Nana Toki’s life in this run burned short, like a candle snuffed mid-flicker; she was gone in her thirties.

The reason was simple as a falling leaf—her young lady loved courting death like a moth to flame.

She had a seafood allergy, yet kept eating it like bait to the sea; in the end no rescue worked, and she just kicked the bucket.

Nana Toki wanted to drag that idiot back from the river, then choke her under a willow, but she didn’t have miracle hands.

She left the Si Family’s villa to Liu Yiyi and Uncle Chen, then slipped to a quiet hollow with Qingyu Si’s body, and drew a red line across her own throat like a frost-slice at dawn.

Ding! Hidden quest complete.

Ding! Main quest complete.

...

...

[ Ding! Initiating plane settlement... ]

[ Settling plane... ]

[ Main quest: complete. ]

[ Hidden quest: complete. ]

[ Current Luck Value: -100000015000 ]

[ Current item: Sorrow of the Queen of Time ]

[ Current credits: 145 ]

Huh?

Her Luck Value actually went up this time, like a dry well catching rain.

It even rose by five thousand; Nana Toki hardly trusted her own eyes, as if mist warped the moon.

Since when did this damn System grow a conscience, like moss on cold stone?

System: ...

It had always been conscientious, like a clock that never slips; the host just never treasured it.

Also, host, you’re ruthless—said “suicide,” then you cut like lightning, with no half-step of doubt.

Of course; look who I am—if my blade’s fast as a gust, pain never catches up.

System: ...

Where’s your master?

Nana Toki paced the empty, sealed space like a cat in a silent temple, and found no trace of the black-clad man.

Drag that idiot out; I need to deepen our relationship, like driving a stake deeper into hard ground.

And I’ve got an old tab to settle, like tally marks on bamboo.

My master had business and stepped out, like a shadow slipping past a lantern.

System: ... and why are you holding a dagger to “deepen feelings,” like a butcher eyeing a pig?

Gonna give my master a gua sha or what, like scraping wind from the skin?

On the LCD, the System stared, speechless as a stone stele: All right, host, stop looking. Per my master’s orders, given your solid performance last plane, you may self-select this next plane.

Self-select a plane?

Nana Toki eyed the LCD like a fox watching a henhouse: Then I want the one where I first met Nesting Phoenix.

She would be reborn—then flip the board like thunder over a bay.

System: ...

Dream on.

The host can only choose from planes on this System’s list, like picking leaves from a laid-out branch; previous planes are off-limits.

Then what’s the point?

Nana Toki rolled her dead-fish eyes at the screen, like a carp in stale water: How’s that different from choosing my own way to die?

...

It still helps.

System: After you pick a plane, I’ll be extra merciful, like dew on dry grass, and give you one good piece of news.

What good news? You finally gonna hand me the newbie gift pack, like a red envelope at New Year?

System: ... how long will you keep milking that bit, like a drum you won’t stop beating?

Also, host, can you show some ambition, like bamboo reaching the eaves?

Nope.

System: ... I’m fuming like a teapot.

Spill it. If it’s not a newbie pack, what’s the good news, like a plum blossom in late snow?

Nana Toki glared with twin dead-fish eyes at the LCD, like two dull moons.

o(*￣▽￣*)ブ I can tell you for free which body Nesting Phoenix will be in next plane, like a lantern marking a door. Eh, host, why that instant look of disgust, like you bit a green persimmon?

It’s nothing.

She’d hoped for real news, like thunder after heat; turned out it was just drizzle.

She could confirm Phoenix had hands and feet without its help, like finding a crane by its cry.

Forget it. A little is better than nothing, like a crumb on an empty plate.

Nana Toki took it in stride; her System had never handed her a sliver of advantage, like a miser with sealed jars.

Then, host, begin plane selection now.

As the System spoke, the LCD before Nana Toki flashed like fish-scales in sun; the emoji vanished, replaced by same-sized tiles, each with a plane name below like plaques on doors.

Nana Toki scrolled with dead-fish eyes, line by line, like a sleepy eel in slow water.

Then a single tile snagged her gaze, like a hook catching silk.

Sword and Magic?

You guys have Western fantasy planes too, like oaks in a bamboo grove?

Ah... that one...

The System opened the file with a sheepish shuffle, like dust blown off an old book: It’s not really Western fantasy... the title’s clickbait; the inside’s another plot.

Nana Toki: ...

What the hell? Even planes run clickbait these days, like painted boats with rotten hulls?

She skimmed the file like a hawk over fields, and the plane seemed decent at a glance, like good soil after rain.

She’d just seen a slice of the plot: a Demon God that once ruled the world was about to resurrect, like a storm returning to a familiar sea; the Protagonist Lord, set on becoming a Hero, carried the village’s sharpest sword and stepped into an adventure to stop that calamity.

Of course.

What she liked wasn’t the story beat, but the world’s bones, like the grain in old wood.

This world brimmed with magic, like stars packed tight; it should also have Spirit Energy and such, like currents in a deep river.

She’d lived in a wuxia plane; her knowledge was solid as mountain rock—no worry the world wouldn’t hold her, and with strength, finding Nesting Phoenix would be easier, like following a kite string.

As for the Protagonist Lord, this plane gave him no cheat; he was talentless as bare clay, and only effort bought him returns, like sweat watering seeds.

If she went a little inhumane, like frost in spring, and camped his newbie village spawn right from the start, Nana Toki could guarantee his life experience would be trash, like chaff on the threshing floor.

She had her script written already, like lines carved into bamboo.

But.

The System sounded worried, like wind through eaves: Host, this is a Phase Three plane. The difficulty’s high as a cliff. How about changing?

Change my ass—this one.

Would Nana Toki ever worry?

High difficulty? Bad experience?

Impossible.

She’d suicide before the tide turned, like a bird fleeing before the net drops, and swap planes; they’d never see her facing the wind.

System: ...

All right then.

Since the host said so, the little assistant System had nothing else to add, like a bell falling silent.

Transmitting in three... two... one...

Hey, you still haven’t told me which body Nesting Phoenix is in on this—plane.

Her words broke as white light flared across the sealed space, like snow swallowing night, and silence returned as before, like a pond after ripples fade.

At the same moment, the black-clad man crept from a corner like a shadow unpinned, looked at the spot she vanished, and smiled with layered meaning, like a fan hiding eyes.

Mm. Everything was within his plan, like threads tight on a loom.

Sha-sha-sha...

Sha-sha-sha...

A soft wind combed her ear like grass against a sleeve, and Nana Toki, eyes closed a heartbeat ago, snapped them open like knives.

The world had flipped to a field of birdsong and flowers, like a painted scroll; sunlight spilled over her shoulders, and a haze swam before her eyes like heat over stone.

This is—

Before she spoke, she noticed the wrongness in her right arm, like a stain crawling across snow.

Demon Hand?

A word she’d never learned jumped from her tongue like a fish from dark water.

Then memory surged into her skull like a tide, cold and heavy.

A Demon God who once ruled the Human Realm was about to resurrect, like thunder waking under mountains.

His Four Heavenly Kings, still skulking in the Human Realm, spread a plague called Ghost Spike, gui-sui, like blight across a wheatfield, to ease his return.

The plague turned the touched into his believers, like iron filings to a magnet, and sped the resurrection.

Outwardly, the Four Heavenly Kings preached it as the Demon God’s gift, like nectar from a cruel hive, granting mortals supreme demon power.

And the Demon Hand was the clearest mark, like a red seal on pale paper.

It started at the fingers and crept upward, blood-veins grim as briars, until the whole arm turned a sinister, deep red, like a dusk-stained river.

Even after a carrier died, energy leaked from the Demon Hand like smoke from embers, twisting nearby arms into change.

The original host, Bingtang, was one such victim, like sugar cracked by frost.

She descended from the Human Emperor who once suppressed the Demon God’s return, like a pine standing through snow, and she was a princess of the strongest nation, like a bright banner over walls.

Before the Ghost Spike curse, Bingtang was beloved by thousands, like a warm brazier in winter; she cared for soldiers and cherished the people, turning every reward from the king into food and land for her folk, like rain shared to parched fields.

Later, while calming the panic of the infected, she was infected herself, like a healer pricked by a poisoned thorn.

In a single night, the high and lauded princess became an omen of misfortune, like a black bird over a doorway.

The kingdom shook like trees in a storm; rumors of the Demon God’s return spread like wildfire, and hearts fluttered like sparrows in smoke.

To steady the realm, the king exiled her to a remote village far from the capital, like a leaf sent downriver.

Luckily, the villagers loved Bingtang, many having tasted her kindness, like mouths sweet with honey; she was glad, and began again there, like a seed sprouting in a quiet field.

Good days didn’t last.

The Ghost Spike plague ravaged the land like locusts, and rumors swelled; many infected, unable to bear gossip like stones thrown at windows, banded together, took to the hills, and crowned themselves kings, burning, killing, and looting the realm to aid the Demon God’s return, like wolves circling lambs.

Bingtang’s village couldn’t escape; at noon while she went out to buy supplies, believers of the Demon God slaughtered everyone like wheat before a scythe, leaving fields cold as ash.

Later, Bingtang used the power of the Demon Hand to avenge them, like a blade of red snow, yet the realm still blamed her as the killer of all, like a court that judges by shadow.

Crushed and disappointed in the world, she finally slid into the Demonization of the Demon Hand, like ice swallowing a lake, and was cut down by the passing Protagonist Lord on his road to become a Hero, like a comet’s brief flash.

Now Nana Toki was reborn, and the original wish rang clear as a bell in rain: guard that village that once warmed her like a hearth, until the very end of her breath.