Qiongqiong forced down all the restlessness, doubt, and panic within him. Fear would not save him in this place—the realization suddenly became clear. He looked at the human woman kneeling in front of him, noticed the strange light hidden in the folds of her purple robe, then asked in a calm but heavy voice, "Who are you?" The words were short, but the firmness within her was clear. There was no curiosity in this question—there was an intense need to understand her position.
The girl lowered her head even lower, as if that was the only way to engrave loyalty. Then she spoke—her voice had a metallic firmness and the echo of ancient times. "Master, I am the protector of this realm. This is a spirit realm—not made of blood and flesh, but of will, memory, and power. And the huge building that stands before you is the hospital of the ancient domainers." The words spread through the mist, and with each word, the presence of the building became more and more clear. Ju Qingqiong then realized that this hospital was not just a structure of stone and brick; it was a prison where powerful beings of high level were imprisoned without control, and his presence in this realm was no coincidence at all.
A word suddenly appeared in his mind—Domenar. The word seemed to not only carry meaning; it was also slowly stirring a memory buried deep within him. He didn't know why, but whenever he heard this name, a strange weight fell on his chest, as if he had been familiar with this concept for a long time, yet had never consciously encountered it.
Then Ju Qingqiong looked at the woman again. Although her figure was clear in the fog, she gave the feeling of being suspended between reality and unreality. He asked in a calm voice, "What is your name?" The question was simple, but hidden within it was a kind of desire for recognition—a desire to truly know someone in this world.
The girl moved slightly. His body seemed to be standing on the ground—it swayed lightly, just like a shadow floating in the air. He replied, "I am the spirit of an ancient book. I have no name yet." There was no sadness in his voice, there was a kind of emptiness—as if being nameless was the destiny of his existence.
Then he lowered his eyes softly and said, "Master, if possible… could you give me a name?" The words disappeared into the mist, but the request remained deeply embedded in Ju Qiongqiong's mind. For the first time, he understood—every decision he made in this spirit realm, even giving a name, could open up an invisible path to the future.
He stood in silence for a while. Thoughts slowly floated through the mist, then disappeared again. He didn't want to choose the name lightly—because here, every word seemed to carry more than just meaning. Finally, he said, "Olivia—what does this name mean?" As soon as she said the word, the surrounding mist trembled slightly, as if the world itself was accepting the name.
The girl stood still for a moment. Then a faint smile appeared on her lips, a smile that had not been there before. "Okay," she said calmly, "From today on, my name is Olivia." As soon as she received the name, her existence seemed to become clearer—her color deepened, a kind of light of self-identification was born in her eyes.
Then Olivia turned and led her towards the main gate of the hospital. As the huge building approached, its horror became clearer—the silence within the walls seemed to be filled with the sighs of countless souls. Olivia said slowly, "The souls of the most ancient domainers brought from various domains are imprisoned here."
At the end of her words, the air became heavy. Ju Kyongkiong realized that this hospital was not a place of healing—it was a kind of frontier, where losing control of power would not result in liberation, but in permanent confinement.
Ju Qiongqiong didn't hold back any longer. The fog around him, the hospital, Olivia's existence—he threw out the question that had been lingering in his head, all of it combined. "What is Domainer?" As soon as he uttered the word, a strange emptiness formed inside him, as if he had heard the word somewhere before, but the door of memory had not yet fully opened.
Olivia smiled lightly. There was no mockery in that smile, but rather a kind of natural confidence of old knowledge. "I forgot," she said calmly, "you only transmigrated to this world an hour and a half ago." The word "only" in her voice was pronounced as if time was not calculated like humans here.
"Transmigrate "— this word hit Ju Qiongqiong's brain hard. It was as if someone had suddenly pulled out the doubt hidden in his thoughts. He said to himself, how does he know? I didn't tell anyone. The palace, the escape, the fog—all of it was my inner experience.
He looked at Olivia. Now her eyes no longer held beauty—they held depth, a vision that saw not only the present, but also the past and the future. Ju Qiongqiong realized that this spirit was not just the guardian of this hospital. It knew something that was older than his own existence.
Then Olivia began to speak. Her voice was slow, steady—as if each word had been said many times before, only today the audience had changed. "Do you remember," she said, "two days ago you found a torn piece of paper in an old book in the library?" Hearing that, Ju Qiongqiong shivered slightly. The memory was vague, something he had forgotten, thinking it was unimportant—suddenly began to grow in size.
Olivia continued, "You didn't read the words on that paper very carefully. You read them in one breath, almost carelessly. But you didn't know—that night was no ordinary night." Her eyes stared into the distance through the fog. "That day was the midnight of a full moon. Eight planets were in a straight line in the sky. Such a time rarely comes, and that was enough to complete an unconscious ritual."
These words slowly settled in Ju Kyongkyong's head, as if separate events were being woven into an invisible thread. The silence of the library, the torn paper, the strange sentences, and the pointless restlessness of that night—everything suddenly made sense.
Olivia said the last word in a tone as if it were the most natural consequence. "That ritual gave you the opportunity to move to this world. Not only that," she paused for a moment, "you also became the owner of this spirit realm at the same time." The words hung in the air. Ju Kyongkiong realized that he was no longer just a spectator—he himself was now the center of this unknown world.
- - - - -
Ju Qingqiong always worked to make a good living. During the day, he worked part-time in a temporary office, and at night, he took charge of looking after an old public library in the city. This night's work was not only a source of income for him—the smell of books and the dust-filled hours in the silence gave him a strange peace, as if this place was the only refuge in his weary life.
December 5, 2025. That night was like all the other nights at the beginning. The lights in the library were dim, the bookshelves standing like shadows in the large hall. Apart from him, there was only one other young man there—around twenty years old. The boy sat at the reading table for a while, then got up and left without saying a word. He left the book he was reading on the table when he left. When the surroundings fell silent, Ju Qingqiong picked up the book and walked towards the shelf, where countless century-old books stood silently, bearing the weight of time.
As he was about to put the book on one side of the shelf, suddenly—thud. The sound of something heavy falling broke the silence. He looked down and saw that an old book had fallen from the top shelf, and with it some yellowed papers scattered on the floor. As he picked up the papers, an unnecessary curiosity arose within him.
He took a page in his hand and almost unconsciously began to read in his mind—"Blessings come from the heavenly Lord of heaven and earth. Blessings spring from the immortality of heaven and earth. Blessings come from the Emperor of heaven and earth. I am not a god, nor am I a believer. Yet I call—to that truth that was before time. O heartless holder, nameless being—I remember you. Look at me. Accept me." He read the whole thing in one breath, the words deeply embedded in his mind before he stopped.
Reading the lines, he realized—this was no ordinary writing. The structure of the language, the choice of words, and the underlying weight told him that it was part of an ancient scripture, written in the Chinese historical language. At that moment, he looked at his watch. The hand silently moved forward and stopped at 12:01 AM. Strangely, the time suddenly felt heavy—as if this innocent reading was no longer as innocent as it had been before.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Olivia said again, "If you had died of old age like ordinary people, you would never have come to this world. Since you died accidentally from a gunshot, you were able to come to this world and become the owner of this strange place."
Ju Qiongqiong hesitated, "What do you mean, a strange place?"
Olivia didn't smile at him, nor did she stiffen her face—her expression was as if she had been prepared for these questions long ago. Her figure blurred a little in the mist, then became clear again. He said quietly, "By strange place, I mean this spirit realm. It is neither heaven nor hell. It is an intermediate realm—where broken destinies, unfulfilled desires, and beings who have lost their limits come together. You came here because your death was not 'complete.' The bullet ended your life, but your will, your consciousness, had not yet ceased. That gap opened the door to this place."
An unknown chill spread through Ju Qingqiong's chest. He could tell that Olivia was not just guessing—she was certain. He asked again, doubt in his voice, "How do you know? Have you seen my memories?"
Olivia nodded slowly this time. "No, Master. I haven't seen your personal memories. But the owner of this realm has its own imprint attached to it. The moment you set foot here, the remaining echoes of your soul spread to this place. The form, time, and reason of your death were written in those echoes. The sound of the gun, the smell of blood—not everything, just the truth. So I know how you died, but why you didn't want to die at that moment—that's what only you know."
As he finished speaking, the fog seemed to thicken. Ju Qingqiong suddenly realized that this place was not just strange—it was a place where his past, death, and future were intertwined. And Olivia… she was not just a protector, she was a silent witness to these truths.
Olivia's voice lacked the confidence it once had. She spoke slowly, as if she were weighing each word before uttering it. She admitted that her knowledge of this spirit realm was incomplete—like fragmented memories. Fog, silence, and the existence of imprisoned beings—that was all she knew. But the vast building that had appeared in front of Ju Qingqiong was something beyond that. Olivia had never seen it, never felt its presence. It was as if the building had never existed, only waiting for its master to arrive.
She explained that this realm does not create anything on its own. Everything that is born here is connected to its owner. That is, the appearance of the building is no coincidence—it is a reflection of Ju Qingqiong's existence, his past, his death, and his unknown potential. The realm responds to the deepest layers of its owner, making visible everything that even the owner himself does not yet fully understand. So Olivia wasn't supposed to know the secrets here—only one person had the right to know them.
Olivia then explicitly addressed him as "Master" for the first time, not just out of duty, but as an acknowledgment of reality. She said that every secret layer of this realm, every unknown rule, the truth of every imprisoned ancient being—all of it was ultimately waiting for Ju Qingqiong. Running away or remaining ignorant was not an option here. Being the owner meant not only power, but also the responsibility of knowing the truth.
The faint smile that finally appeared on Olivia's lips was not one of joy, nor of sympathy. It was a smile where fate and disaster stood on the same line. "Master," she said softly, "you are indeed very lucky." But she didn't explain what that fate meant—protection, or destruction.
Olivia began speaking in a very calm manner, as if she were not explaining a rule—but rather slowly revealing an ancient truth. She said that the Domain is not magic or a sudden power. The Domain is a path—a specific direction, along which an ordinary person can gradually transcend their limits. The body, mind, and spirit—these three are pulled together on that path. Those who follow this path, who transform their existence step by step, are called Domainers.
She explained that each Domain is divided into a total of 11 levels. These levels are not like exam scores—each level means moving away from the previous self as a person and towards something different. Each level must be crossed by receiving a specific core. That core not only gives power; it also changes the inner structure of a person. Only after receiving the core can a Domainer use the powers of that level, but at the same time, they must bear the risks of that level.
Olivia's voice then lowered slightly. She said that these levels are not easily identifiable by outsiders. The level of a Domainer is not publicly written, it is not detected by any test. Instead, each Domainer bears a mark on their body—especially their hands. That mark is like a living writing, which changes over time. But the strangest thing is that this mark can only be seen by the Domainer himself. It is never detected by anyone else's eyes.
Finally, Olivia added slowly, this is why the path of Domainers is so dangerous. No one knows what level the person standing in front of them is, how strong they are, or how close to disaster they are. Domains can elevate a person to the highest heights—and then take everything away with the slightest mistake. And that is why, Master, being a Domainer is not just about being strong—it is about carrying your own destiny.
As Olivia spoke, a kind of seriousness came into her eyes, as if she were saying something that should not be said in general. She explained that the power of Domains is never completely safe. Every moment a domainer uses this power, they put their mind and body at risk. As their power increases, they begin to break the normal boundaries of human existence—thoughts become distorted, feelings become abnormal, and the body gradually loses its familiar form.
She explained that many domainers initially experience only mild discomfort—hearing strange sounds in their sleep, the line between reality and fantasy blurring, or no longer feeling like their own body. But over time, these symptoms deepen. When a domainer can no longer bear the burden of their level, that power begins to consume them. They can no longer control themselves—they break down mentally, and become physically deformed.
Olivia said slowly, domainers who reach this state can no longer be called human. They become fully cursed beings. Their souls become perversely intertwined with the power of the Domain, and the curse is not limited to the body—thoughts, memories, even identities become corrupted. They themselves do not understand what they are doing, but their very existence becomes a danger to those around them.
Finally, Olivia added quietly, this is why this hospital came into being. All of the ancient Domainers imprisoned here had crossed this line at some point. They were powerful—very powerful. But in the end, they lost themselves. And Master, she looked up, walking the path of the Domain meant facing this fate at every step—asking yourself how much power you want, and how much of yourself you are willing to lose in exchange.