XX Province, China
I never imagined my life would end in such an anticlimactic way.
There were no grand revelations, no flashes of my life replaying before my eyes....just the dull hum of fluorescent lights, the distant chatter of my colleagues, and the bitter taste of cold coffee on my tongue.
I was sitting at my desk in Tianhua Design Company, lazily sketching out a new concept for a client's clothing line. The company was young, barely one and a half years old, but it had gained a stellar reputation, thanks to people like me.... designers who could turn the mundane into something extraordinary.
At 48 years old, I was a master of my craft. For over 33 years, I had sculpted designs that turned heads.... whether it was architecture, character concepts, clothing, or interior spaces. I took ugly things and made them beautiful, and I loved every second of it.
But what my colleagues didn't know... what no one knew.... was that I had a secret hobby.
I was a novelist and a manhua artist.
Not just any novelist, either. I had penned some well-known novels under a pseudonym, never revealing my real identity. I did it for fun, for the thrill of creation. My most recent work, The Return of the Most Powerful Elder of the Murim, had been gaining traction. Readers praised my detailed world-building, intense battles, and compelling characters.
I should've been happy about that.
Instead, I was exhausted.
"Lu Xuan Ming, you're overworking yourself again," one of my colleagues, Chen Rui, called from across the room. "You should really take a break, old man."
"Old man?" I scoffed, not looking up from my tablet. "I'm not that old."
"You're almost fifty."
"Forty-eight."
"Close enough."
I sighed, waving him off. I had deadlines to meet. My clients expected results, and I delivered them. That was my job.
But then.... something went wrong.
It started as a tightness in my chest. A dull ache, like someone was slowly pressing a stone against my ribs. At first, I ignored it. Probably just stress, I told myself.
Then the pain sharpened.
A burning, crushing sensation spread through my chest like wildfire. My vision blurred. The tablet in my hand slipped and hit the desk with a dull thud.
Something was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. My breath hitched. The sounds around me.... the voices, the clicking of keyboards, the hum of the office.... faded into a distant echo.
I tried to call out for help, but no words came out. My lips moved soundlessly, my fingers clawing at my chest.
No. Not like this.
I hadn't finished my designs. I hadn't finished my novel.
My manhua. My work. Everything.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
And then.... nothing.