The antique shop felt like a forgotten museum, its shelves packed with tarnished trinkets and brittle scrolls that seemed ready to crumble. Kai, 22, a barista by day and struggling novelist by night, stood there, questioning his life choices. His world was a mess—bills piling up, a novel stalled at three chapters, and another grueling shift at the coffee shop waiting. So why had he wandered through the city’s neon-lit streets to this dusty store, pulled by a strange instinct he couldn’t explain? A cracked jade lotus medallion caught his eye, its etched runes glowing faintly, as if daring him to touch it.

  Mist surged, and Kai stumbled into a vast hall that screamed epic fantasy. Dragon-carved pillars soared into the shadows, and he was no longer in the shop. This was the Violet Crane Sect, a place he recognized from the xianxia novels he read when he should’ve been writing. Worse, he wasn’t Kai anymore. He was Shen Wei, a cultivator prodigy in silver robes, his body humming with a strange energy called qi. His muscles moved with a warrior’s grace, but his mind was still Kai, reeling. “Am I losing my mind?” he thought, clutching the shard. This felt too real to be a dream.

  The hall was chaos. Elders in flowing silks shouted, and beyond jade windows, the sky burned crimson, swirling with what looked like dark energy. “Shen Wei!” called Elder Qing, a bearded man pointing to a lotus-shaped altar where the shard now glowed, embedded like a heart. “The sect’s qi veins were poisoned centuries ago. The Demon Fang Clan’s siege is breaking our defenses. Use the shard!” Shen Wei’s memories—foreign to Kai—flooded in: the Violet Crane Sect was doomed, crushed by demons in every story Kai had read. This shard could rewrite that fate.

  Kai’s thoughts spiraled. He was just a guy who messed up coffee orders and couldn’t finish a chapter. Now he was expected to save an entire sect? “I’m so out of my depth,” he thought, the shard’s whispers urging him forward. What if he made things worse? The elders’ desperate gazes pinned him, and his stomach twisted. Taking a shaky breath, Shen Wei channeled qi into the shard, its light flooding his core like a surge of adrenaline. The hall vanished in a flash.

  He landed in a courtyard, moonlight casting a serene glow. The Violet Crane Sect, 300 years earlier, smelled of jasmine and ancient power. A cloaked figure crept toward a glowing spring, a vial of foul liquid in hand. Kai’s instincts—honed from years of gaming—kicked in. Shen Wei moved swiftly, his hand blazing with the shard’s energy, and struck. The vial shattered, the liquid hissing on the stones. The figure’s eyes met his, cold and piercing. “You’re meddling with shit you don’t understand,” he growled, then fled into the shadows. The spring remained pure, its light steady.

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  The shard pulled him back, and the hall transformed. Jade floors gleamed, tapestries burst with color, and the crimson sky cleared. Disciples cheered as the Demon Fang’s dark energy faded, their siege broken. But Elder Qing held a trembling scroll, his face pale. “The sect’s qi is too powerful now. The heavens are angry—a tribulation is coming.” Lightning cracked outside, a deafening warning. Shen Wei gripped the shard, its voice hissing: Try again. Kai’s heart sank. “Did I just ruin everything?”

  He stepped onto a balcony, the sect’s floating islands stretching below, linked by shimmering bridges. Disciples practiced sword forms, their blades leaving trails of light. This world was more vivid than any game, but Kai’s life—his cramped apartment, his unwritten novel—felt like a fading echo. Was he Shen Wei now, or still Kai, stuck in a role he didn’t choose? The shard’s weight pressed on him, a power he hadn’t earned.

  A shadow stirred, and Kai’s breath caught. A Demon Fang scout, clad in black scales, emerged from the darkness, his dagger dripping red energy. “Shard-bearer,” the scout sneered, lunging with terrifying speed. Shen Wei dodged, the blade grazing his arm, burning like fire. Kai’s mind screamed, “I’m not built for this!” but Shen Wei’s instincts took over. He struck, qi erupting from his fist in a silver burst. The scout stumbled, laughing as he retreated. “The cloaked one’s watching, fool!” he taunted, vanishing.

  Mei Ling, a disciple in phoenix-embroidered robes, appeared, her green eyes filled with concern. “Senior Brother Wei, the elders need you. The storm is worsening.” Shen Wei nodded, but Kai was shaken. Cloaked one? The poisoner, still out there? This was getting too intense.

  In the elders’ chamber, a star chart glowed with ominous symbols. Elder Hua, silver-haired and stern, fixed him with a hard stare. “The shard, a relic of the Immortal Lotus Emperor, bends time but demands balance. Your actions have provoked the heavens.” Shen Wei hid the shard in his sleeve, the cloaked figure’s words echoing. That man wasn’t a random villain. Kai’s writer instincts buzzed: this story had layers, and he was in over his head.

  That night, Shen Wei sat in his chamber, the shard floating before him. He probed its energy, and visions struck: a cloaked figure forging the shard in a volcano’s heart, speaking of “cycles.” The poison wasn’t an accident—it prevented a greater disaster. Had Kai broken something vital? Lightning shook the walls, and Mei Ling burst in. “The tribulation is here!” The shard burned, whispering: Fix it, or they fall. Kai was no hero—just a broke writer with a magic shard, trapped in a story that could destroy him.