Nestled deep within the heart of a bamboo forest, the house stood as a perfect blend of nature and architecture, its wooden structure elevated gracefully on sturdy stilts. The design was not just for aesthetics but for practicality, it was built to withstand the shifting earth and seasonal floods while allowing the cool forest breeze to circulate beneath the floorboards. Mist curled lazily around the base, swirling between the slender stalks of bamboo that whispered with every passing breeze.
The roof, its eaves elegantly upturned, was adorned with dark, weathered tiles that glistened faintly with morning dew. Curving with poetic precision, it bore the hallmark of traditional craftsmanship, shielding the house from the heavy rains while exuding an air of timeless serenity. Beneath its shelter, carved wooden beams bore intricate depictions of flora and avian motifs, their fine details a testament to the skill of the builders who had shaped them.
Inside the house, a young man stood before a large bronze mirror, his gaze locked onto his reflection.
His hair was a deep, lustrous black, as dark as the void between the stars, cascading in thick, silken waves past his waist. A few rebellious strands fell over his forehead, framing his face with an almost careless elegance. Though long, it was impeccably kept, each strand glistening faintly as if imbued with something otherworldly. Gathered into a half-up style, it was secured by an ornate silver hairpiece, leaving the remaining length to flow freely over his shoulders.
His features were striking. An exquisite masterpiece of sharp symmetry and fine lines. High cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a straight, well-defined nose gave him a noble, almost ethereal quality. His lips, full and subtly tinted with a natural rosy hue, contrasted with the sharper angles of his face. But it was his eyes that were most arresting—a molten gold shade, flecked with hints of emerald, as if liquid metal had been mixed with fire and gemstone. They gleamed with unsettling intensity, their sharp gaze framed by thick lashes that cast delicate shadows against his bronzed skin.
Atop his brow rested a silver circlet, its intricate filigree designs resembling curling tendrils of smoke or forgotten script from an ancient era. Set at its center was a dark gemstone; either an emerald so deep it neared black or an onyx kissed by green fire. Matching silver cuffs encircled his wrists, their fine etchings faintly glowing with an unknown power. A choker of black silk, intertwined with thin strands of silver, rested against his collarbone, just above a longer necklace bearing a dark emerald encased in an elaborate metallic frame. His fingers, long and elegantly tapered, bore several rings—one, an onyx-emerald band carved with an unreadable inscription, another featuring a blood-red pearl resting ominously against his thumb.
His robes were nothing short of a masterpiece, flowing layers of black and deep forest green fabric, the hems embroidered with delicate cranes and bamboo motifs in silver thread. The outer robe was lined with sheer, gossamer-like material, offering fleeting glimpses of the intricate patterns woven beneath. A dark silk sash, embroidered with silver filigree, cinched his waist, ensuring the ensemble moved with both fluidity and grace. His boots, black and finely crafted, completed the regal yet lethal aesthetic.
He stared at his reflection for what felt like an eternity, his expression unreadable, as the weight of realization settled over him like an oppressive fog.
Then, he exhaled heavily, squeezing his eyes shut.
A voice, crisp and unmistakably amused, echoed in his mind.
[ Are you done with the denial yet? ]
His eye twitched. His scowl deepened.
“…I cannot be Zhū Yao.” His voice was a mix of disbelief and sheer exasperation.
[ Well, you can, and you are. ] The system’s tone was laced with undisguised boredom. [ Now hurry up and accept it, or this is going to be an incredibly tedious existential crisis to watch. ]
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “This has to be a mistake.”
[ Oh, sure. Maybe the heavens tripped and accidentally shoved you into the body of a minor villain with a tragic death scene. Happens all the time. ]
“…That sounds like sarcasm.”
[ Wow, you’re quick. Must be all that air resistance from flinging yourself under a falling beam. ]
He scowled harder. “I did not fling myself—”
[ You definitely flung. Now, are you done wasting time, or should I start narrating the novel’s plot in excruciating detail to remind you just how screwed you are? ]
He inhaled deeply through his nose. Counted to three. Exhaled.
“…Shit.”
[ There it is. Acceptance. ]
Zhū Yao clenched his jaw, inhaling deeply as if hoping that by sheer force of will, he could wake up from this nightmare. But no, the reflection in the bronze mirror remained unchanged—a mix of golden and emerald eyes, ridiculous amounts of jewelry, and robes so fancy they belonged to a walking art exhibit.
[ Are you still brooding? ] The System's voice was positively dripping with exasperation.
He ignored it.
Instead, he pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to piece together what he knew about the cringy Xianxia novel, The Saintess Who Touched the Heavens—the very novel that had led him to this absurd situation in the first place.
It was supposed to be a heartwarming, action-packed cultivation story about the beautiful, kind-hearted Zhū Nínglì, the Female Lead who went on a grand adventure to retrieve her murdered little brother’s pearl soul. But the reality? It was a mess.
For starters, the original Zhū Yao—his new identity—had been nothing more than an insufferable brat. Rude, childish, and completely lacking in self-awareness, the kid had no respect for anyone except his older sister, whom he practically worshiped. And sure, he technically had a reason for being an obnoxious little gremlin, considering his prestigious family background, but did he really need to be that annoying?
Apparently, yes.
And yet, despite his many (many) flaws, Zhū Yao had barely even been relevant to the main plot. His entire purpose in the story was to be brutally murdered by a demon, which resulted in his soul being stolen and his sister setting off on a grand mission to "avenge him" and reclaim his lost soul.
A mission that, as he vividly remembered, never even got completed.
Instead, Zhū Nínglì spent most of the novel collecting a group of devastatingly handsome, powerful men—each one more obsessed with her than the last—while blissfully remaining completely oblivious to their affections.
They gifted her rare artifacts? She thought they were being nice.
They risked their lives for her? She assumed it was just brotherly concern.
One of them literally kissed her forehead under the moonlight? She laughed and said, “You’re such a great friend.”
Zhū Yao scowled at the memory.
Worst of all? She never even finished her damn mission.
After hundreds of chapters filled with heart-fluttering misunderstandings, dramatic fights, and near-death experiences, the so-called "beloved" older sister never actually got the original’s pearl soul back! She was too busy being flustered over her harem of lovestruck cultivators to remember that her little brother was still stuck in the mortal realm like some lost ghost!
[ Ahhh, the frustration is delicious. ] The System chuckled. [ So much rage for a novel you called ‘cringy’… and yet you still read every chapter. ]
“I was tricked!” Zhū Yao snapped. “My little sister begged me to read it with her, and she made it sound like some grand cultivation epic! I didn’t expect it to be romance garbage with no resolution!”
[ Oh? And yet, you still finished it. ]
He groaned. “I was already too deep! You don’t just quit after two hundred chapters! I kept waiting for it to get better!”
[ Ah yes, the classic mistake. You thought it would improve. It did not. ]
Zhū Yao gritted his teeth. “Shut up.”
The System snickered. [ So, how does it feel knowing you’ve become the bratty little villain who dies a painful death? ]
He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “I refuse to accept this.”
[ Denial again. That’s cute. ]
“I refuse to die like some minor stepping stone for my idiot sister’s emotional growth arc!” Zhū Yao growled, turning on his heel. “If I’m stuck in this damn body, then I’m not going to just sit around and wait for some demon to rip my soul out!”
The System let out a mock gasp. [ Oh? You’re finally embracing your fate? ]
“No.” he said flatly. “I’m rewriting it.” Zhū Yao sat cross-legged on the floor, arms folded, deep in thought. If he wanted to not die a tragic, forgettable death, he needed a solid survival plan.
Step one: Avoid the death flag.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Step two: ???
Step three: Live a long, drama-free life away from plot-induced nonsense.
Simple enough.
Except… he didn’t know how to avoid his scripted fate. Should he train? Hide? Suck up to his sister so she actually remembered to save him this time?
A thought struck him.
“…Wait a second.” He narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t transmigrators usually given, like… a mission? A cheat? A way to level up and break free from their original fate?”
[ Nope. ]
Zhū Yao blinked. “Huh?”
[ No missions, no cheats, no magical destiny-altering system functions. ]
“…What the hell do you do then?”
[ I’m a guide. ] The System sounded positively smug.
“A guide?” Zhū Yao repeated, skeptical.
[ Correct. I offer advice. Suggestions, if you will. ]
“…And?”
[ That’s it. ]
Zhū Yao stared at the ceiling, processing this information. “So you’re telling me… you don’t give me skills, don’t provide missions, don’t reward me with points… What’s even the point of you existing then?!”
[ Oh, absolutely nothing. I’m practically useless. ]
Zhū Yao twitched. “You say that like it’s a good thing!”
[ Well, I’m stuck with you regardless, so you might as well deal with it. ]
He inhaled deeply, rubbing his temples. “Great. So I have a useless, snarky system that does nothing. This is fantastic.”
[ Glad we’re on the same page. ]
“…Unbelievable.”
But fine. Fine. If the System wasn’t going to do anything helpful, he’d figure things out himself.
“…Alright, if you’re a guide, then at least tell me if there are any rules I need to follow.” Zhū Yao asked warily. “I assume there’s some kind of restriction, right?”
[ Bingo. You are not allowed to inform anyone that you are a transmigrator. No mentioning your past world, no revealing that you’re not the original Zhū Yao. ]
“And if I do?”
[ You die. ]
Zhū Yao’s eye twitched. “Of course I do.”
The System hummed in fake sympathy. [ Harsh, isn’t it? But hey, at least you get full creative control over your new life. No forced personality, no OOC restrictions. You can act however you want. ]
Zhū Yao raised a brow. “So I don’t have to play the role of an obnoxious, bratty young master?”
[ Nope. This life belongs to you now. If you want to rewrite your fate, go ahead. Just know—it won’t be easy. ]
Zhū Yao smirked. “Good. Because I refuse to die like a disposable side character.”
With that settled, he cracked his knuckles and started thinking.
Time to come up with a survival plan.
Zhū Yao pressed his fingers against his temple, inhaling sharply.
Alright. If he wanted to live, he needed to understand how he died in the first place.
The original Zhū Yao’s death scene in the novel was nothing short of a tragic afterthought—an almost comical waste of life.
He remembered it vividly.
It had been raining. Not a soft drizzle, but a relentless downpour that pounded against the roof of the Bamboo Crane Pavilion, a secluded teahouse near the city outskirts.
The original Zhū Yao had stormed inside, furious, dripping wet, and seething with barely contained rage.
"Those disgusting, lowly bastards—how dare they look at my Jiejie!?"
He had been alone, kicking over a low wooden stool in a tantrum, gritting his teeth as he paced back and forth.
His soaked outer robe clung to him, but he barely noticed. His mind was too preoccupied with grumbling, cursing, and sulking about whatever noble young masters had dared breathe in the same space as Zhū Nínglì that day.
He had been so angry. So oblivious.
So completely unaware of the black and red shadows curling at the edges of the room.
The air had turned thick, heavy, wrong—but the brat hadn’t noticed.
The demon had slithered forth from the smoke, its form shifting, tendrils of darkness curling along the wooden beams of the teahouse.
Silent. Waiting.
Then, with one smooth movement, a clawed hand plunged through his chest.
Zhū Yao choked. The world blurred. Something wet, hot, and vibrant dripped down his lips.
He had looked down. His ribs, his chest, torn open. A grotesque, bloodied claw extended from his back, holding something—
Something glowing.
A swirling pearl of green and white; his soul.
The demon ripped its hand back, tearing the glowing orb free.
Zhū Yao stumbled. The warmth of his body began to drain. His knees buckled.
He dropped to the floor.
His mouth opened, his sister’s name the only thing he could think of.
"…Jiejie…"
His vision dimmed.
And then—
—nothing.
The last thing that remained was the sound of the demon’s delighted cackle before it vanished into the night.
Zhū Yao exhaled sharply.
Right. That was how he was supposed to die.
Horribly. Painfully. Without a single shred of dignity.
Well. Screw that.
He snapped his fingers. “System, where am I in the timeline?”
[ You have exactly one month before your scheduled demise. ]
Zhū Yao’s eye twitched. “…A month?”
[ Correct. ]
His stomach twisted. That wasn’t enough time.
Not when he needed to improve his cultivation.
Not when the original Zhū Yao had been a useless, spoiled, barely-trained young master who never put in an ounce of effort into self-defense.
He couldn’t fight.
He couldn’t run fast enough.
And he sure as hell couldn’t take on a demon.
Zhū Yao groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “This is bad. This is really bad.”
He needed a plan. Fast.
With a weary breath, he pushed himself to his feet and began to pace the room; though calling it a "room" felt like an insult. This was a bedchamber that belonged to someone refined. Someone with taste. Someone not the original Zhū Yao.
It was far too quiet. Too composed. Too beautiful.
The space exuded an air of tranquil opulence, as if serenity had been carved into every inch. Draped in a palette of deep emerald green, obsidian black, and muted jade, the chamber looked more like a sanctuary than the quarters of a villainous young master.
Light filtered softly through gauzy silk curtains, dyed a smoky silver that dulled the outside world and turned it into shadows. The floor beneath his feet gleamed, darkwood polished to a mirrored sheen. With each step, he caught ghostly glimpses of movement, reflections of the room’s subtle elegance.
A rich bamboo motif ran through every detail, etched into the carved baseboards, the legs of the furniture, even the delicate supports of the canopy above the bed as if the forest had grown and shaped the room with its own will.
At the center of it all rested a raised circular bed, elegant and serene, like a lotus blooming on a still lake. Its lacquered black frame cradled cushions embroidered with silver cranes mid-flight, wings stretched in graceful arcs. Translucent green silk hung down in gentle veils, swaying slightly as the breeze drifted in from the balcony, reminiscent of bamboo leaves rustling beneath the moon.
He stopped walking and glanced toward the open circular moon gate, a soft archway leading deeper into the private quarters. Beyond it lay a secluded courtyard where bamboo stalks swayed in peaceful clusters. Occasionally, white cranes glided past, silent and ethereal, as if they belonged more to dreams than reality.
The arch itself bore intricate carvings of curling clouds and bamboo stalks, painted in shimmering jade tones that glinted when touched by the light.
A sigh escaped him. “Why does it feel like this place belonged to a sage in seclusion instead of a spoiled brat on a villain track?”
To the side of the chamber stood an elegant tea table, its surface set with a fine porcelain tea set, white with delicate gold cranes and painted green leaves. A scroll painting hung behind it, depicting cranes among a dense bamboo grove, the brushwork masterfully minimal. Nearby, incense coiled slowly in a dragon-shaped brazier, releasing ribbons of sandalwood and lotus that lingered in the air like unspoken thoughts.
Tall lanterns shaped like stylized bamboo lined the walls, casting a soft jade glow that bathed everything in a gentle, enchanted haze. Vases of white plum blossoms stood like sentinels on lacquered stands, beside carefully trimmed bonsai trees. And at the far end of the room stood a midnight-toned folding screen, painted with a hauntingly beautiful scene: cranes soaring across a moonlit bamboo forest as if one could step through and leave this world behind.
Zhū Yao stared at the screen, then at the bed, then around the room again.
“This isn’t a villain’s room.” he muttered. “It’s a poet’s retreat. Did the author ever describe this place, or did I just inherit the setting from a side-note footnote?”
He shook his head and turned on his heel.
“No matter. It’s mine now.”
And if he was going to live long enough to enjoy this ridiculous luxury?
Then it was time to make that plan—one month, one chance, one path to survival.
Zhū Yao crossed to the tea table, dragging his fingers thoughtfully along its smooth lacquered edge. He needed to increase his cultivation. Fast. But how? Did this body even know any decent techniques? And what about allies? Resources? Would it be better to lay low or try to subtly reforge connections before the demon attack? Should he feign illness, start a retreat, lock himself in this ridiculously peaceful chamber and meditate—
Knock knock.
The soft slide of paper panels shifted, accompanied by the careful voice of a servant on the other side of the door.
“Y-Young Master Zhū.” the voice called respectfully, muffled but polite. “Forgive the intrusion. This lowly one comes bearing news. Young Mistress Zhū is currently at the main courtyard.”
There was a beat of silence.
Zhū Yao blinked. “…And?”
His tone wasn’t rude, exactly—just confused. ‘Why the hell would I need to know where the female lead is right now?’
A beat passed.
Then, the now-familiar dry voice of the system rang out in his mind.
[ The original Zhū Yao instructed all household staff to inform him immediately of Young Mistress Zhū Nínglì’s whereabouts whenever possible. He considered her company… ‘comforting.’ ]
“…Comforting?” Zhū Yao echoed flatly, mouth twisting.
[ Affectionate obsession might be a more accurate descriptor. He followed her around frequently, uninvited, and regularly disrupted her cultivation sessions. ]
Zhū Yao made a face, stepping away from the tea table and pressing his fingers to his temples. “Of course he did.”
So that explained the sudden update from the staff. They weren’t being intrusive, they were just doing what they’d been told. ‘Ugh, the original was really a menace.’
The servant outside cleared their throat, clearly uncertain if they should stay or go. “Young Master…?”
Zhū Yao took a breath and forced a more composed tone. “Acknowledged. You may go.”
He waited until the soft shuffle of feet faded down the hallway, then let out a long sigh and slumped into the nearest cushioned seat. His fingers drummed once on the carved bamboo armrest, eyes narrowing.
“Alright, step one…” he muttered, resuming the thread of his planning. “Figure out what this body knows. Cultivation, techniques, martial forms, anything I can build on.”
But in the back of his mind, the knowledge lingered—the original’s unhealthy fixation on Zhū Nínglì. If he wanted to rewrite this fate, avoiding a tragic end wasn’t his only problem. He might also need to untangle the original’s lingering habits and obsessive relationships.
He grimaced again.
“One month.” he whispered to himself. “Just thirty days to stop a demon, dodge death, rebuild my cultivation, and undo a lifetime of brat behavior. Easy.”
The sarcasm tasted bitter in his mouth.
PRONOUNCIATION NAME GUIDE:
Zhū → joo (rhymes with “zoo”)
Yao → yaow (like “yow” in “yowza”, but with a rising tone)
Joo Yow
Zhū [ 珠 ] means bead, pearl
Yao [ ??? ] means "brilliant", "glorious" or "brightly shining".
Zhū → joo (rhymes with “zoo”)
Níng → neeng (like “knee” + “ng”)
Lì → lee (high and falling tone)
Joo Neeng Lee
Níng [ 宁 ] means "peace" or "calm."
Lì [ 丽 ] means "beautiful."
Author Note: I might be wrong about the Chinese Mandarin characters since I am not an expert. If you have noticed it is wrong, please, feel free to inform me and I will fix it right away.
CHINESE NAMES:
Jiejie translate to "elder sister", "older sister"
