I was a mineral prospector in Chengdu, who transmigrated into the body of a mortal sword immortal.

Li Bai's heart pounded wildly in his chest, almost shattering his ribs. The unfamiliar, stunningly beautiful face before him, the antique bed curtains, the sweet, cloying fragrance in the air... everything was frantically assaulting his chaotic nerves, still reeling from his recent experience of death and bizarre time travel.

"I...this is..." His voice was dry and hoarse, completely unlike his own.

The woman seemed fully awake. She propped herself up, the thin veil slipping down to reveal a large expanse of snow-white skin. She extended a slender, jade-like finger and gently tapped Li Bai's forehead, her eyes sparkling with a hint of reproach and barely perceptible inquiry: "Still half asleep? This is my boudoir. Last night you drank too much, holding my hand and saying you'd write poetry until dawn, but you didn't write many, instead..." She covered her mouth and chuckled softly, exuding charm, "You certainly exhausted me. What, Li Lang, you've forgotten everything after just one night's sleep?"

Li Lang? In his boudoir? Composing poetry?

Keywords hammered into Li Bai's mind like a hammer. He sat up abruptly, ignoring the woman's soft gasp, and stared wide-eyed at his surroundings.

The carved wooden window frames were covered with pale yellow paper. A candle burned quietly on a bronze candlestick. Landscapes, flowers, and birds were painted on the screen. In the distance, the faint sound of a night watchman's clapper and a long, drawn-out cry could be heard—the tone, the words…

A chill ran from my tailbone straight up to the top of my head.

This is not a hospital. It is not a dream. It is certainly not heaven.

He looked down at himself—he was wearing a soft, white undergarment embroidered with cloud patterns, its style simple and its sleeves wide. It wasn't his pajamas, nor any of his clothes. He stretched out his hand; his fingers were long and slender, his skin smooth, without the calluses from years of hammering rocks and fiddling with instruments. These weren't his hands!

"Mirror..." he murmured, his voice trembling uncontrollably.

"A mirror?" The woman—who referred to herself as "this humble servant," an ancient title flashing through Li Bai's mind—tilted her head in confusion, then suddenly realized, pointing to a mahogany dressing table in the corner of the room. "There it is. Why is my lord acting so strangely today? Could it be that the effects of last night's wine haven't completely worn off?"

Li Bai almost stumbled off the bed. His feet touched the cool, smooth wooden floor, the sensation so real it made his heart race. He rushed to the dressing table, where some rouge, powder, and jewelry were scattered, and a gleaming bronze mirror stood there.

He took a deep breath and looked in the mirror.

A young face was reflected in the mirror.

He was around twenty years old, with clear, bright features, a high nose bridge, well-defined lips, and a jawline that exuded a youthful, innocent charm. His skin was a healthy tan, and his eyes... were filled with shock, bewilderment, and a deep pain beyond his years. His hair was long, held back with a simple wooden hairpin, with a few stray strands falling loose.

This is not him.

It's not Li Bai, the geological engineer in his early thirties, wearing glasses, with rough skin and fine lines around his eyes from long hours of fieldwork.

This is a completely unfamiliar face, at least ten years younger.

"Ah—" He forced a short gasp back down his throat. He gripped the edge of the dressing table tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force. The cold touch of the bronze mirror traveled through his fingertips, mingling with the faint scent of wood and the lingering sweetness of rouge—three completely different sensory stimuli simultaneously assaulting his brain.

cross?

This word, which he had only seen in online novels and TV dramas, now felt like a cold chisel, carving deep into his understanding.

"Li Lang?" A soft, concerned voice came from behind him. The woman, now wearing a light green outer robe, walked barefoot to his side and gently took his arm. "You look pale. Are you feeling unwell? Should we call a doctor to take a look?"

Her fingers were warm and soft, the touch realistic. Li Bai turned sharply to look at her. Up close, he could see her exquisite makeup more clearly and smell the rich fragrance emanating from her, a blend of floral scents and body warmth. Her hair was styled in an intricate and elegant way, adorned with pearl hairpins and dangling ornaments. Her clothing was made of exquisite material, with intricate embroidery—the craftsmanship and texture were far beyond what modern replicas of antique clothing could achieve.

"Who...who are you?" Li Bai heard himself ask hoarsely. "Where...where am I? What time is it?"

The woman froze, then burst into laughter, covering her mouth with her sleeve. Her worry was replaced by amusement. "Li Lang, are you really drunk and confused? You don't even recognize me? I'm Qiniang, Duan Qiniang. This is Pingkang Ward, my 'Listening to Snow Pavilion.' As for the time..." She listened intently to the faint sound of the night watchman's drum outside the window. "It's about 3:45 AM, dawn is approaching."

Pingkangfang? Tingxue Xiaozhu? Duan Qiniang?

Li Bai's mind went blank. He wasn't an expert in history, but he vaguely remembered the place name "Pingkangfang" as a famous... brothel in Chang'an during the Tang Dynasty? As for "Duan Qiniang"... he had no recollection of her at all.

"Then...who am I?" he asked the most crucial question, his heart pounding in his throat.

Duan Qiniang was truly amused this time, laughing so hard her body trembled, the beads on her hairpin jingling. "Li Lang, your joke has gone too far. You are naturally Li Bai, a native of Chengji in Longxi, who traveled to Chang'an, a man of great talent, a poet and a lover of wine..." As she spoke, her eyes revealed undisguised admiration. "Your poem 'Chang Xiang Si' at the Qujiang Banquet the other day amazed everyone present. Even Supervisor He praised you as a 'banished immortal.'"

Li... Taibai?

Li Bai... Li Taibai?

boom--!

It was as if a thunderbolt had exploded in Li Bai's mind, making his eardrums ring and even causing a momentary blankness in his vision.

Li Taibai. Li Bai. His courtesy name was Taibai.

The most renowned poet in Chinese history, the "Poet Immortal" Li Bai!

He became Li Bai? The Li Bai who "laughed loudly and went out the door, for we are not mere commoners"? The Li Bai who "refused to board the emperor's boat when he was summoned, and proclaimed himself a wine immortal"? The Li Bai who... was ultimately caught in the political vortex and died a tragic old age?

Absurd! Absolutely impossible!

But the young and handsome face in the mirror, the ancient costume, the woman who calls herself Duan Qiniang, the antique room, the strange sounds and atmosphere outside the window... everything coldly points to this absurd conclusion.

He, a 21st-century geological engineer, died, and his soul traveled more than 1,300 years to possess the body of the young poet Li Bai!

"No...impossible..." He staggered backward, crashing into a round stool behind him with a loud thud. He clutched his forehead, feeling a wave of intense dizziness and nausea. Modern memories—the excruciating pain of a cold dagger piercing his chest, the warm flow of blood, Yang Xiaohuan's desperate eyes and screams, Liu Wei's狰狞 (zhengning - ferocious/hideous) triumphant face—intertwined and tore at the luxurious and erotic ancient scene before him.

"Li Lang!" Duan Qiniang exclaimed, rushing forward to support him. The playful expression on her face vanished, replaced by genuine worry. "You... what's wrong with you? Have you been possessed? Or did you really drink too much last night?" Her hand touched Li Bai's forehead; it felt slightly cool. "Not hot..."

Li Bai grabbed her wrist with such force that she frowned slightly. He stared into her eyes, trying to find a trace of acting or mischief, but saw only pure confusion and concern.

"Tell me," he said, his voice low and menacing, "what year is it now? Who... is the emperor?"

Duan Qiniang was startled by the bloodshot in his eyes and the almost desperate seriousness in them. She subconsciously replied, "Naturally, it's the twenty-third year of Kaiyuan. The Sage is of course... the current Emperor." She paused, then added softly, "Li Lang, don't speak like that. It would be terrible if someone overheard."

The twenty-third year of the Kaiyuan era. Emperor Xuanzong of Tang, Li Longji. The middle and late stages of the Kaiyuan Prosperity.

Li Bai's mind raced, searching through his limited historical knowledge. The Kaiyuan Era…the peak of the Tang Dynasty. It was still about twenty years before the An Lushan Rebellion, which led to the Tang Dynasty's decline. And Li Bai himself should still be a young man, not yet favored by the emperor, traveling far and wide seeking official recognition and fame.

He slowly released Duan Qiniang's wrist, turned around dejectedly, and looked at the bronze mirror again.

The young man in the mirror was also looking at him, his eyes confused and his face pale.

This is Li Bai. The future Poet Immortal. Now, it is him.

A complex mix of emotions welled up within him—absurdity, fear, bewilderment—yet deep within this chaos, there seemed to be an extremely faint, almost imperceptible, stirring within him… Was it the lingering consciousness of this body's original self? Or was it the instinctive curiosity and awe of humanity in the face of this legendary identity?

"Li Lang, sit down and rest for a while." Duan Qiniang helped him sit on the edge of the bed, turned around and poured a cup of warm water from the purple clay teapot on the table and handed it to him. "Drink some water and calm down. Perhaps the wine was too strong yesterday, or perhaps... you've been traveling and working hard these days, and your mind is exhausted." Her tone was gentle, with the keen observation and consideration unique to women of the night.

Li Bai took the warm ceramic cup; the warmth from his fingertips calmed him slightly. He sipped the slightly bitter water (it seemed to have some kind of herbal concoction added), forcing himself to calm down.

He died, but he came back to life. He lived in the glorious Tang Dynasty more than 1,300 years ago, and became Li Bai.

So... what about Xiao Huan?

The thought, like a poisonous thorn, pierced his heart, bringing a sharp pain. He seemed to see again Yang Xiaohuan's last look, the deep sorrow and helplessness hidden within, and her broken cries and despair as he collapsed.

Is she still alive? On the streets of Chengdu in 2003, what would she encounter in the face of his corpse and the brutal Liu Han Group?

Helpless. Beyond our reach. The chasm of time and space is more despairing than life and death.

A tremendous wave of grief and anger nearly overwhelmed him. He gripped the ceramic cup tightly, his knuckles turning white again.

"Li Lang?" Duan Qiniang looked at him worriedly. "Are you...remembering something sad? Or is it something about home...?"

"It's nothing," Li Bai interrupted her, his voice hoarse. He put down his cup, looked up, and forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Perhaps... I'm still a bit tipsy and had some strange dreams, so I'm a little disoriented. I'm sorry to have made you laugh, Seventh Sister."

Duan Qiniang clearly didn't believe her, but she didn't press the matter. She simply said softly, "Everyone has moments of unease. Lie down a bit more, and I'll have someone prepare some light breakfast and a hangover soup."

"No need." Li Bai stood up and took a deep breath. The fragrance in the air was still sweet, but the gradually brightening daylight outside the window and the increasingly clear sounds of the marketplace—the faint cries of vendors, the rumble of wheels, and the clatter of horses' hooves—were pulling him back to this real, yet unfamiliar world.

He had to accept reality. No matter how absurd it seemed, he was here; he was Li Bai.

The most urgent task is to figure out his situation, survive, and then... what else? What can he do? A modern soul, a poetic body, in this glorious Tang Dynasty, what can he change? What can he protect?

Xiao Huan…this name burned repeatedly in his heart. Across a thousand years, what more could he do for her?

he does not know.

But he at least needs to figure out what the current situation is with this "Li Bai".

"Seventh Sister," he tried to make his tone sound as natural as possible, "I... came alone yesterday? Did I have any companions?"

Seeing that he seemed to have recovered somewhat, Duan Qiniang breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, "You came with Young Master Wu, but it seems that something came up at his home, so he went back last night. What, you really don't remember?"

Young Master Wu? Li Bai had no recollection of him and could only nod vaguely, "Hmm, the alcohol is too strong... So, do I have any plans for the next few days? Or... who am I going to visit?"

"You," Duan Qiniang gave him a reproachful look, "didn't you say the other day that you were going to visit that Supervisor He who appreciates you, to see if you had any connections? You also said that if you didn't make any progress in Chang'an, you planned to go south and travel around Jiangxia. Have you forgotten all that?"

He Jian? He Zhizhang? Li Bai's heart stirred slightly. This did match historical records. When the young Li Bai entered the capital, he was appreciated by He Zhizhang, the Secretary of the Imperial Secretariat, who called him a "banished immortal."

"I didn't forget, just checking." Li Bai forced a smile, his gaze involuntarily drifting to the tightly closed carved wooden window. The light shining through the window paper grew brighter and brighter, and the sounds outside became increasingly noisy, full of vibrant life.

A completely unfamiliar world.

The Tang Dynasty in its golden age.

He staggered, step by step, toward the window. The wooden floorboards creaked slightly beneath his feet, mingling with the soft tinkling of Duan Qiniang's jewelry and her own slightly uneasy breathing.

He reached out, his fingertips touching the cold wooden window frame, intricately carved with patterns. He pushed it open forcefully.

"Squeak—"

The wooden window opened in response.

In an instant, the clamorous sound surged in like a flood bursting its banks!

"Steamed buns—freshly baked steamed buns—"

"Sesame porridge, piping hot sesame porridge—"

"Make way! Make way! The horse is coming—"

"Young master, take a look at the newly arrived Shu brocade—"

"Clang—clang—clang—" The melodious sound of a temple bell seemed to drift from afar.

The shouts of vendors in various accents, the sounds of bargaining, the noise of carriages and horses, the laughter of children, the barking of dogs... all intertwine to create a grand, noisy, yet vibrant symphony of the marketplace.

The bright morning light streamed into the room without any obstruction, somewhat dazzling. Li Bai squinted and looked outside.

Outside the window was a wide street paved with bluestone slabs, slightly damp with the morning dew, reflecting a warm luster. On both sides of the street were rows of two- or three-story wooden buildings with flying eaves and brackets, and banners fluttering in the breeze. The shops were already open, and wine flags, tea banners, and cloth signs swayed gently in the morning wind.

The streets were bustling with people. There were men in round-necked robes and turbans, women in colorful dresses and shawls, vendors carrying loads on shoulder poles, nobles riding tall horses with their entourages, and merchants with deep-set eyes and high noses, dressed in exotic clothing, leading camels slowly by. The air was filled with the steaming heat of food, the aroma of spices, the faint pungent smell of livestock, and the cool, refreshing scent unique to the morning.

The city was bustling with traffic and people. Sunlight illuminated the swirling dust, the vibrant expressions on pedestrians' faces, and the unparalleled prosperity and vitality of the city.

This is Chang'an.

735 AD, the 23rd year of the Kaiyuan era, Chang'an.

Li Bai leaned against the window frame, his fingers digging deep into the wood grain. He gazed at the breathtakingly real scene of the Tang Dynasty before him, at this era and world that was completely different from his own, at the bustling crowds of ancient people busy with their own lives.

who am I?

I am Li Bai.

A lonely soul from the future, an imposter bearing the title of "Poet Immortal".

Avenger? Or a guardian? Someone who has lost everything, someone who has transcended life and death...

he does not know.

All he knew was that from the moment he opened that window, the modern geological engineer named Li Bai had died completely.

Those who survived were those who had to struggle to live in this unfamiliar era, carrying with them deeply etched memories and obsessions from their past lives.

Li Bai.