Accross a Thousand Lifetimes, I Still Choose You
Prologue - The Blue Screen
The rain was still fresh on the pavement when Lin Chen died.
He hadn’t expected much from life—twenty-two years old, plain face, dead-end jobs, living off instant noodles. But on that night, fate gave him one moment of brilliance.
A child had darted into the street, chasing a flimsy plastic ball. Headlights bore down, horn blaring.
Lin Chen didn’t think. His body moved. He lunged forward, shoving the boy clear.
The boy lived.
Lin Chen didn’t.
When he opened his eyes again, there was no road, no city, no body.
Only a void—black, weightless, endless.
Floating in front of him was a glowing blue screen.
Lines of text scrolled across it, sharp and cold:
System
> [Candidate selected. Parameters: stable psyche, unremarkable destiny, expendable existence.]
Lin Chen (MC)
“Did… did you just call me expendable?”
The screen flickered. More words appeared.
System
> [Contract binding initiated. You will serve as Host for System 327. Objective: assist in worldline corrections.]
[Rewards: continued survival, possibility of return to original world. Refusal: complete obliteration of soul.]
Lin Chen rubbed his temples.
Lin Chen (MC)
“Hold on, hold on. You’re saying: work for you, or die for real?”
A laugh escaped him, shaky and bitter.
Lin Chen (MC)
“Great. I save a kid from getting isekai’d, and now I’m the one dragged into a cosmic internship. Slavery with extra steps. Love that for me.”
System
> [Acknowledged. Contract binding in progress.]
Suddenly, light burst from the screen, threads wrapping around his chest like chains. They weren’t visible to the eye, but he felt them sinking straight into his soul. Cold. Unyielding. Permanent.
Lin Chen gasped, clutching his chest. It didn’t hurt, not exactly—it was worse. It felt final. Like some line had been drawn between “before” and “after,” and there was no going back.
Lin Chen (MC)
“No… no, no, no. You can’t just—”
He clawed at the invisible threads, but they pulsed, tightening.
The screen flickered again, indifferent.
System
> [Binding complete. Host integrated with System 327.]
Lin Chen sank to his knees, half-laughing, half-cursing.
Lin Chen (MC)
“Fantastic. My reward for heroism is eternal indentured servitude. Just my kind of luck.”
What he didn’t know—what the screen never told—was that he hadn’t been chosen at random.
His soul wasn’t powerful, or rare, or brilliant.
But it was steady. Resonant.
And somewhere, across countless fractured worlds, another soul wandered—lonely, cursed, bound to live and die without ever being loved for itself.
Lin Chen’s was the only soul capable of anchoring it.
The only one who might choose it.
The blue screen lit once more.
System
> [Mission World 1 initializing. Identity assigned: Junior Court Scholar, Lin Chen. Task: Ensure survival of His Highness, Crown Prince Xu Jian. Failure will result in Host’s obliteration.]
Before Lin Chen could curse again, the void shattered.
He opened his eyes to a painted ceiling of clouds and cranes, sandalwood smoke curling faintly in the air.
And just like that, his unwilling journey began.
Historical Palace (First Sparks)
Chapter 1 – Scholar in the Lion’s Den
When Lin Chen woke, the world was not the one he knew. He found himself staring up at a ceiling painted with clouds and cranes, the brushstrokes elegant, the colors vivid despite the dim light filtering through the latticed windows. The bedding beneath him smelled faintly of sandalwood, and in the distance, bells chimed from a tall watchtower.
Lin Chen (MC)
(muttering):“…So this is the palace world. Definitely not my crummy apartment anymore. The rent here must be outrageous.”
System
[Mission World 1 initialized. Identity assigned: Junior Court Scholar, Lin Chen. Task: Ensure Crown Prince Xu Jian survives until succession is secured. Failure: Host obliteration.]
Lin Chen (MC)
(rubbing his face):“Oh perfect. Babysitting a future tyrant. Exactly the kind of career path my mom always dreamed of for me.”
System
[Reminder: Crown Prince Xu Jian’s survival rate at current trajectory: 13%.]
Lin Chen (MC)
(stunned):“…Thirteen? Are you insane? That’s not a survival rate, that’s— that’s basically a discount coupon for death!”
System
[Statement: Host panic irrelevant.]
Lin Chen (MC)
“…I swear one day I’m uninstalling you.”
Before he could argue further, a sharp knock rattled the wooden door.
Enuch
(outside, voice smooth as silk):“Scholar Lin? The morning study session begins shortly. His Highness, the Crown Prince, will be present.”
Lin Chen (MC)
(mutters under breath):“…Fantastic. Day one and I’m already serving as fresh meat for the lions.”
Pulling on his scholar’s robes—plain, simple, the blue cloth barely pressed—Lin Chen followed the eunuch out. The palace corridors stretched endlessly, lined with vermilion pillars and golden beams. Palace servants hurried past, whispering behind their sleeves. Other young scholars, robed like him, strode ahead with ambition stiffening their backs.
But Lin Chen kept his head down. His “identity file” told him everything: he was one of many fresh scholars brought from the provinces, too insignificant to be noticed. Exactly the kind of cannon fodder who died in palace intrigue without even leaving a name in the history books.
The Hall of Classics loomed before him, vast and solemn. Dragons coiled across the painted roof, their golden scales glinting faintly in the lantern light. Rows of ministers and scholars knelt neatly, murmuring greetings.
At the far end of the hall, seated upon a raised dais, was the one person Lin Chen had been ordered to save.
The Crown Prince—Xu Jian.
He was twenty. Dressed in deep azure robes embroidered with golden dragons, his posture radiated effortless authority. His face was sharp, almost too perfect, as though carved by an unforgiving blade. The hall’s atmosphere shifted around him, tightening with silent fear. Even seasoned ministers bent lower under that gaze, as though afraid to breathe too loudly.
Lin Chen (MC)
(thinking furiously):“…Great. He looks exactly like the type who could order an execution just because someone sneezed in the wrong direction.”
And yet, beneath the veneer of arrogance, Lin Chen caught it: a trace of weariness in the prince’s eyes. A hollowness that did not belong to a man supposedly in control of everything.
Xu Jian’s gaze swept across the kneeling rows—sharp, cold, assessing. It brushed past ministers, lingered briefly on senior officials… and then, suddenly, stopped.
Stopped directly on Lin Chen
Lin Chen (MC)
(panicked, bowing instantly):“Not me, not me, I am invisible, you do not see me—”
The weight of that stare pressed down on him, like a blade drawn but not yet swung. And Lin Chen, heart pounding, realized that his mission had begun not in some distant crisis but right here, under the gaze of the man who was fated to bring both destruction and ruin.
Lin Chen (MC)
(thinking bitterly):“System says just survive? Ha. As if keeping Mister Murderous Crown Prince alive in this snake pit is going to be that easy…”
Historical Palace (First Sparks)
The hall of classics smelled faintly of ink and sandalwood. Scrolls lined the walls, bound neatly in lacquered shelves, while jade-inlaid desks gleamed beneath the morning light. Scholars knelt on embroidered cushions, hands folded, awaiting the start of lessons.
At the far end, Crown Prince Xu Jian sat upright, a figure of cold perfection, every line of his robes sharp, unwrinkled. Though he appeared calm, the silence in the hall was suffocating.
Lin Chen (MC)
(whispering in his thoughts):“…Do all royals practice the art of glaring people to death? No wonder no one dares to breathe too loudly.”
System
[Reminder: Mission target identified. Probability of Host being executed for impertinence: 27%.]
Lin Chen (MC)
(jaw dropping internally):“…You’re supposed to help me, not curse me!”
The senior instructor, old and stooped, cleared his throat, beginning a lecture on governance through morality. His voice droned like a cicada in summer, monotonous, lulling. Most scholars recited dutifully, their tones flat.
But the Crown Prince’s eyes were elsewhere. His gaze flicked across the hall—sharp, searching, as though peeling away every mask. When it landed on Lin Chen again, the young man froze.
Lin Chen (MC)
(internally):“Why me? I’m harmless! Choose someone ambitious with good calligraphy, not a random potato like me!”
Xu Jian (ML)
(voice suddenly breaking the silence):“You. Scholar in the third row. Raise your head.”
A ripple spread through the hall. Heads turned, envious and wary. Lin Chen’s stomach plummeted.
Lin Chen (MC)
(thinking):“…Damn it. Day two and I’m already the sacrificial chicken.”
Lin Chen (MC)
(aloud, forcing a respectful bow):“Yes, Your Highness?”
The Crown Prince’s eyes narrowed. His voice was calm, measured, yet laced with an unspoken pressure that made even the ministers shift uneasily.
Xu Jian (ML)
“What is the duty of a Crown Prince? Speak.”
It was a trap. Everyone knew it. Answer too grand, and he’d be accused of arrogance. Answer too meek, and he’d be branded cowardly.
The other scholars smirked faintly. Among them, two figures stood out:
Scholar Zhao, a sharp-tongued young man with ambitions higher than his rank, eyes gleaming with rivalry.
Scholar Wen, soft-spoken, always wearing a mask of politeness, though his family ties made him dangerous.
Both watched Lin Chen with the delight of wolves scenting blood.
Lin Chen (MC)
(thinking fast):“…If I spout some Confucian nonsense, he’ll see through it. If I say the truth, I’ll be executed. Perfect. Love this game.”
He looked up, meeting Xu Jian’s gaze.
Lin Chen (MC)
(calmly):“The duty of the Crown Prince… is to live.”
The hall went silent. The instructor’s mouth opened in shock. The other scholars snickered, ready to see him condemned.
But the Crown Prince… laughed. Low, quiet, a sound like the edge of steel brushing silk.
Xu Jian (ML)
“…Live? That is your answer?”
Lin Chen (MC)
(nodding):“If Your Highness does not live, then governance, morality, power—none of it will matter. To live is the first duty. Everything else comes after.”
The silence deepened. Scholars paled. The instructor dropped his brush.
But Xu Jian’s eyes… softened. For the first time, there was something almost human there. A flicker of amusement. A flicker of interest.
Xu Jian (ML)
(leaning back, voice slow):“Interesting. You are not like the others.”
The words were neither praise nor condemnation, but they settled on Lin Chen like shackles.
Lin Chen (MC)
(internally screaming):“…Great. Just great. Congratulations, Lin Chen. You’ve caught the attention of the scariest man in this palace. And there’s no uninstall button.”
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