Chapter Text
Shen Yuan died exactly as he lived. He was intensely irritated, completely alone, and heavily criticizing an objectively terrible piece of internet literature.
The web novel in question was Proud Immortal Demon Way. It was a sprawling, convoluted, plot-hole-ridden masterpiece of trash. The author, Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky, had somehow managed to write millions of words without wrapping up a single character arc satisfactorily. Shen Yuan had spent years reading every single chapter. He hated it. He hated it with a burning passion that defied logic, yet he could never stop himself from clicking on the newest update.
His final moments on Earth were spent angrily typing out a blistering, thousand-word essay in the comment section of the novel's final chapter. He was so consumed by his own righteous indignation over the protagonist's terrible character development that he completely forgot to chew his dinner. A large, unyielding piece of a stale meat bun lodged itself firmly in his windpipe.
Panic set in. He knocked over his desk chair, clutching his throat, knocking his keyboard to the floor in a clatter of plastic keys. His vision blurred. The edges of his computer screen darkened. His last conscious thought was a furious, silent curse directed at the author for writing an ending so thoroughly terrible that it literally killed him.
He expected the afterlife to be dark. He expected the underworld courts, the River of Forgetfulness, or perhaps just endless, silent nothingness. He certainly did not expect to open his eyes and find himself staring closely at the intricately carved bamboo rafters.
Shen Yuan blinked and tried to push himself up off the floor, fully expecting the lingering ache of a near-death experience. Instead, he felt absolutely weightless. He pushed his hands down, but there was no resistance.
He looked down at his own body and immediately let out a piercing scream.
His body was entirely translucent. He held up his hands, watching in pure horror as the sunlight passed straight through his glowing, pale blue skin. Was he a ghost? Was he really so bitter that his soul decided to remain on this plane of existence?
[Activation Successful.]
A cheerful, aggressively bright voice echoed directly inside his skull. It sounded exactly like a generic customer service robot, devoid of all human empathy.
[Welcome to the Guardian Angel Protocol. Initializing user interface. Scanning environmental parameters. Binding user soul to designated VIP. (,,>ヮ<,,)]
Shen Yuan waved his arms frantically. He tried to speak, but his voice felt muffled, as if he were shouting underwater. What protocol? What VIP? Where am I?
A glowing blue screen materialized in the air right in front of his face. It was entirely solid, unlike his own hands. The text on the screen scrolled rapidly, displaying a terrifyingly dense Terms of Service agreement.
[Congratulations! You have successfully triggered the System. You are currently located within the world of 'Proud Immortal Demon Way'. Based on your final emotional signature prior to termination, you have been assigned the exclusive role of: Guardian Angel.]
Shen Yuan stared at the floating blue letters. He was in Proud Immortal Demon Way. He had transmigrated into the worst piece of fiction ever written. This was a punishment. This was absolutely a karmic punishment for his harsh internet comments.
[Please review your mandatory rules of existence,] the System chimed happily.
[Rule 1: The VIP's Life is Your Life.As a Guardian Angel, your soul is completely tethered to the protagonist, Luo Binghe. If the protagonist's heart stops beating, your soul will be subjected to immediate, permanent deletion. There is no appeal process.]
Shen Yuan felt a phantom cold sweat break out across his invisible forehead.
[Rule 2: The Point Economy. You currently possess 100 B-Points. B-Points are the currency of your existence. If the protagonist takes critical damage under your watch, points will be severely deducted. If your account balance reaches zero, your soul will be subjected to immediate, permanent deletion.]
[Rule 3: Ethereal Constraints. You are a spirit. You cannot be seen, heard, or felt by the inhabitants of this world. You cannot interact with physical objects. Should you require physical intervention to save the protagonist, you must purchase a 'Corporeal Burst' from the System shop. The current market price is 50 B-Points per ten seconds of physical mass.]
This is a scam, Shen Yuan screamed internally. This is an absolute scam! You gave me a hundred points, but it costs fifty points just to touch a single object? How am I supposed to protect anyone?
[Binding complete,] the System ignored his internal panic completely. [Teleporting user to the VIP's current location. We wish you a long and productive afterlife!]
The bamboo room vanished. Shen Yuan felt a sudden, violent yank right behind his navel. The world spun in a blur of sickening colors before snapping back into sharp focus.
The smell of sandalwood was gone. It was replaced by the overwhelming stench of damp earth, mildew, and old blood. Shen Yuan found himself floating inside a cramped, freezing woodshed. The walls were made of rotting planks, and the floor was bare, freezing dirt.
He drifted slowly toward the back corner of the shed, where a tiny, trembling shape was huddled in the shadows.
It was a child. The boy could not have been more than twelve or thirteen years old. He was wearing the coarse, gray robes of an outer disciple of the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, though the fabric was torn and covered in muddy footprints. The boy had his knees pulled tightly to his chest, his head buried in his arms. He was shivering violently, his small shoulders shaking with silent, suppressed sobs.
Shen Yuan floated closer, his heart twisting in his chest.
The boy looked up, reacting to a cold draft that blew through the cracks in the wall. Shen Yuan gasped.
It was Luo Binghe. The future supreme Demon Lord. The terrifying tyrant who would one day conquer the three realms, slaughter his enemies, and have a harem of three thousand women.
Right now, however, he was just a miserable, beaten child. Luo Binghe’s face was covered in dark purple bruises. A fresh cut on his cheek was still sluggishly bleeding. His large, dark eyes were entirely devoid of the cold cruelty described in the novel; they were currently filled with absolute terror and hopeless despair. He looked like a kicked puppy. He looked like the most innocent, tragic little sheep in the entire world.
Shen Yuan felt a profound, overwhelming sense of pity wash over him.
The author of the novel had glossed over Luo Binghe's childhood abuse. Airplane had treated the protagonist's suffering at Qing Jing Peak as a mere footnote, a brief setup to justify his future villainy. Seeing it in person was entirely different. Seeing a literal child crying silently in a freezing woodshed after being beaten by his peers made Shen Yuan completely sick to his stomach.
Don't worry, Shen Yuan thought fiercely, hovering just above the boy's head. I know I complained about your novel, but I won't let them hurt you anymore. You are just a sweet, innocent white lotus. I will be the best Guardian Angel the System has ever seen.
He reached out, instinctively trying to pat the boy's messy hair. His glowing hand passed straight through Luo Binghe's skull, leaving behind nothing but a faint chill. Luo Binghe shivered and pulled his knees tighter to his chest.
Shen Yuan pulled his hand back, frustrated by his own helplessness. He needed to figure out how to earn more points. He needed a strategy. He needed to observe the peak and establish a perimeter.
Before he could formulate a proper plan, the heavy wooden door of the woodshed violently slammed open.
Shen Yuan spun around, floating up toward the ceiling.
A teenager stood in the doorway, framed by the pale moonlight. He wore the elegant, pale green robes of a senior Qing Jing disciple. He had a sharp, arrogant face and a cruel sneer twisting his lips. Shen Yuan recognized him immediately from the novel's descriptions. This was Ming Fan, the head disciple and Luo Binghe’s primary tormentor.
Ming Fan was holding a thick, canvas sack in his left hand. The sack was moving. Something heavy and muscular was writhing violently inside the coarse fabric.
"Still crying, little beast?" Ming Fan mocked, his voice echoing loudly in the small space. "Shizun told you to chop three cords of wood before dawn. Since you clearly prefer sitting around being useless, I brought you some motivation."
Luo Binghe pressed his back hard against the rotting wall, his eyes wide with raw panic. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was completely hoarse. "Shixiong, please. I am injured. I cannot-"
"Quiet!" Ming Fan snapped. He stepped into the shed and violently tossed the canvas sack onto the dirt floor, directly between Luo Binghe and the door. "Let's see how fast you move when you actually have a reason to."
Ming Fan stepped backward out of the shed. He slammed the door shut and slid the heavy iron bolt into place, locking the woodshed from the outside. His cruel laughter faded into the distance.
Shen Yuan stared at the canvas sack. The knot at the top had loosened when it hit the ground. The heavy, muscular shape inside continued to thrash against the fabric, hissing violently. Slowly, a head emerged from the top of the sack. Shen Yuan stopped breathing.
It was a Ghost-Faced Centipede. It was a low-level demonic creature, but it was absolutely massive. The insect was the size of a large dog, covered in thick, heavily armored black plates that gleamed maliciously in the moonlight. Countless sharp, razor-thin legs clicked furiously against the dirt floor as it dragged its heavy body out of the canvas. Two massive, venom-dripping mandibles twitched at the front of its horrifying, skull-like face.
According to the lore of Proud Immortal Demon Way, a bite from a Ghost-Faced Centipede caused immediate blood coagulation. For a fully grown cultivator, it was a painful inconvenience. For a half-starved, heavily beaten thirteen-year-old boy with zero spiritual energy, it was a guaranteed death sentence.
Luo Binghe stopped crying. He stared at the giant insect, completely frozen in terror. He pressed his hands over his mouth to muffle his own breathing, his knuckles turning white. The centipede clicked its mandibles. It was blind, but it could sense heat and movement. It turned its horrific head directly toward the huddled child in the corner.
System! Shen Yuan screamed in his mind. System, what do I do! That thing is going to kill him!
[Warning: VIP is in immediate mortal peril,] the System chimed cheerfully. [If the VIP expires, user soul deletion will commence in five seconds.]
Five seconds?! Shen Yuan dove toward the centipede. He tried to kick it away from the boy. His glowing blue foot passed completely through the insect's armored shell. The centipede did not even pause. It reared up on its back legs, preparing to lunge directly at Luo Binghe's face.
Luo Binghe shut his eyes tight and let out a broken, terrified whimper.
Shen Yuan looked around frantically. His eyes landed on a heavy, iron-bound wooden chopping block sitting on a sturdy table near the door. It was massive.
System! Buy the Corporeal Burst! Buy it right now!
[Transaction confirmed. Deducting 50 B-Points. You have ten seconds of physical mass remaining.]
A sudden shockwave of heavy gravity slammed into Shen Yuan's ethereal form. For the first time since waking up, he felt the freezing chill of the air on his skin. He felt the phantom weight of his own non-existent bones.
He had ten seconds.
Shen Yuan threw himself across the room. He grabbed the heavy, iron-bound chopping block with both hands. It was incredibly heavy, and his newly solid muscles strained under the sudden effort.
Nine seconds.
The centipede hissed, its mandibles clicking together as it coiled its body like a spring, ready to strike the cowering boy.
Eight seconds.
Shen Yuan hoisted the heavy block of wood over his head. He let out a furious, invisible battle cry and hurled the heavy block straight down with every single ounce of strength he possessed.
Seven seconds.
CRUNCH.
The chopping block slammed directly into the center of the centipede's back. The horrible, thick black armor cracked violently under the massive weight of the iron-bound wood. Dark, foul-smelling yellow fluid splattered across the dirt floor. The heavy block pinned the creature entirely, crushing its internal organs in a single blow.
The centipede twitched its many legs in a frantic, dying spasm before going completely limp.
Six seconds.
Shen Yuan collapsed onto his knees, gasping for air. His invisible chest heaved. He looked down at his hands, which were shaking uncontrollably from the adrenaline.
Five seconds.
Luo Binghe slowly opened his eyes. He flinched, expecting the agonizing bite of venom. Instead, he saw the giant demonic insect completely crushed underneath a heavy chopping block that had somehow managed to throw itself across the room.
Four seconds.
Luo Binghe stared at the dead bug. He looked at the heavy block. He looked around the empty, locked woodshed. The boy's face was a perfect mask of utter confusion and lingering terror.
Three seconds.
Shen Yuan realized he was kneeling right in front of the boy. Even though he was invisible, he felt incredibly awkward staring into those wide, tear-filled eyes.
Two seconds.
I saved him, Shen Yuan thought wildly. I actually saved him.
One second.
[Corporeal Burst expired. Thank you for your purchase.]
The crushing weight of gravity vanished instantly. Shen Yuan's solid form evaporated back into glowing blue mist. He lost his balance completely, tumbling backward and floating up toward the ceiling like a discarded rag.
[Warning: VIP has suffered severe emotional trauma. Deducting 10 B-Points.]
Shen Yuan paused mid-air. What? I just saved his life! Why are you deducting points?
[The VIP is currently experiencing extreme psychological stress due to the sudden, unexplained paranormal activity within the woodshed. Current B-Point Balance: 40.]
Shen Yuan stared down at the little white lotus. Luo Binghe was no longer looking at the bug. The boy was staring frantically at the empty air, his bruised face pale with fresh horror, clearly convinced that the woodshed was deeply haunted by a violent, furniture-throwing poltergeist.
Shen Yuan let his glowing head fall into his translucent hands and groaned in absolute despair. He had forty points left. He had been dead for less than an hour. He was trapped in a freezing shed with a terrified child, a dead bug, and an artificial intelligence that actively wanted him to fail.
This was going to be the worst afterlife imaginable.