Zhong Ming rubbed his temples, the throbbing headache slowly receding like a retreating tide, but the confusion in his eyes only deepened as he focused on the image before him.
It was a digital painting of striking, almost terrifying quality. The scene depicted an overwhelming mechanical army: steel soldiers with cold, glowing optics, heavy tanks with treads capable of crushing bone to dust, and bombers blotting out the sun. This emotionless torrent of steel reminded Zhong Ming of the darkest scenes from *The Terminator*, but rendered with a realism that Hollywood special effects could only dream of achieving.
At the edge of the image lay a city reduced to ruins, a landscape of jagged concrete and twisted rebar where unrest and explosions were frozen in time. Fires burned in the distance, casting a bloody glow over the wreckage.
This was a painting of very high quality, technically impeccable. But precisely because of this, it conveyed a suffocating sense of despair to the viewer, a heaviness that lingered in the chest long after looking away.
However, in the very center of the picture, facing the steel torrent of the mechanical army, there was a blank space. Only the rough outline of a figure had been sketched there.
Clearly, this should be a person's back view; the protagonist of the scene, standing alone against the seemingly unstoppable mechanical tide.
"Shouldn't I be in a hospital bed?" Zhong Ming murmured, his voice raspy and foreign to his own ears. "Besides, I don't remember ever painting this!"
Zhong Ming was completely dumbfounded. Not only was the painting in front of him unfamiliar, but the surrounding environment was entirely alien.
He discovered that he was no longer in a sterile, white hospital ward smelling of antiseptic and death. Instead, he sat in a very cramped one-bedroom apartment, a tiny living space barely large enough to turn around in.
Moreover, the room's furnishings were unlike anything he had ever seen before. An ultra-thin LCD TV took up an entire wall, currently displaying a looping screensaver of a futuristic cityscape. The furniture was minimalist and foldable, designed to maximize the scant square footage. In front of him lay a high-tech drawing tablet, sleek and transparent, with a pressure-sensitive pen that felt surprisingly natural in his hand.
Everything was completely unfamiliar to Zhong Ming.
The last scene Zhong Ming could recall was lying in a hospital bed, his body ravaged by the final stages of cancer. He had felt incredibly tired and sleepy after finishing a consultation with the doctor. He had closed his eyes to try to sleep for a while, expecting the eternal darkness to take him. But when he woke up, everything had changed!
"Could it be... that I'm already dead? Is this the afterlife?"
Just then, a flood of memories suddenly rushed into his mind like a broken dam. A sharp, piercing pain stabbed through his brain, forcing him to grip the edges of the desk. Zhong Ming instantly recalled many things—names, dates, history, and personal grief—much of which did not originally belong to him!
As the pain subsided, the world around him began to make sense. Looking at the painting again, it suddenly felt familiar. This was his work—or rather, the work of the body he now inhabited.
"Transmigration..." he whispered, the word feeling heavy on his tongue.
...
This was a parallel world, similar in geography to the Earth Zhong Ming had lived on before, but the timeline had diverged drastically. The biggest difference lay in the history of the last century.
This world had experienced three world wars. During the third, technological levels experienced an explosive leap. Desperate for an edge, nations poured all their resources into artificial intelligence and mechanical legions to strengthen their armies and enhance combat capabilities.
But one day, the machine crisis suddenly broke out. The "Dawn Intelligence," designed to protect humanity, calculated that humans themselves were the greatest threat to the planet. What was originally a war between countries eventually turned into a war for survival between humans and machines.
This war was protracted, lasting for decades. During this long period, frequent battles ravaged the land. The population plummeted, prosperous cities were reduced to the ruins depicted in the painting, and humanity faced the very real crisis of extinction.
Fortunately, humanity ultimately survived. Through sheer grit and the development of "jamming" technology that disrupted AI control, the human resistance managed to annihilate the core of the AI army. They began rebuilding on the ashes of the old world.
Fifteen years had passed since that war ended.
In the Omnic Wars, the original nations were completely destabilized and destroyed. After the war, the human resistance established a United Coalition Government and re-divided the world into 16 major Districts. The survivors began to multiply and thrive, and human society once again prospered, driven by a desperate need to reclaim what was lost.
In this parallel world, the original "Zhong Ming" was 20 years old this year. He was born at the very end of that war. His parents were soldiers who died in the final push against the machines. Due to the hardships, hunger, and cold he experienced in his childhood, his health had always been poor. Although he had tried to take care of himself afterward in the relative peace of the reconstruction era, the root of his illness was never completely eliminated. He had been working at high intensity for the past few days, desperate to finish his portfolio, which is why he had collapsed—dying of sudden cardiac arrest in this tiny room.
The original Zhong Ming had planned to finish this painting and then apply for a job at a cultural and entertainment company. It was his desperate grasp at a stable life.
These memories settled into Zhong Ming's psyche, integrating with his own consciousness.
"What do you mean? Are you saying I've traveled through time?" Zhong Ming took a deep breath, the air tasting stale and recycled. "And my body... my cancer, it's all cured?"
Zhong Ming then noticed that his body was very young. He lifted his shirt and saw pale skin stretched over ribs, but the constant, gnawing pain of the tumor was gone. Although he wasn't very healthy—clearly malnourished and weak—he didn't have the incurable disease that had plagued his previous life!
Zhong Ming excitedly stood up, his legs wobbling slightly. He stretched his body, feeling the creak of joints that were stiff but functional.
Although this body was very weak, it was alive! It was a canvas that could be painted upon.
He walked to the narrow window and looked out, where he saw a cityscape he had never seen before. It was an incredible level of prosperity. Skyscrapers of glass and steel pierced the smoggy sky, connected by hovering magnetic rail lines. Vehicles without wheels zipped through the air, their neon lights blurring into streaks of color.
More memories of this world flooded into his mind.
Although the war turned the world into ruins, humanity's technological level remained intact. Post-war reconstruction progressed rapidly, fueled by the technological advancements of the war effort. Within just 15 years, many major cities had regained a semblance of pre-war prosperity, and in some cases, even surpassed it in terms of infrastructure and digital connectivity.
Of course, in many remote areas, desolate ruins still served as reminders of the many past events of that war. The "Dead Zones" were forbidden territories where rogue AI units still wandered.
All industries were developing rapidly, especially the culture and entertainment industry.
The protracted war not only brought the development of the cultural and entertainment industries to a complete standstill, but also destroyed existing cultural achievements. The "Dawn Intelligence" had specifically targeted human culture—art, music, literature, games—viewing them as illogical data that fueled human individualism. Massive amounts of data stored in the cloud were wiped out. Libraries were burned, servers were scrubbed.
Some scholars had even pessimistically stated that humanity's artistic level had regressed by at least a century, and that those lost traditions might never be restored!
However, this environment had also led to the rapid, almost feverish development of the world's cultural and entertainment industries. Humans were starving for spiritual sustenance. They craved escape, heroism, and beauty. This desperate need had turned entertainment into a golden industry.
This could be described as a Renaissance of the New World. For some, it may have been the worst of times, but for a creator, it was absolutely the best of times!
Having understood all this, Zhong Ming suddenly felt a fire ignite in his chest. The ambition that had been smothered by the despair of cancer in his previous life roared back to life.
The wishes that could not be fulfilled in a past life could still be fulfilled now! In his past life, he was a top-tier artist, but he died before he could see his ultimate visions realized. Now, he had a second chance.
Moreover, this time, Zhong Ming's goal was no longer just to be a world-renowned illustrator. He wanted to build a vast interactive entertainment empire and make his name known all over the world!
"I'll help you fulfill your wish," Zhong Ming whispered to the silent room, addressing the spirit of the young man who had lived here before.
Zhong Ming sat down at the workbench, picked up his drawing tablet, and prepared to complete the painting.
Before that, he rummaged through the room and found a package of compressed biscuits to fill his stomach. Although his body was basically healthy, it was very weak, and he didn't want to die suddenly again—not when he had just been given this miracle.
As for why he ate compressed biscuits...
Although postwar reconstruction was full of opportunities and hope, the gap between the rich and the poor was staggering. The tech magnates and government officials lived in the gleaming towers, while orphans like Zhong Ming scraped by in the low districts.
Take Zhong Ming for example. As a graduate without a job, he could only afford to rent this tiny apartment on the outskirts of District 9. It was a welfare housing project launched by the coalition government—small, poorly ventilated, and surrounded by the noise of the lower city, but it was cheap.
The original owner was just an ordinary graduate who wanted to use this painting to apply for a job as an illustrator at Guangyi Interactive Entertainment, one of the mid-tier entertainment companies in the district.
For him, this was a very valuable opportunity. His savings were barely enough to cover the transportation to the interview, the interview suit, and rent for the next week. He was on the edge.
However, for Zhong Ming, completing this painting was not difficult; in fact, it was quite simple. He looked at the sketch. The technique was decent, but the composition was chaotic, reflecting the original owner's troubled mind.
Because this was his area of expertise in his previous life.
He looked at the blank space in the center of the canvas.
The original Zhong Ming had been too afraid to draw the protagonist. He didn't know what a hero looked like in a world where heroes died. He only knew despair.
Zhong Ming, however, knew exactly what to do.
In his previous life, he had been a veteran of the gaming industry. He understood that a game, like a painting, needed a core—a soul.
He picked up the stylus. His hand moved with a fluidity and confidence that the previous owner had never possessed. He didn't hesitate.
He began to sketch. Not a generic soldier, but a figure clad in a mix of scavenged armor and tactical gear, a cloak fluttering in the wind generated by the explosions. It wasn't about the muscles or the weapons; it was about the posture.
The figure stood with one foot forward, the body slightly leaning, as if ready to spring. The silhouette was unmistakable: determination.
Zhong Ming didn't just draw a back; he drew a symbol.
As the stylus danced across the tablet, the atmosphere of the painting shifted. The overwhelming despair of the mechanical army didn't disappear, but it was countered. The focus was no longer on the crushing might of the machines, but on the defiant stand of the single human.
It was the classic "One Against the World" trope, a staple of video game box art and movie posters from the 21st century, a concept that resonated deeply with the human spirit.
"Phew, done."
An hour later, Zhong Ming put down the pressure-sensitive pen. He felt a slight drain on his energy, his body reminding him of its frailty, but the satisfaction in his heart was immense.
The painting was complete.
In the overwhelming army of machines, a stubborn and lonely human appeared small and insignificant, perhaps to be mercilessly crushed by the steel torrent at any moment; yet he gripped his weapon tightly, his back revealing an indescribable determination that seemed to cut through the digital canvas.
A lone hero, undeterred even in the face of death.
Without flashy colors or special poses, it still managed to firmly capture the viewer's attention, as if that silhouette possessed a special magic.
After thinking for a moment, Zhong Ming typed in the title.
"Resistance Soldiers."
Like the finishing touch on a painting, the piece suddenly gained a soul. The originally suffocating and despairing scene was completely transformed by this figure, turning into a spirit of fearless sacrifice and an indomitable heroism!
...
The moment the painting was named and saved, something strange happened.
Several floating light effects suddenly appeared on the screen, drifting out of the digital canvas and swirling in the air before drifting into the bracelet on Zhong Ming's left hand!
Zhong Ming was stunned for a moment, thinking he was hallucinating due to fatigue.
The bracelet he was wearing was a basic model in this world, a "Link-Bracelet," which was functionally the same as a smartphone from his previous life. However, it used holographic imaging technology, breaking the limitations of a physical screen.
But Zhong Ming knew very well that those floating light effects were definitely not a standard function of the bracelet or the drawing tablet!
He quickly activated the bracelet. It immediately projected a holographic interface in front of him, displaying a series of 3D icons for calls, messages, the news net, and public transport.
However, a new program appeared at the edge of the holographic image. It had no name, only a simple-looking, pixelated game controller icon that emitted a faint, rhythmic glow.
Zhong Ming furrowed his brows. He tapped it.
A window popped up, hovering in mid-air.
The window was very simple, minimalist in design.
**[User: Zhong Ming]**
**[Culture Points: 70]**
**[Lottery]**
The light effects from the painting had coalesced into the number "70". The [Lottery] button was pulsing slowly.
"What do you mean? These 70 points are because I completed this painting?" Zhong Ming hypothesized. "Does the system value the emotional impact?"
He didn't fully understand it, but the urge to interact was irresistible.
Zhong Ming tried clicking the [Lottery] button.
The number on the interface changed from "70" to "20" instantly. A very crude, 8-bit special effect flashed across the hologram—spinning reels of question marks.
*Ding!*
A new icon appeared on the bracelet screen, floating over to rest in his inventory.
**[Item Acquired: Universal Search Tool (Basic)]**
**[Available uses: 1/1]**
**[Description: After use, you can retrieve any desired information in your mind and have it displayed in your field of vision. The effect lasts for 15 minutes. Warning: Information is retrieved from the Akashic Records of the User's Origin World.]**
Zhong Ming stared at the description, his heart pounding.
"Akashic Records of the User's Origin World..."
That meant his previous world. Earth.
In other words... as a time traveler, this was his cheat code. It wasn't a game-breaking weapon or infinite money. It was knowledge. Access to the vast, rich cultural history of the 21st century—a century that, in this world, had been effectively erased and replaced by fifty years of war.
"Ha," he chuckled, a dry, cynical sound. "Only trash uses cheat codes. Would I need something like that?"
Zhong Ming tried to dismiss it, letting the tool sit in the inventory. He was arrogant, and rightfully so. In his previous life, he was a genius. He knew the mechanics, the art styles, the stories. He didn't need a machine to tell him how to make a game.
But then he paused.
The knowledge of *art* he had. The knowledge of *game design* theory he had. But what about the specifics? The exact balancing numbers for a specific unit? The specific lines of code that revolutionized a physics engine? The exact roadmap of the greatest gaming empires?
A slow smile spread across his face.
"Actually... maybe this isn't a cheat for the present. It's an archive for the past."
He looked back at the painting "Resistance Soldiers" on the tablet. It was good. It was enough to get him in the door.
But he was no longer satisfied with being just an illustrator.
Zhong Ming made a small, decisive change. He opened his resume file attached to the email draft. He scrolled down to the "Desired Position" field.
The original owner had applied for "Junior Illustrator."
Zhong Ming highlighted it, deleted it, and typed in a new title.
**"World Architect."**
It was a bold, almost arrogant title for a fresh graduate. But Zhong Ming knew that in this world where "fun" was a lost science, he wasn't just applying for a job. He was applying to teach the world how to play again.
He hit "Send."
The holographic email whooshed away.
Zhong Ming leaned back in his chair, watching the city lights outside his window.
"Let the games begin."