirong obeyed, not just because he wanted to cooperate but because he hadn't actually sat up in months. Even if this was a dream, he wanted to luxuriate in the pleasures of a healthy body. Mostly healthy, he corrected himself. He still felt so damned weak. "I'm all right, though?" He couldn't help being anxious. He'd hate to spend the rest of this dream bedridden.
"You'll be fine. I'm going to test your foundation, just to be sure."
While the man set his fingers alongside Shirong's temples, Shirong took the moment to look at him. Long dark hair bound in a simple crown, handsome older features. Narrow lips and hawkish nose. He didn't look old enough to be a cultivation master, but that was no surprise. They all seemed to stop aging at a certain point. Either that or turn into long-browed white-haired antiques. Those other memories told him his Shizun was old enough to be a grandfather.
The room was plainly decorated. Just a bed, a heavy curtain blocking late-afternoon sunlight, a desk, a table with a basin. And, on the wall, a delicate calligraphy reading, 'Learning is a treasure that follows its owner everywhere'. Just the sort of inspirational proverb one might find in a cultivationist disciple's chamber.
A startled sound broke the silence. Master Quan sat back, staring wide-eyed at Shirong. "Disciple, what attribute and element are you?"
Shirong was about to tell the man he couldn't remember anything when the answer came to him. "This disciple is Earth and earth, Shizun." Earth from the eight trigrams. Earth from the five elements. Nice and solid, if a little dull.
"Not anymore." His Shizun hesitated. "I'm going to need confirmation, but it looks like your bases have changed."
Changed? Some memory told Shirong that shouldn't be possible. He repeated the word, confused. "How can they have changed?"
"I don't know, child. I'm going to go fetch Master Long. You rest here and I'll be back as soon as I can." Master Quan paused. Added comfortingly. "If I'm right and they have changed, it's for the better. Don't look so worried."
Before Shirong could open his mouth to say he wasn't actually worried, Master Quan had left the room.
#
Alone again, Shirong leaned back against the pillow. This was feeling less and less like a dream and more like something very wrong indeed. He took a deep breath. Said softly, "System? Hello? Are you there?"
Nothing. Well, that was a relief. Even if his suspicions were right, not every person in his situation had a system to tell them what to do. And, thinking about it, he supposed he was glad he didn't. Near as he could tell, most systems existed to make trouble for their 'hosts', not actually help.
Shirong looked at himself. Longer fingers than before. A better build, but that was no surprise. He'd been abed for two years, wasting away. Taller, too. Well, that'd be nice. He'd always hated having people looking down on him. Hair? Significantly longer and a bit of a tangle right that moment. Of course, if he'd just been through the cultivationist equivalent of a lab accident, he shouldn't expect to be in the best state.
There wasn't a mirror in the room, but his new body's memories told him he wasn't too bad looking. Above average, with boyish features and classic peach blossom eyes. A faint air of discontent marred the image, discontent and a faint sense of arrogant superiority.
The question was, was he dreaming or was this real? He couldn't hear or feel anything that didn't fit his surroundings so he decided to regard it as real. And if it was, it meant he'd transmigrated into this body. They shared a name, it seemed, but that seemed a staple of those kind of novels too.
So if he had transmigrated, what kind of situation was he in? Had he become a bit player? A villain? Or the protagonist? He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the memories of his new body. He'd picked up a few things already, perhaps the rest was there as well?
It didn't take long to work out the basics. He was Xu Shirong, the son of two junior members of the Leifeng Sect in Longnan. His parents had died early, sacrificing themselves to save the sect. Out of gratitude, the Elders had promised to care for him. As long as he achieved foundation level, he would automatically be allowed to become a disciple.
Xu Shirong had been lazy about it, but he'd finally achieved that goal in his nineteenth year. To his disappointment, his attribute and element were nothing special. A matched set like his would never achieve much in the sect. The only thing worse was an antithetical pairing; such matches had to work twice as hard to get anywhere.
A sinking feeling came over Shirong. He'd be fine with being an NPC. Having a healthy body and a healthy mind was nothing to sneeze at. But his new body's history and attitude told him he was doomed to one of the other two paths.
Achieving foundation early but having such simple bases meant he was looked down on by the other disciples. His Shixiong, Shu Shun, in particular, seemed to despise him. A quick glance at old Shirong's memories suggested things tended to go wrong when they came in contact. Some of it looked like Shirong's own fault, but some looked like the universe conspiring against the other boy.
Moreover, Quan Shizun had just checked Shirong's foundation. From his behavior, something in his bases had obviously changed and changed for the better. That, combined with his relationship with Shu Shun, made Shirong suspect that he was - probably - the protagonist. And that meant Shun Shixiong was going to become his enemy.
How did it usually go? Protagonist is bullied and nobly bears with the mistreatment until something - like an alchemical accident - turns him from a weakling unable to stand up for himself to a powerhouse. Sometimes he'd be kind and noble and do nothing to deliberately cause the antagonist harm. Sometimes he'd be forced to stand up for himself and embarrass the antagonist entirely. Either way, their clashes would escalate until Shirong would have to fight and kill to protect himself.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was the antagonist? Then it'd be his slowly burning rage at the protagonist - again, probably Shu Shun - that'd drive him to follow some dark path and seek vengeance. The ending would be the same, of course, protagonist: 10000, antagonist: -9999.
But damnit, he didn't want to be either. Couldn't he just live in peace and never have to deal with the mechanics of a cultivationist novel? The obligatory disgruntled fellow student was such a damned cliché. No matter how much fun being a cultivationist might be, flying around on a sword or tossing qi flares all over the place, there were some things he'd like to dispense with.
"Ah-Shi!"
The sudden entrance of a slender, lovely, young girl in pale gold and white robes, her hair streaming behind her as she flung herself on Shirong reminded him of another staple he'd have liked to do without. The obligatory sect sister desperately in love with him.
Especially since he didn't bend that way.
#
The girl's name was He Xiaojing, with Lake and wood bases. A nice pairing for a disciple of the sect's healing branch. She was also the one bright spot in young Shirong's life apparently. Images of her sneaking him food when he'd been punished to go without, bringing him medicines when he'd been kicked around by the bigger kids.... All the usual characteristics for her probable role in his life; ie. beloved sect sister turned pampered first wife.
Luckily for Shirong's state of mind, Xiaojing was still fairly young and innocent. Her fondness for him was a childish friendship, not an expectation of more. Just to make sure, he checked his reactions to her. Nope. No interest. Just as well. He wasn't at all sure he could take it if his body started making requests his mind didn't want to answer.
Awkwardly, he patted the girl on the head. "Xiaojing. You're too old to be coming into my room like this." The last time had apparently gotten Shirong in trouble with his Shixiong. The last thing he needed was another reason for his potential antagonist to get pissed at him.
"Xiaojing was worried about you! She heard what happened and was afraid you were hurt. Maybe burned!"
"Do I look burned?"
She examined him. Peered into his eyes. Checked his ears. Made him open his mouth. When he protested, she pointed out, "Xiaojing's master is Elder Long. It's Xiaojing's job to check those things. Cough."
Obligingly and amused despite himself, he obeyed, then let her check his pulse. When she started to put her head against his chest he stopped her. "Not without someone else here." No one, absolutely no one, was going to get the idea that they'd been fooling around. He found the right words in his memory. "Girls and boys shouldn't touch."
She sighed. Obviously she was used to the response. "Xiaojing just wants to take care of Ah-shi!"
The girl had to be at least fifteen. Why was she so silly? Was it training, upbringing or was she simple? There wasn't any reason to push her off, but Shirong hoped he could dissuade her from being so sticky later. "I know. But you mustn't do that."
Fortunately for Shirong's state of mind and Xiaojing Shimei's reputation, Shizun and Master Long entered before Xiaojing could find a new embarrassing thing to do. "Xiaojing," Master Long said calmly. "Run along." He was her Shizun, after all, and the only one she'd obey without argument. This time was no exception.
It occurred to Shirong that he was becoming more and more connected to the reality of his new body. Just as well, really, but it scared him to find the original's memories so easily accessed. As if he really had lived that boy's life instead of the one he'd actually had.
While he thought about that, Master Long sat beside Shirong's bed. "Sit still, boy. Let me examine you."
As before, Shirong used the moment to look over this new person. Ah, this was one of the old man cultivationists. One of the ones who'd disdained maintaining physical youth despite having reached Immortal stage. The dignity of his position apparently demanded it.
Master Long's hair and beard were full and pure white. His face was wrinkled, with plenty of smile lines, and his dark eyes only slightly dimmed by time. "Quan Lei, my dear boy, I'm only doing this because you insist. Bases don't cha...." He broke off. Stared at Shirong. Focused again.
Shirong could feel the same odd pressure he'd felt last time. A warmth spread around his mind and through his aura. Then it was gone and Master Long said, in an awed voice, "The heavens have blessed you, child. Not only has your element changed, but you've acquired a new attribute. You are now Heaven and Earth, with a wood element."
Silently, Shirong cursed. Not just the protagonist. Not just the protagonist with the possible beginnings of a harem. A protagonist with a golden finger and an antagonist to boot.
Could he ask for a new character, please?