Chapter 1: Planet Master Xisha
[Dear Ms. Song Wenlan, hello. Your temporary contract with the Popularity System has been successfully signed.]
[Your popularity points have been drawn to replenish the system’s energy. Now searching for a suitable plane of survival…]
[Plane locked. Deployment in progress…]
[All memories related to the system have been cleared. Looking forward to meeting you again.]
…
[Dear Author Zao Si, hello. Your submitted author schedule has passed verification. Thank you for your trust in the Insect Literature Website. Now, let’s create your first work here.]
A mechanical electronic voice recited methodically from the light-brain wristband.
On an ergonomic chair whose lights flickered nonstop, a bald-headed woman suddenly let out a long breath of relief.
At the same time, Song Wenlan felt that this mechanical voice was strangely familiar, as though she had heard it somewhere before.
But the strange thing was, when Song Wenlan checked her own memories—whether from before transmigrating or after—there were no gaps at all.
Yes, Song Wenlan was a transmigrator. She had landed in the interstellar era of a novel.
Thinking back to her past two days of transmigrated life, Song Wenlan still felt as though she were in a dream.
…
When Song Wenlan woke up, it seemed as though there was still a lingering mechanical voice in her mind.
She felt she must have forgotten something—but when she thought carefully, all her memories from childhood to now were intact.
“Awake?”
A voice devoid of any emotion sounded above her head, like glass beads colliding.
Song Wenlan opened her eyes and instinctively looked in the direction of the voice—only to suddenly meet a pair of vertical pupils.
Those eyes made Song Wenlan involuntarily recall a python she had once seen at the zoo. That python also had such eyes. And when you looked into them, you felt as though you had already become prey laid out on its chopping block.
No… that wasn’t right.
Song Wenlan quickly reined in her wandering thoughts with practiced ease.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you a new doctor?”
She studied the man before her. He looked to be around thirty, with a face that didn’t exactly inspire trust—slanted eyes, single eyelids, and when his gaze dropped downward, there was a natural sharpness to it, almost mean.
And not only that—his hair was dyed a pale cyan, falling loose to his collarbones.
Song Wenlan smiled. “Does your hospital even allow dyed hair?”
She couldn’t help but point at the small cinnabar snake dangling from his ear. “And that—wearing pendants as earrings, is that the fashion this year?”
Those yellow eyes scrutinized Song Wenlan.
Song Wenlan touched her own earlobe—it felt a little cold there. In a gentle tone, she asked back, “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“I’ve been in the hospital too long. I’m afraid I’ve lost touch with current trends. If I said anything inappropriate, I hope you can forgive me.”
Xisha looked at the girl in front of him. Her expression carried a faint trace of disappointment—yet within that disappointment was a kind of calm, as if she had long since grown used to it.
Only, she didn’t seem to have realized the true situation yet.
“This isn’t a hospital.”
Xisha spoke, then turned. A meter-long emerald-green snake tail slid lightly across the floor, and in an instant, he was a meter farther away.
“And I’m not your doctor,” that cool voice sounded again. “Besides, with those little problems you have, it’s not worth troubling a physician.”
Song Wenlan’s eyes locked onto the long tail and the glinting scales shining coldly upon it. Her pupils shrank violently, and her fingers trembled before she even realized it.
…
“I’ve already opened the account for you. From now on, just focus on earning money—leave this planet as soon as possible.”
The cold voice pulled Song Wenlan out of her memories.
Xisha’s tone carried obvious rejection, but by now Song Wenlan was no longer as frightened of him as she had been at their first meeting. On the contrary, she felt deeply grateful toward him.
After all, she had cancer—liver cancer, the kind that left countless doctors helpless. Yet in Xisha’s hands, she had been completely cured.
Song Wenlan still remembered the words that had left her so overwhelmed with emotion.
He had said: “The cancer you mentioned? The Federation and the Empire conquered that more than seven thousand years ago.”
He had said: “Haven’t you realized yet? Your cancer is already gone.”
Those puzzled words of Xisha’s felt like something out of a dream to Song Wenlan.
On the very first day she had entered the hospital, the doctors had practically handed down a suspended death sentence. Never in her life had she dared imagine a day of being cured.
Song Wenlan would always remind herself: You are a novelist who survives on fantasies, but you must not let yourself drown in fantasy. That would only make your absurd life even more laughable.
Wait… her abdomen didn’t hurt anymore.
Her bones… didn’t hurt. Even the nausea in her stomach was gone.
Song Wenlan blinked rapidly. Suddenly, she threw back the blanket and sat up, pacing barefoot around the room.
Her string of actions didn’t escape Xisha’s notice. He spoke in puzzlement: “What are you looking for?”
“A mirror.”
“What is a mirror?”
“Something that lets me see my own appearance.”
“It’s here.”
Understanding her request, Xisha tapped on the wall clock that was slowly rotating.
As he approached, the clock sensed his body heat and shifted slightly, revealing a smooth mirror surface on its back.
Song Wenlan came to a stop in front of the mirror.
Reflected in the mirror was a girl with short stubble on her head. Her once round face had thinned into an oval, and the sickly yellow pallor she had always carried was now replaced with a healthy flush.
Song Wenlan grinned, and the girl in the mirror grinned back—dimples faintly appearing at the corners of her mouth.
Soon, her attention was caught by her right ear. As she moved, the vermilion mark on her earlobe stayed perfectly still.
“This is the translator I modified,” Xisha explained.
In that instant, Song Wenlan understood—no wonder their communication had been so smooth.
“You called it a pendant just now?” Xisha asked.
Song Wenlan turned slightly, carefully studying the little red snake by his ear. “Mm. If I’m not mistaken, this is made of cinnabar.”
“In my hometown, cinnabar symbolizes good fortune and protection. People often use it to make charms to wear on the body, to ward off evil and bring peace.”
“This little cinnabar snake is a bit large. Originally, it should have been worn as a pendant around the neck…”
—Not as an earring.
She left the last half unsaid, though she was dying to ask: with something the size of a small tangerine hanging from his ear, didn’t it hurt?
Song Wenlan touched her own right ear again, secretly relieved that he hadn’t given her the snake.
This one was just right—small, like a stud earring.
“I picked this up on the Garbage Star,” he said, pausing briefly before adding, “My name is Xisha. I’m the Planet Master of this Garbage Star.”
His self-introduction was a little stiff, as though he hadn’t spoken with anyone for a very long time.
But Song Wenlan didn’t notice the awkwardness in his expression—her attention was completely drawn away by something else.
Gurgle.
She instinctively clutched her stomach.
She was hungry.
“Here, nutrient solution. Drink it, then leave this Garbage Star as soon as possible.”
A tube of red nutrient fluid was tossed toward Song Wenlan.
