9. The Origin of Transmigration

"Ah, well..." The Director clearly hadn't expected Lu Feng to be so unequivocal, to state so directly that he would not join the Ninth Bureau of Time. For a moment, the old man's face flushed, at a loss for how to smooth things over. The group of middle-aged men in splendid suits, who had just been vying to recruit him, were equally embarrassed—none of them had ever encountered a situation like this.

Normally, upon discovering one is a transmigrant, finding an organization, finding one's own kind, would be every person's secret hope. After all, being a misfit in the outside world, always under suspicion, always watched lest you "go off," brings immense psychological and environmental pressure. Moreover, joining the Ninth Bureau of Time meant official employment among fellow transmigrators—a steady job in this new life, the kind of coveted position so many dream of.

Yet, here was an exception.

From the moment Lu Feng arrived, everyone had treated him as a god, showering him with reverence. The hosts had argued heatedly over who would get him, and the Director himself had shamelessly fawned over him. It was as if you'd taken a leader out for a lavish meal, poured him countless drinks, and just as you opened the car door to see him off, he suddenly said, "That thing you mentioned? I'll think it over. Wait for my word." And then, nothing—no word ever came.

The falling blossom has intent, but the running water is indifferent...

Worse still, Lu Feng hadn't even bothered to "think it over"—he had refused outright.

Everyone present flushed red with embarrassment, finding the situation almost impossible to endure.

Still, the Director was quick-witted. After a couple of coughs, he said, "Ahem... We've all had a long day, and Lu has just arrived. Let him go back and rest for now. Let's call it a day—everyone, back to your offices."

At his words, the room's tension released as if a pardon had been declared. People scrambled for the door, so hurried that they nearly knocked over Lin Doudou, who was standing in the doorway.

After all, these were department heads—status and reputation mattered, and dignity had to be preserved.

But within the room, Lu Feng made no move to leave, remaining where he stood.

"Is there something else?" the Director asked, puzzled.

"What exactly has happened to me?" Lu Feng looked at the Director, his voice calm and curious, composed beyond his years.

For a nineteen-year-old, he possessed a remarkable self-possession.

Few could imagine what he had endured. After his parents divorced ten years ago, when he was just nine, he lived with his father—a man given to drink and violence. All the cooking, cleaning, and housework fell to him.

One night, wracked by a splitting headache, he tumbled from his bed and writhed on the floor. Only then did his father, half-drunk, rouse himself to ask the neighbors for help getting his son to the hospital. When the doctors diagnosed him with brain cancer, his alcoholic father vanished without a word—Lu Feng was twelve.

He survived on the meager allowance his mother sent and the kindness of neighbors, relying on sheer willpower and a fierce tenacity for life to fight the cancerous cells spreading through his brain. He battled for seven years.

Three months ago, his strength failed him at last. As he collapsed to the ground and the world faded to black, his expression was serene—ready for death.

He thought, finally, release.

But he awoke in a hospital bed. After discussions between his mother and a kind-hearted uncle, his hospital bills were paid.

Every day in the hospital, he waited for death to come, but death seemed intent on playing tricks—never arriving, just as the person he waited for that night in the lounge never appeared.

Eventually, someone did come, but not as before. She appeared in a new guise and told him he had transmigrated.

Now, though his heart was awash with questions, he remained unruffled.

Life had taught him to let go of everything, even himself. There was nothing left he could not abandon.

The monk had told him a few things, but those were distant, almost fantastical, and the subject of transmigration had not yet arisen.

Still, he had to ask—he owed himself that much.

That was why, despite his calm, he voiced his question.

The Director studied Lu Feng, as if searching for a weakness to exploit, but found none. This young man was uncommonly strong inside.

"What do you think time is?" the Director suddenly inquired.

"Time?"

In the past, Lu Feng would have answered without hesitation that time was something you measured. But after meeting the monk, he was left uncertain.

Seeing his silence, the Director smiled lightly. "Strictly speaking, time isn't a unit of measurement. Time is a process of movement."

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever considered that an hour divides into sixty minutes, a minute into sixty seconds, a second into a thousand milliseconds—on and on, without end?"

"Across the universe, all our measurements of time arise from movement. The changing seasons, day and night, morning and afternoon—all are the result of planetary motion."

"Imagine, if all movement ceased, if nothing on the planet ever changed, time would no longer exist. It would have no meaning."

"And what does that have to do with me?" Lu Feng thought the Director was being deliberately enigmatic.

"I can tell you this: transmigration is real. You truly have transmigrated."

Lu Feng listened quietly, not interrupting.

"Transmigration originates from parallel spaces. In these, there exist identical materials and special entities—what we call 'multi-dimensional mirror realms.' That is, the same object can have different expressions in different spaces."

"To put it simply, sometimes when we experience something and feel déjà vu, it's because our consciousness has traversed different spaces."

"But for transmigration, not only must the object be the same, there must also be spatial movement—a miraculous but objective phenomenon, often accompanied by natural events like earthquakes, tsunamis, glacial melts, or, as you saw, a red sky or snow in August. Such phenomena alter the magnetic field in a specific region, causing spatial collisions—often resulting in transmigration."

"These spatial collisions are invisible to the naked eye; no one can see two spaces collide—at least, I haven't found anyone who can. Oh, that's not quite right—there is one person. You."

"Me?" Lu Feng was puzzled.

"Since the end of the last epoch, transmigration cases have increased, and that was when the Ninth Bureau of Time was established. Our research found that all transmigrators had only one attribute—meaning their superpower after transmigration was always singular, without exception."

"Until you. Your appearance opened the door to a new world for us."

"Why?" Lu Feng asked.

"We believe you have at least two transmigration attributes. This has been confirmed—your use of spatial creation and the red aura both prove it. More importantly, your ability to create space means you can use it to manipulate time."

"That's why you're unique. Naturally, all the department heads, myself included, want you in our teams."

After the Director finished, Lu Feng felt as though he'd truly entered a new world—a world everyone on the planet might yearn for but could not access.

"But it doesn't matter. Since you don't wish to join us, we won't force you. However, I hope you'll agree to observe—to be a bystander for now, to get to know us. It would be a good arrangement for both you and us, don't you think?"

With that, the Director and Lu Feng regarded each other in silence, as Lu Feng weighed his words.