The capital city stirred with the warmth of early spring. Along the serene banks of the Jing River, red lanterns swayed gently from flower boats. Laughter echoed from boat-top taverns, where poets and scholars indulged in wine, music, and verse.

  Not far from the bustle, a plain wooden boat floated quietly. At its bow sat a young man dressed in white robes, a clay wine jug in one hand, and a wistful look in his eyes.

  “Too far,” he murmured, straining to catch the music. “Can’t hear a thing.”

  A small girl climbed aboard, hugging a stack of calligraphy scrolls. Spotting the young man, she frowned.

  “Young Master, stop drinking! We’ve no silver left,” she scolded.

  The scholar, with an air of cultured helplessness, turned to her. “Didn’t I send you to sell the paintings?”

  “No one wanted them,” she pouted. “I tried lowering the price, even begged. Only sold two—at a loss!”

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  The scholar sighed, finishing his drink. “The paper alone costs more than that.”

  “Exactly! Six copper a scroll, and you sell them for five? We’re losing money!”

  “Then tomorrow, sell them for five silver,” he said with mock seriousness.

  She stared. “Are you drunk?”

  “Write the day’s notes. I’m going for a walk,” he said, ignoring her protests.

  Back inside, the girl began scribbling in a small notebook titled Travel Journal, Year 26 of Yuanqing Dynasty. She wrote of their arrival, their lost money, their wandering... and of the mysterious old woman who had given them food and silver.

  And of course—how her master had used that silver to buy a boat just to be closer to the music.

  Meanwhile, the scholar strolled to a riverside pavilion beneath the lantern-lit boat house. He leaned against a pillar, watching dancers swirl above, music floating on the wind, scholars drinking and composing beneath.

  “If only I had coin,” he muttered, taking another sip.

  A gentle breeze stirred the water. The scholar closed his eyes.

  This world… isn’t mine.

  He wasn’t from here. Not really.

  In another life, he had lived in a land with five thousand years of history. One moment he was writing an exam essay… the next, he awoke in a body that wasn’t his, in a world that made no sense.

  A world where magic was real, monsters walked among men, and immortality was something people actually pursued.

  In this world, his name remained the same—Su Mo.

  A poetic name for a very chaotic fate.

  He didn’t know why he was here. He only knew this body had left behind a desire—to pass the civil service exam.

  “Gold list, jade rank,” he whispered.

  Maybe he’d try. Maybe he’d walk this world aimlessly. Maybe… he'd become a scholar-official.

  But deep down, it wasn’t politics that called to him.

  It was immortality.