Qin Zhou had been in this unfamiliar space for a while now.

Behind him lay a small village nestled in the mountains, with winding gravel roads connecting one household to the next. Chimneys gently puffed smoke, painting a picture of a thriving mountain village.

In short, the setting felt a bit fake.

Before him, there was only one button.

[Log In]

It was as if a real person had stepped into a game.

Qin Zhou was certain he wasn’t dreaming. After all, he’d just been in a car accident yesterday. If he hadn’t died, he shouldn’t be sitting here unscathed.

Still unable to find where to log out, it seemed the ‘other party’ was determined to make him try it.

With no other choice, Qin Zhou pressed Login.

[Login successful. Connecting to ‘Small Cultivation Mountain Village’. Please wait, Village Chief~]

Qin Zhou stood expressionless.

Small Cultivation Mountain Village.

The name felt vaguely familiar.

Before long, the backdrop behind him shifted as expected.

The somewhat artificial scenery now felt more tangible and vivid. Even the smoke curling from the village chimneys seemed more real.

Another button appeared before Qin Zhou.

[Save Game/Load Game]

At this point, the shifting scenery finally jogged Qin Zhou’s memory about what game this was.

Ten years ago, during his student days, while other classmates were obsessed with competitive online battle games, Qin Zhou was solely hooked on a cultivation farming game.

A cultivation farming game that combined character development, base building, and strategic management. Players took on the role of a small mountain village chief, nurturing recruited characters to excellence while expanding the village itself.

Similar to developing a sect, but compared to large-scale sects, the small mountain village felt more intimate and human.

Qin Zhou played that game for nearly eight years before setting it aside temporarily for his studies. When he later checked back, the game had ceased operations due to capital management issues.

But clearly, this current situation was far more than just a game. What if he had actually entered the game world himself?

A transmigration?

A faint, inexplicable anticipation stirred within Qin Zhou’s otherwise calm mind.

Had he transmigrated into a game he once played? Qin Zhou’s gaze locked onto the load button. If it were the same game, perhaps this save file… was his old save file…

[Load Save File]

[Detected unique save file ‘Zhutian Realm – Year 10001’ (in progress). Proceed with loading?]

Qin Zhou froze for a moment at the “10,000 years” label.

Ten thousand and one years.

The game’s time flow was certainly faster than reality, but his save shouldn’t span ten thousand years. Especially… the words “in progress” were jarringly conspicuous.

So… time doesn’t pause when you quit this game after saving?

With no way back, Qin Zhou pressed confirm.

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

After a wave of dizziness, the scenery around Qin Zhou underwent a cataclysmic change.

It felt like stepping into an AAA game using AR technology. Every detail was a realistic spectacle.

He could even touch it.

He almost suspected this game world was the very same mountain village he’d played in before.

Yet the next scene—the desolate mountain village before him—seemed to transport him back a decade—

The abandoned mountain hamlet. His courtyard house still stood before him. The well in front appeared long dried up, its rim covered in vibrant green moss.

Fallen leaves piled up in the small courtyard, carpeting the ground in golden splendor. Sunlight filtered through, making them seem to glow.

The scenes that once existed only on a computer screen now appeared before him, vivid and real.

This was his save file. Qin Zhou knew it well.

The courtyard had long been abandoned and decayed, yet a simple sweep of dust revealed its former glory.

The main house, the alchemy chamber, the training room, the kitchen—all built with materials he had painstakingly gathered himself. That was why it had endured to this day, standing firm for ten thousand years.

Even the occasional breeze brushing his face seemed to whisper—

Village Chief, welcome home.

Sentimentality lingered in Qin Zhou’s heart for but a second.

What he needed to focus on now was surviving in this world.

Qin Zhou looked down. Since arriving here, his clothes had transformed into ancient attire—Han-style in design, crafted from exquisite silk. His short hair had grown waist-length, now simply coiled and pinned atop his head.

The game’s setting was an immortal cultivation world, so many things defied historical verification.

No, more accurately, from the moment he entered this world, he could no longer verify anything.

Immortal cultivation and time travel—neither could be explained by science.

Standing in the courtyard littered with fallen leaves, Qin Zhou felt as if he could hear the game system urging him—

First, clean the small courtyard, organize your living quarters, and repair the well.

Qin Zhou slowly walked to the eaves, picked up the broom, and began sweeping at a steady, unhurried pace.

This was no longer like the game.

Qin Zhou reaffirmed this truth within himself.

Simultaneously, watching the drifting leaves, he became utterly certain of another matter—

He was still alive.

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Though fully immersed in this new reality where every task demanded his own hands, Qin Zhou seemed to have retained certain elements from the game.

For instance, like in those legendary holographic games, he could see his own interface panel.

Not just the panel—even his backpack remained.

Only now, the buttons were grayed out, likely meaning they hadn’t been unlocked yet.

It felt like starting a new game, where everything needed to be explored anew. This time, however, he wasn’t playing the role of the Village Chief; the object of cultivation had become himself.

Qin Zhou focused on sweeping the courtyard, though the wide sleeves of his robe hindered his movements, making his actions seem less graceful. To others observing this scene, it carried a different implication.

An eye blinked through the gap in the dilapidated door.

“Brother A-Sheng, I saw our young master sweeping the ground,” someone whispered.

“What? Let me see! Let me see!”

The servant was pushed aside and stepped back.

“Young master really is cleaning!” A-Sheng sighed. “Could he actually be planning to stay here? Honestly, he must be out of his mind—why come up to these mountains?” This godforsaken place! With the Qin family’s wealth, even if he didn’t seek a master or cultivate immortality, he’d have a life of ease and comfort!

“A-Sheng, you shouldn’t say that! What if the young master hears you? He’s always wanted to join an immortal sect… The mistress specifically ordered us not to upset him.”

“I know! Like I need you to tell me!”

The two had just finished arguing when they turned around and froze.

Qin Zhou, who had been sweeping the courtyard moments ago, had silently approached the doorway. He listened through the crack in the door.

The narrow gap revealed the silk sash at his waist.

The two servants shuddered, immediately bowing their heads and calling out, “Young Master!”

So even after loading the save file, he wasn’t the player character ‘Village Chief,’ but rather a native NPC from some game.

This was probably what soul transfer felt like.

Fortunately, this body closely matched his own height and build, so it didn’t feel too strange.

Qin Zhou pushed open the door with a calm expression. “What are you doing here?”

“Young Master, we came looking for you, of course!” A-Sheng blurted out. “The mistress sent us to fetch you back… She also asked us to tell you—she says talent for cultivating immortality or Daoism can’t be forced. She wants you to let it go.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

Qin Zhou glanced at them calmly. “I know. I will return, but not now. Go back and tell my mother not to worry about me.”

The latter part was directed at A-Sheng.

A-Sheng froze, utterly confused. “Young Master… am I… supposed to go back alone?”

“You go back and deliver the message first.”

“Oh… oh, then when will you return, young master?”

“In a few days.”

“Then…”

“Go back.”

Though A-Sheng didn’t understand why he was the one being sent back, he was secretly glad to leave this desolate place. “Then, Xiao Chen, take good care of the young master.”

After dismissing the sarcastic servant, Qin Zhou turned to the other one. “You. Come inside with me.”

The servant was confused but obediently followed him inside.

Surveying the cluttered courtyard, a thought crossed the servant’s mind. Before he could speak, Qin Zhou addressed him—

“How long have you been at the Qin residence?”

“Over a year, young master.”

“From now on, you’ll be by my side.”

The servant froze, then flushed with delight before hesitating. “Young master, what about Brother A-Sheng…”

Qin Zhou didn’t need to look to know A-Sheng was always by ‘Young Master Qin’s’ side. That air of entitlement was surely cultivated through habit. Besides, he didn’t need a ‘familiar face’ around.

“The Qin Manor is vast and prosperous. There will be a place for him.”

The servant immediately fell silent.

It seemed the young master had heard everything he’d said earlier.

“What’s your name?”

Thinking the young master was asking his own name, the servant promptly replied, “Young Master, my surname is Chen. I’m the third son in my family, so they call me Chen San.”

Qin Zhou paused.

Chen San’s father’s naming style was quite similar to his own.

When Qin Zhou first started playing this game, he was stunned by its vast roster of characters. Later, the villagers in his Small Cultivation Mountain Village numbered at least eight hundred, if not a thousand. Some were recruited, some found during quests, and a few were born from Fertility Pills.

But with so many, Qin Zhou focused on nurturing the top hundred most talented villagers, naming each one personally.

Instead of using his own surname, Qin, he used his mother’s surname, Lu.

Lu Yi, Lu Er… Lu Yibai.

A distant memory flickered through his mind. Qin Zhou nodded. “Chen San, help me tidy up this courtyard.”

Chen San nodded, puzzled. “Young Master, didn’t you say you were returning? Why…”

Besides, this dilapidated courtyard—who even knew whose it was?

“Just tidy it up.”

Chen San dared not argue. Only when he approached the courtyard and looked closely did he understand why the young master had ordered him to tidy it up.

This small courtyard, glimpsed through the door crack, appeared to be a dilapidated, dust-covered, long-abandoned ruin.

But stepping inside for a closer look revealed a world of its own.

Dusty as it was, but the courtyard’s rooms were elegantly built, each with its own entrance and courtyard, clearly rivalling the grand mansions in the county town.

Chen San rubbed his eyes, finding it hard to believe.

“Young Master, could this be some illusion cast by the immortals?” Chen San bravely asked.

In his view, this seemed the only plausible explanation.

Qin Zhou didn’t deny it.

Every brick and tile here matched the village committee building from the archives. Yet from the outside, none of this was visible. That’s why, for ten thousand years, no one had ever touched it.

It was likely an illusion, but who had cast it remained unknown.

“What you see here must never be spoken of,” Qin Zhou warned.

Chen San nodded repeatedly. “Rest assured, Young Master.”

He knew it—the Young Master wouldn’t be so reckless. Coming to these mountains must have another purpose.