Chapter Two: Even a Transmigrator Has to Attend School

PS: Lately, it’s as if I’ve been cursed by the God of Misfortune—locking myself out with wrong passwords every night, then retrieving them, only to be told the account is locked and can’t log in. Half an hour later, I try again: password error, again! Damn!

……………………………The story begins………………………

Feng Xue flipped through “Five Years of Anime, Three Years of Doujin” in utter boredom, an acute sense of agony stabbing straight through his mind.

The life he had once dreamed of in his previous world had now become a torment—was this the pain of turning a passion into a profession?

Of course not. Feng Xue’s suffering stemmed from a far simpler reason: he had seen all these anime before! And, damn it, every single one was incomplete!

In this era, to ensure the regeneration of the demi-plane, all minors were required to choose at least one category among novels, manga, games, films, or animation to study intensively. Every week, they had to write a reflection; every year, they had to compose a fan novel or draw a doujinshi. On top of that, they had to pen various essays and academic papers. (For the detailed rationale, see the prologue.)

Yes, this was the legendary school devoted entirely to the study of otaku culture.

But in reality, it was a torturous affair—especially for a transmigrant from the early twenty-first century.

This world’s timeline had advanced tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands, of years beyond his previous life. All traces of anime and manga were unearthed from the ruins of Earth, so it was natural that they’d be fragmentary, if not outright decimated. Paper manga could hardly survive the passage of millennia, and data stored on electronic media was threatened by aging and decay. If a manga managed to retain seventy percent of its content, that was considered fortunate—the rest was patched together from the memories and observations of professionals exploring the demi-planes.

But the butterfly effect is something every transmigrant must consider. What those professionals saw could never be the unadulterated plot of the original demi-plane, so Feng Xue would often encounter some familiar manga only to be jarred by an absurd, nonsensical plot twist.

Take, for instance, this “Legend of the Eyes.” Everything was normal right up to Sasuke’s return, but just as the Shippuden arc began, suddenly a lunatic wielding “Avada Kedavra” appeared out of nowhere, instantly killing the Weasel, and then Sasuke inexplicably awakened the Mangekyō...

Of course, Feng Xue dared not voice such complaints aloud, because everyone knew that the madman who used “Avada Kedavra” was none other than Luo Yinglong—the creator of this continent and a lower-ranked true god. Naturally, he bore no relation to the one from “Infinity Horror.”

Still, according to the teachers, this segment was just a missing part of the original, and the great Luo contributed his own experiences out of magnanimity, lighting the way for those who followed.

“Light the way, my ass! If we really followed that path, what would happen to the Celestial Gods?”

Though he grumbled, Feng Xue knew full well that this was already an act of considerable generosity. No matter the era, plot knowledge was always a transmigrant’s greatest advantage.

Even so, having to watch these stories glued together with ramshackle patches, then forced to write thousands of words of reflections every week, monthly essays on plot development, and an annual doujinshi—Feng Xue sometimes felt he’d rather die.

But of course, he was only complaining. Deep down, Feng Xue longed more than anything to explore the worlds of anime in person!

……

“Master, that brat is calling again!” Feng Xue tapped the bracelet on his wrist, and a holographic projection immediately appeared before his eyes. While military technology in this world had stagnated, civilian tech still crept forward—at a snail’s pace, perhaps, but after millennia, it could at least be controlled by will alone. Still, due to the technological level of the demi-plane, many people preferred to operate terminals with keyboards or touchscreens.

“Feng Xue, your thesis—‘On the Potential Connections Among Shinigami, Hollows, Humans, and Quincy, and the Prospects of Quincy Abilities’—has been accepted by the “Huaxia Digest”! Word is, the lower levels (in this world, the stronger you are, the lower you live; the upper levels are for commoners, so here the terms ‘upper’ and ‘lower’ are the reverse of the real world) have already gathered a team of top conceptual experts in soul arts to experiment in the ‘Bleach’ demi-plane. If your hypothesis proves true, you might be admitted to the Central Transmigrator Academy on special recommendation this year, and rumor has it you’ll even get to choose a soul-cultivation technique for free! (Note: Concepts are innate, body-refining arts are public, origins awaken naturally with power, but soul arts must be found in demi-planes—though some are family secrets or sold by large organizations. By the way, besides these four, you can minor in other arts, like internal energy or magic.)” The speaker was Feng Xue’s grade director, also his theory tutor.

“I see. But does this admission come with any perks? You know about my financial situation…”

“Don’t joke! If your thesis holds up, the royalties from ‘Huaxia Digest’ alone are enough to buy you a villa on the top floor of the ‘Ninth Heaven’! Not to mention, the Transmigrator Act stipulates that the highest reward from a successful verification goes to the paper’s author. Even if you can’t use it, you can sell it to someone else and dine on ancient dragon feasts every day!” The floating projection made an exaggerated face.

“Understood, but—”

“No buts! This is the Central Transmigrator Academy! The topmost, most systematic institution in the entire Huaxia Federation. There, you’ll have access not just to classified documents, but also exclusive interdimensional gates for your training, villa-style single dormitories for quality of life, and even a dedicated maid for every student (which is probably the main attraction)…”

“All right, all right, I get it!” Feng Xue wiped the cold sweat from his brow. The so-called Central Transmigrator Academy was a university perched at the summit of the Ninth Heaven, chosen for its safety. In fact, each level under Huaxia’s control had a branch campus, but only the most outstanding or those who made significant contributions could attend the main school at the very top. Just being at a branch campus was akin to attending a world-class university in his past life, while the main school’s status was comparable to the Han Dynasty’s Imperial Academy (reserved only for royals or sons of meritorious officials).

Of course, admission to the Central Transmigrator Academy wasn’t free. Under normal circumstances, it required at least a million in entrance fees (for those who got in on merit, as there were no backdoor admissions, and that didn’t even include tuition), and your grades had to meet a stringent cutoff (think of the National Defense Science and Technology University in terms of selectivity). As for special admits like Feng Xue, there were only a handful each year. But given this world’s near-infinite human habitation and a population in the trillions, was that really so many?

Hanging up, Feng Xue closed the reference book in his hands. Now that he’d been admitted, there was no need to keep tormenting himself with these loathsome texts.

In fact, this was already the fourth paper he’d submitted, all in pursuit of this very admission letter.

Yet, the standards of this world were unexpectedly high—three spoiler-filled papers had earned him nothing but praise and a modest bonus, making Feng Xue marvel that every world has its share of talent.

Stretching lazily as he left his dorm, Feng Xue gazed at the barrier of light separating them from the outside world. A pang of melancholy struck him. He shook his head hard, banishing the sentimental haze, and drew a deep breath.

“I really want to see what’s out there!”

But for a mere upper-level ordinary like Feng Xue, he knew all too well that he couldn’t even leave the safe zone, let alone set foot on Earth—even venturing outside would likely see him crushed to death by the sudden increase in gravity.

Since the day he had transmigrated as an infant, he’d never set foot beyond this town. His curiosity about the outside world nearly consumed him.

In his past life, he hadn’t been much of an explorer—few homebodies were—but in this life, he’d developed a terrifying obsession with the “unknown.”

According to his tutor, his origin was probably tied to exploration.

It could be the pursuit of knowledge, or knowledge itself, or even its opposite: labyrinths and prisons.

But for Feng Xue, all that was still too far off. All he needed to know was that this urge to explore wasn’t a mental problem.

Indeed, it was this very hunger for discovery that drove him to write paper after paper, hoping to reach the pinnacle of the Ninth Heaven where he could move freely.

……

As expected, half a month later, a guide from the Central Transmigrator Academy arrived at Feng Xue’s dorm and escorted him to the teleportation array.

Regrettably, there was no childhood friend or close companion to see him off. In fact, in his sixteen years since rebirth, the hapless Feng Xue hadn’t managed to make any friends at all, let alone a girl next door. After all, he couldn’t even leave the safe zone and spent his days holed up in the residential building (more aptly called a refugee block, as it housed only those below the Exceptional rank and had nothing but the barest necessities).

After a bout of dizziness as if he’d been flushed down a toilet, Feng Xue found himself standing outside the teleportation array. Though there was nothing much to see, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

It might have been only a few steps, but it took a high fantasy-level powerhouse to transfer someone from a lower to a higher continent.

And the continent housing the Central Transmigrator Academy was unique among exceptions.

This was a masterless continent.

A masterless continent meant its owner—a mythic-level powerhouse—had died (such beings are theoretically immortal; the only way to die is to be severed from the continent and killed, usually while exploring a plane and targeted by some being of special power). Normally, such continents would collapse within a few decades—since their ecology was maintained by the mythic’s domain, their death would mean the loss of light, gravity, water cycles, and all the things floating islands lack. Eventually, they’d merge with Earth (unlike the merging of a continent ruled by a Law-level powerhouse—think of one as a major power joining the UN, the other as a defeated nation being annexed). But this one was different. After its master’s death, the continent was refined by over ten True Gods or higher from the Eastern Human race, reducing its size by hundreds of times to maintain its existence. Afterward, every newly ascended mythic from Huaxia had to contribute power to sustain it. You could say the operation of this floating continent depended on the collective rules of all Huaxia’s mythic-level powerhouses—it was practically unsinkable (though perhaps I’ve just jinxed it). However, because it blended so many mythics’ powers, the continent would never be able to ascend further. For this reason, it remained forever at the pinnacle of Ninth Heaven.

This floating continent, now only the size of pre-Cataclysm Australia, became the stronghold of the highest institution of the Eastern Human race—the Central Transmigrator Academy.

And on the island, the only building complex was the Academy itself.

Stepping out of the teleportation chamber, Feng Xue beheld the sky.

Blue heavens, white clouds, gentle breezes, and the sun— for a moment, it felt as though he had returned to Earth in his previous life!

No, even on Earth, with its ever-increasing pollution, such vistas had long vanished.

Though he knew full well that all this was artificial, Feng Xue could not help but feel a surge of excitement.

He drew a deep breath of the humid air, filling his nose with the scent of earth and grass.

“Welcome to the Central Transmigrator Academy,” greeted a long-haired woman in a blue-and-white Hanfu, smiling warmly.