Chapter 2: The System That Watches

Fear of the unknown was a human instinct—and Xu Ning, even as a soul, wasn't free from it.

This space he now drifted in—white, endless, and eerily silent—wasn't just unfamiliar. It was unnerving. No walls. No ceiling. No floor, really. Just pure, sterile nothingness stretching infinitely in every direction. It was as though he existed inside a blank canvas, one waiting for someone—something—to paint purpose onto it.

He took a cautious step forward. His foot landed on something solid—but it didn't feel like ground. It was springy, almost gel-like, yet firm enough to support his weight. He crouched and touched it. It didn't squish, didn't ripple. It was just… there.

"This doesn't make any sense," he muttered to himself. His voice echoed slightly, but only once, as if the void acknowledged his presence but refused to truly respond.

It didn't matter. He was still… alive?

No, not alive. But not gone either.

His body was dead. He had watched it, lifeless and pale, as doctors tried to revive it. Watched his family break in that small hospital room.

Yet he was here.

Xu Ning sat down cross-legged, unsure what else to do. There was no reference point, no directions, no signs. No interface to interact with. Just him—and this strange white abyss.

He closed his eyes.

A habit, maybe. Muscle memory. As if that still worked here.

He tried to calm his spiraling thoughts. Don't panic, he told himself. Panic doesn't help. You've been through worse.

And he had.

For as long as he could remember, his body had been a prison—riddled with pain, weakness, and limitations. Hospitals were his playgrounds. Needles and IVs, his toys. Birthdays had passed like ghosts. Friends? None. School? Only stories and YouTube videos.

But that same life had taught him something invaluable—resilience.

Pain had been his most constant companion, and somewhere along the way, Xu Ning had learned to endure it. Adapt to it. Even use it.

That endurance, that stubbornness—it hadn't died with his body.

Sitting still, Xu Ning focused on his breath—well, the memory of breathing. It wasn't really breathing, but the rhythm helped. It was oddly grounding, like clinging to the last vestiges of his humanity.

And in the stillness, something unexpected happened.

A warmth.

Not external, but internal—flowing gently through his soul like sunlight filtered through cool water. It was faint, subtle, but real.

As if the air—if it could be called that—was filled with energy. Not oxygen. Something else. Something purer.

He focused on that feeling, trying to draw it in. He didn't know what he was doing—no guide, no prompt—but instinct took over. Just like he had once learned to endure pain without instruction, he now embraced this strange flow, absorbing it with his very being.

And it worked.

The cottony softness of his soul grew denser, slightly more defined. He felt anchored. Less like a drifting ghost, more like something solid.

Was this… growth?

A soft glow began to pulse from within him—faint at first, then steady. His outline sharpened, his senses became more alert, and for the first time since waking up in this void, he felt something close to hope.

Then it happened.

"Test complete. Criteria met. Preparing for Task Integration."

The sudden robotic voice cut through the stillness like a blade, making him flinch.

It was cold, mechanical. Familiar.

The same voice he had heard right before the world faded during his death.

Before he could respond, a screen materialized mid-air, its glow casting a gentle blue hue in the endless white void.

User ID: 007Name: Xu NingAge: 17Experience: 0 / 10,000Soul Strength: 65Vitality: 40Luck: 18Mental Fortitude: 110Charm: — (Unavailable)Abilities: NoneTitles: None

A game screen?

Xu Ning blinked, staring at the floating text. The numbers weren't shocking—but that "Charm: —" stood out.

"What's with the dash?" he asked aloud.

"Host's charm could not be calculated due to a lack of external validation," the system replied in a flat tone. "No individual has expressed romantic or affectionate intent toward Host in his living years."

Xu Ning: "…"

A pause.

"Did… did the system just roast me?"

Silence.

"Okay then."

He sighed, resisting the urge to rub his forehead. Except… could he? He tried, and surprisingly, he could still mimic physical actions. He was a soul, but he had a body—of sorts.

"So... what is this place?" he asked.

"No permission to disclose."

"What happens after I level up?"

"No permission to disclose."

"Are there others like me?"

"No permission to disclose."

Xu Ning groaned. "Why even give me a system if you won't tell me anything?"

"Beginning tutorial mission. Ready for transfer."

The void pulsed.

A force surged around him—gentle, yet impossibly strong. It didn't feel like teleportation. It felt like extraction—as if his soul was being plucked from the void and slotted into something greater.

Light twisted. The white void began to fracture. Cracks of glowing circuitry branched across the nothingness like thunderbolts frozen in time.

Wherever I'm going, Xu Ning thought, one thing's certain.

I'm not done yet.

And just before the light swallowed him whole, a strange sensation bloomed in his chest.

Excitement.