The Mad Ҡìղց

Transmigration

Wang blinked, feeling the weight of the room around him, the distant sound of a beeping machine fading into silence. His body felt heavy and strange, as though he was still swimming between reality and something else entirely. A woman was standing beside him, staring intently with eyes that seemed to carry centuries of wisdom and something darker—secrets. She was familiar, but he couldn't place her. She had just told him her name was Ayana, but that meant nothing to him.

"How did I get here?" Wang asked, his voice rough as he blinked away the haze. His gaze flicked to the body lying still on the bed, attached to tubes and wires. His chest tightened. He didn't know why, but it felt wrong, all of it.

"This is Lan Wanji," Ayana said, her voice soft yet commanding. "My nephew. He was suffocated a few hours ago. I need you to find out what happened to him while he rests in your body. Until I bring him back." She sighed deeply, the weight of her words heavy in the space between them.

Wang's breath hitched. "Witches and lies," he hissed, instincts sparking from some deep corner of his mind. He didn't trust her. But something—something beneath the mistrust—urged him to listen. "How did you do this? What kind of magic are you playing with? What did you do to me?" this wasn't what you told my family.

Ayana tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You're beginning to have feelings for Zhan," she blurted out as if the comment were as casual as asking about the weather.

Wang's eyes narrowed. "Since you're an ancient witch, why don't you figure out what happened to your nephew and what's happening between me and Zhan?" He folded his arms, feeling the challenge rise within him. He was done with games, yet it felt like this entire encounter was a puzzle he didn't have the pieces for.

"Cocky, aren't you?" Ayana's lips curled into a smirk. With a flick of her fingers, Wang felt his consciousness slipping, his body going limp as something dark, foreign, but not unfamiliar, slid into him like smoke.

His soul entered the fragile body on the bed. The body of Lan Wanji, a boy who had been on life support only moments ago. The boy's fingers twitched, then again. The machine monitoring him let out a series of erratic beeps. A nurse rushed in, followed by three doctors and a man with wild eyes and disheveled hair. They all stopped, staring in disbelief as Wang—now Lan Wanji—sat up slowly, pulling the oxygen mask from his face.

"Dad?" The word slipped out of his mouth before Wang could even process it. His memories were foggy, fractured, and incomplete. He knew this man wasn't his father—his real father had died decades ago—but in that moment, it felt real. His mind struggled, torn between two lives.

"Wanji..." the man whispered, his voice trembling as he rushed to embrace him. Wang, or rather Wanji, hugged him back, feeling an inexplicable connection to this person. It was wrong, he knew it was wrong, but the warmth of the embrace was too strong to deny.

Wanji's father pulled back, eyes wide. "You... you never let me hug you like that." His voice cracked. "Not since you were a child."

Wang felt the weight of the moment. This man truly believed he was his son. But how? Wanji's life was foreign to him, yet pieces of it clung to his consciousness, lingering like a dream that hadn't fully faded.

"Where's mom? And grandma?" Wang—or Wanji—asked, desperate for clarity. The names felt strange on his tongue, but at the same time, something inside him wanted to believe they were real.

Wanji's father's face tightened. "Your mother... she passed away a few years ago. But Grandma's on her way. She's coming with Ayana."

"Ayana..." Wang repeated, the name stirring something unsettling in him. "Who is Ayana?"