Chapter 1: Magic

The dark, cramped room held two wooden beds, a rickety table on the verge of collapse, two relatively intact wooden chairs, and a stove caked in dust and grime, leaving only a narrow path just wide enough to step through.

A faint beam of light pierced through a small air vent in the southern wall.

Through the light, dust motes drifted like aimless mayflies, freely swirling in all directions.

In the flickering glow, one of the damp wooden beds showed a thin boy lying still.

The boy, named “Gao De” in both his past life and this one, used the dim light to survey the dusty, cramped room, breathing in the faint, lingering scent of mildew.

Silence surrounded him, absolute and still.

This place felt less like a dwelling and more like a sealed prison.

“You’re saying I’ve been unconscious for nearly a day?” Gao De finally spoke, addressing the boy who should be called his “roommate.”

“I thought you were dead—I was terrified!” replied the boy, who was extremely frail.

Gao De’s own frame was already slender, yet this boy was even thinner, appearing malnourished, his stature small like that of a child barely eight or nine years old.

Of course, Gao De knew he was thirteen.

So was he.

In his former world, that age was still considered childhood.

But here, thirteen was treated as adulthood.

Why had “himself” collapsed for nearly a day? More precisely—how had “himself” died?

It must have been his death that allowed Gao De to take over his body.

A simple deduction.

Unfortunately, Gao De remembered nothing of the circumstances surrounding “his” death—not even where he was, his current condition, or his roommate’s name.

Still, it wasn’t total amnesia; the original owner had left him fragments of memory.

Some things Gao De considered truly important were clearly etched into his mind, impossible to erase.

Perhaps for “himself,” these memories were too painful, so they weren’t passed on during the possession.

In Gao De’s view, this might even be a blessing—if he’d inherited all the original’s memories, who would he be? The predecessor? Himself? Or a new merged personality? He didn’t want his own identity to change.

The downside was that he now desperately needed to understand his situation.

Fortunately, he didn’t need to probe carefully—his roommate, named Amy, had already begun babbling nervously, without being asked.

“I knew this day would come. Even though you’re the only one among us who can independently brew Chujizhuduyaoshui , to Master Seda, that means nothing.”

Here, Amy glanced at Gao De’s expressionless face, fearing he might be offended, and whispered: “What I mean is, we call ourselves apprentices, but everyone knows Master Seda doesn’t treat us as people—we’re just his living test rats and unpaid servants.”

“So, whether we’re skilled or not, Master Seda couldn’t care less.”

Hearing this, Gao De could already guess how he’d “collapsed.”

Keyword: test subject.

Amy kept talking incessantly; clearly, Gao De’s unconsciousness had terrified him, and he needed to speak to ease his dread.

“I checked your breath earlier—you had none, your heartbeat was gone, you were dead as a stone. And yet you woke up? If you weren’t talking to me right now, I’d swear you’re not human—you’re a ghost!”

Amy slapped his thigh, thrilled by his roommate’s resurrection.

In this place, a companion was his only spiritual anchor.

And if Gao De died, he’d likely be next in line for the test.

“Could it be that Master Seda’s potion finally worked?” Amy speculated.

The thought made him even more excited.

If it truly succeeded, Master Seda would be overjoyed—and they’d surely have a better time.

Maybe they wouldn’t need to test drugs anymore? After all, the potion had been perfected.

But Gao De wasn’t as optimistic as Amy.

He knew the truth.

The potion Master Seda had brewed, as Amy kept muttering, had not succeeded.

—It had succeeded in sending Amy’s good roommate to his grave.

Gao De rubbed his throbbing temples, focusing his mind to organize his thoughts.

As a student from Beijing University’s top mathematics department, he’d been pulling an all-nighter in the library to finish his thesis, exhausted, and had dozed off at his desk.

When he woke, the room was filled with thick smoke and a sea of red.

Endless flames licked toward him, leaving no chance to struggle.

Once a fire broke out in a library, it was impossible to stop.

So Gao De’s fate had been sealed.

…

Mathematicians are typically rational, skeptical of the supernatural. But ironclad facts told Gao De: his body was no longer his own, and returning to youth was impossible.

The utterly supernatural event of reincarnation had truly happened to him.

Through Amy’s nonstop chatter and Gao De’s occasional questions, within just half a day, Gao De had pieced together his current situation.

An orphaned street beggar, taken in by Master Seda as an apprentice, brought to this herb garden to tend herbs, brew potions, run errands, and serve as a human test subject.

In the entire herb garden, everyone except Master Seda was an apprentice like Gao De and Amy.

The number of apprentices remained around ten.

But it was dynamically stable.

Every so often, Master Seda would take one apprentice away to test a newly brewed potion on their body.

No one knew what kind of potion Master Seda was brewing—only that he always failed, never succeeded.

And every failure meant the test subject died instantly, with zero chance of survival.

Whenever the number of apprentices dropped below five, Master Seda would leave and return with a new group of about five apprentices to maintain stability.

The apprentices’ origins were mostly like Gao De’s—parentless beggars.

“Why not try to escape?” Gao De asked Amy, sorting through his jumbled thoughts.

“Are you stupid?” Amy exclaimed. “Don’t you remember? Master Seda branded us with the [Tracking Mark]. No matter where we run, he can always track us. If we don’t run, we might survive—but if we try to flee, we die instantly!”

Tracking Mark. Gao De’s gaze sharpened as he fell into thought.

If reincarnation was supernatural, then this world was the pinnacle of the supernatural—it was a world where magic existed.

Yes.

Magic.

The magic here was not the superstitious tricks of charlatans—no incantations, no talismans—but true, wondrous transformation, a divine power that altered reality through unscientific means.

The Tracking Mark Amy mentioned was one such magic.

A top student raised under compulsory education should have scoffed at such mystical forces, found only in novels and films.

Deeply rooted beliefs couldn’t be shattered by Amy’s few words.

Yet Gao De accepted magic so easily—because the reason was simple.

He licked his chapped lips and looked toward the stove across the room.

Without any motion from Gao De, the clay pot hanging over the stove suddenly floated sideways, gliding until it hovered above the rickety table, then tilted slightly, pouring boiling water directly into a cup placed on the table.

The pot settled gently onto the table, while the cup filled with hot water floated upward, moving steadily toward Gao De.

Gao De reached out, took the cup, and took a small sip, moistening his parched throat after a day of unconsciousness.

Then he let go—but the cup didn’t fall. As if gravity didn’t exist, it floated in midair, moving steadily back to the table.

Throughout, Gao De hadn’t moved except to glance at the stove; Amy hadn’t moved either; no third person was in the room.

It was as if an invisible third party—or an unseen hand—had performed this simple act: pouring Gao De a glass of water.

In Gao De’s former world, this would have been deeply horrifying.

Yet both men in the room remained calm, treating this eerie event as ordinary.

—Gao De appeared composed on the surface, but inside, his mind was in turmoil.

The original owner left him no memories of daily life—but he left behind all his knowledge: the language, his understanding of this world, and most importantly, his knowledge of magic and potion-making.

In any world, knowledge was the most valuable thing.

So Gao De was immensely grateful—the original had left him what truly mattered.

And what he had just performed was one of only two minor spells the original had mastered.

[Mage Hand] (Alteration, 0th-level):

A floating spectral hand appears within spell range, lasting until the spell ends or is dismissed.

If the hand moves beyond 30 feet (10 meters), or if Mage Hand is cast again, the existing hand vanishes.

The spectral hand can perform simple actions: manipulate an object, open an unlocked door or container, or pour contents from a vial—but cannot carry more than 10 pounds (about 4.5 kg) or activate magical items.

To a mage, this was a trivial cantrip—but it delivered to Gao De an indescribable shock: “Mage Hand.”

“It doesn’t even count as real magic—it’s just a cantrip.”

“This is a world of true power and truth.”

“The might of the Dao, the truth of the Shu—”

“Magic!”

(End of Chapter)