Chapter One: The Death of White

You can never wake a person who is only pretending to be asleep.

Right now, Andy was doing just that—pretending to sleep, enduring wave after wave of splitting headaches as he tried to piece together what had happened.

The last memory before he awoke was of playing video games in his dorm room at night, when the electric fan fell. By all logic, he should have been sent to the hospital.

But another memory lingered, one stubbornly reminding him: this was not a hospital. In fact, this wasn’t even Earth.

In that other memory, he recalled a world resembling medieval Europe. Here, he was Andy Charles, an apprentice wizard of Colin County in the Kingdom of Elan on the Dorn Continent. While attempting to construct his first spell model with mental energy, he’d failed—suffering a backlash that left him unconscious.

The tangled memories churned in his mind, making his head throb unbearably. All the while, a voice beside him droned on ceaselessly.

“Young Master Andy, please, you must wake up. You’re the sole heir of the Charles family. If anything happens to you, how am I to answer to Master? Please, dear departed Master, bless Young Master Andy with your protection in the heavens.”

The muttering wasn’t in Chinese, nor English, nor any tongue on Earth Andy had ever known; yet, somehow, he understood every word.

Back in school, Andy had occasionally read online novels. Slowly, he sifted through the memories and finally teased out the truth: he had transmigrated.

“Young Master Andy, please wake up. You’re the only hope of the Charles family. If you don’t wake, how am I, an old man, to go on living?” The insistent voice finally broke Andy’s composure.

He opened his eyes slowly.

He was greeted by an aged face, eyes clouded with age, sallow skin. Seeing him awake, the old man was overjoyed, mumbling, “Master’s spirit is watching over us! Master’s spirit has returned!”

Andy couldn’t help but knock his own forehead, prompting the old man to finally remember to address him.

“You’re awake, young master!” The old man’s stiff attempt at a smile was more sorrowful than joyful.

“Mmm,” Andy replied.

“You’re… Old White?”

“No! I’m Old Brown,” the old man answered, dropping the smile.

“Then who’s White?” Andy asked innocently.

“White is a dog!” Old Brown’s wrinkled face twisted awkwardly.

“Woof, woof! Woof, woof, woof!” Right on cue, from outside the room came the happy barking of a dog, responding to the mention of its name.

A rough, calloused hand pressed against Andy’s forehead, making him wince.

Old Brown resumed his lamenting: “It’s over. The young master’s mind has been addled by spell backlash—how will I ever explain this to Master? I always said, why bother with wizardry? Marrying, having children, carrying on the family line, that’s what truly matters!”

Andy had to work hard to convince Old Brown that he was just a little disoriented from having just woken up, and that with some rest he would fully recover. Only after Old Brown had admonished him several times to rest well and finally left the room did Andy let out a long sigh.

“At last, it’s over!” he murmured. But despite his words, the orphan in him felt a faint warmth in all the fussing and concern.

“Well, this other world doesn’t seem so bad after all.”

Andy mused as he took in the decorations of the room. Soon, he caught sight of his reflection in a mirror: wine-red hair, sun-kissed skin, two bold brows lending a hint of defiance and stubbornness to his delicate features.

He wore a black silk robe adorned with mysterious silver patterns—the robe of an apprentice wizard in this world.

He gazed quietly at himself, then waved to the mirror. “Hello, Redhead. From now on, I am Andy Charles.”

He opened the window, letting the gentle sunlight bathe his face. Squinting, he looked out onto this strange, new world. Not far from his residence stood a tall black tower rising above the white marble buildings scattered around it.

“Is that Gothic style, or Byzantine? That wizard’s tower is taller than the office buildings downtown.”

Thinking of the city center, a pang of nostalgia struck him. The goals he’d set for himself in school now seemed meaningless.

“Earth… I fear there’s no going back. I wonder if Zhang Peng will blame me for breaking his computer. Will he mourn me, or his sixteen gigabytes of downloads more?”

But Andy was always one to move on quickly.

“If that brat burns some spirit money for me during the holidays—maybe throws in a little wine—when I become a great wizard, I’ll send him a golden finger from afar, let him live an epic life!”

Thinking of wizardry, Andy’s interest was piqued; he began to carefully review the memories in his mind.

In this world, supernatural power existed.

Andy Charles was the only son of the late Sir Charles. His father, once a knight of Colin County, had died in the war with the Duchy of Sain when Andy was nine, and was posthumously knighted for his valor.

Sadly, such a title was not hereditary. After his father’s death, his mother fell ill with grief and soon passed away as well, entrusting him before her death to his uncle Daniel.

Daniel was a good-hearted man, though a bit henpecked. His wife was only interested in the inheritance left by her sister and cared little for Andy himself. When Daniel was present, she’d feign kindness, but in private she mistreated him in every way.

Old Brown saw all of this. A long-time servant of the Charles family, he had served both Andy’s grandfather and father, and watched Andy grow up. Unable to bear the boy’s suffering, he quarreled with Daniel and his wife, then took Andy to Dallas City.

Dallas was the capital of Colin County, where the cost of living was far higher than the countryside Old Brown was used to. Making a living was no easy feat. Fortunately, they received help from a benefactor—Wizard Stein.

In his youth, Stein had been aided by Andy’s grandfather, and was acquainted with Old Brown. Though time had changed much, Stein had not forgotten his debt. Upon hearing of Andy’s plight, he took him in, tested his mental aptitude, and began teaching him as a wizard’s apprentice. Though Andy’s talent was ordinary, Stein still taught him diligently.

When Andy reached sixteen, his mental energy finally reached the level of a junior apprentice. Eagerly, he began constructing the mental model for a zero-level spell, but failed and was fatally backlashed. Thus, Andy’s soul crossed worlds to become the current Andy Charles.

“Edward reached apprentice level in five months, but you took six years? How useless can you be?” Andy silently griped at his predecessor.

Is this the legendary “useless transmigrator” trope?

Time to show off! Time for a reversal! Never underestimate a poor youth! Ha!

Andy’s experience as an orphan had taught him to face everything with a smile, maintaining a cheerful spirit no matter how dire the situation.

Now, he could hardly wait to explore the mysteries of wizardry in this world.

He walked to the brown bookshelf in his room, ignoring the knightly novels and biographies, and instead approached a redwood sculpture resting on the top shelf.

He couldn’t identify the wood, but the carving depicted a maiden with a fish’s tail. Andy gently twisted the sculpture.

With a series of clicking sounds, the bookshelf slid aside, revealing a hidden chamber behind.

This was Andy’s meditation room.

The door to the chamber had been battered open—clearly, the result of rescuers breaking in after the mental backlash.

The room was in disarray; the cushion for meditation bore two black footprints. On the only table sat a mysterious crystal ball and a small silver bowl, flanked by two open books.

“Detailed Explanation of Zero-Level Spells” and “Notes on Constructing Mental Models for Wizard Apprentices,” both authored by Stein.

The writing resembled tadpole script; though Andy could read it, he still felt a little out of place.

He carefully closed the books and arranged them neatly in the corner, fetched a cloth to wipe down the cushion, and then picked up the silver bowl on the table.

Inside were remnants of a black medicinal broth—calming soup that enhanced meditation efficiency. Each small bowl cost more than three gold coins, roughly equal to a year’s income for an average family of three.

It was said that calming soup had a slight effect in improving mental energy. Stein’s apprentices received it in limited quantities; only two, Andy and the prodigy Edward, could have it without restriction.

“Tsk, tens of thousands for a bowl of soup! Is this bird’s nest?” Andy muttered as he carried the silver bowl out to wash.

Passing through the bedroom, he left the house for a small courtyard, where flowers bloomed in vibrant beds.

Before he could take in the scenery, a large dog bounded over, startling him.

The dog didn’t attack, but sniffed at Andy’s wizard robe, circling him and wagging its tail, letting out whimpering sounds of affection.

“White?”

“Woof!”

“White!”

“Woof!”

“White, White!”

“Woof woof!”

This was Old Brown’s dog, White. Apparently, even in another world, dogs couldn’t tell a transmigrator. White was as affectionate as ever.

Grinning, Andy scratched White’s head, then went to find Old Brown to ask him to fix the meditation room door.

Old Brown was not in his room—he must have gone out. Andy let the matter go, fetched a ladle of water from the kitchen, washed the silver bowl, and poured the dishwater into White’s food bowl.

White happily lapped it up.

Calming soup was beneficial even for animals, even in trace amounts. While its effects on humans were subtle, for a dog, it was a tremendous boon.

The previous Andy had the habit of feeding White the leftover calming soup after meditation, which was why the dog had grown more intelligent.

After drinking the soup, White became excited, racing around the courtyard while Andy watched with a smile.

But soon, his smile froze.

White’s joyous barking turned hoarse and strangled. The dog collapsed, whimpering, then let out two heart-wrenching howls.

It rolled onto its side, limbs convulsing violently, and with one final spasm—

—lay utterly still.

Andy stood rooted in place, his body cold as ice, a chill climbing from his spine to the crown of his head.

After a long moment, he exhaled deeply, forcing out three words through clenched teeth: “Calming. Soup.”

“Do you see now, Charles? Do you see? There was no damn spell backlash—someone wanted you dead!”

“It would have ended with your death. But I’m still here, and so is whoever wants you dead. Next time, they’ll come for me—and if not then, the time after. I’m just a college student. How am I supposed to defend myself? How many lives do I have for them to play with?”

Hurling the silver bowl to the ground, Andy’s hoarse, guttural roar was the only sound left in the silent courtyard.